#I manage to do on my own. And nothing seems to help so I'll just keep on punishing myself for it bc if it cannot be fixed

[churipu]

OUTFIT CHECK 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, iatdori yuuji x reader

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. jjk men being in love with you.

note. i'm back! i managed to fit in writing this in the middle of my midterms, i just finished my qualitative research paper for the midterms and i have 3 more take home exams to do. i hope you like this piece <33

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

you stood in front of the mirror, shifting your body from side to side, eying your reflection from different angles. raising a brow, you heaved out a soft sigh — before eventually twirling to face gojo who had been sitting on the edge of the bed. his icy blue eyes had been gazing at you for as long as you've been standing in front of the mirror against your reflection.

"'toru, do you think i look—"

gojo hushes you, putting a finger onto your lips, shutting you up immediately, "no, you don't look bad, and no your outfit doesn't look weird. you look beautiful," he rattles with a small smile.

"but i just feel like something's wrong with my combination," you said, stepping back to disperse from his finger, "like something's out of place. i just don't know what . . ."

gojo slipped an arm across your shoulder, turning your body to face your reflection, "i don't see anything wrong with your outfit or you, baby — you're really pretty . . . and i look pretty amazing too," he winked cheekily at the mirror, kissing the side of your face.

the male had been sitting on the edge of the bed, paying attention to you analyzing your own outfit for the past fifteen minutes. twirling here and there, stepping backwards and forwards cluelessly. the male didn't see anything wrong with your outfit or you, in fact, you looked absolutely stunning in his point of view.

his comment made you break a small smile.

"is this top too revealing?" you turn your back to the mirror, revealing a slight peek at your fragrant s/c skin.

"baby, baby," he scoffs, "i'm the strongest, i can fight, you know? and you look beautiful in that top, you should wear it often, yeah?" his slender fingers grazes over your exposed skin gently, sending shivers down your spine.

a string of laughter escaped your throat, "i love you, you know that?"

the male leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, "i love you more. no complaints."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

"do you think the top suits the bottom?" you asked nanami after changing into your third pants of the day — brows furrowed in frustration as nothing seemed to be clicking.

nanami raised his eyes from the book he had in his grasp, "you look beautiful," he complimented yet again for the third time.

"kento, how am i supposed to pick an outfit when you keep complimenting them all? help me pick one, will you?" nanami didn't understand why you were insistent on the 'mismatched' outfit (at least you think it is).

but in his eyes, everything seemed well-matched. he'd say it's a 11/10 for your ability to match these outfits of yours, "how? you look beautiful in them all."

groaning out, you raise two bags. a black and sage green bag, "pick one."

nanami inspected the two bags and then looked back at your outfit briefly, "the sage green one would fit perfectly with your outfit now," he pointed.

"okay. how about a jacket, do you think i'll need one?" you questioned, rummaging through the closet, "you always have a hunch of what i'd feel, it's your judgement."

he pondered your words for a bit, "take a jacket. forecast said it's going to be cold tonight, i don't want you getting sick."

you chuckled and bobbed your head, "right. anything else i should bring?"

"pepper spray."

"check."

"be careful, yes? call me if anything happens," nanami whispers, standing up from the bed — initially he wanted to come along with you to meet your friends. but he thought that he'd be a bother to you so he stopped himself from asking, "i love you so much."

"i love you more," you kissed his lips, to which he returned.

"let's drop you there, hm?" nanami grabs your hips, giving your flesh a slight squeeze, leading you out of the house.

𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈

"y/n, do you — oh, wow."

yuuji stood, a hand on the handle of the door he just opened and another on the doorway. his jaw dropped at the sight of you, his partner.

you stood in front of a mirror, blinking cluelessly at his reaction. not knowing whether it was his surprise because of how good you looked or the other way around, "yuuji? do i what?"

yuuji blinked himself back into reality, entering the room mutely, his back leaned onto the shut door, "where are you off to?"

shaking your head you gazed back at your reflection, "i'm just mix and matching for a hang out with nobara tomorrow, does this look funny?"

he shook his head harshly, "no, no, you look really nice! really pretty," yuuji honestly said before inhaling, you quite literally took his breath away.

"really? the color suits?" you asked, pinching the shirt you're wearing, "is the pants a bit too short?"

yuuji stood still, "no . . . you — wow, you just look so pretty y/n. i don't know what else to tell you . . ." he whispers, entranced by your figure as he detached his back from the door to approach you.

mustering out a smile, you gave him a hug, "thanks yuuji, you're the best."

he nuzzled his nose into your hair, "you're so beautiful," yuuji mumbled before kissing the crown of your head.

all of a sudden, yuuji pulls back, his face stern and a frown on his face, "how come you're going out with kugisaki and i'm not invited?" he asks you, narrowing his eyes.

"baby, i promise it's just me and her. i'll get you something special on the way back and then we can watch movies? your pick." you pinched his cheeks gently.

"any movies?"

you nod, "any movies."

"okay! deal." yuuji beams out, kissing your cheek.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[cairoblair]

Might i request some love at first sight headcanons for each of the boys with a non MC reader? What would make them fall in love at first sight? Thank you my dear!!!

Because these are a little lengthy, I'm separating this into two parts. I'll link part 2 to this post as soon as I finish it!

Part 1: Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne Part 2: Sylus, Caleb

Rafayel

You were walking through the art exhibition that had just arrived in town. Nothing had really caught your eye yet, but the paintings were beautiful regardless. You stopped in front of one - a huge canvas with shades of pink and blue. It seemed to be a sunset, but more...whimsical. Mysterious, even. You stared at it for what felt like hours. It seemed to be pulling you in, dragging you into its depths like a siren's song. "You like this one?" A man's voice said as a figure appeared beside you. "I do," You replied, not bothering to glance at the owner of the voice. "But...it's missing something." "Missing something?" He almost sounded offended, but more intrigued than anything. You hummed, examining the painting with furrowed brows. The man beside you studied your face, as if he could see the gears turning in your head. "Maybe some darker colors," You finally responded. "It's very...pastel. I think it would be more striking with some dimension." It was his turn to hum. He turned to the painting, observing it for himself. "Maybe you should tell the artist." You scoffed. "Critique a master's work at his own exhibition? I'll pass." "That's unfortunate," He replied, a chuckle underlying his voice. "I should tell you, though, that you just did." You froze, your head finally turning to look at the man beside you. His name tag specified that he was, in fact, the artist who created the paintings in the exhibition. Rafayel. "Ah," You sighed. You could feel the embarrassment rising in your chest, your cheeks warming as you realized what you had done. "I'm sorry, I only-" "No, please," Rafayel interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm always open to some...constructive criticism. Why don't we have a look at the others? Maybe you have some opinions on those." You could hear the slight sarcasm in his tone, an obviously teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. It probably would've been wise to turn him down...but where's the fun in that? "Maybe I do," You replied, cocking your head to the side. "Shall we, then?" He motioned for you to lead the way, following close behind you as you wandered around the exhibition. He couldn't seem to help the small smile that lingered on his lips, the hint of amusement in his expression as you offered your criticism. His art was interesting, sure. But he was convinced you were much more worthy of his attention.

Xavier

It was a beautiful spring day - perfect for a walk in your favorite park just outside the city. Luckily, most people opted to go to the one in the city's center, so crowds never seemed to be an issue. Plus, you had managed to find a lovely little spot hidden away from public view. As far as you knew, no one else had managed to find it. You adjusted your tote bag on your shoulder - full of little snacks, a water bottle, and a couple books you had been meaning to read for ages. The little trail that let to your secret spot was overgrown with vines and bushes, making it a little difficult to navigate. But, once you had managed to make it through, there was a small open area on the bank of the river that ran through the park. Beautiful flowers had started to bloom under the trees, and the recent rain had raised the water level of the river. It was the perfect spot for a little R&R. That is, until you noticed the man slumped up against one of the tree trunks. You almost jumped at the sight - you had never seen anyone else here before. A pang of disappointment hit your chest at the realization that this wasn't your little secret anymore. But, it was only one person. Maybe there was enough room for two. Upon closer investigation, you realized he was asleep. Deciding against waking the stranger up, you simply sighed and sat at the opposite end of the riverbank, putting as much space between the two of you as you could despite the small space. You rummaged through your tote bag, pulling out one of the books and opening to the bookmarked page. This particularly story had been gnawing at you for weeks, so before you knew it, you had already read through several chapters. "When did you get here?" A voice broke the comfortable silence. Your head shot up - the sudden noise had startled you slightly, pulling you out of your reading-induced trance. The man had woken up, but remained sitting against the tree trunk where you had found him. "Um, just a little while ago," You replied, checking the time on your phone. "I didn't want to wake you." He simply nodded in response, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he glanced around. "I didn't know anyone else knew about this place," You added, lowering your book into your lap. "I've been coming here for a few months," The man replied, his voice still a little groggy from his nap. "So have I," You said. "I'm surprised we haven't run into each other sooner." Another beat of silence passed. It wasn't necessarily an awkward silence, despite the urge you felt to fill it. "I'm (y/n), by the way." You extended a hand towards him. His gaze flicked between your hand and the expectant look on your face. "Xavier," He finally replied, reaching to shake your hand. "It's nice to meet you." "Likewise," You smiled. Satisfied with just an introduction, you turned your attention back to your book. You didn't come to this spot to socialize, after all. "What are you reading?" Xavier asked, tilting his head in an attempt to look at the cover. "Oh, just a fantasy novel," You answered. "Nothing too interesting." He hummed, his eyes still stuck on the book. "May I?" He motioned to the open spot next to you. Your eyebrows raised slightly. "Sure, yeah." Xavier moved from his spot to sit beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned over to read the page you had stopped on. While this was far from what you had planned on doing today, it wasn't an unwelcome surprise. Perhaps you could learn to share your little hideout. His only condition? Always bring your book.

Zayne

A new bakery had just opened around the corner from your apartment, and you were all too eager to try it out. Even the air around the little shop smelled of baked treats. Inside, glass display cases held various sweets, each one just as mouthwatering as the last. You had managed to miss most of the crowd, save for a few customers who must've been enjoyed an after-dinner dessert. You, however, were just craving a late night treat. Your long day at work had warranted such a thing. After looking over all of the options, your stomach had decided on a small piece of cake topped with various berries. It looked positively divine. "Excuse me-" "Excuse me-"

You glanced over at the voice that had mixed with yours. A man stood a few feet away, his gaze meeting yours. He was dressed in a surgeon's coat, a name tag hanging from the small chest pocket. A small, amused smile lingered on his face. "Ladies first," He offered, motioning for you to go ahead. "Thank you," You replied, offering a nod before turning to the bakery worker and ordering your cake of choice. The man stepped forward after you had finished, his eyes flicking between you and the display case. "Make it two," He said to the worker before moving to the register. "Allow me." "Oh, you don't have to-" A beep from the card reader cut you off. He had paid for both treats before you even had a chance to protest.

Your mouth snapped shut, your brows raised as he simply slipped the card back into his wallet. You had no idea who this stranger was, or why he had paid for your dessert, but you weren't going to complain about it. Who would? "Thank you," You said as he held the small box of cake out to you. "You didn't have to do that." "You have good taste," He replied. "I was still deciding, so I should thank you for making the choice easier." "We're even then," You chuckled, holding out your hand. "I'm (y/n), by the way." He reached out to meet your handshake. "Zayne. It's a pleasure." His hand seemed to linger on yours a moment longer than necessary before he pulled it away. "If you aren't busy," You began tentatively. "Would you like to join me? There are a few tables outside, and it's nice out tonight." Zayne seemed to contemplate the offer for a few seconds before a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I'd love to," He replied. He walked just ahead of you, holding the door to the bakery open as you both stepped outside. There was a small table away from the entrance that you settled on. You were both out of your comfort zones - sharing a dessert with a complete stranger. Well, stranger might have been an overstatement. Something about you was...familiar to him. Perhaps from another lifetime. Or maybe your taste in sweets simply intrigued him.

[aventurineswife]

Can I request a Jing yuan with an injured s/o, like a broken foot or arm or something and like how he would help them out and do things for them. I’ve been thinking of that bc I lowkey fractured my foot snd sprained my ankle and times have been tough with crutches and a cast💔💔😔

In the Arms of the General

Summary: After suffering an injury that leaves you struggling with crutches and a cast, you try to push through on your own. However, Jing Yuan refuses to let you bear the burden alone. With his usual lazy charm and surprising tenderness, he insists on taking care of you—whether you like it or not.

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Established Relationship, Injured Reader, Protective, Soft Jing Yuan, Domestic Bliss, Lighthearted Banter.

A/N: I hope you get well soon! 😭🙏

Pain was an unwelcome companion, yet it clung to you like a stubborn shadow. The simple act of moving had turned into an ordeal, each step sending a dull ache up your leg. Your foot—swollen, wrapped tightly in bandages, encased in a cast—was a reminder of the unfortunate misstep that had led you here.

Jing Yuan, ever the observant general, had noticed immediately when you tried to hide your discomfort. You had insisted it was fine, that you could manage, but the weight of his golden gaze told you he wasn’t convinced.

"Must you be so stubborn?" he sighed, arms crossed as he watched you struggle with your crutches. His voice held that familiar lazy drawl, but his eyes—sharp as ever—betrayed his concern.

"I'm not stubborn," you muttered, trying to maneuver onto the couch without making it seem like a battle against gravity. "I just don't want to be a burden."

Jing Yuan chuckled, a low, warm sound. "A burden? My dear, if anything, this is an opportunity."

You blinked. "An opportunity for what?"

He leaned closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. "For me to finally make myself useful to you. You do so much on your own—it’s about time you let someone else take care of you."

Before you could protest, he had already scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. Heat crept up your neck. "Jing Yuan—!"

He only hummed in amusement, settling you onto the couch with utmost care. "See? Much easier this way."

You huffed, but the warmth of his touch lingered. His hands, though strong and calloused from years of battle, were incredibly gentle as they adjusted the pillows behind you. The moment you tried to reach for the blanket, he tsked softly and draped it over you himself, making sure you were comfortably tucked in.

"I can—"

"Ah, ah, no arguing," he chided, pressing a single finger to your forehead. "Doctors' orders. And mine."

You sighed in defeat, though you couldn’t hide the fond smile tugging at your lips. "You're really going to fuss over me this much?"

"Absolutely." He knelt beside you, eyes unwavering as he took your injured foot into his hands, adjusting the bandages with practiced ease. "You think I would allow my most precious person to suffer alone?"

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, and he noticed—of course he did. He always noticed.

Jing Yuan chuckled again, softer this time, his fingers brushing over your ankle with care. "Rest, little sparrow. I'll handle everything. Meals, paperwork, anything you need—just leave it to me."

You arched a brow. "Even your own work?"

His expression turned downright mischievous. "Well, I never said I'd be efficient at it."

You laughed despite yourself, the pain momentarily forgotten. Maybe being injured wasn’t entirely terrible—not when it meant being doted on by Jing Yuan.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself rely on him a little longer.

[livingdeadgirlflorette]

YOUR FACE ⟡₊⋆∘ carl grimes x fem!reader

summary : with this weird dynamic between helping Carl smoke, tension-filled silence, and longing looks— maybe this time together might be where unspoken words aren't left unsaid.

word count : 4.9k

tags / rundown : fluff, slightly suggestive, smoking, awkward first kiss, confessions, kissing, inaccurate depiction of how smoking affects people, reader isn't good at feelings

a / n : This was in my drafts for such a long time oml! anyways the tile is based of the song "your face" by wisp, I just really liked the song with this :3 this isn't as long as my other fics but I hope you enjoy just as equally <3

dividers by me ! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

PART 1: SO HIGH ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The smoke that fills Carl's lungs from your mouth gives him another familiar hazy feeling. It's been an unarguable routine from the two of you— whenever you guys get too overstimulated from the Alexandrian kids or just from the adults, you both go to the same clearing you guys met, sit down next to each other, Carl brings his comics to read and you bring your cigarettes.

And something that he'll always look forward to is you helping him smoke. The feeling of your hand holding his face, keeping him steady and blowing the puff you took into his mouth, him taking it in and breathing it out— all the while you both stare into each other's gaze. But as soon as he's done with the drag, you're eyes leave his— going back to your own devices.

your character had bemused him; how one second you both are sharing an intimate moment, holding him softly and with a fondness, and the next you're behaving like nothing had ever even happened.

Carl wanted to dispel that indifference you'd been feigning— that stoic face you'd been masquerading in and out of the walls. He desired to know what was behind all those barriers of distance you'd made to keep yourself safe. He wanted to know you. The real you.

"You know, I think you're ready to take off your training wheels and do it yourself, cowboy." If it wasn't already evident in the sluggish tone, you were relaxed from the amount of puffs you'd been doing already. Lifting your hand and pulling yourself away from him, he stops you by gripping your forearm. He had never done this before, and the unfamiliarity of it had startled you— but then registering his touch had your mind involuntary give you chills in your spine. It felt good, him holding you.

Carl didn't want you to pull away; he wanted to stay forever like this, with your face close and in his space. But he'd have to start saying it before he loses the chance.

"I think I'll need a few more practice runs." He stated boldly. Carl didn't really know what he was trying to say when he blurted that out. All he knew was that he wanted to keep your face close to his. He tilted his head and looked at your lips, before looking back to meet your startled gaze— but as quickly as it had shown on your face, you painted over a mask of nonchalance.

You let out a chuckle. Carl was always one to speak his mind about things, but he always seemed timid when approaching this. You like this side of him. With your free hand, you take another drag of the cigarette before putting in out. With his gaze studying you close, you blow the smoke in his face.

He definitely didn't expect that, because he let go of you forearm and waved his hands in front of his hands to get rid of the waft of smoke from his face. Despite all of this, he still managed to laugh at it.

"Maybe another time." You dismissed. You stand up and look down at him, clueless that he'd been left in the dust. "We gotta get back before they notice, remember?" You finish fixing yourself up before reaching out a hand at his still sat position.

". . ." Carl didn't know how to feel, he looks at the hand reaching out to him and back at you. ". . .Right." He finishes his contemplation and grabs your hand, getting support from you to stand up. He pats himself down to get rid of the dirt on his pants and flannel.

"I'll start walking back. Stay close, okay?" Your voice lets out a stable tone. Hesitant, he nods and goes back to tidy himself up and the comics strewn about on the grass. With that, you turn to the direction of Alexandria and start your walk.

With you figure walking away, Carl was left to drown in his own thoughts. He felt. . . dismayed? All you did was dismiss him but he felt like you threw his heart away doing it. He knew he shouldn't feel like this. He didn't have any right to, you guys weren't anything— You guys were just friends who helped the other smoke, but he didn't want just that. He wanted more. Carl looks back at your decreasing figure before finishing up and jogging to you, matching your pace and falling in step next to you.

He's gonna say something to you about it. He doesn't know when, but he will. He can't stand just being smoking buddies with you— he wants more.

"So. . . do you wanna tell me something you've been hiding from me?" Rick's voice cuts the silence of the dinner table, overpowering the clanking and screeching of utensils against the plates. Carl's movement of taking a spoon of his food slows with his gaze locking with his father's—but then, just as swiftly, he goes back to his normal act, breaking the eye contact.

"I don't know what you mean." He tries to act and put on an air of nonchalance, playing up an act and pretending nothing had happened—just like you do when you and him are in the forest clearing. Carl had never intended for you and him hanging out outside the walls a secret; however, with the fact that his father wanted the best for his son and still tries to show good towards him, he feels like Rick wouldn't be too happy if he found out his son was going outside the gates and smoking—maybe even worse when he finds out he's doing all of that for a girl.

". . ." Rick's eyes are trained on his son in contemplation quietly, watching every calculated movement his son does to see any tick of movement that would give him the assumption of nervousness. He already knew his son was hiding something—but he didn't take him as the type to lie about it; he just wanted to see if he'd tell him the truth.

"Sure then," Rick said. "If that's the case, I guess you wouldn't mind telling me about that girl you go on prancing around outside with?" And with the question alone, Carl stops his next move and fully becomes attentive.

How did his father know? He thought he was good at keeping up his face, but that inquiry from his father left his vocabulary in shambles.

"There's no—what? I don't know what you're—listen, whatever you're trying to say, I— . . . Okay, how did you find out?" Carl blurts out before he deadpans before dropping his utensils in defeat. He figured that trying to defend himself would make things worse, so he'd rather get straight to the point. He isn't going to get anything good out of dodging his dad's interrogation, but he needs to know how he knew first before he tells him.

"It was Tara's turn to keep watch in the tower," Carl should've known. With all the teasing looks he got from her whenever she talked about girls to him and how he would listen intently, he figured maybe Tara was just in a chipper mood these days, but he guessed he was wrong.

"She saw you and the other kid climb the back walls and walk away." His father finished. Carl didn't want to explain to his father why he did it; it'll just send him into a pit of shame. But he figures he'll have to cross that bridge when his father gets to it.

"Now I'm going to ask you this again, and don't lie to me," Rick leans back in his chair, a domineering aura surrounding him. You'd think he'd look all serious and stern—but with Judith squirming and cooing in his lap, it made him less authoritarian and more father-like.

"Do you wanna tell me something you've been hiding from me?" Rick's voice lowered, wanting an actual direct answer from Carl, not the 'I don't know what-you're-talking-about' bullshit he was spewing earlier.Carl didn't know what to say. If he was going to tell his father the truth, he'd have to open up to him about you. And that's hard enough on his own, but to his dad? He doesn't know how that'll go. But it's better now than never. So with a deep, defeated sigh—he starts.

"There's a girl I hang out with, just a few minutes outside the walls from here," Carl recalls the first time you'd met each other and how he told you how smoking was going to kill you. Oh, how much he laughs in his head at the thought of that, especially since he smokes with you now. With Carl finally confessing what Rick wanted him to say, his domineering stance softens, and he adjusts Judith on his lap—who was still moving around, now trying to grab his father's finger using her hands.

"We go to a clearing, and just talk there. She's—. . ." Carl's words pause. He was unsure what to call her; it would be weird calling her an acquaintance since they know each other more than that, and it would be even more peculiar to come out of his mouth calling her a friend—knowing what they've done together.

"She's something else." He finished. There wasn't a word that they could call what they were, and Carl couldn't think of one for the life of him. She really was something else.

"Well—I thank you for being honest with me that time," Rick adjusts himself to help Judith sit properly. "But I wanna know something else." He breathes softly through his nose, readying himself to ask.

"Why?" From the start, when the world fell to shit, Rick knew his son wouldn't be the same as he was before—his character would grow up to be more mature and stoic, having to leave the childlike nature he shortly had and take over this stone-faced disposition. He was forced to forget he was just a boy.

But, with the time that he'd been with that girl, Rick noticed Carl would be less tense, he'd laugh more, and he'd even let out a genuine smile without worry. Something that you had whenever you were with him had turned him back and made him experience what it felt like just to be a teenager. What it felt like to not be always vigilant, just relaxed and content.Carl was left speechless. Just like he couldn't think of what to call what you and him were, he didn't know why he was hanging out with you. Well, he did know; he just didn't want to say it. If he did, he'd have to acknowledge how all of your experiences with him in the forest were something more for him.

"I—I just, like her. She's good company." That was all Carl could say, before scooping another morsel of food and eating it. One confession mixed with another and a half-assed excuse. He knew his father was better to believe just that, but he also knew he wouldn't prod at him anymore.

Rick could read his son like a book. He knew that wasn't just the reason; that girl had done so much for him that Carl didn't even realize it, and he knew his son would think much more about what she was to him, but he knew Carl should let him figure it out himself—rather than condemning him for it. With a fatherly chuckle, he leans a little with the toddler in his arms to pat his son on the shoulder, letting a gentle squeeze.

"I bet she is. But tell her something before you do something stupid." That was all his father said before standing up and bringing Judith with him, walking up to the front door—presumably to sit on the porch with her. Carl seemed to notice that. With the amount of walls they were in, he saw his father felt safe enough to just enjoy the smallest of things, like how he'd just enjoy being with his daughter.

But after finishing his pondering about his father, his father's words rang in his head. 'Tell her something.' Should he? One side of his heart that still believed there was good in this world—how there is still hope in this—told him he should; he should tell her everything he wanted to let out—how entrancing her lips were when they were inches apart from his, how her presence alone could calm all the thundering thoughts pounding in his brain.

But the other side of his that was marred, cynical, and closed-off tells him he shouldn't; well, everything was going great for them, so why should he have the audacity to let himself ruin it? If he did something to shatter that with you, ruin the experiences you already had with him and in the future that you'd have with him just because he decided to do something he wasn't even sure if you'd reciprocate—he'd never forgive himself.

Carl was a mess, and he knew he was. All his thoughts were drowning in confusion just because your person was so enthralling. Your carefree personality and how you let him do the things he thought he could've never done—you were everything he wanted. He wanted you so badly.

But how would he tell you? You seemed so close, yet so distant. All those memories of being close with him and talking about the most nonsensical topics just for the sake of keeping the conversation going were layered on by the other set of events that follow—how after everything you've been through with him, you seemed to shut down—how you didn't allow yourself to get too comfortable with anyone, even him. How whenever you and him pause to get lost in each other's gaze, you flutter your eyes and pull away.

You looked afraid—you seemed to abhor letting people in, seeing who you were when you were vulnerable. Carl despised it. How it felt like you were close and far at the same time, all together. It was like you guys were at a standstill, and he wanted to stop the limbo your character put your relationship in. He needed an answer from you, even if it had the chance of breaking whatever you guys had with each other.

He dropped his fork. God damn it, with all the brainstorming in his mind about how to approach the thought of telling you, he had lost the appetite to eat. With a frustrated sigh, he picks up both his and his father's plates to put in the sink—going to wash it. He'll have to dwell on it later. Right now, he needs to distract himself from the mindless routine of washing the dishes—just to take his mind off it, off of you.

With the passing of the cigarette smoke, Carl looks back at your face. He wonders if he should listen to the wise words of his father and tell her the truth. But he's scared. He laughs at the thought; after all these years of living and surviving through this wretched apocalypse and off all things, the one thing he was most scared of was losing you. It was ridiculous to him; he's done heinous acts just to keep going in this cycle of life—yet he thinks that confessing what he felt to you would be the end of his world.

"What's wrong, you look?" You tilt your head in inquiry, visibly confused. Carl didn't even notice that you'd seen him staring at you, observing you like this would be the last time he'd ever see you.

"Sad. Or you could just be constipated with how concentrated you look."

Even with the amount of things he's been feeling about you and pondering the aftermath of what could happen if he told you—you still managed to make him let out a chuckle.

"I was thinking." Carl huffs a breath out. He was thinking, thinking of what you'd say. Without skipping a beat, you follow up on what he had said. "Thinking about what?"

As you ask, you take a drag of the lit stick of tobacco and gently grab his chin, just like you always did. No matter the repetitiveness, he'll always welcome that hazy feeling of you getting close.

But before you get to exchange the smoke in your mouth, he places his hand over yours that was holding him, looking at you with such a focus that could burn through your eyes. With his action, your movements halt from being startled, and you involuntarily let the puff in your mouth out slowly.

"This." Carl looked into your gaze. Just like the last time you were this close, you had pulled away. But you aren't sure if you'd like that. "I was thinking about you."

With the confession leaving the tip of his tongue, your face formed a light flush. Carl was always forward with you about things, but never this upfront about his feelings for you. Contrary to his belief, you know. You knew what he felt, ever since he had started to smoke with you.

Even though he was going through the same burden as you, he felt like he had to be there with you first. You hated it. You didn't hate Carl; you hated how you felt about it and how it felt with him. How you let the walls of your heart come down when it came to him, even after everything that you swore would never break. With a doubtful look slowly painting your face, you can't help but try to distance yourself from him.

"Oh. That's. . . interesting." With a heavy feeling, your vision goes to anywhere but his, finally breaking the chain of eye contact you'd been sharing in the blanket of silence. "I've been thinking too, about— stuff." You had muttered awkwardly, saying anything that comes out of your mind, just to fill the awkward silence.

"You think you can tell me?" Even with your eyes off him, you can still feel his perceptive gaze. Carl didn't want you to crawl back into that timid disposition you always had put up; he wanted you to open up to him—let him in that mind of yours.

"If I say it," you paused. "It's going to ruin everything." Your voice had barely let out the last sentence, your tone trembling. Your heart wanted to tell Carl everything—how your body felt flush whenever he did something to gauge a reaction from you, how you wanted his body near you—not just from helping him smoke—but more than that.

But would saying what you had wanted ruin the relationship that was one of the only highlights of surviving in this apocalypse? Will saying what you had dreamed of saying destroy what he had thought of you?

But with your self-doubt clouding your mind and making your body still, you had barely registered the warmth of Carl's hand on yours, holding it with such care you'd think of it more of an intimate gesture. With a gentle call of your name, he assures you.

"Hey, nothing you do will ruin—" Carl paused, unsure if he should state it as what they are. Friends? He isn't even sure at this point. "-will ruin us, okay? I won't get mad."

"I'm not expecting you to be mad," you counter. "I expect that you'll feel betrayed." You finished. If Carl didn't reciprocate what you felt, you were sure he'd be confused. Would he think that all you did with him was just an elaborate ruse to get him closer to you? You weren't certain, but you had an idea it would go down that route if he did.

"If you aren't sure how to tell me, then show me." Carl tilts his head, coyly lacing his time. Whenever he does those mannerisms, you always thought he looked cute. He didn't look like a stone-faced killer that was brought upon this apocalypse anymore, but just a teenager going through regular stuff, feeling normal things.

With that, you contemplate. You were irritated at yourself for not saying anything; it was as if your heart was in your mouth—disabling you from telling what you desired. But with a deep breath, you lean in close to Carl—his eyes going wide for a second, then adjusting to this newfound distance.

Carl knows he shouldn't be nervous; you've been in his vicinity close to him like this dozens of times. But with this unexplored feeling brewing in his stomach, he feels like he should be—because you were going to do something else.

"Don't—don't freak out, okay?" Your voice is so close to him, it makes his ears flush red. He's lucky he had long hair; he was sure you'd tease him for it if you had seen them.

The tension felt thick, just like all the times you had been close to his lips, mere centimeters away. Sometimes you wish that the times you were that close you'd just lean in and kiss him, but inevitably you always pull away.

And just like that, you realize that your embarrassment gets the better of you again. You pull away slowly; you think this is stupid. You shouldn't have done that. You turn away, one of your hands covering your face that was starting to burn up.

"I-uh, sorry, I think I should go back, yeah. I'm sorry—" Your face turned back to his. But before you could let out another apology, a pair of soft lips had met yours, your eyes fluttering shut.

Carl had kissed you. You had dreamt of what it felt like to kiss him. But now that it was actually happening, you felt so surreal. With a hesitant state, you tested the waters and kissed him back, a light push to see what it felt. His lips were chapped, understandable since chapstick didn't seem like a necessity in the apocalypse, but his lips felt gentle.

When you felt the absence of soft pressure on your lips, you fluttered your eyes at him. You were sure your cheeks were burning at this point; it was uncontrollable. Once you guys were at a normal sitting distance from one another, you finally piped up.

"That was, uh, good." Your voice barely above a whisper. Both your gazes found one another, and then, with heat creeping up your neck, you had looked away.

"Thank you, I guess...?" Confusion had still not left your tone. With this, you were also perplexed by your own words. What were you thankful for?

"Why are you thanking me?" Carl's voice didn't seem to miss a beat, going back to his playful self. You were thankful for this—how he could always help lighten your guys' mood even when it was awkward.

"I don't know, okay!" You let out a genuine laugh. "I've never had to think about what to say after. . . that." Your eyes met his. He seemed to have a glint in his eye, telling you all you needed to know that he was planning something mischievous.

"Well. . ."

"Yeah. . ."

This was one of the things that made you abhor having to actually commit to kissing him—the aftermath. What would become of you and Carl? Would it be just unbearably awkward, and you'd never have enough courage to look him in the face again? Or would it help express your blossoming feelings towards you and him?

"I've always liked you, y'know?" Carl speaks up first—his tone soft and careful, breaking the silence you both have been dreading. But with just a few words of confession, he seemed to melt through that weird tension that had permeated through the space between you.

"I know—or like I. . . knew, I guess?" Your voice comes out meek, nervous about what was still happening.

His face went slack—his face contorting to shock and embarrassment, with a noticeable flush of red rising up his ears.

"Wait wha-? How did you even-what. . .?!" His voice was getting higher, something you picked up on when he was getting nervous.

With a small giggle, you answer his question. "It doesn't take a detective to find out you like me, Carl. You were quite obvious." Your face grows a smirk, creating a playful atmosphere.

He looks away with another wave of shyness. This was disastrous. Was he really that obvious? "It couldn't have been that obvious." With a slow turn, he looks back at you. ". . .right?"

"Do you really think you were that slick? You looked." You paused, unsure whether to say what actually was on your mind. He looked in love, but you figured you shouldn't—it would be too fast.

". . . nevermind. It's just that eyes don't lie, Carl, and the way you look at me—it seems very telling." You end your sentence with a smile. With everything out of the bag, you felt light as a feather—with nothing left to hide from him.

"If you knew then, why did you stop?"

"What?" His question seemed vague, out of nowhere.

"Why didn't you kiss me?" Carl was sure you could tell his heartbeat going haywire, feeling the vibration of it beating up to the tips of his ears. He sounded so desperate, but he didn't care. All he wanted right now was an answer.

"Oh! Uh. . ." You didn't expect how much he looked like he was yearning, waiting for something, anything from you. Saying you were scared would be embarrassing, but with everything you and Carl already did, there didn't seem like anything else to do but go forward and be honest with him.

"It's a stupid reason," you say, looking up at him, with bashfulness filling your face.

Without skipping a beat, Carl's hand had already gone to yours to intertwine. He didn't seem to know it, but that simple gesture was already melting away that air of dread that was coercing you to not say it.

"If what you're going to say is stupid, then what does that make what we did?" His eye had a glint of wit that he always had when he wanted to cheer you up, encouraging you to go on.

With your free hand and the still-lit cigarette in hand, you take a long drag. It was funny to you how this small stick of nicotine used to be the only thing of happiness that helped you get through it—to go on and keep living. But now, the thing that was your hope and joy in this world was right next to you. 

"A bad idea?" You finally answer his rhetorical question.

With a dry chuckle, he looks to you and just gazes. He never thought that you'd feel the same way, let alone reciprocate kissing him. He felt like the happiest he's ever been since coming to Alexandria.

"I felt," Your mouth opens to let out another word, but you shut it quickly. Taking a deep breath and looking at the sky. "Afraid and. . . guilty is what I'd put as how I felt about you, I guess."

"Why would you feel that way?"

"'Cause it's you!" You look back at him, incredulous, and your hands gesture to his whole character.

"You and me, we were cool, y'know? And we just hung out; everything was going fine, and I didn't want to ruin. . ." You then gestured to both of you. "This, I suppose."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I told you it was stupid." You look back at the golden hour of the sky, then just slump. It felt freeing telling him that, but it also filled you with shyness. This whole situation just made you want to get eaten by walkers alive and just sink into the world.

"I don't think it's stupid." His free hand goes to fix the loose hair that fell to your face and tuck it to your ear. The fact that his hand was ever so close to your face had your skin burn up so fast you're sure he already sees your skin blushing.

"I think it's cute."

Your eyes went shocked, but then quickly roll your eyes at the cheesy reply.

"Oh, just shut it already." You both giggle and simply bask in the playful mood that was created.

"No, I'm c'mon seriously!"

"You being 'serious' isn't you laughing, Carl." You smile and laugh as you say your quip. With a smile on his face and a shake of his head, you continue your tyrant of laughter.

But your laughter had come to a halt when he had lifted his head and held both your wrists, and he had said your name. "I like you, okay? You're so good to me, and you're such a comfort to come to when I need solace, and I just. . ."

As if the tables had turned, now he was the one losing his words, them dying at his throat.

"I just need you; is that enough? Can I please be with you?"

"If I ever say no to that, I think I'd need a checkup from our clinic."

Your response went out as fast as he had asked, eager and happy that he had finally decided that he wanted to be with you.

"Yes, I mean." With a final look from one another just looking into each other's gaze full of love and admiration, you both take a shy push in and finally kiss again, something you think you'll never grow tired of. But Carl pulls away just a breath away from your lips, wanting to get one last word in that he knows you won't ever forget—before he goes back in for more.

"I'm never gonna let you go."

woowee!! it's been a hot minute since I've posted! sorry guys for all of the people that were waiting for me to post when I never did, right now I've been really into my academics and I'm elbow deep into like 4 pending submissions to pass next week lolol!!11 anyways sorry for the rambling, I hope you enjoyed reading! ✮⋆˙ what did you think of this? don't be a silent reader and let me know ⭑.ᐟ

tags: @carlslvr @shadowybasementmiracle @kawliflo @xictoriiaa

wanna be tagged the next time I post my fics? tell me so I can ꩜ .ᐟ

[just-zy]

She who fell in silence (l)

pairing: Wednesday Addams x FemReader!

summary: After the bitter loss for Crackstone and ultimate triumph for Nevermore. Wednesday felt so out of place, and she failed to recognize the reasoning behind it—but in the end, she awakened to reasons to stay.

A/N: been a while.. change of aesthetic?? y'all likeyy?? ooc wednesday, (weds pov, buttt the half bit's on thirdpov, js a little mix if y'all don't mind).

Warnings!: literally nothing other than my writing, per usual, again ooc wednesday.. (y'all can tell me if there are warnings I should put up!) inaccurate versions of fallen angels, keep in mind that idk what the heck im doing, js use ur imaginations its fine!

wc: 2.6k

part 2 || Masterlist

Ever since Nevermore, ever since I've been held captive here it's all been nothing but a nuisance.

My cello wasn't helping me relieve tension as much as it did then, Thing and Enid were becoming unbearable with every passing second, I had no objection since, but change is inevitable.

I heavily sighed as I combed my bangs with my fingers, inhaling deeply as I felt my fingers soak in sweat, but the wind was further from being warm enough for me to be drenching so much.

Decompressing was all I've done this weekend, and it wasn't working, not a shred was. A trip to Jericho didn't suffice, nor did aiding Eugene with his bees, even with Enid's banters—it all ended with a bittersweet taste on the tip of my tongue.

These things didn't always feel so critical to me, not after defeating Crackstone. This extends beyond that, that I required a departure, for no more than a single night. It was all too ineffable, too complex.

I took ahold of my sweater, not sparing any glances on the confused looks thrown at me. All sensations merged into a formless mist, I didn't care what they'd told me before I had closed the door, about my safety, was it?

Death trembles in my presence.

Somehow, a part of me was torn away from me the night I defeated Crackstone. And it eludes my grasp that missing piece that's slowly killing me.

It unsettled me profoundly, vague and smudged, uncertain, like an aspect of my being was divided—slowly succumbing to the depths of hell.

I wasn't aware of my surroundings as I should've been, which resulted in me being in this peculiar encounter.

"What's a girl like you doing here, out in the cold?"

What seemed to be a girl my age—too nosy for her own good, stood tall and mighty by the tree's branch, clothing all in pitch black. It peaked my interest on how out of the ordinary this interaction is. It's uncanny, as though this experience echoes a distant reverie. But, that interest didn't linger much further, the girl looked harmless after all. I scoffed and turned to leave to take another route away from this girl, not one bit was I threatened nor invested by some lunatic perched atop a tree's log.

"Hey, I asked you a question."

"My presence here is entirely unrelated to you." Letting out an annoyed huff, I exhaled sharply in irritation. "At least share your name with me?" I don't need to double-take, her voice was devoid of warmth, at that I almost pitied her.

Almost.

So much for a night stroll.

_

"Wednesday, where have you been?! We were worried sick!"

I hum, not daring to spare them even just an ounce of an empathetic glance. "You could've been really hurt back there." Enid presses while trying to make eye contact with me, failing miserably. "I don't need you mothering me, Sinclair. I possess the ability to manage independently."

I huffed in annoyance, how come I've defeated Crackstone and still have worried remarks thrown my way? I am an Addams.

"We're just looking out for you. You haven't been yourself lately, you've been brooding and grumpy at everything, every time! And that's a bad thing, for me and Thing, at least.. As your roomie slash bestie, I'll be on edge. Let me care for you, Wednesday."

Exhausting, each day mirrored the one before, an endless repetition. I thrived for the thrill of mystery and gore, now I rot in my room thinking I could solve everything all in one night, it's so blood curling as I appear unable to make any meaningful advancements.

Now all I want to do is leave this wretched town and never come back, ever again.

"If you'd thought of caring for me for a minute, I would prefer if you stopped reiterating the same concerns, it's infuriating me." Stepping away from Enid, I took off my sweater and placed it somewhere on my bed that I didn't care enough to look, then groggily made my way to my desk.

"Wed—!"

"It's my writing time, silence would much be preferred at the moment." I still devoted myself into my writing time, even when I've had my time today, I still had this itch to write more, to express everything all over again.

I heard Enid huff and puff while fixing herself to her bed, I quietly sighed as I began typing away from the essence of existence, onto the vision I've created.

_

Time seemed to be keen on agitating me every passing second, it was like watching paint dry and my patience were gnawing thin.

I wasn't always favourable of learning something in class that I already knew the answers to, what I needed was to explore myself more, every inch and ounce of emotion radiating off of me was becoming unbearable.

Whilst the forest became some place I tend to visit often, I can't help but feel a sense that I was being watched every time I step foot in that godforsaken woodland. I was too guarded not to notice, but why was it that I felt wary when in results I'd see nothing out of the ordinary.

Each night afforded me the opportunity for reflection, it was all in the grasp of my hands, however tonight, I was unable to fully analyse my thoughts, something was pulling me back. Perhaps it was the lack of emotion on putting up with the people that shows that they care about me. That somehow, they hoped in someway, I changed.

Tonight, is different. The moon's gleaming light, the wind's embrace, all seen and felt in one night. While the wolves howled and growled, with the owls coos and the leaves' soft rustling.

I felt indifferent, but that didn't last, an unsettling emotion inside of me growing at a pace I can't keep up with.

Werewolves.

Unfortunately, I failed to register it sooner. Tonight's full moon.

However, before I could turn and break into a sprint, a werewolf twice my size gallops right in front of me, its razor-sharp teeth glossing, waiting to gnaw at something.

Not a minute to waste, the howler lunged itself towards me, but before it could've marked it's territory with mauling me to death, a figure appeared right at the last second, then I felt myself being lifted up from the scene unfolding.

The scent of my saviour, the caress of their hair down to my neck. My eyes sealed shut as I felt a soft impact with the ground, which, not at all felt like the ground.

"You can open your eyes now." Their voice sounds... familiar?

I made a sharp sudden glance, tilting my head lightly, it was that girl. And, against all odds, we were lodged high in the branches of a tree. I stepped to the side and held on the tree with my right hand for support.

She lets go of me and cheekily smiles at me, she was taller than I anticipated. "You're welcome."

"I had no intention of inquiring about your rescue." I say with a huff. And suddenly, the realization finally struck. "You. You've been the one stalking me like some madman, weren't you?"

She hummed with amusement and enthusiasm, "Mhm! And I'm glad I did, you should be glad too—"

"Get me down. Now." Initially, I would've been curious to how we got into such a position, but it died down quickly realising how childish this psycho actually is.

She took ahold of both my wrist and led them to grab onto her shoulders, her hands finding it's way onto my hips, but before I could protest, I felt a gush of wind suddenly making me hold onto her tighter.

Perhaps it was the dark that really blinded me to who or what was in front of me.

She looked...

"You're surprisingly weightless.. You.. can let go now."

I cleared my throat and jolted away from the feathered girl, she had gloves on—almost seemed as if she didn't plan on having much contact with anybody.

She looked rather divine under the moon's gaze if you'd really give the time to view such-

"Do you, uhm... want me to accompany you back?"

I lightly huffed, seeing how nervous she seemed, says so much.

How coy, with what seemed like a winged beast however, only merely a voice soft as a whisper, like a shadow that invites the chase.

But I showed no interest, I spun my heel, quietly but quickly making my way back in the school grounds.

I hear soft crunches of leaves trailing behind me. "You know, it's impolite to have a girl ask questions and not be answered a second time."

"I've been made aware." I shiver from the cold breeze, gritting my teeth as I shove my hands into my hoodie's pockets. I feel a presence, or rather a wing luming over me. I furrowed my brows as I turned my head towards the girl.

"You're cold, are you not? The heat of my wings can help you." She lightly says, with her hands tucked away from behind her.

"I'm Y/N by the way."

I wanted to be cautious and guarded, I did. But, maybe this was something, for a moment that could help me feel at ease, that didn't immediately send me spiraling.

I felt my lips, faintly upturn. And this time, I didn't try to stop it.

. . .

Much to my demise, I find myself intrigued and rather impatient. That I had the need to get into that woodland again. To see that dreadwing.

But to my dismay, I didn't feel any eyes luming over me. A possibility, she may have finally found the forest depressing and uninteresting.

I decided to walk around the woods, to seek out answers and to loosen up. Yet, in the past hour, I have been reduced to nothing but unease and clammy hands.

Whatever parasite that's crawling in my skin right now is, I'm finding it unpleasant. I express this with the utmost conviction.

The walk back to the school grounds felt heavy, and wet, considering the weather wasn't too favourable of me tonight. I huffed as I felt my soggy socks up to my core, to my teeth.

I feel agitated, about everything. And my clothes sticking too much into me isn't helping.

It only took a mere sharp turn for me to start erupting, an obnoxious outcast is in my way.

I let out a grunt, as I was taken aback.

"I urge you to move, you imbecile." I grumbled out and heaved while I shut my eyes, I couldn't grasp what was tormenting me. It's too cold out, thus I couldn't think with precision. I scoffed, ready to snark out petty remarks, but..

There Y/N was, in a black and white nevermore uniform much like mine with her black silked gloves on, her brows furrowed, her black flowy wings twitching subtly, as if dumbfounded she'd met me this way.

Why is she in a nevermore uniform?

"You attend Nevermore?"

I stood, stunned. Mistakenly asking without the intention of actually knowing if she does or not.

Like a child who just got offered candy, her eyes lit up, seemingly excited somebody's finally asked her.

She hummed and nodded in agreement. "I just enrolled, someone showed me around, and! while I wore my uniform! looks good doesn't it?"

"Morbid."

"You say that like we aren't wearing the same ones."

Rolling my eyes, I sighed and continued my walk to my dormitory, leaving the dumbfounded girl alone, while my chest caved in as my heart wrenched itself free.

I am experiencing heightened emotions, perhaps it was the weather with its frivolity, and these obnoxious clothes embedding itself on me.

_

The next day didn't guarantee that undying pleased emotion that bugged me the moment my eyes opened. If anything, it's intolerably provoking.

There that walking bird was, walting through the door whilst the class was just about to start, the way these misfits didn't dare miss a second to gawk. As if, profane and profuse envy.

Perhaps resentment, with the way her wings perfectly harmonise every aspect of her being, who wouldn't envy such wings? Desires dressed in bitterness.

"Is this seat taken?"

I lightly tilted my head towards her, a piercing look staring right at her. But, she didn't seem fazed, I scoffed and turned my attention back to my textbook, hearing the girl softly titter, and the chair beside me scraping.

Throughout the lesson, I couldn't help but inspect her further from my visual periphery, with the sound of her feathers lightly ruffling, how her finger taps impatiently on the desk, how her eyes roam through every bit and particle in the room, how her skin looked so fascinatingly soft and smooth-

"Hey, can you teach me more about botany after class ends?"

I subtly shook my head, my wandering mind leaving a shiver to my nape.

I readjust on my seat, while I feel eyes lingering on me.

"No."

My brows twitched in amusement, and my lips itching to let out a sigh. On my peripheral vision, she wore the expression of a puppy caught mid-mischief, scolded but still stubborn.

Class ended, but this bird didn't seem to take the hint.

"Come on, please? You're the only person I know here! And I-"

"Would you just still your tongue." I grumbled out such displeasure. I always take into account of the times I've been in a moment of dissatisfaction, but this was breaking my sanity, too much.

_

Things were a little under the weather for Wednesday, it had been a week since you had asked her for botany notes and such.

After you asked, you didn't bother asking again, instead, you began asking Bianca Barclay herself, asked if she had extra time for tutoring you. And that's what set Wednesday ablaze.

She disliked every passing second she'd seen you with Bianca, laughing and giggling, walking to class together. She didn't understand how one mere tutor could lead to that. She loathed it.

"Howdy Roomie!" Enid skips and squeaks while calling out for Wednesday, the raven haired girl only letting out a grumble.

"Well someone here woke up on the wrong side of the bed, what's got your mind tied up in a knot?" She snickers while already knowing the answer. "Hmm, maybe a certain black winged beaut can help you out?—"

"You clearly don't know what you're saying. I'm fine, and I don't need anybody's help."

No. She didn't take a tolerable liking towards you, not ever.

"Fine, just don't say I didn't tell you so!"

Before Wednesday quipped a remark, Enid's already strutted herself away from her. She scoffed and began turning to leave, but abruptly halts when she hears you laughing just inches away from her, she glances up and sees you with that loathsome siren. Again.

The ache in her heart couldn't find the reason why. Why every time you pass by her with your welcoming grin would send her knees to buckle, why each time you tear your lingering gaze away from her and towards that siren, the smug look she receives from Barclay without fail, makes her blood curl. The way Bianca swiftly hooks her hand to your forearm, taunting her, ridiculously excruciating—due to the fact that you didn't give enough effort to push her away.

Well that was what Wednesday felt, yet she didn't dare speak a word.

Yet, your concerned gaze goes unnoticed by the Addams. Too busy understanding something much more complex, some thing she wants to annihilate to bits.

______+______

A/N: not proofread idk im too lazy and its too long, deleting ts if i can't get a second or even a third part out LMAOO ts hs been in my drafts for MONTHS.

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about how deeply lucanis' life has been defined by a lack of control of that life -- as he himself points out, even before the ossuary went and carved the headline out again with big bloody letters. of course he reacts badly to losing what little control he did manage to construct for himself even within those circumstances.

(namely: experience has taught him that things (caterina, loss, pain, love, all horribly and indelibly intermingled) will happen to him whether he wants them to or not and there's nothing he can do about that... but he gets to decide what's let in or out of his soul as it happens, even if he has to close it all down and deaden and numb himself out in the process. (even if that means he drifts further and further away from illario, who's been desperately reaching out and trying to keep hold of him until he finally gives up completely and tries to cut the bond all at once when lucanis doesn't seem to reach back anymore.) it's such rare well-observed freeze logic solidly constructed from the bottom up, I'm still so impressed with it.

the way illario seeks constant external means to cope with caterina's abuse and importance in his life -- he can't win her admiration or acceptance or warmth (or like. acknowledgement even, at times :') ), no matter what, so he goes out and finds those things in others and then disdains and dismisses it for how easily and falsely it's won from them. he plots, he conspires, he tries to beat her at her own game however clumsily, he tries. lucanis doesn't try things that way. he's not about 'how do I improve my situation' by nature, he's 'how can I stop this from getting worse'. he avoids, he internalizes, he hunkers down and makes himself nothing until the pain maybe ends. he's fundamentally not a plotter, he's a reacter. an expert assassin pantser, if you will, to illario's clear and stated exasperation fhsak. man I love them. illario says 'get us out of here!!! if you loved me as I love you you'd help me get us out of here before it kills us both', lucanis says 'there is no other place, there's nowhere to go, all we can do is endure. and if it kills us... well, that's just family. that's what love is (the way things are headed I'll die first anyway so it's fine I won't have to face losing you)', and they're equally baffled and hurt by each other's POV. but they're both right, and they're both wrong. there's no 'right' way to deal with caterina's treatment of them, or their situation. the house always wins, if you pardon the expression. house dellamorte still stands and that is what matters to caterina in the end more than anything.

it also fits so well b/c like... their core wounds are that illario is the least favourite and is constantly dismissed, so he has to prove to caterina again and again that he matters. not even that he's worth love or respect or warm regard, but that he's here at all and as such should be considered. he has to shout 'in case u forgot I EXIST!!' at the top of his lungs or else be rendered nothing within the family structure (and himself, because it's all about family, that's all that really matters. in some weird twisted way I think caterina openly declaring him before all the other crows to still be of house dellamorte -- and no one from house dellamorte kneels -- is kind of a victory for him, as much as it's also a furthering of a prison sentence and public humiliation. house dellamorte brainfuckery goes hard.). lucanis is the favourite, and it's the double-edged sword that he gets all the affection and attention but also all the control and impossible expectations. drowning under all of that constant stress and close evaluation, his brain whispers 'I don't exist' to try to escape, to hide and hold on to the deep parts of himself that are crucial to life but not part of the perfect grandson caterina demands of him as the price of her love.)

I think a lot about how what seems to disquiet lucanis the most post-ossuary (as it would anyone with that psychological makeup) is the dissolving of internal boundaries and control he's been relying on, which is part of what spite symbolizes. his anger and reactivity has seceded from the union to the point of personification as a little guy (a little guy he resents and fears for his unpredictability and invasions into regions of his psyche he wishes to stay frozen and barren, and yet cares about deeply, loves! and also constantly dismisses and frequently helplessly lets down unless he's helped to learn to do otherwise. does this remind you of another relationship in his life, perhaps. it makes me feel nuts to think about the illario/spite parallels thanks for asking), and now that little guy is out there running the show freely the moment he glances away or closes his eyes. literal nightmare scenario I feel for him so deeply. so much of his coping is predicated on being able to Not do or feel or want certain things, and that's out the window now, Spite has Opinions. Spite refuses to stay wisely in place even if that place is hell on the logic that if you move you could find yourself in a place that's even worse, somehow. Spite actually wants to experience the world, however fucked up and scarring the way he arrived here, not just endure it. Spite means he has to face that maybe illario wasn't wrong all those years, at the same time as having to admit and face what illario has done to him, and figure out what to do about any of it.

anyway. mary kirby ma'am that's some good fucking metaphor work. thank you, and sorry about all the shit that happened

[hauntedwitch04]

Little one

Sam Winchester x reader

Words: about 3.9k words

Warnings: smut, smut, I forgot to say smut, DESTIEL BECAUSE I LOVE THEM, dirty talk

Author’s note: Hi loves! I finally managed to write some more after the crazy week I had. Hope you like it, your witch Becky

Requests are open I Ask

My masterlist

Join the Taglist

If you like my works, consider to buy me a coffee - Patreon submission

KINKTOBER ...........-..........KINKTOBER TAGLIST 2023

DAY 5: Size kink

"Hey little one do you need a hand?" You hear Sam ask, hearing in his tone of voice that silly little sly smile you hate so much. You huff as still with your back turned you don't even turn to look at him, knowing you couldn't help but melt under the gaze of his green eyes. You feel him coming up behind you, his chest brushing against your back as you see his hand reach for the book you've been reaching for for more than ten minutes. His presence behind you almost makes your knees give way.

The two of you have been playing this game for weeks now, provoking the other but at the same time neither of you seems to have the courage to take matters into their own hands and drag the other into your bedroom. A few days ago Sam realized how sensitive you are to the size difference between the two of you. You have never considered yourself short, you have always been average, but next to him you look little more than a smurf. He is literally a giant, and that doesn't mean he is merely tall, but because of the life you lead he has developed a lot of muscles in his arms and chest, as well as perfect abs, and that makes him imposing, and fuck if that isn't attractive. You get lost in thinking what it must be like to be under him, enclosed between his warm body and his bed, but almost immediately you are interrupted by a cough behind you. You turn and see him with a raised eyebrow looking at you amused. Now the two of you are face to face, or rather you have your face at his chest level, and in fact you have to look up to stare into his eyes.

The man in front of you seems to be quite amused by this, in fact he leans forward a little, thinking you would move for that movement, and instead you stand still, not showing weakness.

"Careful little one your neck will hurt if you keep holding it like that. Maybe we should buy a stepladder at least you'd be able to look me in the eye without any trouble." Says Sam, a breath away from your lips.

"You giant asshole, I swear I'll cut your balls off if-" You start to threaten him, but you are interrupted by a new voice. Castiel has just entered the room and is looking at you with a questioning expression before shouting.

"Dean they are doing it again." He says to the other hunter who immediately responds to the angel, threatening you as well.

"Home run before you see things you don't want to see. And you two stop circling around the fact that you want to fuck. There's too much sexual tension in the air and no one can take it anymore. You better find a solution or I swear I'll have the next witch I meet charm you." Says the brother of the man in front of you, from the kitchen, making both you and Sammy blush.

"Fuck you Dean." Sam manages to say, not looking you in the eye. Immediately you turn away from each other, going in different directions.

You arrive in your room, close the door, and lean against it as you take a breath of relief.

You can't deny that there is not that sexual tension between the two of you that Dean accuses you of, but at the same time you don't have the courage to take that extra step for fear of being rejected because treacherously you think Sam intends all that as a kind of game between the two of you, but nothing more. You stay for a moment thinking again about the feeling of his body so big and muscular against yours. You felt so small and helpless, and yet you were not afraid, in fact all your brain could process were rather spicy situations with the youngest of the Winchesters. Then suddenly you violently detach yourself from the door, as your mind was again training itself in those overly specific thoughts of what it would be like to be fucked by Sam, placed on all fours on his bed, while he on top of you, with his chest pressed against your back, holding the bed keyboard with one strong hand to make stronger, firmer thrusts. You get lost in thinking about what it must feel like to have his kisses on your bare back with the light beard he has, what one of his strong hands gripping one of your hips must feel like, or his cock pushing in. You decide it's time for a cold shower at the very moment you're left thinking about whether the size of his member is directly proportional to everything else, hoping that at least that might bring you back to your senses a little.

You've never been much of a person who likes to go to parties, but you certainly can't say no to a nice evening with your favorite people spent drinking and singing your favorite songs. By now it is very late and both Dean and Cas have gone to bed, no matter how much the last one doesn't sleep, but by now since they had declared themselves to each other they had created a routine, thanks to which the oldest of the Winchesters is finally able to sleep without nightmares. You are happy forni your friends, they both deserve the small portion of happiness that fate has reserved for them, and on the contrary you wish they had fi more. Since they've gone to bed, though, you and Sam are left alone, with more than ample amount of alcohol in your system, which is a bit dangerous considering the thoughts some days that led you to take a shower so cold that even penguins would beat their beaks for cold.

You and young Winchester spent those days avoiding each other, and when you couldn't, all you could do was avoid each other's gaze and not blush.

You remain silent again, enjoying that peace to which you are not very accustomed. You are sitting side by side, and you can't help but slowly move closer to his body, attracted by the warmth it produces.

It seems like hours go by, and maybe it's only a few minutes, but eventually he interrupts that state of stillness.

"Can I ask you a question?" Sammy asks, turning toward you, and you can't help but be a little annoyed by his question, but you nod as you down some more alcohol. He seems to consider what words to use.

"Have you ever thought of anything more than this between us?" The man asks, looking you in the eye. You pause with your glass in midair, petrified by that question. For a moment it crosses your mind that he has figured out how you feel about him, but then you look at him and see him waiting for your answer and realize that he is really only asking you out of pure curiosity.

"Why did you think of that?" You ask in turn defensively. You see him hesitate for a moment as you did a few seconds earlier, but eventually he flashes you a smile, regaining all the resourcefulness he has shown in this last period.

"Oh little one, I'm afraid I'd scare you if I told you all the things I've been thinking about doing with you." He says in a rough, sensual voice, and you immediately feel a shiver go down your spine. You feel him move closer to you, while you remain still, afraid that if you moved even a finger, this whole situation would vanish like a soap bubble. You think more than once that all this is a dream produced by the alcohol in your system, then you feel his lips on your neck and realize that it is all true.

"Well you could show me a couple of things you've imagined doing with me, and I'll tell you if they're the same things I've thought of." I say in a whisper, as he continues to nibble on my neck, leaving sweet kisses at times.

"You're going to fucking kill me sooner or later." Sam comments before standing up, and with a smooth, quick movement, hoisting me onto his shoulder. I let out a soft yelp, before starting to bombard him with threats and questions.

"Sam Winchester, let me go now! Where are you taking me?" I ask, trying not to give away that just that simple gesture that showcased his strength and how much bigger he was physically than you was turning you on.

"In the room, unless you want to be fucked here where anyone could walk in at any moment. I didn't take you for that kind of person, but we could always try it another time." He says chuckling, while you in response punch him lightly in the back. "Besides, from here I have a first-class view of your ass." He continues nonchalantly, and you can't help but blush.

"Sam!" You take him back, but he immediately doesn't give you time to continue.

"Little one, don't be an angel, because we both know how many times you've thought about doing dirty things with me, and you can't even lie because it was all over your face." Notices Sam, scolding you as one scolds a child who has eaten too much candy.

"Like you had a marble mask on, and you couldn't see all the times you looked at my boobs." You comment, as you try to figure out by now where you are, but the corridors of the bunker are all dark and you can't quite get your bearings.

"It's not my fault you have particularly nice tits." He replies, as if it were a given, and you can't help but laugh at the situation. Your laughter is interrupted, however, when Sam throws you onto what you recognize to be his bed.

The playful air that had been created disappears in an instant and gives way to a new tension, steeped in passion and mischief. The youngest Winchester slides all the way down your body until his plump lips are inches from yours. The feel of his body, so large compared to yours, is even better than you had imagined. He spends a few seconds teasing you, kissing all over your face and the area near your mouth, but he doesn't touch your lips a single time, until you slip your hands into his hair and force him to do so. He smiles against your lips, and when you pull away to get some air, he teases you.

"Someone is a little impatient, what can't you wait to feel my cock inside you anymore?" He asks rhetorically, while his hands begin working to remove the several layers of clothes you are wearing.

"All promises Winchester, it's time to keep them." You say, trying to answer him again in kind as pleasure begins to work its way through you.

"You'll regret this shamelessness little one, another time, not today, but next time I won't be as good to you as I will be this time."

Quickly he removes the few clothes you have on while you do the same to him, a little groggy from pleasure and a little from alcohol.

He kisses your neck, leaving red, biting marks as he slowly moves down to your breasts, to remove the bra you still have on. He takes one of your nipples in his teeth, while the other teases it with his hand.

Once he is done torturing your breasts, he goes down to your navel with his kisses and then gently bites your panties. A shiver runs through you again as you feel his lips graze the skin of your legs, while he stares into your eyes and pulls them off with such slowness that you feel faint before long at how hard your heart is beating.

"You better get moving Winchester." You try to threaten him, once he completely peels off the penultimate layer of clothing that stood between you and him, since he still has his boxers on.

"Or what small thing? I don't think you're in a position to threaten me." He comments amused, before returning to your center, and leaving sweet kisses all around in your inner thigh. You can't help but sigh as you slip a hand into his soft, long hair, trying to take him where you most desire.

"Fuck you." That's all you can say in response, and he can't help but laugh. Eventually Sam lets you guide him where you want him, and finally his lips meet those of your pussy. You can't help but let out a moan mixed with a scream as the man squeezes your clit between his teeth as he had done with your nipples earlier. With his tongue he continues to lick you, slowly increasing the pleasure.

Suasult when you also feel his fingers join in the torture, as he rhythmically works them into you. His fingers are long and big, enough to reach all the right places, and make you wriggle between the covers of the now unmade bed, making you clutch the sheet so tight you thought it would tear.

Eventually, faster than it had ever happened to you, you feel the orgasm coming, with the impetuosity of a wave ready to sweep whatever it meets in its path.

"Sam- fuck- please don't stop." You beg him, as you continue to move your hips under his mouth to create more friction.

"Oh my little one is cumming?" He asks, pulling away from you slightly.

"Sam, please." You beg him again as you run a hand through his hair again, and he can't help but moan as you do so.

He doesn't respond to you, but his actions speak for themselves as he again begins to lick your center as he speeds his fingers entering your pussy. A few minutes pass and you finally reach orgasm, and for a second you think you lose contact with the whole world. All you hear in your ears is blood pulsing, your eyes narrowed as your lips hold back a scream, while your hands continue to cling tightly to Sam's hair. Once you regain your breath and some clarity you stop and look at Sammy who is now looking at you seriously. Around your mouth you can still see the remnants of the otherworldly experience you just had.

"Are you okay?" He asks you as he licks his lips.

"Never felt better." You answer, as you signal for him to come up. He complies and comes with his face at the same height as yours. You kiss him softly, and he can't help but do the same. It is very different from the kiss you shared earlier, passionate and impetuous, but no less sensual and beautiful. Then suddenly you take him by surprise and reverse the situation by finding yourself on top of him.

"Now it's my turn to torture you a little." You whisper in his ear before moving down to his boxers. You slip them off him the same way he took off your underwear, which is with your teeth, and you hear him cursing as you brush against his now very obvious erection. Then unable to hold back you take his member with your hands, and like everything in your body it seems to be huge compared to you, but in this case you don't really know if it is your point of view or is objective. You tease his entire length with your tongue, before starting to suck lightly at the tip, while moving your hand along everything else you don't touch. Immediately his hand, almost as big as your head, gets stuck in your hair and begins to send you further and further down, at the pace he likes best. That's how Sam begins to fuck your mouth, at first slower, going steadily increasing, so that the last thrusts you feel his cock coming down your throat, and you can't help but get aroused when you feel the air miss you. He continues this game for a few minutes, until with a series of moans where he screams your name he doesn't cum in your mouth, and you swallow everything he gives you.

"That's my girl." Sammy comments as he catches his breath, but you see a spark in his eyes that tells you you're not even close to the end.

"So far we've been playing, now comes the main course." He continues, as again he reverses the situation, bringing you under him. You feel one of your thighs open, and with his knee he stimulates your pussy. Immediately you let out a scream that he silences with his lips. You begin to kiss more and more passionately as you feel him driving his cock in front of your entrance. The moment he is about to push in for the first time, you stop him by asking him a question?

"Are you sure it fits?" You ask slightly frightened by his size, and excited at the same time. He looks at you and chuckles a little, throwing his head into the crook of your neck.

"It's just that I've never had anyone so ...great, it's no laughing matter Winchester!" You continue, chuckling in turn. He kisses you gently on the nose before answering you.

"I promise in case it does you, you'll just have to tell me and we'll stop right away, okay?" He asks seriously, watching you as he moves a strand of hair away from your face. "Besides, I think the orgasm has prepared you well honey." He finishes by winking at you. He kisses you again but this one more gently, trying to distract you. You feel him enter you, and for a moment you think you have died and are in your own little piece of heaven.

"Are you okay little one?" Sam asks seeing your closed eyes and clenched fists holding the pillow.

"Oh God, Winchester you better move your ass and fuck me before I come at this exact moment." You whisper, as you release one hand to bring him to you and kiss him. You feel him begin to thrust in and out of you, picking up a rather fast pace as he stimulates one of your breasts with one hand and his lips are busy making more marks on your neck, lest he cry out your name in pleasure. You are not much better off, so much so that at one point you feel an iron taste of blood in your mouth from how much you bit your lips to keep Cas and Dean from hearing you. You keep moving in unison, seeking pure pleasure.

"God baby, you are so perfect. You don't know how much I've dreamed of having you under me, screaming my name, rocking your world." Sam comments, before kissing one of your breasts. "I love your body, so small compared to mine, so much that I'm afraid I'll break you every time I touch you, but at the same time so sinful that I can't stop myself from doing the worst sins they ever came up with even in hell."

You fail to respond too caught up in everything the boy is making you feel. You feel like it's the first time in years you've breathed again, the first time you've really tasted oxygen.

"Sam, please, I'm going to-" You are interrupted by a kiss from him.

"Me too baby." He replies after pulling away from your lips. "Your pussy is squeezing my cock so hard, I think I'm about to go crazy." He comments, and it seems that his words are the keys to reach again that already before, only with his fingers had you tasted, but that was but a paltry appetizer, this was of the magnitude of a wedding feast. Your whole body quivers with force, as your center, in pleasure, tightens even tighter around his size, making you feel the size of his member even more.

Just as Sam's words were for you, for him it seems that your orgasm triggers his, in fact when you finally seem to have regained some mental clarity, after spending several minutes with your mind clouded, drowsy with pleasure, you feel your womb being filled with his seed, and you have another orgasm, smaller than before, but still quite important.

It is some time before both of you have caught your breath, in each other's arms. You remain in silence enjoying the warmth of the naked body of the person you love by your side. Then without saying a word Sam moves to your side and encircles you with his arms, having spread a blanket over your uncovered bodies. You fall asleep within minutes, with a smile on your lips, both of you happy to be close to the one you love, and especially happy to know that the one you love loves you back.

BONUS (I can't help it, I love bonuses too much :) )

Dean sits at the kitchen table as Cas hands him a steaming cup of coffee. He thanks him with a whisper before sipping his drink in silence. The only noise in the room is that of the liquid slipping over his lips as the two lovers stare into the void, lost in their own thoughts. Eventually it is the angel who breaks the silence.

"We need to soundproof the rooms better." He comments, and Dean can make no more than a sound of approval. They had not slept a wink because of your shouting, and as happy as they were to know that now the tension between the two of you had been cleared up, they also did not want to hear how their nephew was created, since his brother and you had not made much effort to be quiet. And this was not the first time. Since you had come out to each other now almost a month ago, every night you had done nothing but shout each other's names in pleasure, so much so that often both Dean and Cas had decided to go for a drive, but they couldn't take it anymore.

"You're damn right." Dean says before taking another sip of coffee. "You know I almost preferred it when they hadn't come out, now I'm afraid to turn the corner and watch them procreate on the library table." Dean comments amused, finishing his drink as he sees his boyfriend shoot him a look and a smile.

"As if we never did." Cas says, laughing.

"But they don't know that." Dean replies, giving him a wink, then getting up and leaving a gentle kiss on his forehead and heading out of the room, obviously checking to make sure you are not in it.

TAGLIST

@laurennnomg @deanwinchestersgirl87 @samanddeansannoyingsis @ash04w3 @l3viathanpup @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @wafflezo @the-house-of-rose-and-ember @shodowbane09 @acidicpickle @supernatural-lvr

[drtyelvisfantasy]

OH, BABY, BABY

CHAPTER ONE

note: this chapter is like really sad 😔 but thank you everyone for the support, I really appreciate it <3 Don't forget to like and reblog💕

warnings: domestic abuse, emotional abuse, toxic relationship dynamics, swearing, feeling neglected, distressing themes

*this is a part of my lineman!rafe x stripper!reader au

13 years ago

Margaret is already 10 months old. It's crazy how fast time flies. As I get older, it feels like it moves even faster—so fast, I can hardly keep up. Her development is happening so quickly. She can stand on her own now, though she’s not quite walking yet. But she’s such a chatterbox, babbling away nonstop. It’s like she’s having full conversations with herself, making the cutest sounds and coos. I just wish I could freeze this moment and stay here forever.

The holiday season is finally here, and Christmas is just around the corner. Rafe couldn’t make it for Thanksgiving, for obvious reasons, but he promised he’d be here for Christmas. His promise brings up a lot of mixed feelings. On one hand, I really want to believe him, but on the other, his constant absences and the way he’s been distant with me and the baby make it hard to fully trust that he’ll actually show up.

I pick up the phone and dial Rafe’s number, it rings a few times before he finally answers. His voice is casual and nonchalant, just like always.

"What’s up?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to check in." I say. 

“Oh, sure, you just wanted to check in. You sure it’s not because you missed me?” Rafe teases, his tone light and playful.

“Well that too, but Margaret misses you more.” I respond to Rafe.

 “It seems like she always misses me,” Rafe says, his voice laced with that familiar playful tone.

The conversation with Rafe flows somewhat easily, the familiar back-and-forth making it feel almost normal again. But as the words come out, I can’t help but press him on something that’s been weighing on me—the whole Christmas situation. I ask him again if he’s really going to make it down, knowing full well he hates when I bring it up. He never keeps his promises, and yet I feel like I have to ask, just to get some kind of reassurance. Of course, he gets defensive, his tone shifting quickly. I can feel his frustration building, and he gets rude, as usual, like he always does when he doesn’t want to face the truth.

“Well, did you get me and Margaret something for Christmas?” 

I hear him sigh on the other end of the line before he answers, clearly not thrilled with the question. "I don't know, I haven't really thought about it," he says, his voice a little defensive. "Why? You expect me to get you both something?"

I try to keep my tone light, but there's an edge to it. "I just thought you might want to, I don’t know, make it right this time." I can feel the weight of his silence on the other end as I add, "It’s not just about the gifts, Rafe. It’s about showing up, being here for us."

There's a long pause before he finally speaks again, this time quieter, almost like he's actually considering it. "I'll figure something out," he mutters, the words lacking the usual arrogance but still holding a hint of uncertainty. "Just... don’t expect too much, alright?"

“Okay, well I have to go now. Margaret is getting fussy so that means it’s bedtime.”

Rafe lets out a sigh before responding, his tone a mix of frustration and resignation. "Alright, I get it. Baby needs her beauty sleep. I’ll let you go," he says, the words coming out almost dismissively. But then, his voice softens just a little, a hint of sincerity slipping through. "But I promise, I’ll be there for Christmas."

I don’t know why, but hearing him say that makes my chest tighten. I want to believe him, really, I do. But after everything, it’s hard to just let myself hope.

— 

Rafe managed to convince his wife, Sofia, to have their Christmas dinner the day before Christmas Eve so he could spend Christmas Day with me and Margaret. It felt like a small victory, but at the same time, it left me feeling conflicted. I appreciated the effort, sure, but I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that his priorities were always split, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long this would actually last. Still, the fact that he was making the effort, even if it was just for one day, gave me a sliver of hope.

As Rafe and I wake up on Christmas Day, I can't help but notice the mood he's in. He’s more grouchy and irritable than usual, but honestly, that’s nothing new at this point. He grumbles under his breath as he gets out of bed, clearly not in the best mood. He walks off toward the bathroom attached to my bedroom, the sound of his footsteps heavy as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Rafe?" I call out, my voice sleepy and confused, still half-dazed from sleep. The room is dim, and I can barely make out his figure in the soft light. I rub my eyes, trying to wake up. 

I can hear him in the bathroom, mumbling under his breath, clearly in a bad mood. It’s hard to make out the words, but the frustration in his tone is obvious. After a moment, he calls out to me, his voice sharp and irritable. "What?"

I flinch a little, surprised by the tone, and a knot forms in my stomach. I’m not sure what’s going on with him, but it feels like the tension is only growing.

"You’re up already?" I say with a smile, trying to ease the tension in the room. I’m not sure if it’ll work, but I give it a shot, hoping to lighten the mood just a little. I don't want to spend the whole day feeling this heavy air between us, especially not on Christmas.

Rafe leans against the frame of the bathroom door with his arms crossed. His eyes are narrow, and his expression remains grumpy. He scoffs at my cheerful demeanour and rolls his eyes. “Yeah I’m up. Did you expect me to sleep in until noon or something?”

"No, I was just... never mind," I respond back, my voice a little quieter, trying to brush it off. I can tell he’s not in the mood for a conversation, and I don’t want to push him further. Rafe continues to ignore my attempt to talk, too focused on brushing his teeth. His movements are sharp and aggressive, almost like he’s taking out all his frustration on the toothbrush. He doesn’t even look at me, keeping his gaze fixed in the mirror, his posture stiff and tense.

“I’m gonna go get Margaret and get her ready.” I say. 

Rafe responds through clenched teeth, still visibly annoyed. “Yeah, you do that.” He finishes brushing his teeth quickly, almost slamming the toothbrush down, and then walks out of the bathroom without another word. He heads straight for the living room, his back to me as he goes, leaving a thick silence in his wake. It’s like he’s shutting me out completely.

I walk over to Margaret’s nursery to get her ready for the day. She groggily opens her eyes as I wake her up, letting out a soft whimper as she’s still a little fussy. She rubs her eyes with her tiny fists and looks up at me, her face scrunched into a pouty expression.

"Hey, baby, it’s okay," I say, my voice gentle as I scoop her up into my arms. Her warmth against me brings a small sense of comfort, and I try to steady my own nerves as I soothe her, hoping the day won’t feel as heavy as it already seems. She coos softly, her small hands reaching out to grab onto my robe, her tiny fingers curling around the fabric like she’s holding onto me for reassurance. It’s a simple gesture, but it makes my heart swell, reminding me why I have to keep going, no matter how complicated things feel with Rafe.

—

I walk into the living room and gently put Margaret down in her playpen, turning on some cartoons to keep her entertained for a little while. I take a deep breath and make my way into the kitchen to start making breakfast, hoping the familiar routine will help ease the tension in the air. As I walk past the living room, I notice Rafe sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, his body slouched and distant. He doesn’t acknowledge me as I pass, still lost in whatever’s on his screen, and it stings more than I want to admit.

“What do you want for breakfast?” I call out to Rafe, trying to break the silence a little.

Rafe glances up from his phone, his face still set in that grouchy expression. He responds with a shrug, irritation creeping into his voice. “I don’t care, just make whatever.” I can hear the sharpness in his tone, and it hits me harder than it should. I try not to let it show, though, focusing on getting breakfast started. 

"Okay," I respond back to Rafe, keeping my tone neutral. I don’t argue, just focus on getting breakfast ready. I listen to his request and start making something quick—waffles in the toaster, scrambled eggs, and bacon sizzling in the pan. I move quickly, trying to get everything done fast so I don’t keep Rafe waiting any longer. The kitchen fills with the smells of breakfast, but somehow, it still feels like the room is lacking warmth.

“Rafe, breakfast is ready, and can you put Margaret in her high chair for me?” I call out, trying to keep things moving.

Rafe nods wordlessly, not saying anything, and gets up from the couch. He walks over to the playpen in the living room, scooping up Margaret into his arms with a practiced ease. He walks over to the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. Carefully, he places her in her high chair, his face still set in that irritated expression. Margaret babbles and coos, completely unaware of the tension in the room, her tiny hands reaching for the tray with excitement. It’s almost like nothing else matters to her, and in that moment, it’s hard not to envy her innocence.

"I’ll go get your food," I say to Rafe, keeping my voice calm and steady, even though the tension still lingers in the air. I turn back toward the counter, fixing his plate quickly—waffles, scrambled eggs, and a couple strips of bacon. Simple, but enough. I place everything neatly, trying not to overthink it, and bring it over to the table, setting it down in front of him without another word. 

He stays unenthusiastic about the meal, barely reacting as he starts to eat quietly. The tension still lingers around him, heavy and unspoken. But despite his grumpy demeanor, I catch him glancing over at Margaret every now and then. She’s happily munching on little pieces of waffle, making a mess and babbling to herself between bites. And for a split second, something shifts in Rafe’s expression—a hint of a soft smile forms on his lips as he watches his baby girl. He tries to hide it, looking away quickly, but it’s there. Subtle, but real.

“What’s wrong, Rafe? You seem upset this morning,” I ask, my voice soft with concern as I watch him pick at his food.

He pauses for a moment, his fork mid-air, then sets it down with a quiet clink.

"Nothing’s wrong," he mutters, still not meeting my eyes. "I’m fine."

His voice isn’t sharp—just tired, worn down in a way that makes my chest tighten. There’s a heaviness behind his words, something unspoken that lingers in the space between us. He might say he’s fine, but everything about him says otherwise.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” I say gently. “That’s all.”

He gives a small nod, still not fully looking at me, but the tension in his shoulders seems to ease—just a little. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Thanks.”

It’s not much, but it’s something. And in this moment, I’ll take it.

There’s not much of a conversation after that. I try to keep things light, mentioning opening gifts, asking about plans for the next day, even what he might want for dinner—but it’s like talking to a wall. His responses are short, one-worded, or sometimes just silence.

I push through it at first, hoping he’ll warm up, but the more I talk, the more it feels like I’m talking to myself. The awkwardness settles in, and I can feel that familiar sting in my chest. I sit there, nodding along to my own words, trying to hold on to some sense of normalcy, but deep down, I just feel stupid—like I’m trying too hard for someone who doesn’t even want to meet me halfway.

—

After cleaning up breakfast and finishing a few tasks around the house, we all eventually gather in the living room to open the presents under the tree. The lights twinkle softly, and the sound of wrapping paper crinkling fills the room, but the atmosphere still feels a little off.

Rafe is still clearly in a mood—quiet, withdrawn—but I can tell he’s trying, at least a little, for Margaret’s sake. He forces a small smile here and there, helps her tear the wrapping paper, and lets out a chuckle when she gets excited over something as simple as a stuffed animal.

It’s not perfect. The tension is still there, hanging just beneath the surface. But for a few moments, as Margaret giggles and babbles happily in the middle of it all, it almost feels okay. Almost.

“Aww, Rafe, look—she likes it,” I say with a soft smile, watching Margaret wrap her tiny arms around the new Winnie the Pooh stuffy he got her. She holds it tight against her chest, rocking slightly with excitement, her face lit up with pure joy.

Rafe glances over, his expression softening just a little as he watches her. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, the heaviness in the room seems to lift.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess I did good with that one.”

It’s a small moment, but it feels meaningful—something warm breaking through the cold.

“Don’t look all sad,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “I got you something.”

I reach under the tree and pull out the gift I picked for him, holding it out toward him with a little grin. Rafe’s expression shifts, a bit surprised, as I mention the gift. He raises an eyebrow, his grumpy attitude slowly fading, just slightly.

“You got me something?” Rafe responds, his tone softer now, almost curious.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” I say with a slight shrug, trying to keep things light.

Rafe looks at me for a moment, then starts carefully peeling back the decorated wrapping paper on the small box. He pauses when he sees the watch inside, his fingers brushing over it for a second before he picks it up, turning it over in his hand.

“Wow,” he murmurs, glancing up at me, his voice a little less guarded. “This is... actually really nice.”

“Try it on, I wanna see how it looks on you,” I say, a playful grin tugging at my lips.

Rafe nods, his expression softening as he slips the watch onto his wrist, adjusting the strap to fit securely. He holds out his arm, showcasing the sleek design of the watch with a subtle flicker of pride in his eyes.

“How’s it look? Not too bad?” he asks, glancing at me, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“Looks good, just like you,” I say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. He meets my eyes, and I catch the smallest, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Rafe’s expression changes for a moment as he remembers something. He reaches under the tree and pulls out a small jewelry box, his movements a bit more deliberate this time. He hands it to me with a soft look in his eyes.

"Here, this is for you," he says, his voice quieter than before. "I hope you like it."

I take the box from him, a small surprise flickering inside me. I can’t help but smile as I slowly open it, curious about what’s inside. The moment feels different, more genuine than it has all day.

As I open the box, my eyes immediately land on the beautiful diamond ring sparkling inside. My breath catches in my throat as I gaze at it, the light catching the facets of the stone, making it shimmer. I glance up at Rafe, and I can see the way he’s watching me, his eyes a little more intense, his heart probably beating a little faster as he waits for my reaction.

“Oh, Rafe…” I whisper, my voice filled with surprise and emotion. “It’s beautiful.”

As I express my enthusiasm about the ring, rafe quickly interjects with a slightly serious tone.

“Hold on, don’t get too excited. It’s not an engagement ring or anything,” Rafe says, his tone a bit more defensive than I expected. “I just got it for you because I knew you’d like it. Understood?”

I’m quickly taken aback by his comment, the words hitting me harder than I thought they would. It feels like a cold splash of water, and suddenly, the happy moment turns bitter. The excitement I felt fades almost immediately, replaced by a knot in my stomach. It’s like the air in the room shifted, and now all I can focus on is the sharpness in his tone.

I stare at the ring in my hand, trying to process what just happened, but I can’t shake the sting of his words.

Rafe notices the subtle shift in my mood and frowns slightly, his gaze softening just a little as he realizes what he’s said has affected me more than he intended. He leans back, his posture defensive, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Why are you looking so sad? I thought you liked the ring.”

“I do like it,” I reply quickly, trying to reassure him, but my voice feels heavy. “I just thought things would be different by now, you know? I just thought you’d be here permanently.”

The words slip out before I can stop them, and once I say them, I feel a lump in my throat. It’s been building up for so long, this longing, this hope that things would finally settle into something more certain, more permanent. And right now, it feels like that dream is slipping further away, leaving me wondering if it’ll ever happen.

Rafe’s expression hardens, and I can see the annoyance creeping into his features as he listens to my concerns. His eyes flicker with frustration as he notices the hurt and disappointment in mine. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly agitated, and his voice comes out with an edge.

“This again? I thought we discussed this,” he says, his tone sharp. “I told you from the beginning that I have a life back in North Carolina. I have a wife and kids. I can’t just stay here permanently.” The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Rafe’s frustration grows, his jaw tightening as the conversation continues to spiral. He runs a hand through his hair again, clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check. Then, without another word, he abruptly gets up from the couch and storms out of the living room, his footsteps heavy as he heads towards my bedroom. The door slams shut with a force that makes the walls tremble, leaving the room silent in the wake of his anger.

I sit there for a moment, the sound of the door echoing in my ears. The tension in the air feels suffocating, and I’m left staring at the spot where he had been, my chest tight with a mix of hurt and confusion.

—

I decided it would be best if we took some family pictures before dinner, knowing Rafe wouldn’t be up for it after eating.

As the camera timer on my phone starts counting down, Rafe stands next to me, his expression a mix of annoyance and resignation. He attempts to put on a smile for the photo, but it’s clear as day that he’s not thrilled about being in front of the camera. His smile is tight, almost forced, and not at all genuine.

The click of the camera echoes in the room, and as I lower the phone, Rafe’s smile immediately drops. He doesn’t say anything, but his posture seems to stiffen, and the tension that’s been hanging between us all day feels even heavier. I turn to head to the kitchen, my mind still swirling with everything that’s happened, and I can feel his gaze linger on me for a moment.

In the kitchen, I try to focus on preparing dinner, but the quiet in the air is suffocating. The mood hasn’t shifted, and Rafe’s sour mood still hangs over everything, making the space feel colder than it should. I can’t help but wonder if it’s something I said, something I did, or if it’s just the weight of everything else that’s still pulling him down.

The dinner is the same as breakfast. Not a lot of talking, just eating.

“So, do you like the food?” I ask Rafe, trying to keep my tone light despite the tension.

Rafe lifts his gaze to me as I ask, his eyes scanning my face for a moment before he answers. He takes a beat before responding, his expression still somewhat guarded, like he’s holding something back.

“It’s fine,” he says curtly, returning to his meal as if the conversation is over.

“It’s fine? That’s all you have to say?” I respond, my voice rising a little in frustration.

Rafe notices the irritation in my voice and senses the shift in the atmosphere. He sighs heavily, setting down his fork with a slight clink. He looks up at me, his eyes flickering with a hint of annoyance, the tension still thick between us.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, his voice sharp. “You cooked dinner, it tastes alright, end of story.”

His tone is biting, and it stings more than I expect. It feels like he’s shutting down everything I’ve tried to put into this, and I can’t help but feel the frustration bubbling up inside me. The effort I’ve made, the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d appreciate something, seems to have fallen flat.

He picks up his fork again and resumes eating, his body language clearly signaling the end of the conversation.

“Um, was thinking we could watch a movie before bed. Maybe we could watch Elf?” I say, hoping it might bring some sort of warmth or connection.

Rafe doesn't even look up from his plate as he quickly declines, his response sharp and dismissive.

“I’m not really in the mood for a movie,” he says curtly, his tone flat. “I’ll probably just head to bed after dinner.”

I nod silently, feeling the weight of his words settle in. It’s like everything I suggest, every attempt to bridge the distance between us, is being pushed away. The hope I’d been holding onto seems to be slipping through my fingers, leaving me with a quiet, painful emptiness.

—

The rest of dinner passes in an awkward silence, the air between us thick with unspoken words. Rafe eventually decides to head to bed, seeking some rest, while I’m left to clean up the kitchen and get Margaret ready for bed. The clinking of dishes and the quiet hum of the house only seem to highlight the emptiness that’s grown between us.

After finishing up in the kitchen, I head to Margaret’s room, putting her to bed with a quiet kiss on her forehead. I linger for a moment, watching her peacefully drift off, her small form curled up under the blanket.

Once I’m done, I stand there for a second, trying to shake off the weight of the day. It’s been mentally draining, emotionally exhausting, and I can’t bear another second of the tension that still lingers in the house. I decide it’s best to just head to bed too, hoping that sleep will offer me some reprieve, some escape from the heaviness of it all.

As I enter the bedroom, I’m caught off guard by the sight of Rafe packing up his belongings. He’s moving quickly, almost frantically, gathering his things and stuffing them into his suitcase. He doesn’t even seem to notice my presence in the room at first, his focus entirely on his task.

“Rafe, what are you doing?” I ask, my voice filled with confusion, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in his actions.

He pauses for just a moment, glancing up at me with a look of frustration and annoyance that I can’t quite place. His face tightens, and he snaps, his words sharp and quick.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing.” He replies in a fast tone, not even bothering to stop his movements as he continues shoving clothes into his bag.

The suddenness of his actions hits me like a cold wave, and for a moment, I just stand there, trying to process what’s happening.

“You said you’d be leaving tomorrow evening, not today,” I say, my voice wavering slightly as I try to keep my composure.

Rafe lets out a sharp huff, the sound laced with irritation. He glances up at me, his brows furrowed, eyes narrowing like I’m somehow the problem. “I changed my mind,” he snaps. “I decided to leave tonight. I don’t see why it’s a big deal.”

My chest tightens as I step closer, refusing to let the conversation end there. “You said you’d stay. You can’t just leave like this,” I argue, my voice rising with a mix of frustration and hurt. “What about your daughter, Rafe?”

At the mention of Margaret, Rafe hesitates. It’s just a second, but I see the flicker of something—guilt, maybe—cross his face. His hands slow for the briefest moment as he grips the edge of a shirt, his knuckles turning white. Then, just like that, he brushes it off.

“What about her?” he says, his tone cold and blunt. “She’s just a baby. She won’t even remember I’m gone.”

The words hit me like a slap, knocking the wind right out of me. I stare at him, stunned, my heart aching not just for me—but for Margaret.

Rafe finally finishes packing and starts walking out of the bedroom, I can see that he’s made up his minds to leave. He walks past me without sparing me a glance, his expression stoic and closed off.

“I’m leaving firmly, as if he’s daring me to try and stop him.

“Rafe stop it, you’re not going anywhere. Stop!” I yell trying to change Rafe’s mind.

He stops monetarily at the door, his had on the doorknob. He turns to look back at me, his expression a mix of anger and determination. His jaw clenches, and he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Why are you making this so fucking difficult? I’ve made up my mind. I’m leaving, whether you like it or not.”

I quickly grab onto Rafe’s wrist, trying to stop him, trying to keep him from walking out. My grip is firm, desperate, but it does nothing—he barely even flinches. Panic rises in my chest, and in a split second, I move in front of him, using my body to block the door. I press my hands against his chest, trying to push him back, hitting him in frustration, in fear, in disbelief.

“Rafe, please, don’t do this—”

Before I can finish, his hand suddenly connects with my face—sharp, fast, and unforgiving.

The sound rings out before the pain even registers.

I stumble backward, the sting blooming across my cheek like fire. My legs give out beneath me, and I hit the floor hard. For a moment, the world blurs. The shock, the betrayal, the ache—it all crashes into me at once. Tears spill down my cheeks uncontrollably, sobs ripping from my chest as I cradle the side of my face.

The air in the room turns heavy. Still.

Margaret starts crying in the background, her soft sobs echoing from her nursery, like she can feel the chaos too.

Rafe stands over me, his expression cold but controlled. He looks down at me with a hard gaze and warns me in a firm voice.

“Don’t you put your hands on me again. Ever. Got it?”

Rafe finally storms out, the door slamming shut behind him with a force that echoes through the apartment and me. I sit there, still on the floor, heart pounding, tears falling. He’s gone, but the ache he left behind stays. Even through the pain, I still loved him. I didn’t want to leave—I just wanted him to stay, to be better, to choose us. But maybe wanting that was never going to be enough.

[carmelves]

snippets of fics I'll never finish: 3/?

Sylus finally looks at you and you at last recognize the emotion in his eyes: rage.

“Does your life truly mean so little to you?” His voice is cold and low. 

“What?”

“It must, seeing how you throw yourself into danger time and time again.”

“Sylus, there were civilians outside, I couldn't let the wanderers get out.”

“So you use yourself as a shield? With a broken ankle, no backup, nothing but a pair of handguns?” You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, voice growing louder with each word. “five broken ribs, a punctured lung, severe blood loss… your heart stopped, MC. If I hadn't gotten there in time-” he cuts himself off and turns away, jaw clenched.

“This is my job. I knew the risks when I applied to the academy. I wanted to save lives, and that's what I'm doing. If I get hurt along the way, that's something I can accept.”

“You didn't just ‘get hurt’, you nearly died.”

You just shrug, feeling exhausted and disoriented. You know you should say more, defend your choices, promise to be more careful in the future, but resignation is all you can manage. The response only angers him further. 

“A shrug? That's all you can give me?”

You can't bear to look at him anymore, to see the anger and hurt in his eyes, so you turn your face away, closing your eyes. “I'm going to die sooner or later. Might as well help someone else while I'm at it.”

He growls, then his hand is on your chin, forcing your face back to him. “Look at me. Open your fucking eyes and look at me.”

You're unable to disobey, looking up to find him looming over you, eyes burning into yours. His voice goes deadly calm. “Since you don't seem to care about your own life, here's an incentive: if you die in the line of duty, I will raze the association to the ground.” Your eyes widen and his grip on your chin tightens, forcing you to keep looking at him as he continues. “if you die, I will personally kill every last hunter, one by one, then stand back and watch as the wanderers destroy Linkon City.”

Your breath catches in your throat, sending a painful jolt through your healing ribs. “You wouldn't.”

He laughs, low and despairing. “Beloved, you have no idea what I would do for you, what I have done for you.” His grip on your chin loosens, becoming a caress as his voice softens. “I have burned cities to ash just for a chance to see you. Don't presume to tell me what I wouldn't do.”

[romaniacs]

▌ㅤNATASHA ROMANOFF — I MISS YOU MORE THAN LIFE

( read more ) synopsis — natasha's harsh words are like a knife twisting inside your already mean brain as she's been dealing with an imminent breakdown due to work-related stress, and so she soothes you from the pain she causes herself. warnings — female reader x natasha romanoff, crying, a little bit of everything; fluff + angst… so hurt-comfort.

"y/n- you're still up?" natasha sounds tired just before her breath catches in her throat as she sees the mess she's caused, your teary eyes lifting to rest on her worried face. "baby, no, why are you crying? are you in pain? having cramps?" and your silence is brief yet loud. "is it something i said? did i… did i make you cry?"

her hands roam over your wet cheeks as she feels a wave of that nurturing energy she usually has taking over her again, as strongly as it could be after a long time of giving you nothing. when she said i don't think i wanna go out in a stressed-out tone, looking over the paperwork she had to finish yesterday, it felt a bit off to you. when she had the last bites of the food you had kept for yourself, you just sulked in a corner. woman had to eat, it was fine. when she stopped kissing you goodbye before leaving, you understood. but when you were on a call and she started cussing out as she dealt with a sudden work issue that popped up and sounded rude to you too, it was a bit too much for you.

i'll hang up, she said not long ago. i'm a bit too mad to talk right now and you're not helping. your headache will pass, just go to bed.

you feel the distance natasha's putting between you two solidifying with time, and things don't seem to be going well with your job either.

it's just been hard. in general.

and now that she finally got home and entered your bedroom, reality hit her like a truck.

"it's nothing" you bring her hands down, off your face, but don't want to be rude. it really is nothing much. you just want to be left alone, as she seems to have been trying to make happen. "it really isn't, don't mind me. just sleep. it's late."

"are you kidding me? you're crying, y/n" her voice is not as soft, strangely. "if i did anything wrong, you can just tell me."

"can't you see it yourself?"

her eyes are suddenly locked onto your face, even though it's dark. she's also finally coming down from the long-lasting stress she's been through. "well, yeah" she sounds weird. calmer. confused. way more aware of herself, and consequently her eyes water up in a second. "yeah. sorry. i think i've been a bit harsh lately. it's just…"

"work, i know" you pat her hand softly as you give her an understanding look. "it's fine. just rest, okay?"

natasha can't bring herself to say much anyway, so she takes the chance to take off her jacket and lay down beside you. after a while, she rests an arm around your waist, pushing some hair off your forehead.

"i'm really sorry, y/n" natasha mumbles on your back. "i don't love you any less. i just haven't been doing so right. it's hard keeping my cool, and i try not to be harsh, but…" her voice trails off. "i've been under a lot of pressure. and not managing it well. but i love you."

"you don't have to explain anything to me, i understand. just don't treat me differently if you can just not treat me in any way and avoid making me second-guess my own actions" you whisper. "i love you a lot, nat. i don't need calmness, i just need to be sure you still love me. so it's okay."

"mhm. just hate myself for making you cry, you don't deserve that" she places a gentle kiss on your skin, her body warmly placed behind yours. and things almost feel normal for a second, just as they used to be before the mission she's been on. "i won't stop loving you even when hell freezes over, detka. trust me."

and you do, you can finally fall asleep. you feel wanted again, even if things still hurt, even if work won't stop on the way of your relationship, but whatever it is that tries to bring you down is fortunately none of your heart's business; even when your heart is heavy, it's still hers.

[arieswritez]

vincible

vincible | mark grayson x gn!reader (fluff)

alright since you all asked so kindly here's the fluff from my last hc 🫶🏾 :

cw: slightly suggestive but nothing nsfw. that's all :D

"why's it looking at me like that?"

the two of you are in bed and with his weight pinning you down, you find it hard to concentrate on what he means.

your head's all fuzzy with the way he's been drowning you in kisses. he kisses you like it might be his last chance to do so: sweet, languid until they melt into something more feral. the way his costume hugs his body doesn't exactly help your concentration, either.

your body's warm as it soaks up his body heat - he's like a fucking furnace - and it yearns. . no. . demands for his attention. you ignore him, making a soft, impatient sound that sounds more like a whine as you try to guide his lips back onto yours.

however, he keeps his head turned to your right, staring at a spot on your bed and says, "what're you lookin' at, huh?"

you pull back, confused, then follow his line of vision.

finally, you see what he sees: a stuffed animal perched against your pillow.

you watch as mark squints at the toy, then, tilts his head and scoffs in indignation as if it's just hurled an insult his way.

"what'd you say?" mark sits up and away from you, puffing out his chest.

the plushie stares at mark with big, black, empty eyes.

you stare up at mark, confused, as he carries on his one sided beef with your plushie.

"they cuddle you while im not here?"

mark crawls over to your plushie and grabs it by its soft neck, his fingers wrapping around the entirety. he pulls it close, putting his nose right up against the toy's. "you wanna say that again, tough guy? don't you know who i am?"

"mark, what're you doing -" you giggle, leaning back on your elbows to watch the ridiculous display before he shushes you.

"hey, you stay out of this. i'll deal with you later." he snaps before turning his attention back to the toy. "oh, you don't care? well, let's see if you care about this -"

mark suddenly shoves the toy into his face.

he flops down atop your bed, wildly flailing with one hand while the other mushes the plushie against his face. he's comically good at it, too, looking like he's being mauled by some feral cat.

he's only emboldened by your uncontrollable laughter: grunting with effort as he rolls over the stuffy and delivers a few blows. even making his own sound effects before he rolls onto his back, your toy gaining the upper hand once again.

this time, he sits the toy atop his face and flails like he's being suffocated. eventually, his body falls limp. the hand that isn't holding the toy upright falling limply at the side of your bed.

your plushie's fought dirty and won.

"i dunno, mark," you manage to say between hiccuping laughs, "you seem pretty vincible to me."

"very funny." comes his muffled voice from beneath the toy. he sits up, stuffy still in hand as he fixes you with an accusatory glare. "laugh. yeah, laugh, while your boyfriend's being mercilessly beaten."

he crawls closer and he thrusts the toy in your direction, waving it side to side by the back of the neck, holding it at arm's length like he's afraid it'll attack him. "i guess you want him now, don't you?"

you raise a brow. "don't misgender my plushies, grayson."

mark retracts the plushie and flips it upside down, looking at its bottom. "oh, right."

you let out a chortle of laughter and he's on you in seconds: pinning you down and smushing the plushie against your face, making kissy sounds while you breathlessly beg him to stop.

[bamfkeeper]

All I Want. | K.W

summary: It's so busy, you miss Kurt.

warnings: GN!reader | Fluff | Brief mention of mutant treatment

a/n: I had a handful of requests/ideas I'm going to try to do. I love a lot of them so I'll do my best to pick the ideas that were mentioned more than once. For now here's this little drabble, not long but something cute. Not edited ignore mistakes. ;; wc: 1.3k

The holidays turned the mansion into a whirlwind of endless activity and festive energy.

Every moment seemed filled with purpose as you moved from one seasonal task to another - mixing cookie dough in the warm kitchen while trying to keep prying blue hands away from the dough, building snowmen in the crisp winter air with the younglings, organizing decorations from dusty attic boxes, and carefully hanging twinkling lights along the hallways. The mansion buzzed with non-stop holiday preparations from sunrise to sunset, and while you had help from the other older mutants, the majority of the planning and decorating fell on your shoulders.

Between the constant motion of holiday tasks and the infectious excitement in the air, you found yourself working well past your usual limits, your body finally signaling its need for rest as evening approached.

The cold winter nights grew more and more frigid, nothing brought you more comfort than sinking into the plush embrace of the living room couch, wrapping your hands around a steaming mug of hot cocoa topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream and a sprinkle of crushed peppermint and cocoa shavings. The warmth of the dozen bamfs that gathered around you didn’t go unnoticed, creating a cozy cuddle pile with you. Their curiosity and playful nature showed as they cautiously stretched forward, tiny tongues darting out to steal tastes of the sweet cream and minty chocolate garnish that crowned your drink.

Kurt's presence had grown increasingly sparse lately. The holiday season always brought an overwhelming surge of responsibilities for the X-Men, as they encountered a significant increase in cases of abandoned mutants during this time of year. The harsh winter conditions made their missions even more critical, keeping the team constantly engaged in rescue operations.

The majority of mutants they discovered were victims of abuse or deliberately abandoned, left to face the bitter elements alone. The numerous children they found never failed to make your heart ache, young souls who had just begun to manifest their powers and were cast aside by those who should have protected them.

The weight of his absence pressed heavily on your heart.

This year had been particularly difficult, as your relationship with Kurt had been flourishing, you grew closer than you had been with anyone and finally felt comfortable in your own skin. Yet these precious moments of togetherness remained frustratingly elusive. The memory of his enthusiastic promises to share traditional recipes from his homeland lingered in your mind, but his overwhelming schedule had prevented that from happening.

Night after lonely night, you found yourself lying awake, wondering when he might finally return with enough time to dedicate to your shared moments together.

You hated feeling so selfish, but you also couldn't help it.

A gentle hand brushed against your cheek as one of the mischievous bamfs scrambled its way up to perch on your shoulder, its small tongue darting out to playfully lick away the spots of whipped cream that had collected on your lip and the tip of your nose. "H-Hey, hey, I think you've had enough sugar, all of you," you spoke with mild exasperation to the gathering of bamfs surrounding you, their eager eyes fixed on your drink as they continued their persistent attempts to steal a taste.

The sheer volume of cookies, candy canes, and other sweets they managed to consume on a daily basis had become a source of concern, and each night you found yourself anxiously waiting, fully expecting to discover them all suffering from severe sugar-induced stomach aches.

Yet their bellies were made of steel, the hellfire bellowing inside them scorching everything that hit their stomachs.

After what felt like an eternity of coaxing and gentle persuasion, you finally managed to get all of the little bamfs settled into their beds for the night. The last one had been particularly resistant, but eventually succumbed to sleep.

Exhausted from the long day, you made your way to the bathroom to complete your nightly routine. You brushed your teeth and washed your face, taking comfort in these familiar actions, none of it took much effort and was all muscle memory. When you finished, you reached for the light switch, flicking it off before wearily making your way out of the bathroom.

Your body felt heavy with fatigue as you climbed into bed, your mind already drifting toward the promise of sleep. Just as you were about to fall asleep, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around your waist. The unexpected contact sent a jolt of adrenaline through your system, instantly dispelling any trace of drowsiness from your body as all your muscles grew tight. On instinct, you threw your elbow backward in a defensive motion, connecting with something solid behind you.

"Ach - Scheiße!" Kurt's pained voice rang out as he quickly brought his hand up to cradle his nose. The sudden commotion caused several of the bamfs to materialize in your lap, their small forms bristling with protective energy. Their eyes glowed intensely in the darkness as they positioned themselves defensively with their backs puffed up, but upon recognizing Kurt, their aggressive posturing immediately melted away.

"Kurt?? Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry," you muttered apologetically, your hand instinctively reaching out through the darkness to find his where it was pressed against his face. Your heart was still racing from the startle. "You completely caught me off guard there...I didn't even sense you in the room at all."

"Heh...it's alright, liebling...I should have let you know I returned from the mission early. I wanted to surprise you but...you had already gone to sleep." He gently rubbed his nose where you had accidentally struck him, before carefully taking your outstretched hand in his and leaning closer to study your face in the dim light. "You seem completely drained of energy, ja? Was it a particularly demanding day?" His brow furrowed with concern, causing his usually neat hair to fall forward in loose curls that partially obscured his worried expression.

Your hand drifted upward of its own accord to brush through his disheveled curls, trying to smooth them back into place. "Yeah I...I had a busy day..." you admitted with a tired sigh.

"Sprechen Sie mit mir." Kurt spoke gently, his voice a soothing whisper as he drew you close against his body. The winter season had blessed him with an exceptionally thick coat, his usual short fur now grown into a luxurious winter covering that was so soft and warm. You nestled deeper into his embrace, his typically velvet-like fuzz had grown into longer, softer strands that were just long enough to twirl playfully around your fingers, particularly abundant across his chest where it formed gentle curls.

His tail moved with gentle affection against your leg as he carefully positioned you both for comfort, creating a cozy space where you could share your stories. With interest reflecting in his eyes, Kurt settled in to hear about your day. He listened intently as you recounted your baking experience with the bamfs, playing outside with the children, and decorating like an expert. You were pretty proud of yourself.

"Ah, I figured you made those cookies... they are absolutely perfect, my liebe. I might have snuck a few when I got back," he smiled warmly, his prominent fangs poking out endearingly as he spoke. His gentle, playful tease made your cheeks flush with warmth and you instinctively shifted even closer to his comforting presence.

"Did you happen to see the special batch I made just for you?" you asked, looking up at him expectantly.

"Ja...I must confess…I ate them all," he replied with a hint of satisfaction in his voice, his lips brushing your forehead as he leaned down to kiss your skin.

"You didn't save a single one??" You looked up at him with a playful smirk, which he couldn't help but mirror on his own face.

"Nein... they were specifically made for me, weren't they? And I am absolutely not sharing," he declared with mock possessiveness. He loved your cookies, and whenever you bakes him anything, he tended to be pretty protective over the things you made.

"Greedy..." You murmured, making Kurt lean down again, his chest rumbling softly as his voice became heavy with drowsiness.

"Stets."

Thanks for reading~

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Images found on Pinterest

[lavenderchqn]

✧・| spotless, from bottom to top

— the reset to lifve, that's what spring cleaning is dubbed as. well, it's not really spring now... but hey, dust bunnies sleep in the nooks regardless of the season!

[note.] — this is the last post before my title defence. hopefully everything goes fine next tuesday and I'll be free from the shackles of my academic focused mind.

𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐘

Arguably, the worst person to organise with. Lyney is a sentimental hoarder. In his eyes everything sparks joy. He’s efficient in cleaning everything that does not involve his stuff. Vacuuming? If Lynette hasn’t broke the machine, he’s good to go! Sweeping the floors? He’ll sing a cheerful tune. Reducing the amount of props he owns? Yeah, no. 

“Oh, but love!” Lyney pouts, sitting on the floor. Boxes, dust bunnies, a bunch of props he hadn’t seen in decades. “How do you expect me to get rid of anything?!” He sobs, his nose running from the dust in the air. All of these things are important. All of them are necessary— even if just for his happiness. 

“At least one box…” You beg, looking at him with pity. His sentiment towards the past isn’t something you haven’t known already. In your eyes, it’s charming. The silly goober has a stellar memory. How attractive. “Only one?” The blond looks at you, shocked. In his head, he already prepared himself to reduce all these memories to half. One is very, very generous. 

You nod. One box is enough. Surely, in this overflowing collection, there must be enough stuff that’s broken beyond repair or too small for anyone. With such a minor challenge, Lyney takes the terms seriously. 

“Okay, okay, okay” His eyes move from item to item. That’s staying, that too… This… can go. Lyney moves like a well-oiled machine, decluttering far more than he’d thought he ever would. As he grabs a folder, something falls out. 

A picture. The dust that had settled on the paper gave it a sepia-like appearance. What a scenery. Three siblings and you smiling, heavens above, how old this must be? The blond blows some of the gunk away. “Oh, that’s staying.” You comment, scaring the living daylights out of Lyney. In the middle of his organising, you’ve managed to sneak up on him. On accident. 

He shrieks away, body flying into another stack of unopened boxes. “Ouch, ouch, ouch…” He hisses, holding his hand. “You okay, bubs?” You ask apologetically, extending a hand in his direction. 

“Perfectly clear belove— ACHOO!”

𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄

He’s both a good and worst helper. His hair falls into the cleaning solutions constantly and the bobby pins on the floor just seem to pile up. Aided with a previously made cleaning plan, Neuvillette is ready to tackle anything. Oh, but please keep him away from any chemical labels. They make him anxious. 

“Love…” You murmur, looking at the situation at hand. Neuvillette is perched at the sink and filling a bucket full of water. Nothing’s out of the ordinary… and yet. Why does he look so formal? “Are you sure about that?” You ask. 

“Is there something of the matter, Beloved?” He turns around. Hair let down, sleeves somehow not drenched in the water yet. He tilts his head slightly, eyes sparkling. How cute. “Well, will you be comfortable?” You ask, your eyes laser-focused on his hair. 

“I can assure you, I’ll be fine.” And still, he has to brush away the locks falling into his eyes. Silly Neuvillette and his silly thinking. With one of your hair ties, you gently pull all of his luscious hair into a low ponytail. Less official than his regular getup, but handsome regardless.

And as for his sleeves. Gosh, what an annoyance. You can’t but help his sense of justice and commitment. As much as you appreciate it on a day-to-day basis, having it control every part of his life is just… Upsetting. Slightly. You tut for a second, thinking about how to push them back. And make sure they stay in place. Hair ties would stop them from unravelling but… 

You sigh. Aborting the mission, you take a bucket yourself. As it slowly fills with lukewarm water, you reach for the cleaning solution. Before you can grab the cap, your hands are laced with Neuvillette’s instead. “Gloves first, Precious.” He says, handing you a pair. 

You roll your eyes, trying to put them on. They squeal, twisting and turning around your fingers… The latex is so uncomfortable, you think. Seeing your discomfort, Neuvillette jumps in to assist. Like with a non-latex glove, he pulls it up gently. “Much better,” He murmurs, seeing the glove fitting you… like a glove!

Now you’re ready to mop the floors till you can see yourself in them. 

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

Unironically, Wriothesley likes doing household chores. It’s a simple task — one you can unwind to. With a podcast or jazz in his ears, there’s nothing stopping him from catering to the house. It makes you happy, it makes him content. Helping you out (and maybe feeding his ego slightly) is pure joy. 

Oh heavens, the smell. The one, yet oddly specific odour of vacuuming. Wriothesley must have finished the chores minutes prior, you think. How you have managed to sleep through the grating noise is a mystery, however,  one left for solving on another day.

You stretch on the couch, popping your joints. Sleeping on the sofa is not the best choice, by far. The nap was lovely regardless. “You woke up?” Wriothesley asks, the soft echo of his footsteps growing louder. “Mhm…” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. He disappears into a different part of the house — most likely to get stuff ready for mopping the floors. 

“Do we want coffee?” You ask, putting on your slippers. Not only is it safety 101, given you'd rather not slip on freshly cleaned floors. Not getting said floors dirty is another reason. There’s nothing you’d want less than to ruin Wriothesley’s work. 

It isn’t often when he does get a chance to stay at home. It’s even less for him to participate in household chores. Maybe it’s why he likes doing them so much? Chores withdrawal or something. “Sure, why not,” You hear in the distance.  

It isn’t long before Wriothesley returns. Just as you’re getting the sugar ready, you can feel yourself being slightly lifted. Your head whips around, trying to figure out what on earth is going on. “Just me, Buttercup.” He’s holding you like a sack of potatoes while he mops the floor. 

“A little warning next time, fucking hell.” You say, waving a finger in his face the second you’re back on the ground. You pout, handing him his cup of coffee. “Thanks for the treat,” He says, taking a sip. Perfect as always. Oh, what a shame it would be for someone or something to knock down a cup full of liquid on the freshly cleaned floors. 

Well, thank heavens you’re not feeling daring today. 

date of posting — june 15th 2025

[billiesguitar]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

"Still hate me?"

"S-shit!" I murmured, stumbling backward and landing on the cold, hard floor. The room was spinning, my vision blurred by a sea of faces that all seemed to be laughing at me. I was so drunk it was hard to even make out the words that were being thrown around, the music pounding in my ears like a never-ending headache.

"Looks like someone had a little too much fun," a voice said, cold and mocking.

I looked up to see Billie standing over me, her signature black hair falling around her.

i roll my eyes "Bite me."

"With pleasure," she smirked, extending a hand to help me up.

I took it begrudgingly, and she yanked me up onto my feet.

"Thanks I guess." I muttered, brushing off my clothes.

"You're welcome," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

We hated each other. It had been a long-standing rivalry that had started when we were just kids. But tonight was different. The alcohol had lowered my inhibitions, and the way she was looking at me, with a glint in her eye that I had never seen before, was sending my heart racing in a way that was anything but friendly.

"well, i'll see you around," I stumbled away from her.

"Not if I see you first," she called after me.

I managed to make my way to the bathroom, where I splashed cold water on my face and took a deep breath. "What the hell is going on?" I whispered to my reflection. as I reapply my mascara and lip gloss, all I can think about is Billie, the way she walks, talks, and her eyes.

When I came out, Billie was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "you doin' alright?" she asked.

"Fine," I replied, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Just had to take a breather, Why do you care?"

"Who told you I care?" she said, pushing off the wall and coming closer. "I just don't want to see you make a fool of yourself."

"I can handle myself," I snapped.

"Oh, I think we both know that's not true," she said, her voice low and challenging. "But maybe I can help you with that."

Before I could react, she grabbed my wrist and pulled me into a nearby room, closing the door behind us.

"What the hell are you doing?" I yelped.

"Just what you need," she said, her eyes darkening.

And before I knew it, her lips were pressed against mine, hard and demanding. I gasped in surprise, but she took the opportunity to slip her tongue into my mouth. It was like nothing I had ever felt before, like fireworks going off in my head.

I weakly claw against her chest, but she ignored it. "Billie," I murmured, not sounding nearly as confident as I wanted to.

"Want me to stop?" she whispered against my mouth, her breath hot and sweet.

"No," I found myself admitting, my hands moving to her waist.

"Good," she said, and then she kissed me again, this time with more force.

Her hands were everywhere, roaming over my body as if she owned it. She pushed me against the wall, her body pressing into mine as she kissed down my neck. I could feel my knees giving out, but she held me up, her grip on my hips firm and possessive.

"You like that?" she murmured, her teeth grazing my earlobe.

"Yes," I breathed, arching my neck to give her better access.

"You're so responsive," she said, a hint of a smile in her voice.

Her hands slid up my shirt, and she began to unbutton my pants. "Billie-"

"I said I'd help you," she interrupted, her voice firm. "And I always keep my promises."

Her hands found my skin, and she began to tease me, her fingertips lightly tracing patterns along my stomach and hips. I couldn't help the little moan that escaped my lips.

"See?" she said, her breath hot against my neck. "You need this."

I nodded, unable to form words. She was right. I needed it. I needed her.

Her hands found my breasts, and she began to massage them through my shirt. I gasped as she pinched my nipples, the sensation sending shockwaves through my body.

"Take it off," she ordered, and I complied, letting my shirt fall to the floor. She took a moment to appreciate the view, her eyes lingering on my bare skin before she bent down to kiss me again.

Her mouth moved from my neck to my breasts, her teeth scraping against my sensitive flesh as she sucked and licked. I was lost in sensation, my mind a haze of pleasure.

"Billie," I whimpered, my hands fisting in her hair.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice low and seductive.

"You," I said simply.

"Good girl," she murmured, her hand sliding down to unzip my pants. She pulled them down, along with my underwear, leaving me naked before her.

"Now, get on the bed," she said, pointing to the rumpled mess in the corner of the room.

I obeyed, my legs shaking as I climbed onto the mattress. She followed, straddling my hips and looking down at me with a wicked smile.

"Such a slut, aren't you, hm?" she said, her voice filled with a mocking affection. "Begging for it like this."

"I'm not a slut," I protested weakly.

"Oh no?" she said, her thumb circling my clit. "Then tell me what you want."

"I-I want you to-to fuck me," I stuttered, my face burning with embarrassment.

"That's more like it," she said, and she leaned down to kiss me again. Her hand continued to work my clit, her fingers sliding in and out of me with an expert touch.

I moaned into her mouth, my body responding to her every move. She was in complete control, and I loved it.

"You're so wet," she coos, "Just for me, hm?"

"Yes," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

Billie smirked, moving down to kiss my stomach and then lower. She hovered over my pussy, her breath making me squirm.

"Please Billie" I begged. "need you s'bad."

Without another word, she buried her face between my legs, her tongue sliding through my folds and finding my clit. She licked and sucked with a passion that surprised me.

"Fuck," I gasped, my back arching.

suddenly she stops.

"Need you to be quiet ma, can't have anyone one knowing you're gettin' fucked so good by your enemy,can you?"

I nodded, biting my lip to stifle my moans. She grinned and went back to work, her tongue moving with an intensity that had me seeing stars.

I felt my orgasm building, my muscles tightening as she brought me closer and closer to the edge.

"Billie," I moan a bit to loud causing her to stop

"What did I say?" she looked up at me, her eyes dark and demanding. She glides up and wraps her hand around my chin, forcing me to look at her. "Hm, didn't I tell you to be quiet?"

I nodded again, my eyes wide.

"Words."

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good," she said, reaching down and lightly biting my neck and then sucking on the spot to sooth the pain. She starts to kiss me again, and I felt myself getting wetter.

Her fingers slid into me again, moving in a rhythm that made me see spots. I bit my lip harder, trying to keep the noise in.

"That's it," she murmured, her voice filled with satisfaction. "Take it all for me."

And then she was moving again, her tongue flicking against my clit as she curled her fingers inside of me. It was too much. I couldn't hold back anymore.

My orgasm crashed over me like a wave, my body convulsing as she continued to lick and suck. I moaned quietly, my eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed me.

"Good girl" she said, moving back up to kiss me, her mouth tasting of me.

I looked up at her, my vision still hazy.

"You're not done yet," she said, her voice still firm.

She climbed off the bed and reached into the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a strap-on.

"What are you-?" I started to protest, but she silenced me with a look.

"I'm going to fuck you," she said, her voice cold and commanding.

"turn around, ass up." she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I did as I was told, my heart racing as she secured the strap-on around her hips.

"Ready?" she asked, her hand resting on my lower back.

I nodded, my voice lost.

"I can't hear you," she says, tugging on my hair to make a makeshift ponytail with her fist.

"Yes," I murmured.

"Good."

And then she was pushing into me, the strap-on filling me up in a way that was both painful and exhilarating.

"Fuck," I gasped.

"That's it," she said, her hand coming down on my ass in a firm slap. "Take it."

Her strokes grew harder, faster, and I found myself pushing back into her, craving more. She slapped me again, and I moaned, my body on fire.

"You like it, don't you my little slut?" she asked, her voice taunting.

"Y-yes," I stuttered, my cheeks flushing.

Her free and snakes it way to my throat ,"You're mine, aren't you?" she whispers, her grip tightening.

"Y-yes," I croak out.

Her hand releases my throat, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Good," she says, her voice softer now.

Tears of pleasure stream down my face as she picks up the speed of her thrusts. It's almost too much, but I want more. I need more.

"Billie," I whine, "I'm going to-"

"Don't you fucking dare, not yet." She says, slapping me again.

I moan, my body shaking with the effort to hold back.

"Look at me," she orders.

I turn my head, and she's there, her eyes locked on mine. They're not cold anymore, but filled with something else, something that makes my heart race even faster.

"Come for me," she whispers, and that's all it takes.

My second orgasm hits me like a truck, my body spasming around her as I scream out her name. She groans, her own pleasure clear in her voice.

"Still hate me?"

____

posted on October 6th 2024 || not proofread.

[sv5hive]

keep the lights on | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: none!

word count: 694

notes: lets act like this isn't the first time i've posted since july guys thanks! not proofread at all it's like midnight pls.

masterlist!

placing the copious amount of snacks and popcorn on the table, you plopped onto the sofa and snuggled up to your boyfriend.

"so, what did you pick?"

you looked ahead of you to the screen and began reading the summary, brows pulling together tighter with every word.

"a horror movie? are you sure, charles? i thought you hated these kinda things."

"well, i haven't watched many of them, but i know you're a fan of them, so what's the harm in trying?"

the grin on your face grew at his effort as you nodded along to his words, still doubtful of his ability to sit through it in its entirety.

"alright, but you're not gonna be scared and get nightmares after, are you?"

"me? no, if anything i'll be your knight in shining armour tonight if you get scared!"

the movie began playing as you pushed yourself deeper into charles side with a knowing smirk, the screen casting a dim glow onto your faces.

"ok, if you say so."

and in all fairness to charles, he did manage to hold out for almost an hour before you noticed him flinch at a particularly unnerving jump scare. nudging him gently, you turned the volume down and whispered softly into the darkness.

"charles, you ok?"

he turned to you slowly, an almost dazed look in his eyes. and you weren't sure if it was the lighting or your vision, but his skin seemed positively pale.

"hm? yeah, yeah i'm fine."

you raised an eyebrow at his half-hearted response, wondering if he was regretting his choice (albeit a romantic gesture).

"are you sure? we can watch something else if you want, i think i saw harry potter earlier-"

he quickly brushes you off and grabs the remote to raise the volume again, rubbing your thigh gently.

"shhh, i'm ok. it's almost done anyways."

he turns back to the movie but you let your eyes linger on him for a few seconds longer, searching for any doubt but not finding any. hesitantly, you start watching again. and you really did mean to keep an eye on him, but found yourself getting sucked into the movie as time went on.

the room sunk into darkness as the credits began rolling and a dull silence filled the air. reaching for the tv remote, you looked over to your boyfriend next to you.

"so... what did you think?"

seeing the ghostly look on his face, you started to wonder whether a horror movie was really the best choice at this time of night.

"charles, you ok? you look a little...uhm..."

"me? oh i'm fine, mon coeur. see, i told you i would be fine! it's just a movie after all!"

he puts the bowl of popcorn on the side and stands to turn the lights back on. you sit up and turn to watch him curiously.

"are you sure? it's ok if you're scared it's meant to do that!"

he shakes his head, adamant that he wasn't affected by the chilling scenes.

"i am not scared. but, we are absolutely sleeping with all the lights on tonight. and that has nothing to do with the movie, before you ask."

you bite back a grin and look at charles pointedly.

"oh really?"

he nods his head rapidly, sitting back down on the sofa next to you.

"yep. and also, one of us has to stand outside the bathroom if the other one is using it."

this time you couldn't help it and let out a loud cackle.

"charles, my love, i know you only watched it for me and i thought it was really sweet of you but please, you don't have to torture yourself like that. i am just as happy to watch harry potter or cars with you."

charles breathes out a deep sigh of relief and runs his hands over his face at your words, a nervous smile on his face as he declares his own confession.

"oh thank god. i almost threw up in my mouth when the serial killer popped up out of nowhere. and i wasn't kidding earlier, i want all the lights on tonight."

[rogueddie]

Eddie slams his pile of books down on the counter, grinning at how hard Steve startles.

"Jesus, fuck," Steve holds a hand to his chest, glaring. "Man, come on, I'm too young to die of a heart attack."

"Are you sure about that?" Eddie reaches over, to tug at his hair- Steve bats his hand away before he can get near. "What are you now, seventy?"

"I'll have you know that the silver only adds to my charm."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that." He pats the pile of books. "I need to check all of these out."

"You know the limit."

"Please? Pretty please? I'll never insult you for going grey early ever again! Promise!"

"You've made that promise before," Steve grumbles, but starts to check the books out anyway. "What's all of this for anyway? New campaign or something?"

"Nah. Robin mentioned something about the cold war and nuclear shit. Got me curious."

Steve pointedly looks at the books, snorting. "Curious."

"What, you've never wanted to learn some new thing or something?"

"Not this much."

"What about all those sports you played?"

"That was more to do with my parents than me actually wanting to do it."

Eddies eyes narrow because... yeah. Outside of his old King Steve days, Eddie doesn't think Steve has ever wanted something. Not even for his birthday, or Christmas.

All he asks is for them to come to his and Robins flat. All he seems to want is confirmation that they're ok and alive.

"You always say you want kids though, right?"

"I mean, kind of. Though, I'm starting to think the brats we babysat might be more than enough for me."

"Chocolate?"

"Oh no..."

"What?"

"You're planning something, aren't you?"

"No! No, no, no... but there has to be something, right?"

"Something?"

"That you really want."

"There's nothing I need."

"That's not what I'm asking."

"That's all the answer you're getting." Steve shoves the pile of books towards him. "Get lost, I'm supposed to be working."

"Ugh, fine, you're no fun."

But he can't stop thinking about it. He ends up returning the pile of books, despite the fact that he barely read one page. When he tries to use it to question Steve, he dodges the question again.

He very quickly gives up, deciding to pester Robin until she tells him. That takes three weeks of constant, daily efforts. And, in the end, the answer is obvious.

Steve just wants to spend more time with people he cares about.

It's not easy to gather anyone in the party, given that there's no holiday or significant occasion- he manages it, though. All the kids, now young adults, organize transportation. Nancy and Jonathan, over the phone, help Eddie and Robin plan out where everyone will sleep with their small apartments.

The effort, and pain of organizing it all, is worth it for the look on Steves face when he comes home to find them all waiting for him.

When Dustin almost knocks him over with how harm he hugs him, for a second, Eddie is worried that he's going to start crying. But he holds it together, greets them all with so much enthusiasm...

"I forgot that he used to be like this," Robin comments, late into the night. They're sat a little away from the group, watching them argue over their games. "The kids mean a lot to him."

"He means a lot to them."

"I know. I think he forgets though, so... thank you."

Steve doesn't corner him until they've got the kids asleep- half of them going with Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle to Eddies appartment, the rest of them fighting over the little space in Steve and Robins.

"You could've got me chocolate," Steve says, nudging him.

"This is what you really wanted though, isn't it? That was the whole point, big boy."

"Right. Sorry, it... I wanted to say thank you. I know this must have taken a lot to organize and-"

"Steve. You don't need to thank me. Besides, I could never have done this on my own."

"Still... thank you." Steve is quiet for a moment, looking out to the busy city street. "What do you want?"

"This."

"No, what do you really want?"

"Yeah, this. Everyones together, having so much fun. We're gonna do a one-shot when you go to work tomorrow. And, uh... you're happy. I don't need anything more than that."

"Right," Steve clears his throat. He shuffles a little closer, so their sides are almost flush together, tentatively reaching out to hold Eddies hand. "You don't need anything else. What about what you want?"

"You know what I want."

"I want you to say it."

Steve leans over, bumping their shoulders together when he hesitates. He smiles, reassuring, and gives Eddies hand a squeeze.

"What do you want, Eddie?"

"You. I- I want you."

It's terrifying to admit, a horrifying leap... but the smile Steve gives him, so soft and happy, is more than worth it.

"As you wish."