#Quick assembly homes

[talkstreetblog]

Exploring Prefabricated Houses in India: Types, Companies, and Rates per Sqft

In recent years, the concept of prefabricated houses has gained significant popularity in India. These houses are built off-site and then transported to the desired location for quick and efficient installation. Prefabricated houses offer numerous advantages such as cost-effectiveness, reduced construction time, and flexibility in design. In this blog, we will explore some of the different types…

[equalonline]

How to Select the Best Standing Rack

When looking for a standing rack, there are a few things you'll want to keep in mind. First, consider what you'll be using the rack for. If you're simply looking for a way to store extra towels or linens, a basic rack will suffice. However, if you're looking for a rack to use for drying clothes, you'll want to make sure it's sturdy and has good ventilation.

Next, take a look at the size of the rack. You'll want to make sure it's large enough to accommodate the items you want to store or dry. It shouldn't, however, take up too much space in your home, so you should avoid buying one that's too large. 

Finally, consider the price. Folding racks can vary widely in price, so it's important to find one that fits within your budget. With a little bit of research, you should be able to find a great standing rack that meets all of your needs.

When it comes to choosing a standing rack, there are a few things you'll want to keep in mind to select the best one for your needs. Here are a few points to consider:

1. Capacity

How much weight will you be storing on the rack? Make sure to choose a rack that can accommodate your needs. You can consider both volumetric capacity as well as weight capacity. You can choose a three-shelf, four-shelf, five-shelf, etc. but it is suggested to choose a rack with at least three shelves.

2. Stability

A folding rack should be stable and sturdy. Avoid any that seem flimsy or unstable.

3. Ease of use

Ensure that the rack is easy to assemble and disassemble. You'll want something quick and easy to use.

4. Portability

A lightweight and easy-to-transport rack is ideal if you plan to move it around a lot. Some folding racks come with wheels which makes them easy to move from one place to another.

5. Price

Don't forget to compare prices to get the best deal and also don’t compromise on the best quality.

Keep these points in mind when shopping for a Standing Rack and you'll be sure to choose the best one for your needs.

[almostfoxglove]

ONE NIGHT EARLY

a secret santa surprise for @talaok ! ✨ as part of @pedrostories' #pedrostoriesgift24 event ✨

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.2k | CW: Established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, brief reference to canon-typical violence / danger / the end of the world, but you're safe.

SUMMARY: You vow to find out where Joel hides his Christmas gifts while he's away on patrol.

read on ao3 | main masterlist | get notifs

It has to be here somewhere.

In the three years since you moved in with Joel—hell, even in the two years before that—you have never found your Christmas present before the day. The man’s determined, sworn to his secrecy. Takes great pride in catching you snooping around, digging, scurryin’, as he once muttered under his breath, shaking his head with that charm and smirk you can’t help but fall for. Every year, you swear you’ll find it, and Joel just crosses his arms with a shrug, cheek dimpled and eyes dark with affection, and tells you good luck, darlin’, confident you won’t.

This year, though. This year will be different because for the whole week leading up to Christmas, Joel is away with Tommy on patrol and you have the house to yourself. Seven days of freedom to pry and stick your nose where it probably doesn’t belong.

It takes you two days to tear the house apart. Every dish yanked from his cupboard, every shirt and worn pair of jeans thrown from the closet, every pocket turned out—you flip the mattress and unbundle his socks and rip the covers off all the couch cushions and find fuck all. One old, oxidized penny. Dust bunnies, dryer lint, wood shavings. Spent matches, a bullet case. A fossilized receipt robbed of its printed contents.

You spend two more going through everything again. The place is a dump; when Ellie swings by to borrow his guitar she lifts one eyebrow at you from the doorway, weary of the tornado you’ve left scattered across the first floor. Says, “Good to know four days is all it takes for you to lose your shit.”

“I’m not losing my shit,” you say, one hand waving dismissively as you climb the stairs. 

Quick on your heels she mutters, “Whatever you say, grandma,” just loud enough for you to hear. 

When she’s gone, you take a deep breath. The living room is a slaughter, more disastrous than the aftermath of any raiders or weather event. Couch cushions stand mountainous and stripped naked, the carpet’s rolled up against one wall, all the charcoal and half-spent logs have been scraped from the fireplace onto the floor. You’ll admit that might not have been strictly necessary, but you’ve looked everywhere, checked everything, and uncovered zilch. No gifts. And at the very least, Joel has—with his handsome, freckled, silvered face proud and smiling—conceded that his hiding spot is in the house. Doesn’t stash nothing at Tommy’s or in Ellie’s garage. It’s here. Somewhere. Driving you up the goddamn wall.

It’s not like you even know what you’re looking for, but you’ll know when you see it—of this you are sure.

Room by room, you reassemble the house, shuffling all the knick-knacks you’ve each cautiously assembled in this bizarre second chance at a life into their proper positions. His carvings are your favorites, and you rehome them on their shelves with care. You slide the few photographs each of you has into line on the mantle, behind the string lights. It ain’t the same as the world that for nearly thirty years has been dead and gone, but now and then you get flickers of that long-absent comfort. The day the Christmas lights go up in Jackson. The snowmen built by your neighbor’s kids in the street. Jars of homemade strawberry jam. 

Ellie and Joel playing guitar, his deep timbre humming along to her clumsy chords. 

The tight squeeze of your chest when his boots croak the porch and you know he’s finally home. 

The softness of his face first thing in the morning, scarred and weathered, kind. All the long tresses of his graying hair slumped out of place.

As you restore the house’s comfort and clutter over the shrinking days of his absence, you recheck and recheck and recheck and continue to come up empty. At night in the black veil of your shared bedroom, you sleep on his side of the bed with your face crushed in his pillow, breathing him in. 

On the 24th, you wake prepared to wave the white flag when he returns in the evening. You’re going to pout about it, but you’ll give in. Surrender to the superiority of his stupid, squirrelling mind, and admit once and for all that he’s bested you. You have no fucking clue where he hides his gifts. He wins. But you sulk as the day bleeds by, and more than once catch yourself affixed with a frown as you trudge through the crunch of Jackson’s snow-packed streets. As you groom the horses due for the next patrol shift and eat your dinner in the mess hall across from folks you’re only half listening to as they regale you with tales of their day, too distracted by the scrape of spoons against bowls and the emptiness of your hands.

Greedy, that’s what you’re being. Wanting all of him for yourself. You just miss him. You hate when patrol stretches this long, leaving you alone with your cloying worry.

After the sun has set and bowls have emptied, Jackson goes blue. All the snow piled to frame the gravel roads glitters with fresh frost and ice. On your way back to the house, you watch your shadow slide and flicker as you pass beneath the warmth of streetlamps. Someone down the road has a window open, letting the notes of their piano ribbon through the air. 

Even with all the lights and the chatter that tonight could bring fresh snow to the valley, you can’t help but feel a hollowness that you’ve only managed to shake when Joel’s around and the two of you are alone. It’s not all the time, but it happens—a magic you’d believed impossible before you stumbled across this Eden half-dead and were brought inside. Impossible until you met him, and everything latched into place. 

You’ve loved before. Almost got married once, in the world that’s gone. But there’s no comparing how it felt to fall slowly, clumsily into Joel. 

You’re not sure when he’s due to return tonight. Hopefully soon.

Shedding layers as you tread into the hollow house, you light a weakling’s fire in the hearth you know he’ll tease you for, then ascend to your bedroom to change, flicking the light on upstairs so he knows, whenever he gets back, that you’re home. Waiting for him, empty-handed but no less relieved. But as you cross the gold-lit bedroom, a floorboard near the foot of the bed wheezes strangely. This whole house croaks and groans just like everything in Jackson—that sure ain’t new—but this sound is different. You’re not sure you’ve heard it before. Not sure you’ve ever stepped in this exact place.

A grin slips sharp across your face at the smell of victory. You kick back the corner of the rug to bring your heel down hard against the board beneath it, and pop. Up comes the plank, perfect as a seesaw, revealing the black cavern beneath. 

In the shadowed hideaway, a small box lies in the dark beneath the floor.

There it is.

But all the world beyond this room, this box, disappears the moment you set it in your palm.

You don’t hear the porch steps’ announcement, nor the turn of the latch. You don’t hear the squealing door or how the heavy footsteps soften as he removes his boots to leave outside. Not even your name, often intoxicating on his tongue, reaches you in the bedroom—nor when he repeats it on the stairs. 

You’re too busy staring at what you’ve found after all you’re searching.

Then Joel’s in the doorway behind you, and you wake from what you’ve just now begun to believe must be some strange dream.

“Stubborn,” comes his voice, and at the sound you smack the box against your chest to hide it as you whirl around, still on your knees. Stupid you know. Useless. He can see the rug peeled back and the hole cut out of the floor, slender as a piano key. He knows you’ve won.

Broad in the door’s wooden frame, pink-cheeked and snug in his leather coat, Joel stands with the frosting of fresh snow clinging to his hair. He’s been growing it out, to your great pleasure, letting all his silver and curls go free. “I didn’t—” you start to say, but the words thin out and crumble. Your head’s not on quite straight, your heart not yet settled. Eyes still nickel round with shock.

You hadn’t considered how he might react if you succeeded. Maybe he’ll be mad. Take it back. 

But as you stare up at him, all bambi, Joel shakes his head and one snow-dotted curl slips out from the shell of his ear. As he rights it, his scarred hand rising, you see the dirt under his nails in the warm light. The stain on the knee of his jeans. You see too his lips, plush and touched by winter’s aridity, as they twitch in one corner, curling into his cheek. Curling up. Smiling as his eyes hold yours, not mad. Not shy. He’s been inside long enough now that there’s a fifty-fifty chance that the color in his cheeks might even be a blush. 

“Are you mad?” you ask, your voice soft enough to call a whisper.

He shakes his head again, steps over the threshold, and amber light from the lamp falls over him like Midas, turning him from man to gold. One step more and his mouth pulls wider, cuts that wink in his cheek you can’t help but stare at. “Course not,” he says gently. “Knew you were lookin’. Y’can have it one night early.”

It probably doesn’t mean what you think it means, but you’re surprised to discover you’re hoping as you swallow hard, blinking some of the shock from your eyes. He’s here; you ought to get up and hug him—welcome him home, your person here, safe and whole—but you’re too scared to move. Terrified that any flinch will make the box and its contents disappear. 

“Is this for me?”

Wry, he rolls his eyes. “Think you know it is.”

“I feel bad,” you say. “I got you a shirt.”

He’s generous enough to chuckle, and the low, earthy sound of it strikes flames along the column of your neck. “Could use a new shirt,” he says, smirking a little. “This one needs a wash.”

“Shut up,” you chide, but the words come out weak. He’s not allowed to joke right now because if you laugh, you might start to cry.

“Darlin’,” he says too softly. That’s the tone that makes honey of your insides, cruel in the gentle way it asks you to let him in.

Though your vision starts to puddle, you wrestle the feeling back. “S’pretty.”

The slightest nod. Then he unzips his coat to lay over the armchair in the corner of the room and you watch him, pinned to the floor despite the ache in your knees. “Was hopin’ you’d think so,” he admits with his back to you, the blades and muscles in his shoulders and back sliding gracefully beneath his flannel like waves on a lake. Antithetical to the thunder of your heart, Joel moves with a patience you can’t quite believe. In no rush at all, like you’re not holding what you’re holding in your shaking hands. Like some little band of metal doesn’t mean what it did before the world bit the dust and fell away.

The question sits like an icicle on your tongue, slowly melting, pooling behind your teeth. 

Joel lumbers back, the soreness of his body just barely visible in his bow-legged stride, to sit on the edge of the bed just behind you. The mattress squeaks. One hand cards through his hair. Slow is his next breath. Steady. But on the exhale, you swear you hear the tiniest shake, a tiny tremble. 

Realization strikes down at you like lightning: electric and tingling, zipping skull to spine to fingertips, blinding and white. He’s nervous. 

Which means the ring in your hand isn’t just a ring.

Lamblike, you force yourself to your feet and the mattress mouses as you sink against his side. Igneous is his body against yours—such a familiar warmth. Rigid and walled to all but a few. Open to you, in moments like these, when he lets you glimpse the whole of him in his eyes and you swear you might be capable of reading the thoughts straight from his mind. Joel nudges his arm harder to yours, and you see the question coming before it slips from his tongue. You see it brewing in the gilt of his eyes just as clearly as you hear your own answer ricochet in your head. 

You don’t cut him off, jump to yes. Instead you lower your hands from their hold against your chest at last, letting the box sit in your lap, open to his regard. Evening lamplight makes ice of the clear stone set squarely on its ring, and the heat of his breath kisses your cheek as he leans in to mumble,

“Y’gonna make me get down on one knee?”

dividers by @saradika-graphics!

NOTE: I am officially moving away from tag lists as they've gotten lengthy (thank you for that <3) so please follow @foxglovenotifs and turn on notifications to get alerts for future updates!

[vanteguccir]

Thinking about boyfriend Matt that has a girlfriend that lives by herself and everytime she gests new forniture, she calls him like "Baby, can you come put this together for me? Thank you". I also think she would try to help and Matt would be tottally against it (not sure about this last part tho). Please write this.

── ୨୧ !　BLURB

matt sturniolo x reader

where Y/N loves to buy new furniture for her home, and Matt is the one she always goes to to ask to put it together <3

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Y/N had a knack for making her little apartment feel like home. Every few weeks, she'd spot something online; a new bookshelf, a cozy chair, or a quirky table, and decide that it was exactly what her space needed. But there was one catch: she wasn’t exactly a pro at assembling furniture. That’s where Matt came in.

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains of Y/N’s living room as she admired the large box that had just been delivered. It was a new coffee table, one she’d been eyeing for weeks. Knowing full well that she wasn’t going to tackle it on her own, she reached for her phone.

"Hey, baby." Y/N's voice was warm and playful as Matt answered on the first ring.

"Hey, dove. What’s up?" Matt replied, his tone softening at the sound of her voice.

Y/N glanced at the box.

"I got a little something for the living room. Think you could come over and help me put it together?"

Matt chuckled, already grabbing his car keys.

"Let me guess, another piece of furniture?"

"You know me too well." She grinned. "But yes, please? I promise to make us dinner afterward."

"On my way." Matt said without hesitation, already heading out the door. The thought of seeing her, even if it was to assemble something as simple as a coffee table, was more than enough to make his day.

About twenty minutes later, Matt arrived at Y/N’s apartment, greeted by her bright smile and the unmistakable excitement in her eyes. She stood in the doorway, barefoot and wearing one of his oversized hoodies; something that made Matt’s heart do a little flip every time he saw her in it.

"Thanks for coming." Y/N said, stepping aside to let him in. She watched as Matt eyed the box in the middle of the living room.

"Another project, huh?" He teased, approaching the box.

"Yeah, but I promise this is the last one for a while." Y/N laughed, knowing full well she’d probably find something new soon enough. She kneeled beside him, ready to help.

Matt quickly shook his head, gently nudging her hand away from the box.

"Uh-uh, you just sit back and relax, okay? I’ve got this."

"But I want to help!" Y/N protested, though there was no real determination in her voice. She knew he loved doing things like this for her on his own.

"No way." Matt insisted, his tone gentle but firm. He gave her a playful look, then tapped her nose lightly. "I can handle it. Just sit on the couch and look pretty while keeping me company. That’s all I need from you."

Y/N sighed, feigning disappointment, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. She settled onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as she watched him. There was something incredibly comforting about the way Matt moved around her space, confidently taking charge of the task. His broad shoulders flexed beneath his shirt as he opened the box and started laying out the pieces.

"How do you even know what all these parts are?" Y/N asked, genuinely impressed as Matt made quick work of organizing the screws, panels, and tools.

Matt shrugged, flashing her a grin.

"Just good at following instructions, I guess. Plus, it’s kind of fun."

"Fun?" Y/N echoed with a laugh. "You’re putting together furniture, not playing a game."

"Maybe." He said, glancing over at her, his eyes full of warmth. "But it’s for you, so that makes it fun."

Her heart swelled at his words. Watching Matt carefully assemble the table, piece by piece, she couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. It wasn’t just about the furniture; it was about the way he cared for her, the way he was always there to help without a second thought. It was the little things, like how he’d insist on doing the heavy lifting, or how he’d make sure every screw was tightened perfectly so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

After a while, the coffee table began to take shape. Y/N couldn’t resist getting up and kneeling beside him again, pretending to inspect his work.

"Looks good." She remarked, trying to keep her tone serious.

"Of course it does." Matt said with a chuckle. "I’m a professional."

She leaned in closer, teasingly brushing her fingers against his biceps.

"Maybe I should double-check, you know, just in case."

Matt rolled his eyes, but his smile was wide.

"If you want, but I guarantee it’s perfect."

Y/N gave him a look of mock suspicion before placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I trust you."

Matt’s hands paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to her with a mix of affection and pride. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You better."

With the table finally assembled, Matt stood up, stretching his arms above his head, his pink shirt riding up slightly, displaying his tummy to Y/N’s eyes.

"Done." He announced, stepping back to admire his work.

Y/N clapped her hands together, genuinely impressed.

"It looks amazing, baby. Thank you."

"Anything for you." Matt replied, his voice sincere. He watched as Y/N excitedly placed a few decorative items on the table, her eyes lighting up at how perfectly it fit into her living room.

"Okay, now that you’ve put that together…" Y/N began, trailing off as she looked at him with a playful smirk.

Matt raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was going.

"Oh no, what else did you order?"

Y/N laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against his chest.

"Nothing… yet."

Matt shook his head, smiling down at her.

"You’re lucky I love you."

"I know." Y/N murmured, looking up at him with pure adoration. "And I’m so lucky to have you."

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[justcauseiwanna2]

Dinner Time NatxFem!Y/n

18+ MINORS DNI

Warnings: Smut, marking, thigh slapping, spanking, punishment, light degrading, praise, oral sex (R receiving), fingering (R receiving), Mommy Natasha, Sub R, begging, I think that’s it but if you find anymore let me know!!

A/n- My first time writing in forever enjoy ❤️

Y/n’s POV

I move around the kitchen with grace as I add in the proper ingredients to make dinner for the night. I measure out the spices and add them to the bowl knowing the recipe by memory. Tonight I decided to make my homemade bacon mac’n’cheese knowing how much Yelena enjoys the dish. Natasha’s family is visiting for the week so I want to make sure they are as comfortable as possible during their stay. At the moment they are out exploring our city since it is the first time they have been here.

As I’m assembling the dish to put in the oven Natasha walks in with her headphones in her ears and her workout outfit hugging her body nicely. She opens the fridge to grab her water and when she turns around a smile immediately shows on her face. She comes over for a kiss but I stop her before she can reach me. I point over to the fridge door and she sees what I want her to do. It’s a common occurrence for her to leave the fridge open after getting distracted, she closes the fridge before coming back over and pecks me on my lips. “Hi baby, how was the gym?” I ask her with a smile. “What?” She asks rather loudly and I shake my head and pull out her headphones before asking again. “It was good but I missed you.”

She pulls me closer and kisses me again before putting her face in my neck. I gently scratch her head and she hums into my neck. “I missed you too love, after dinner I’m heading to the gym but after that we can watch some movies before bed okay?” She shakes her head and holds me tighter. “No you stay here with me!” I chuckle and shake my head back at her. “I’ll only be going to the gym and after that I’m all yours, but I do have to finish dinner.” I gently pull back from her hold and walk over to finish coating the top of the dish in cheese.

She follows me over and wraps her arms around me to hug me from behind. I don’t even need to see her to know she’s pouting. Once the oven goes off I place the food inside and set the timer to 45 minutes. As I’m cleaning up Natasha walks over to me with an idea. “How about you stay home from the gym, I will give you a workout.” She has this certain smirk that instantly tells me what type of workout she has in mind. “Nat, you know that your parents could be here at any point!” She shrugs and walks closer to me. “They can learn to knock.”

She wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me into her. She gently kisses my neck, I can feel the ability to think slowly leaving me as she moves her hands down to squeeze my ass. I gasp and try to focus on my thoughts. “Natty, I just put dinner in the oven.” She smirks against my neck and looks up at me. “Then I guess we better be quick.” She picks me up and places me on the table. “Nat I-“ She stops me with a kiss as she shakes her head. “That’s not my name now, is it love?” I quickly shake my head not wanting to misbehave but she gives me the look and I remember I need to use words. “No it isn’t mommy.” I stutter out as she starts leaving kisses up and down my neck once more.

She starts to suck on my neck leaving dark marks in her path. Even if we are able to finish in time her family will definitely be able to tell what we have been up to. She goes further and further up my neck and moves a hand over my clothed cunt and adds the tiniest bit of pressure. Not enough to please me but enough to make me more desperate. I start to buck my hips against her hand to try and get some sort of relief for my growing problem. She suddenly pulls back from me and looks at me with a disapproving look. “What do you think you’re doing?” I look down and stay silent, she lifts up my chin until I’m looking her in the eyes. I can feel the heat on my cheeks as she looks me up and down. “N-nothing.” All of the sudden I feel a light sting on my thigh. “Try again.” I feel myself getting more and more desperate for her touch, even just a kiss. “P-please mommy I need you please!” I beg her with a pout hoping that she’ll touch me.

“Poor baby so desperate for mommy that you can’t even answer a simple question.” I nod my head at her as I try to buck my hips into hers. I just need her to touch in some way, I want to feel her against me. “Patient baby I want to enjoy this, why don’t you take off those clothes of yours?” I nod and move to take off my shirt but she stops me. “Words pretty girl.” “Yes mommy.” She steps away, without removing her eyes from my body, to let me undress. I remove my shirt and bra and throw them to the floor and look up to see Natasha studying my chest that already adorns her marks from two days ago. I get down from the table to remove my shorts and my underwear. I feel her studying my body carefully, looking at every detail even though she’s seen it all before.

I climb back onto the table and sit with my legs closed in fear of getting the table messy. She walks up to me with the same smirk on her face and tilts her head when she sees my thighs clenching together. I shyly look down and slowly spread my legs for her to see. She closely examines me and smirks when she sees how wet I am. “Poor baby, is all this for me?” I nod quickly as I look her in the eye. “All for mommy.” She whispers a quick ‘good girl’ and she situates herself between my legs. “Tell me what you want love.” It wasn’t a request but a demand, I know well enough by now to tell her exactly what I want. But before I could say anything she slowly slides her fingers through my folds causing me to lose my train of thought. “Didn’t mommy just ask you a question?” I go to speak again but she decides to enter two of her fingers into me. I let out a moan as I grab her hand in shock. “Go on baby, use your words.”

She sets a steady rhythm with her fingers as I try to gather my words. “I-i want mommy to use her fingers.” I manage to stutter out. I can feel all my thoughts fading as my head is filled entirely with thoughts of my girlfriend and how good she can make me feel. “That’s my good girl.” The constant praise adds to the building pleasure. She moves her thumb to play with my clit as she quickens her pace bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Mommy I’m gonna cum!” She immediately stills her hand. “That’s not how you ask.” I whine at her and try bucking my hips to get her to keep going but she slaps my thigh. I let out a small moan but I keep trying to get any friction I can. She once more slaps my thigh. “One last chance.” She warns me but I am too focused on trying to reach my denied orgasm. She removes her fingers and stands up to pull out a chair. I straighten up and look at her in a dazed confusion. “M-mommy?” She sits on the chair and pats her lap. “Over my knee.” I know it isn’t a question so I unsteadily hop off the table and move closer to her. She helps me lay across her lap as she gently rubs my back.

“You know your safe word?” I nod my head. “It’s red.” She praises me yet again which causes me to smile. “Do you know why you are being punished?” I nod but she gives me a light tap on my thigh reminding me to use my words. “B-because I didn’t answer mommy.” She nods and lifts my hand to kiss the back of it. I always love how she reminds me of her love, even through punishment. “Good girl, now I want you to count each spank for me love.” Before I can even respond she releases a sharp smack onto my ass. “One.” She does another which I can tell will end up leaving a mark. “Two.” Each spank uses the same amount of strength. Mommy knows by now that I love having her handprint on my ass. At the tenth smack I accidentally let out a moan which causes Natasha to pause and smirk.

“Aww does my little slut enjoy having her ass spanked by mommy?” I get all shy again but am able to pull together an answer. “Y-yes mommy.” She rubs her hand over the stinging skin before giving it another spank which I count. “Good.” She continues with the last four before letting me up and kissing my lips. She pulls me down to straddle her lap. I gently tug on her shirt trying to pull it off of her body but she stops me. “Use your words.” I let out a whine and stick my face into her neck. “Poor baby so lost for words already and we are only just starting.” I whine again trying to dig myself further into her neck. “Please?” She rubs my bare back with a smile before she nods. I pull away from her and remove her shirt with a smile only for it to switch into a pout when I see she has a bra on. I remove that too and finally have access to her bare chest. I don’t waste any time and start kiss her chest, trying to leave as many marks in my path as possible.

She chuckles a little at how eager I am but it doesn’t stop me. She gently pulls me back from her chest and she puts me back onto the table. My pout doesn’t last long as I see her stripping out of her pants and underwear to reveal her naked body to me. Even after 3 years she amazes me with her beauty. She walks back over to me and slots herself between my thighs. “Mommy is very hungry baby, will you let me have a snack before dinner is done?” She has this voice that she uses whenever we are intimate that makes me melt every time. I eagerly nod my head at her, she wastes no time in lowering to her knees in front of me.

She wraps her arms around my thighs and slowly moves her tongue through my folds. It’s like she can’t get enough as she dives right into my dripping cunt. I moan and brace myself with my arms so that I don’t fall back on the table. Her tongue plunges into me as she eats me out like I’m the best meal she’s ever had. Which she does say constantly. She brings me closer and closer until she once again stops. I let out a whine and try to push her head back to where I need her most but she stands up. “You didn’t think I would let you cum that easy now did you?” I whine and try to move her hand but still she doesn't budge.”Please mommy please I need you!” I beg her to touch me.

She smirks at me and lets her hand drift down further and further until her fingers are circling my clit. I bite my lip to stop myself from making noise but she reaches up and pulls my lip from my teeth. “I want to hear you dear.” “Yes mommy.” This time I don’t even try to hold back my moans when she plunges two fingers inside of me. I look over to the timer and see that the dish only has 14 minutes left. I whine and put my face in the crook of her neck. She curls her fingers and hits my spot just right. I bite down on her neck in response and she smacks my thigh. She sets a slow steady rhythm for me and makes sure that it’s enough pleasure to satisfy me but not enough to get me to the edge. “Please mommy, I need more.” I move my hips to meet the thrusts of her hand but she stills my hips. “Is that a statement or a question love?”

“A-a question mommy.” She smirks at me and inserts a third finger. “Such a pretty pussy, and it’s all for mommy.” She looks down and admires the view of her fingers disappearing in and out of my cunt. She speeds up her fingers and moves her thumb over my clit. She keeps going, bringing me closer and closer. “Please mommy I’m gonna cum please don’t stop!” She raises her eyebrow at me which makes me stutter and fix my words. “Please mommy please can I cum, please please please!” I beg her over and over, a tear or two start to fall down my face in pleasure. “Cum for mommy baby.”

She adds a third finger as she moves her fingers into me as fast as she can. I let out a scream and cum all over her fingers. I collapse forward onto her, my breathe heavy as she helps me ride out my high. She keeps moving her fingers but I still her hand with mine and shake my head. “All done love?” I nod against her chest. She lets out a hum and wipes off her fingers with a towel before wrapping her arms around me. She holds me tight and I slowly calm down. “T-thank you mommy, felt so good.” She smiles and scratched my back gently. “Of course love! Though as much as I enjoy the cuddles my family will be home soon so we need to get you cleaned up. First though I need to get the food out of the oven.” I nod and hop down from the table and give her a kiss. She reassures me that we can have a bath tonight and extra cuddle which I am super excited for.

After cleaning myself up in the bathroom I put on some clean clothes and walk out to see Natasha dishing out food to her family. Melina is sitting next to Alexei and Yelena is at the end because she says ‘since she is the guest she should have the special seat’. That’s fine with me though because I get to sit next to Tasha which I love. “Hi baby!” I smile and walk over and give her a big hug. I give her a kiss before grabbing everyone's plates and then handing them out. We sit down with our plates and start a conversation. Eventually the conversation drifts and Alexei asks “What’s with those bruises on your neck?” My eyes widen, Natasha smirks while Melina sighs and Yelena drops her head onto the table in defeat.

“I um they-” I am interrupted by Yelena. “They are hickeys you dipshit!” Melina starts criticizing her for cursing at her father while Natasha starts laughing. “IS THIS WHAT YOU DO WHEN WE LEAVE EW!” Alexei sounds absolutely disgusted which causes me to blush and Natasha just laughs even harder. “Natasha, you need to stop corrupting the poor angel.” Melina states as a fact and now I’m the one laughing. “Yeah Natasha.” I agree with her and Natasha glares at me. God I love this family.

[newtkive]

practice - carmen berzatto

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader, mentioned platonic marcus x reader

summary: The sudden changes at your work prove to be a lot to keep up with, but Carmy notices your efforts where you think he’s just a tough boss. He proves to be more than that when he finds you pulling an all-nighter at the restaurant.

wordcount: 3.8k

warnings: none really, anxious reader, ooc!carmen (he would never let mistakes fly like this lmao), kinda fluff at the end

a/n: this is basically how i would react working there bc i almost have an anxiety attack every ep watching carmy yell at everyone. sorry for any typos!

The fast moving pace that Carmen Berzatto brought to The Beef was something extraordinary. The skill of his professional chef background was carried over into the small hole in the wall that otherwise would have never changed if it wasn’t for him.

His drive was contagious, even infecting the staff you knew like the back of your hand. You never would have thought your coworkers, ever comfortable with a stagnant pace, would become accustomed to such change around their second home.

It was great to see your favorite people quickly see their own potential thanks to Carmy’s vision. The only problem was you.

You were falling behind, and quickly.

You tried to convince yourself you could keep up as things changed. But your mind was faster than your barely skilled hands and you were terrible at cutting ingredients evenly during a rush and you always somehow got sliced or burnt and your eyes always stung from the onions you were stuck prepping because that was the one job you couldn’t fuck up but hated— to put it simply, you sucked.

The faces of your coworkers reflected what you feared every time you turned around to take a breath, heels of your hands rubbing tears from your eyes as Carmy screamed profanities at the crew. Tina’s eyes would linger on you, brows raised and silently asking if you were okay. You would nod and blink the tears away before jumping back in. By the end of every shift Ebraheim would pat you on the back before leaving, and Sydney would send you a small, sympathetic smile and wave while you tied your shoes on the bench near the locker.

Each time you could see the sympathy in their eyes and it made you hate yourself even more.

You were used to sandwiches; assembling simple ingredients between a hoagie bun on a slow Sunday surrounded by the people you called family. Cracking jokes here and there, no pressure to make things completely perfect, which ended up making things perfect. So much so that regulars even seemed disappointed to see you up at the register some days instead of in the kitchen assembling their lunch.

Carmy wasn’t blind, he could see exactly what was going on, which was why he didn’t pick on you as much as he did when he first arrived.

The first couples of weeks that Carmy was there he noticed the difference in your station compared to everyone else’s. Organized, cohesive, clean—save for the multiple drinks you always had. You worked at your own pace, not slow but definitely not up to par with Carmen’s standards. You made it work though, cutting ingredients almost perfectly and whipping up sandwiches and other specialties not a second too late.

The change happened when Carmy upped the stakes and encouraged—or yelled at—everyone to be as quick as they possibly could. His yelling was off putting, and you didn’t respond well to much other than positive reinforcement.

The chef didn’t notice until the uneven bread and too-thin tomato slices lead back to you. He was quick, marching over to you with a purpose; if it was a cartoon, his hair would be alight with fire. “Chef!” His voice was hard and urgent, because he didn’t have time to deal with this.

As he approached, he noticed your hands shaking as you held the dull shitty knife, head whipping up and cheeks red, all but heaving from the pressure. So much pressure.

“Yes Chef?” You asked attentively, waiting for him to explode.

Carmen had all intentions to do just that, tear you a new one, tell you that you’ve been here long enough to know how to cut a fuckin’ tomato the right way but he paused. The look in your eye was wild and scared. His face fell, obvious turmoil behind his blue eyes causing a change in his decision. You waited with bated breath, but what you were expecting never came.

Instead, Carmen did his best to be calm and set his hand on the counter, leaning a bit. “I want you to show me how to slice that tomato.” He said.

“What?” You were confused and it was clearly written on your face. So were your nosy coworkers who exchanged looks and shrugged, expecting the young man to wail on you with his words.

Looking over your shoulder at the others, you tried to exchange weary looks with anyone but Carmy pulled you back in with his words. “Don’t worry about their shit. C’mon, show me.” He said again, motioning to the tomato sitting on the cutting board, looking at you expectantly.

After a beat of weariness you did what he asked. With an exhale your knife pierced the red skin and cut it, your wrist dragging it back and forth to cut all the way through. You gave a few more slices, doing your best to ignore his scrutinizing gaze.

Reviewing your slices, you mentally pat yourself on the back at the sight of them perfectly even and a fairly thin. You turned to look at Carmy, and he seemed to have an epiphany as he stood there holding his chin. Eyes flickering up to you, he nodded. “You know what that showed me?” He asked, and before you could answer he continued. “You’re competent, you did that shit with a dull knife. Don’t cut ‘em too thick or too thin, you have no excuses.”

He should feel ridiculous, like he was coaching a baby how to do the easiest job in the world, but for some reason Carmen was able to swallow his irritation and try to guide you.

You nodded, back straightening and hands sweaty. “Yes, Chef.”

Carmy was about to walk off but stopped himself, turning back around, eyes boring into yours as he grew more serious. “You hear me yelling, you listen, but I need you to focus, Chef. You can do this shit, I’ve seen you pull through before. Don’t let my mouth get to your fuckin’ head.” He said low enough just for the both of you to hear.

He was close, blue eyes staring right at you, the smell of the kitchen clinging onto his apron. It should’ve been intimidating, and it was a little, but you knew this was his version of offering comfort and maybe even some sort of apology.

“Heard, Chef.” You said just as quietly back.

There was a second of him staring, before he simply walked away without another word, leaving you to your own devices. Whatever he said seemed to put some perspective into your work, because you didn’t have anys setbacks for the rest of the day.

On the way home, sitting on the train with headphones in your ears and a jacket wrapping you up tight, Carmy’s words swirled in your head. You knew you could do this, and you could somewhat see in Carmy���s eyes that he had faith in you too. It was just a new world you were all suddenly thrown into and it was hard finding your place. On days where you felt like a baby fawn standing on shaky legs, wobbling and failing to find your footing, you had to keep going.

A single word rang in your mind.

Practice.

Your apartment was pretty small and shared with a roommate, so you lacked the accommodations and tools to really do all you wanted. Aside from that, you didn’t want to be the rude roomie who clashed pans in the kitchen all night long. So, as you made your way off the train you didn’t leave the station. Instead, you waited for the next ride to the city and headed straight for The Beef.

The sun set as you approached the back door, humming a tune as you pulled out a spare key—one that definitley would be confiscated once Carmy found out about it, probably clambering about it not being safe in the foreseeable future—from under the fuse box outside and unlocked the door.

You entered the kitchen, brows immediately raising as you saw all of the kitchen lights on. Slowly moving forward, a sense of anxiety grew as you knew no one would usually be here except for Carmy, and you really did not want to get a talking to from him right now.

Turning the corner, you sighed in relief when you saw the familiar stature that belong to Marcus. He had his phone out, recipe pulled up in front of him and a song playing softly from the speakers that he sang along to. You chuckled softly, alerting him of your presence. Head snapping up at the sound, he almost looked like a deer in the headlights as he met your eyes.

Similarly to you, he let out a relieved sigh and sent you a smile. “Scared me, Y/N.” He laughed softly, hands whisking again.

“Sorry.” You apologized, tugging your coat off. “What’re you doing here, man?” You asked as you headed over to the lockers and shoved your stuff away.

Marcus shrugged. “Could ask you the same thing.”

“Practice.” You said simply, shrugging and tying your apron around your waist. Approaching the kitchen, you started gathering a few clean pots to start your work.

Humming and nodding, Marcus gave you a knowing grin. “Same here.” There was a beat of comfortable silence as you gathered a knife, cutting board, and an onion before washing your hands. “I actually stay here sometimes overnight. It’s easier, that way I won’t waste time going back and forth from home.” Marcus explained.

Surprise filled your features and you sent him an impressed look. “Wow, no wonder you’re getting better fast.”

He chuckles bashfully, filling another mixing bowl with flour and whatever else he desired. “Eh, I guess.” The shrug of his shoulders made you laugh before you turned back to your own work.

With one last question of Marcus asking if you minded his music, and you affirming that you didn’t mind at all, he turned the dial on his bluetooth radio up and you both fell into a comfortable rhythm; Marcus in his corner and you on the stovetop.

By the end of the evening you prepared a vibrant beef braciole dish that a few of the others had been practicing since Carmy introduced it. You brought it to one of the stainless steel counters with two forks, setting it next to the two pieces of cake Marcus had sliced up from his recipe of the evening.

You both dug in, humming in satisfaction as you tasted each other’s creations, sharing impressed and ‘holy shit’ expressions that made the other laugh.

“This is fantastic.” Marcus said, another mouthful of beef being added to his mouth.

You laughed and shook your head, muttering a thank you, trying to swallow down your surprise. Marcus could tell, because he doubled down. “No, really, Y/N. This is the best one I’ve tasted yet, aside from the big Chef.” He said with a grin.

Shaking your head, you gave him your appreciation. “Thank you, Chef. I can say the same thing from you.” You motioned with your fork to the cake. In truth, his words pushed you and affected you more than you lead on.

The both of you fell into a rhythm, whipping up treats and savory meals almost every day after work. Marcus playing music at his own station, you timing yourself relentlessly to try and replicate the fast pace of the open hours of the restaurant. You sometimes even found yourself staying overnight, taking turns with Marcus to use his sleeping bag—he insisted where you didn't want to overstep, but sleep called you and his pillow was comfy.

Relentless practice proved to keep you on track and up to pace with everyone else, slowly but surely. The impressed glances shared between Tina and Sydney every time you had them taste a dish or were quicker than usual were enough, but Carmen was ever the critic. A new menu soon graced The Beef alongside their regular sandwiches, and it was a tough menu to master. You almost had them all down pat, practicing relentlessly for almost four weeks now after work.

However, every time you presented a steaming spoonful of stew, or a perfect bite of chicken piccata that everyone else in the kitchen seemed to love, Carmen would bite into it, hum, and shake his head. "Good." He said every time.

"Good like.. good good? Or good but start over, it's trash, throw it away?" You would ask, clearly waiting with baited breath on a slow day.

Carmy shook his head again. "It's not ready yet, Chef." And then he would be off to collect more expo receipts and leave you there disappointed, shoulders deflating in defeat.

"I think it's great, Chef." Marcus would smile, hands busy working on dough for his unmastered donuts. You would offer a sad smile in return, marching off to assemble another hoagie and handing your failed dish to a waiting Richie in exchange for an appreciative rub of his hands together. The negative feedback only spurred you to improve your craft as much as you could.

It was a rare occasion that Marcus didn't stay at the restaurant overnight. He left early in a frenzy after a phone call, muttering something about his mom's nurse needing him. Offering comfort wasn't your strongest suit, so you bid him luck and made a mental note to bring him his favorite coffee during work later in hopes to cheer him up.

At the same time you were plating what felt like your dozenth chicken piccata of the week, soft footsteps approached the kitchen. As soon as the timer went off behind you, you whipped around and hit the top, a harsh exhale and wipe of your forehead following the silence. You felt proud, plating and finishing your dish in record time without any hiccups.

A soft chuckle brought you out of your stupor, head snapping up to meet bright blue eyes from across the kitchen. There stood Carmy with his unruly curls, white tee and brown jacket he was beginning to pull off. In place of his usual stoic face was an amused expression, clearly not expecting to see someone in the kitchen at this hour.

You froze at the sight of him, but his soft smile eased your shoulders a bit. “Smells good.” Carmy said as if it was the most casual thing, hanging his jacket by the lapels on a hook. He sat on the bench, beginning to change his shoes into nonslip ones.

Stuttering, your cheeks turned pink. “O-oh, uhhh, thanks.”

“You’re here early.” He said back, standing now and readying to tug on his apron.

Brows furrowed, you looked above him to glance at the kitchen clock. Big red numbers read 6:15 AM and your brows raised in shock. Before you had a chance to respond, he walked closer, beginning to talk again. “I’ve noticed you and Marcus are always here before anyone else.”

You shrugged, nervous smile gracing your lips as they upturned slightly. “Ah, yeah. We both wanted to practice. Y’know, catch up with everyone else.” You explained. Conveniently, you decided to not mention the instances of spending the night, figuring it would be a little to embarrassing or earn you a talking to.

Carmy was now approaching the other side of the counter where you stood, hands tapping the steel. His little smug smile didn’t leave his lips as he nodded. “I also noticed a few things missing from our inventory.” His words were clearly teasing, but they made your face run pale.

“Fuck, I'm sorry, Chef. Take it from my paycheck, please—I didn’t even consider—“ The rambling was embarrassing, and his head shake cut you off.

“No, stop, Y/N. I'm teasing you.” Carmy laughed softly with a small smile, clearly endeared. The use of your name made you bashful.

A beat of silence followed, your mouth opening and closing like a fish. Carmy glanced behind you at the dish that laid perfectly plated, motioning to it with his hands. “Let’s see if your hard work is paying off.”

Blinking in surprise, you obediently nodded and turned to grab the dish. Sliding it in front of him, you gathered a fork and knife. Carmy grasped the utensils with a ‘thank you’, fingers brushing yours. It didn’t take long for the chef to dig in, eyes immediately closing once the first bite hit his taste buds.

“So.. what do you think?” You plucked up the courage to ask after he swallowed.

Carmy looked up at you, lips curling upwards and a proud look dawning his features. “Great, as usual.”

Usually those words would make you excited, but Carmy had a habit of complimenting your dishes before declaring how they weren’t good enough just yet. You simply nodded, swallowing thickly as he took another bite and savored the taste. “What should I change?” You asked, straightening your back in preparation for the inevitable criticism.

Humming, Carmy shook his head, the same amused look as before coming back. “Nothing, Chef. It’s perfect.” He said firmly. Those words made your breath leave your lungs, hands becoming clammy, and before you knew it you were grinning.

“Really?” You asked, not able to keep your excitement together.

Carmy let out a full laugh at that. “Really.” He confirmed.

You clapped your hands together before covering your face, hiding the grin as best you could. It had been awhile since you felt so elated due to cooking, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself. You felt like the whole month of dedicating your time to cooking was culminating to this moment. Carmen watched you with soft eyes, taking in how happy his words made you. You turned back to him, giving up hiding how ecstatic you were. “I braised it differently this time, could you tell? Well, obviously you could if it’s good this time.” You rambled on, a bit of a giggle in your voice.

“It’s always this good, Y/N.” Carmy suddenly said. His words had you pausing, tilting your head playfully. Hand trailing along the counter, he rounded it to stand next to you.

"What do you mean?" You asked, smile falling a bit. The man's words echoed in your head and you looked around the room as if to try and find meaning from his statement. Surely he didn't have you remake the dish for no reason, right? But Carmy's strong posture and raised brows, waiting for you to figure it out yourself, made you think that's exactly what he did. Sobering up, you scoffed and crossed your arms as you sent him a look. "Are you serious? This whole time..." You trailed off.

"Yes, this whole time." He said, leaning on the counter with one hand, eyes not leaving you. "I needed you to bust your ass, Chef. I knew you needed the practice, so I gave you the motive." Carmy explained. The scrunch of your nose made his chest hum with something warm, akin to looking at a kicked puppy that he wanted to scoop up and reassure. Guilt washed over him a little bit as he feared he was acting more and more like his old Chef, but he pushed those feelings down as best he could. He did this for the right reasons, unlike that dickhead in New York did to him. There was no berating and preying on insecurities, just some tough love.

Sighing, you were torn between being angry and feeling grateful that Carmy saw this potential in you. You didn't know what to say, so you blurted out exactly how you felt. "I'm embarrassed."

Carmy frowned, ducking his head to catch your eyes where you looked down a bit. "Why are you embarrassed?" His voice was soft, tiptoeing as to not make you more upset.

Allowing him to meet your eyes, you curled into yourself at the attention. "Because I've made a fool of myself these past few months." You murmured, spilling your guts to your new boss for some reason that you didn't know. Maybe it was the quiet kitchen, or the sudden defeat you felt, but your mouth was faster than your mind.

A small 'no, no, no' left Carmy and he shook his head, reaching a hand out to place on your shoulder. "Don't be. I came in and turned shit upside down, it just took you a bit more practice to get the hang of things." His hand started to rub your arm comfortingly, leaving heat where he touched. You knew this must have been a form of an apology in his own way. The words didn't come easy to Carmen, but he tried to convey it the best he could.

Leaning forward, Carmy mustered his best stern expression, wanting to keep your gaze so you couldn't look away and distract yourself from his next words. Your breath caught in your throat, not used to this proximity. "I'm proud of you. You should be proud of yourself too."

Heat encapsulated your cheeks and you nodded, spurring him to nod as well. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

As soon as Carmy saw your shy smile he gave one right back to you. Still close, he radiated heat that made it all the more difficult to calm the butterflies growing in your stomach. Eyes never leaving each other's, the air grew tense as the dust settled. Unlike the usual sandwich smell, an aroma of a clean linen scent came off of him as you realized he must have showered before coming here. Carmy never would admit it, but your perfume filled the air for him, making him linger longer than he should have. The blink of your stare looking up at him made Carmy's chest tighten, and he immediately pulled himself out of whatever trance he was in.

Clearing his throat, Carmy let go of your shoulder and backed up a bit. "No more all-nighter's here. Okay, Chef?" He tried to seem playful to rid himself of awkwardness and whatever that just was.

Mouth falling open, you gaped at him. "How did you know?!"

Hands up in surrender, Carmy just shrugged. "A Chef never tells his secrets," He began, heading over to the drying rack to busy himself, playfully adding, "And someone kept leaving the spare key out, so I figured." The smirk he sent you made you grin and roll your eyes.

Carmy would never tell you he knew because that's what he used to do. Before he got the hang of things in his earlier days as a chef, late nights in the restaurant kitchen and a half hour of sleep was the norm for him. As you began cleaning up your work the chef's gaze lingered on you, blue eyes studying your form with a thoughtful look. Carmy shook his head, smiling to himself and starting his work. He reckoned he saw himself in you more than ever.

[twilightkitkat]

Thinking about the reaction another universe's Logan would have to meeting Wade. To Wade and Logan's relationship.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

---

Imagine a Logan who didn't lose the X-men, who still has his "family," but who still has his walls sky high. Who is still an alcoholic (albeit less chronically than our Logan) and still keeps everyone at a distance despite craving company like a moth to a flame. Who purposely isolates himself, denying it under the guise of indifference, out of fear of rejection. Who tries to protect himself by building a fortress around himself only to result in nobody being able to scale those impenetrable walls.

Who has people around him (Jean, Scott, Charles) but still feels alone in the world. Who is physically present (showing up at dinnertime, attending meetings, occasionally completing missions alongside them) but emotionally absent. Who tries so hard to try to be there, to be emotionally open, to give back what he's received, but fails spectacularly.

And everyone else notices. But they don't say anything, afraid of breaking the careful balance that keeps Logan just close enough to touch but just far enough that their fingers only manage to graze him. And so they keep up this balancing act, getting used to the tenseness and slightly uncomfortable silences.

They resign themselves to it eventually. To only being able to climb halfway and receive messages through a window.

And Logan resigns himself to this loneliness too. In 200 years, nobody has managed to break through. Why would they be able to now?

Imagine this Logan meeting the current Wade.

Wade was sent on some kind of mission by the TVA to investigate a disturbance in the timeline of this universe. His Logan offered to join him, but he turned him down. He felt uneasy bringing Logan to a universe where his team was still alive, where everything was eerily similar to his original universe except for their fate. He didn't want Logan to have to go through the pain of seeing the life he "could've" had if he hadn't been the "Worst Wolverine." (And, on a deeper level, he felt scared that Logan would realize that he was never enough to fill that void.)

And so he left a very reluctant Logan behind to delve into this alternate universe.

He stumbled out of the portal into some inconspicuous alleyway, brushing the grime off his suit. Lo and behold, he's in a big bustling city that looks almost identical to his own.

It doesn't take him long to begin investigating, searching for what could've caused the disruption in the timeline. He'd planned for this to be a quick mission, a one-and-done, clean-cut resolution so that he could get home in time to eat whatever scraps Logan had somehow managed to assemble into a decent-looking meal.

He was looking forward to eating dinner with Logan and Blind Al. To pressing his leg against Logan's a bit too closely to be platonic—but not yet explicitly romantic—and feeding Mary Puppins under the table to Logan's protest.

And yet, after hours of searching for clues and interrogating mercenaries and shady guys who knew about underground operations, he was stumped.

And so, naturally, when the bad guys didn't have the information he wanted, he turned to the good guys.

Unfortunately, the Avengers weren't particularly active (at least publicly) at the moment, and so he turned to the very group he'd been hoping to avoid: the X-men.

Maybe breaking into their mansion through a window on a random Tuesday wasn't the best way to make an impression, but it got the job done.

However, the X-men seemed to disagree on that front, considering how the few that had been inside (barely any he recognized) were all tensing up and drawing their weapons.

"Woah woah woah," Wade put his hands up in the air placatingly, "Slow your roll. I'm not here to cause trouble for you guys. I know it looks bad but I promise I'm here for very important, very legit, very legal, reasons."

"...Reasons that require you to break and enter?" some random X-man Wade didn't care about asked.

"Yes, exactly!" Wade chirped. "I'm sure we're all very busy and I want to go home just as much as you all want to redecorate whatever the fuck this mansion aesthetic is."

"What's wrong with the aesthetic?" Colossus (finally, someone he recognized!) asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Don't worry about it, pal," Wade quickly deflected, "Anyway, straight to the point: do any of you guys know what the hell could be fucking up your timeline? Because, unfortunately, none of the assholes on the streets seem to know. And, even more unfortunately, I have to fix that."

"...What do you mean fucking up the timeline?" Jean asked, slowly.

"Well, it's a long story—"

—one that ended up with Wade sitting in the big bad office across from Charles Xavier, who took an obnoxiously sophisticated sip of his tea.

"So you're from another dimension," he starts with.

"Yup, born and raised, baby."

"...And you're here because you believe there's something wrong with this timeline?"

"You know it. Although I don't see why we're going through the whole questioning shebang when you can just read my mind and get it over with," Wade leans back in the chair, his tone flippant.

"Well—"

Before Charles can finish speaking, the doors loudly slam open to reveal a very real and very angry Wolverine.

"Where is the fucker who broke in?" he growls, claws unsheathed.

"Right here, buddy," Wade grins and waves.

"Why is he still here and not locked up?" Other-Logan's fiery eyes flick toward Charles.

"Because—"

"—Because I'm here to save your ass, Wolvie. I wasn't the one who messed up your universe and I sure as hell wasn't the one who pissed in your cereal this morning, considering I, y'know, wasn't here."

Wolverine looks slightly taken aback at the audacity of Wade taunting him after breaking and entering.

"Now, not that I don't enjoy some eye candy—I really do, trust me—but can we finish this shit up so I can get back to my universe?" Wade eyed the tense, battle-braced posture Other-Logan was sporting, "And holy shit, peanut, we can try out pain play later but let's save the kinks for the bedroom, yeah? Put those claws away for now."

Wolverine looks like he's about to choke him or choke himself with the way he's clenching his fists in... anger? incredulity? Something to that effect.

And so began their very real, very legit, very spectacular journey to save the timeline! Unfortunately, the other X-men apparently had better shit to do (lazy fuckers), and so while they were out on their own pre-determined missions, Wolverine and Deadpool had to work together. Again. (Well, "again" for one of them.)

And it was going... okay. Surprisingly. They'd managed to locate a few places with suspicious activity using the X-men's network and while Wade would probably have to wait on that homemade dinner, the mission wasn't a total disaster so far (which was better than he could say for last time).

Except, there were a few... slip-ups.

It started when The Wolverine (because he wasn't His Logan, not to Wade) and Deadpool (because he wasn't His Wade either) were out raiding some base that had suspicious activity around when the timeline started having issues. They hadn't uncovered anything substantial so far, but there was definitely something shady going on. Call it a Spidey Sense.

Wolverine was slaughtering some enemies after threatening them within an inch of their life to spill their secrets, as usual, when one henchman (a mutant of some type, judging by the inhuman speed at which he moved) attacked him from behind. Wade didn't even have time to think, all he saw was Logan getting attacked and in an instant, he'd crossed the distance and embedded a katana in the fucker's head.

He knew Logan would heal. He did. But it didn't make it easier to look at him, bloodied and bruised, and not want to murder the person who caused it. It reminded him too much of the way Wade found Logan—reckless and suicidal, resigned to drinking himself to death and not caring how hurt he was.

(And, more than that, he just hated to see him in pain. He liked to think it was reciprocal, by the way Logan would slice someone into fucked up organ confetti the second they managed to land a good hit on Wade. He was always a bit more wound up on those nights, a barely tampered rage in his eyes and snarl to his lips that didn't subside until they were back in the apartment, out of their suits, where wounds stitched themselves up. Logan still had a shakiness to him, sometimes, until the injuries were fully gone. He'd thumb at a slash on his arm until the skin was back to the typical scar tissue instead of a distinct cut.)

Wolverine looked back to see Deadpool on top of the mangled corpse.

"Just doing my job," Deadpool said cheerily, trying not to let his voice waver.

"...Sure, bub," Wolverine muttered, eyeing him a second longer before going back to whoever he was torturing.

Fuck.

And then it happened again.

They were taking a breather in the facility they'd just raided, sitting down to catch their breaths and compile their findings before setting off to the next one.

Wolverine was digging through some medkits nearby, despite being healed.

"Woah buddy," Deadpool started, "Don't you think it's a bit early to be getting drunk? I mean, I'm all for freedom of choice, but I don't think the Founding Fathers thought that choice would mean drinking straight rubbing alcohol."

Wolverine stopped, his muscles stiffening.

"...What makes you think I'm looking for rubbing alcohol?" he asked slowly, a tenseness to his voice that was separate from the normal level of annoyance.

Wade quickly realized his mistake. "Oh, y'know, a hunch. I have a sixth sense. Like Spiderman. But cooler! Like instead of a Spidey Sense I have a... uhhh... Deadpool Danger Detonator?"

Wolverine looked at him suspiciously as he continued to ramble, but eventually let it go. Thank god.

And again.

They were fighting some higher-level henchmen, for once. Seems that their trail was finally leading somewhere. These guys were fewer in numbers, but actually packed some bang for their buck and all seemed to have decently strong mutations and some weapons training.

Now, Logan and Wade frequently went on missions together. In fact, at this point, they almost exclusively did jobs together. (It was part of the reason it'd been so difficult to convince Logan to let this job go. It had become routine at this point to go together, to be a Package Deal, Two Parts of a Set, Partners.)

(He'd noticed how Logan would pace anxiously when he went on more dangerous missions by himself. How he'd try and fail to distract himself and inevitably end up on the couch, tense and waiting for Wade to come home before finally, finally, letting out a deep breath and letting his muscles unwind as Wade flopped down next to him. He knew and yet he just... couldn't... this time.)

Suffice to say, Wade knew Logan's attack patterns. He knew where he'd strike and the openings he'd leave and how to cover them. He'd fought him enough himself to tell when he'd use a feint and when he'd actually go for the kill.

And so, when they were pushed back to back, surrounded on all sides, Wade let himself fall into the natural rhythm of it all. Weaving in and out between Wolverine's attacks, throwing knives where he'd miss with his claws, covering his back, and doing a masterful job at eliminating the enemies.

And Wolverine noticed. Because of course he did. He'd glanced at Wade with something akin to surprise (or even recognition) a few times when he'd managed to match him precisely.

But it felt oddly... good to be matched. Wolverine was used to working alone, to having backup but never really working alongside someone else. He fought on the same team as the X-men, yes, and they did sometimes go on joint missions together, but he never felt equal to them. Like he could throw a punch and they'd match him exactly.

He was used to leading the group, to being on the front lines of the attack, to splitting off and doing his own thing. He'd never felt this type of ease when working with someone. Like he didn't have to glance over his shoulder to check their work or see if they'd been hurt.

And so, as they fell into a comfortable rhythm, Logan found himself smiling. A feral, gleeful thing.

At the joy of finally having a match. The animalistic thrill of getting to play with his prey together without the other person shying away or shutting him down.

Logan always had to toe the line between human and animal. Giving in just enough to his animal instincts to make him a useful tool, a sharp weapon, while still retaining his humanity enough to be palatable. He could never just let go and be both. Let the line disappear in the sand as he dipped his toes in and out of the tides without feeling like someone was yanking him back or further in.

For the first time in his 200 years of existence, Logan felt free.

(When he finally came down from the adrenaline high, he looked at Wade with an indescribable expression. If Wade didn't know better, he'd almost say it looked like awe.)

And again.

They were bickering over something stupid. It doesn't matter how it started, only that now they both were bristling with annoyance and had their pride on the line.

"Can you shut the fuck up?" Wolverine growled, clenching his hands tightly.

"Or what? Is the kitty gonna unsheathe his claws?" Deadpool goaded, "Are you going to shish-kebab me? Stab me?"

"And if I do?" A challenging spark entered Logan's eyes.

"Been there, done that, honey badger. You'll have to get realllllll creative to top the Honda Odyssey," Wade smirked.

"What the hell does a car have to do with me murdering you?"

Deadpool blinked. Once. Twice. "Oh yeah, you wouldn't know that reference. Bummer. The point is, you aren't going to get anything out of impaling me. Except for the rise of a different type of weapon. If you get what I mean."

Wolverine gruffly retorted with some petty insult, but the searching look in his eyes didn't fade.

And again.

"C'mon Wolvie, you know I like it when you penetrate me, but let's try something new for a change, yeah? How about you hold me tenderly instead—" (Wolverine had never impaled him once.)

And again.

"Or what? What are you gonna say? 'Hey bub, I'm Wolverine, I'm The X-man and I'm masculine and I like woodworking and being a lumberjack in the forests of Canada.'" (Wolverine had never revealed that. To anyone, actually.)

And again.

"You know, maybe instead of drinking anything available, you can wait and I'll buy you some of the good stuff. I'll get you some beer and whisky on the house as long as you brave the very hard journey of staying sober for more than ten fucking minutes." (Wolverine had never told him his taste in alcohol.)

Until, finally—

"You know me."

"What?"

"You know me." It was a statement, not a question. Wolverine was looking at him with that same look in his eyes. The one he'd had since their first fight together where Deadpool had freaked the fuck out over someone nearly stabbing him.

"I sure hope I do, considering we've been working together for two days now," Deadpool chuckled, averting his eyes.

"No. You know me. You know me." Logan had a type of vulnerability in his eyes, one that he hadn't seen since he'd left his Logan behind.

"...What do you mean?" Wade asked, reluctantly.

"You know things about me that you shouldn't. But you couldn't have gotten it from anyone because nobody else knows them either. You know how I fight. What my habits are. What I like. What I hate. Therefore, you know me," he said, and that might be the most words Wade has ever heard this Logan speak at one time.

And Wade wants to deny it, if just to hurry along this mission and avoid the emotional turmoil of confronting his feelings with a Logan that isn't even his. But he sees the earnest look in Logan's eyes and he can't just ignore it. Can't deflect like he would for anyone else.

"...You're right, I do know you."

"How?" Logan's eyes are piercing, searching for answers. Desperately, almost. Like a man stranded in the desert, insatiably thirsty, who just learned that there's an oasis.

So Wade tells him. A short version, anyway. Tells him about snatching his Logan from another universe, getting thrown into the void, and then working together to save his world. Tells him about asking Logan to stay, and how they've been living together since. How they go on missions together and make dinner together and watch shitty reality TV together with Blind Al and their dog.

(Doesn't tell him how he refused to let his Logan come along, that he wanted to, that he'd do anything to keep his Logan with him even if it hurts to be away.)

Finally, the inevitable question comes up: "Why did Logan abandon his universe?"

And Wade tells him that too.

And Logan... doesn't know how to feel.

A part of him feels horrified. That there's a universe out there where he failed the X-men so horrendously. Where he drank himself into a stupor and stumbled back in to find them dead. Where he lived his entire life denying that he cares and building up his walls only for him to crumble anyway when they're gone (only for him to have nothing to reminisce on because of it).

But a larger part of him (a shameful, bitter part of him) feels envy curling around his chest, squeezing his heart and constricting his throat until he's barely able to breathe.

Because of course, it'd take losing everything that mattered to him right now to be able to find what he's been missing this whole time. He couldn't just be happy with the X-men, he had to be selfish and want more despite all they've done for him.

A greedy, wretched part of him thinks it'd be worth it. To throw it all away just so that he could have someone like Wade who talks about him not as a colleague, not as a teammate, but with a fondness so evident he could choke on it. Someone who knows Logan, not The Wolverine. Who cares about the little details like how he furrows his brow and what his favorite drink is and the exact pitch his voice takes when he genuinely laughs instead of just how quick he can kill enemies.

Someone who knows him as Logan—a selfish, possessive, scared, pathetic, insecure, asshole—and still wants him. Still loves him.

He's always had to hide parts of himself. Always had to don a mask of stoicism, careful indifference, and harsh words. Because then, people would hate him for that. They would push him away because he was rude, he was callous, he was brutal, but they wouldn't look deeper.

Because if Logan bared himself to someone as he is, vulnerable and terrified of losing those he loves, and they rejected him?

It'd be a worse fate than death.

But here Wade was, talking about him—as a person, not a hero—and smiling so visibly Logan can tell behind the mask, speaking of him warmly even when remembering how they used to fight.

Logan feels something unfamiliar in his gut. A concoction of jealousy, hatred, and... relief. Happiness. Possessiveness, even.

That he could be seen and loved despite it.

Logan knows what love feels like. Knows how it feels to care about people, despite how he acts. He knows how to feel protective and worried.

He's felt attraction before. To Jean, who had soft skin and a pretty smile and who always showed courage in the face of danger. To Scott, even, who commanded with a strength in his voice that sometimes had heat running through Logan's veins.

This is different.

This isn't just love. Isn't just attraction. It's yearning—awful, honest, raw yearning for something he desperately wanted but knew he couldn't have. Knew he shouldn't have.

But he wanted it. He'd felt empty for so long, even surrounded by people, even with people he cares about and who he knows reciprocate. He's been trapped in limbo for so long: never alone but always lonely, given enough scraps to stay in one place and fear loss while still feeling an itch under his skin for something more.

To be understood. To be seen. To be loved. To belong to someone instead of being a stray, wandering from door to door and taking whatever handouts he can while sleeping in their shitty garage.

Logan is an animal at heart, really. The Wolverine had always been inside him, influencing his feelings and emotions in a way normal humans couldn't quite relate to or understand.

And like all animals, the thing he wants the most is a home. A place to belong.

He stares at Wade as he continues rambling about the Logan from his world, talking with an energy he'd never had before.

A home, huh?

[delicatebarness]

bridges to burn | prologue

Summary: You arrive at the Avengers Compound to manage your uncontrollable Extremis powers. As you navigated the new environment, you clash with your assigned babysitter/bodyguard, Bucky Barnes.

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Iron Man 3. Intense Emotional Conflict. Superpowers and Uncontrollable Abilities. Parental Concern and Pressure. Family Tension. Emotional and Physical Heat.

Word Count: 1103

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: Oh look, another.

BTB Tags: - Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this serious.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes

Touching down at the Avengers Compound, the Quinjet’s engines hummed softly as they powered down. You stepped off the lowering ramp and took in the sprawling complex. The building was an impressive blend of sleek modern design and cutting-edge technology, lush greenery surrounded the wide-open spaces. The peaceful landscape contrasted against the bustling chaos of the city, where you spent most of your life. 

Your dad, Tony Stark, stood waiting for you near the entrance, concern, and determination etched across his aging features. The familiar scent of motor oil and cologne filled your senses as he enveloped you in a quick hug. His grip around you was firm, silently reassuring you that he was there for you. 

“Welcome home, kid,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. However, his eyes revealed the worry he had tried to mask. “Come on, let me show you around.” 

Following him through the compound, you passed training rooms that were filled with state-of-the-art equipment, common areas where you caught glimpses of some familiar faces, and the impressive hangar with various vehicles and aircraft. The building buzzed with activity, yet there was still a sense of order and purpose. 

Finally, you reached Tony’s sanctuary, his lab. The place you knew he felt most at home. You marveled at the array of gadgets and projects scattered around, as you followed his gesture for you to step in. Screens displayed holographic schematics, while robotic arms moved with precision, a new creation being assembled. The faint hum of machinery was a comforting backdrop. 

“And, this is where the magic happens,” Tony said, pride touching his voice. Watching you take it all in, his lips played a small smile. “But, before you get too comfortable, there’s something we need to talk about.” 

Raising your eyebrow suspiciously, you waited for him to continue. Looking uncharacteristically nervous, he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I know things have been… rough since the incident,” he began, trying carefully to choose his words. He leaned against a workbench, fixing his gaze on a point somewhere behind you, crossing his arms over his chest. “And, I know you’re struggling to control the Extremis,” he trailed off, pausing before he continued, “but, we can’t have another accident like that. Not again.” 

The memory of the uncontrollable heat coursing through your veins caused you to flinch. The sight of the flames, the smell of burning wood, the panic in the firefighter’s voice as they tried to contain the damage. Since it saved your life as a child, you lived with the Extremis virus. Your mother, Maya Hansen’s legacy, turned you into a ticking time bomb. 

“I know, Dad,” you sighed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll do better.” 

Shaking his head, Tony pushed off the workbench and stepped closer to you. “It’s not about doing better. It’s about getting help. Which is why I’ve arranged for someone to keep an eye on you.” 

The door to the lab opened, snapping your attention away from your dad before you could protest. And in walked, Bucky Barnes– The Winter Soldier. You had seen him in action and heard the ghost stories, but meeting him in person… that was different. He was imposing, a steely gaze seemingly assessing every detail of the room, and you. As he approached, his movements were fluid, almost predatory.

“Tin-Man, this is my daughter,” Tony spoke as he gestured toward you. “She’s going to be staying here for a while. And… you’re going to be looking out for her.” 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly toward you, and you could see in his piercing gaze that he was as thrilled about this arrangement as you were. “I was expecting a kid,” he said bluntly, a hint of annoyance carrying in his voice. Crossing his arms over his chest, the metal of his arm caught against the light. 

“No, I’m not a kid,” you snap back, matching his posture. “And, I don’t need a glorified babysitter. Unless,” you paused, shoot Bucky a playful smirk. “You’re here to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story?” 

Tony stepped between you, holding up a hand to forestall any pending argument. “Easy, both of you. This isn’t up for debate. Barnes’ here to help, whether you like it or not.” 

You glare at Bucky, who returns the look with an equal intensity. “Fantastic,” you said, your voice dripped with sarcasm. “My very own bodyguard, don’t expect me to make this easy for you.”

Smirking, Bucky’s eyes filled with amusement almost as if he was accepting a challenge. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, your iris’ blazed with anger, a burning orange glow. 

His smirk never faltered. “Whatever you say… Princess.” 

Watching the exchange, Tony’s expression changed to one of concern and exasperation. His face, usually composed, now showed signs of strained patience. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tried to stifle a sigh. “Alright, both of you,” he injects, his voice filled with frustration. “This isn’t a battlefield. Can we at least try to keep it professional?” 

You took a glance at Tony, then back at Bucky, who still had a smirk plastered across his face, enjoying the friction. Tony continued, his tone firm but weary. “I get that you two won’t see eye to eye, but let’s keep the drama to a minimum. We’re here to make sure things don’t  go up in flames, literally.” 

Squaring off with Bucky, you took another step closer. The heat between you both was almost tangible. “I mean it, Winter Soldier. I’m not some dame in distress that you get to boss around.” 

Leaning in, his voice was a low, taunting whisper. “And I’m not some nanny here to hold your hand.” 

The tension crackled between you, and you noticed how his eyes were cold and calculating, with a flicker of something else– something that mirrored the heat in your own. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something more, but whatever it was, made your heart race. 

“Good,” you retorted, sarcasm stayed laced within your words. “I wouldn’t want you thinking you could handle me.” 

His eyes locked with yours, his smirking only growing. “Trust me, Princess, I can handle anything you throw at me.” 

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t help but feel the thrill of his challenge rush through you. “We’ll see about that.” 

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze burning into your back. This wasn’t over– far from it. And somehow, the thought of that excited you as much as it infuriated you.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[serahadmoni]

A Case for Bodhi Durran

Criminally underused and oft-sidelined, Bodhi Durran deserves…more. More attention. More consideration. More love. While plenty of fanon exists surrounding his character - including presuppositions of what his life was like before the apostasy, what his dreams for the future were before the Rider’s Quadrant -  for this commentary I will try to focus primarily on the text and evidentiary proof of his virtues. So, let's talk about how Bodhi Durran...

Is Loyal

“When you have a hundred and seven scars on your back, then you get to make the fucking decisions, Ciaran,” Bodhi snarls

I feel like all the Marked Ones who populate Xaden's inner circle have loyalty written indelibly on their hearts - loyalty to not only Tyrrendor, but specifically to Xaden. They understand the sacrifice he made then and the sacrifices he continues to make for them. Even when being loyal to Xaden means hauling dead bodies out of his not-girlfriend’s room at two in the morning. Or making clandestine smuggling runs . Or continuing to manage the operation in Xaden’s absence when the Navarrian leadership has begun to catch wise. Or when you take pains to ensure he’s left to his grief on the anniversary of his father’s death. Even when they sometimes butt heads over specifics, Bodhi ultimately defers to Xaden, because he…

Is Dutiful

[Xaden] dips his chin toward our wing, and two riders—Garrick and Bodhi—break formation, then climb the steps to stand behind Xaden, their hands at their sides.  “As it was a matter of life and death, I personally executed six of the would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran.

Again, all the Marked Ones display this quality in spades. Even if they don’t always agree with the methods Xaden uses, they will forever carry out their duty, his orders. Liam represents the ultimate expression of this quality, but the way Bodhi protects Violet in Xaden’s absence, even going so far as to risk his own reputation and command by constantly moving flight maneuvers to protect her is an undeniable expression of his sense of duty.

“You saved every single one of us here, cousin,” Bodhi says. “And we’re thankful. Now, I’d like to do what we’ve trained for, and if it means I don’t go home, then I guess my soul will be commended to Malek. I wouldn’t mind seeing my mother anyway.”

This speaks for itself. Both in the language of duty and loyalty, which only serves to accentuate the fact Bodhi…

Is Supportive

“You’re our best fighter,” a second-year near Xaden counters with a quick grin.

Though he and Garrick (and Violet) share in this responsibility to some extent, I still think in a lot of ways Bodhi is Xaden’s ultimate hype man. Mostly because he understands Xaden so deeply and as such is well aware how much Xaden needs it sometimes. He’s present for Xaden in difficulty. Willing to advocate for him, stand up for him even against the other Marked Ones as he does after Resson.

Bodhi grins, flashing a smile that looks exactly like my aunt’s used to. “Good to see you up and about, Sorrengail.” Then he smacks me on the shoulder as he walks off, looking back over his shoulder. “I’ll fetch the backup plan. Good luck.”

But it’s not just Xaden he supports…

When the Assembly wants nothing more than to toss Violet in a cell, he lends his voice to the arguments for her loyalty, her integrity: 

She fought at our side at Resson.” Bodhi tenses as his voice rises as well.

AND

In another, quieter moment, which speaks not only to his naturally supportive nature but also how well he can read others needs: 

“It’s a lost magic,” Bodhi says softly, appearing at my side. He rubs his thumb over his newly mended, scarless palm. “Maybe there’s a reason this stone never worked. It might be broken.”

He can tell how thoroughly the failed attempt at raising the wards shatters Violet’s self-confidence and even though he doesn’t know her as well as Xaden, he understands she needs reassurance, offering it freely. He also supports Violet in her burnout and when she’s crazed after hearing Xaden was injured. 

Bodhi Durran is a man who desperately wants everyone to be okay. Actively. Daily. Trying to not only keep everyone alive, but sane and grounded, because Bodhi…

Is Brilliant

The distraction Bodhi engineered in the flight field bought us time to meet without teachers noticing, but not much, especially considering that Devera, Kaori, Carr, and Emetterio are among those on campus still.

Personally, I would love to know what he threw together with zero notice that managed to keep the instructors busy long enough for Dain to call the quadrant to formation and Xaden (coughVioletcough) to issue his invitation. My guess, there were explosives of some sort involved.

Also, when they are climbing the Cliffs of Dralor with the fliers and the wyvern attack, he puts together what it means that the wyvern felt the pulse of the Aretian hatching grounds being reactivated before pretty much anyone else. He understands the wyvern will have relayed to their masters that the fliers and Aretian riders joined forces and the implications of such a report.

“I… uh… think we’re going to have to make some modifications on that harness,” Bodhi remarks as Andarna struggles to maintain her balance. “That’s going to take a few hours.”

Without drifting into the land of fanon, it’s hard to elaborate on this point except to highlight that Bodhi has the skills and know-how to modify an elaborately designed one-of-a-kind dragon harness. Were I to drift into fanon, I would shout from the rooftops that he’s the engineer of the group - the one that made sure Violet’s daggers would work for her, who consulted with Xaden on the prototype and modifications to Violet’s saddle, who also helped design and proof Andarna’s harness. Where Xaden may be the ideas-man in these areas, Bodhi executes. He’s the one who fixes their pocket watches when they won’t keep time or helps troubleshoot why the damn trigger on that crossbow sticks when any of the Marked Ones can’t figure it out for themselves. Ultimately, Bodhi wants to help in a tangible way because he...

Is Protective

In this, I feel it’s best to just let Bodhi speak for himself. 

When Varrish confronts Violet on the flight field before her first trip to Samara.

“You may leave, Cadet Durran,” Varrish says.  Bodhi moves closer to my side, and the male lieutenant takes a step closer as well, the mage lights catching the signet patch—fire wielding—on his uniform. “As Cadet Sorrengail’s section leader, I am the next in her chain of command. And as Article Four, Section Two of the Codex states, her discipline falls to her chain of command before being brought to cadre. I would be negligent in my duty were I to leave her in potential possession of… whatever it is you’re looking for.”

When Varrish pushes Violet to near burnout.

Bodhi’s warm brown face appears in front of mine. “Fuck.” He tugs the edges of the blanket closed around me. “This is because of Andarna?”  “Yes.”  Bodhi’s eyes widen. … “I’ll handle it,” Bodhi promises, capturing my gaze. “This won’t happen to you again.”

When Dain Aetos calls Violet to the mat because he’s pissed off that she won’t talk to him.

“You shouldn’t do this!” Bodhi shouts as he runs at us, skidding to a stop next to me. Imogen isn’t far behind. Ah, she’d run to find the closest person to Xaden possible. Makes sense. “She’s in a fucking sling, Aetos.”  “Last time I checked, you’re a section leader.” Dain narrows his eyes on Bodhi. “And your cousin isn’t her wingleader anymore. I am.”  The muscles in Bodhi’s neck bulge. “Xaden’s going to fucking kill him,” he whispers.

There are plenty of other instances where he protects others. Notably, when he steps in front of Carr to counter his signet as they are leaving Basgiath. And I’m certain there are hundreds of instances we don’t see since we are in Violet’s POV through the series. None of which detracts from the fact that Bodhi…

Is Principled

At the beginning of Fourth Wing, upon returning from a standard weapons run, he pushes Xaden and Garrick both, insisting: 

“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking to Xaden, his voice low…

And then again at the end of the book, when the cadets are faced with a decision to fight alongside the fliers to save the Pormoish civilians or flee for Eltuval, he’s the first to insist they help. Even coming into conflict with Xaden’s more measured approach to the impossible dilemma Col. Aetos has enforced upon them. 

“How many people live in Resson?” Bodhi asks.  “More than three hundred,” Imogen answers as another boom cracks through the valley. “That’s the post they do the yearly trades at.”  “Then let’s get down there.” Bodhi turns and Xaden steps back, blocking his path with an outstretched hand. “You’re kidding me, right?”  “We have no idea what we’re walking into.” Xaden’s tone reminds me of that first day after Parapet. He’s in full command mode.  “So we should just stand here while civilians die?” Bodhi questions, and I tense. We all do, watching Xaden. 

As much as I love Xaden, and I do. I believe equipping the drifts with weapons is a means to an end for him. They are the thin, brown and feathered line between the venin and Tyrrendor. He wants to continue helping them, but I don’t believe - other than from an abstract “we don’t condemn innocents to death” perspective - he’s overly concerned with the preservation of individual Poromish lives. Bodhi, for better or worse, appears to be invested in the preservation of life in general. A grounded, guiding principle that thankfully he values because Bodhi…

Is Powerful

He sighs. “Yeah. Second time someone tried to jump me in the bathing chamber this week.”  My eyes widen as my heart hammers in my chest. “Are you okay?”  He has the gall to grin. “I completely eviscerated some asshole out of Second Wing while naked and only got a bruise. I’m fine.” 

I mean, besides the litany of weapons certification patches Violet observes early in Fourth Wing, Bodhi is just as skilled in unarmed hand-to-hand. While he’s never described as “on-par” with Xaden (since Xaden spars with Garrick almost exclusively unless he’s trying to make a point), Bodhi clearly knows how to handle himself. In the buff. With no weapons. And accruing no serious injuries. 

Which doesn’t even touch his signet…

“What have you done?” Carr shouts, running for us, his wispy hair flying in all directions as he lifts his hands. “You’ll end us all, over who? People you’ve never met? I won’t allow it!”  “Bodhi!” Xaden orders as Carr reaches Third Wing. Fire erupts from Carr’s hands, streaming toward the dais, and my stomach drops. Time seems to slow as Bodhi steps forward and twists his hand like he’s turning a dial. The fire dies, extinguishing like it was never there and leaving Carr staring at his hands.  “You taught us well, Professor,” Bodhi says, holding his hand in place. “Maybe a little too well.”  Damn.  “He can counter signets,” Xaden tells me.  Well, that’s fucking terrifying.

And though people have questioned Brennan's assessment: 

“By our best calculations,” Brennan says, rubbing his hands together to keep warm, “the six most powerful riders currently in Aretia are Xaden, Felix, Suri, Bodhi, Violet, and me.”

When you consider the potential of his signet…

Yes, he extinguishes Carr’s flames without blinking. But he can also smother Xaden’s shadows. Dispel Violet’s lightning. Destroy Mira’s wards. Keep Brennan from mending. He could have calmed Lilith’s storms. And while it seems like largely a defensive signet, there are offensive elements to it as well. Such as - and I’m not saying this would happen - he could remain completely invisible to Melgren, even without the benefit of three other Marked Ones. If such a thing were in the cards, he would be able to easily assassinate Melgren, undetected. 

And that’s if we don’t consider what, if any, mind signets he can counter. Can he reverse Imogen’s memory wipe? Or merely prevent her from performing one? Can he fool a truthsayer by offering them nothing to read? Based on the text, it appears Xaden is unable to read his intentions. Which would imply he’s impervious to not only inntinsics, but memory readers and erasers, truthsayers, etc. 

Considering we don’t know precisely how his signet works, it’s difficult to say for certain where the boundaries lie. Is it only as Xaden says, “He can counter signets?” Or is he interrupting the channel between dragon and rider entirely?  Which would have far more wide-reaching implications since he could theoretically also break the channel between gryphons and their fliers as well as venin and the earth.

Just like we really don’t have all the information about Violet’s “pure power” signet, we don’t have nearly enough hard information about Bodhi’s to say for certain where the potential expression of it may end.

Despite his physical and magical prowess, though, Bodhi…

Is Pragmatic

“I liked it better when we just delivered the weapons,” Bodhi mutters.

As principled, honorable, loyal, and dutiful as he is…same. He wants to help, but it’s hard. And dangerous. And running weapons is easier. I don’t blame him at all. 

His pragmatism is reflected in the text a hundred different ways, but it’s also simply stated by both him and Violet. 

“And I thought you were the most reasonable of the group.” I sigh. “Look, if I can help, then maybe we can prevent what I’m assuming are… supply runs.” Talking in code is ridiculous, but anyone could be listening. “Give me a job.”  “Oh, I am the most reasonable in the group.” He flashes a grin, leaning back on his heels. “I also don’t have a death wish. Survive second year and strengthen your shields, Sorrengail. That’s your job.” 

He is a man who gets things done. Which is not to say he’s not in touch with his emotions. But he understands the balance between necessity and diplomacy. Not that he’s a staid, stoic mission only guy either, because Bodhi…

Is Quick-Witted

“Hey, I hate to interrupt what’s obviously a moment,” Bodhi whispers loudly from my left. “But that was the last bell, so that’s our cue to get this nightmare started.”

AND

Bodhi wrinkles his nose.  “What?”  “You smell like dragon ass.”  “Fuck off.” I chance a whiff and can’t argue.  “I’m using your room.”  “I would consider it a personal favor.” I extend my middle finger and head toward his room.

Much as I appreciate and adore Bodhi’s quick wit, I could also write volumes about how his dry, sarcastic sense of humor operates as a defense mechanism. A lens through which he can deal with the intensity of his circumstances and the impact of these weighty decisions they are all making.

Like Xaden himself says, Bodhi always lightens the mood. To help himself deal? Yes. But (like Ridoc) also because he can tell everyone desperately needs it, a virtue that serves him well because he…

Is A Leader

”Shouldn’t you all be in Battle Brief?” Bodhi asks, his voice booming as he comes up behind us. One look sends the other squads scurrying for the door. 

Though a lot of space on the page has been given to Xaden, Rhiannon, and Violet’s obvious leadership qualities, Bodhi sprang from the same genetic line as Xaden. While the expression of the Riorson magnetism may be tempered by his natural demeanor, he possesses the same it-factor as Fen. Were I to lay bets, I expect his mother was similarly charismatic and it was expressed in her much the way it is in Bodhi.

“…Flame Section has the unique honor of being completely intact.” Brennan looks down at Bodhi. “Durran, you brought every single cadet. I guess that would make you the Iron Section.”

He inspired such loyalty from his section, they all defected. For so many reasons, including those already expressed above, I believe Bodhi to be a servant leader. Servant leadership rests on three pillars:  compassion, character, and competence. All of which Bodhi has in spades. He would not run a section the way Garrick did. Or the way Xaden ran his wing. Not that there was anything wrong with either of those philosophies necessarily. But he would pull with his squads, encourage them, equip them, support them, and push them gently to be their best. He would need to make certain they’re ready to face what he did in Resson, but he would do it with a deft, deliberate, more delicate hand than I think Xaden is willing or able to extend, because Bodhi Durran…

Is A Caretaker

So much of what has already been outlined above also represents an expression of this quality. From him helping Garrick protect Xaden’s solitude on the anniversary of Fen’s death. To him stepping between Aaric and Xaden when they start throwing barbs about Alic (which is also pragmatism, because hey, there’s a job to do). To him waiting with Xaden in the hall while Violet cleans up after Resson. He takes care of people both physically: 

“Whoa!” Bodhi throws up one hand, the other clutching his rucksack. “I don’t want you to freeze to death on the flight there.” He yanks his flight jacket out of his pack and hands it to me.

Bodhi helps Aaric out of his [disguise], careful with his blistered hands.  … “That’s a rebound burn,” Bodhi says. “It will clear up overnight if treated.”

”And tell Bodhi to track down whatever antidote she and the rest of her squad need.”

And emotionally, which leads me to the fact Bodhi…

Is Emotionally Attuned

An hour later, I’m bathed and impatient as I wait outside my room in a fresh set of leathers with Bodhi, who’s doing his best to lighten my mood just like he always does.

Bodhi reads people. Easily. He understands what Xaden’s saying without it being said . After Resson, he knows what Xaden needs from them - not questions, not reason, just action. He knows that Violet and Imogen need to run. And even when he can’t contradict Xaden’s orders, I believe he sympathizes with Violet’s driving need to do something to help, because it’s a drive he shares. Later, he knows not to carry Violet back to the quadrant after her burnout. And he’s the one that follows her into the courtyard to offer his jacket because he can see the panic plain as day. Just as he can see her disappointment when the wards fail. He can feel Xaden’s rage and terror as Violet lays comatose and poisoned (not that Xaden is overly subtle about it). 

On top of all of that, Bodhi…

Is Beautiful

He’s handsome, with tawny brown skin crowned by a cloud of black curls and a litany of patches on what I can see of his uniform under his cloak. His features are close enough to Xaden’s that they might be related. Cousins, maybe?

…Bodhi has the same bronzed skin and strong brow line, but his features aren’t as angular as Xaden’s, and his eyes are a lighter shade of brown. He looks like a softer, more approachable version of his older cousin...

Even Violet, who only has eyes for Xaden, recognizes how attractive he is. Yet, as fair and fine the wrapping, I would heartily declare his character fairer still.

While this is by no means an exhaustive list of his virtues - he's also humble, adaptable, a peacemaker, a good listener, infinitely capable, empathetic, and hyperaware of how he should conduct himself in a given situation - I think the case for Bodhi Durran has been made.

(originally compiled for the Onyx Storm countdown days at the RQ Discord)

[beensbaee]

𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

summary; neteyam helps his favorite girl out after she gets sick.

word count! 2.4k

SICKENINGLY SWEET.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You never missed breakfast.

It was your favorite meal of the day - the time where you and Neteyam would finally see each other after the night had kept you apart from your yawne. Beloved.

During breakfasts, he’d pick the freshest fruits from his bowl and place them into yours - piling and piling the delicious treats on your plate and insisting you deserved to eat only the best. Of course you would share with him - the two of you feeding each other while Lo’ak would gag dramatically at the romantic gesture.

Neteyam had been waiting patiently for you, sitting with his empty bowl in front of him and an already assembled plate - which was overflowing with delicious fruits - placed next to him and meant for you.

The first few minutes of your initial absence were nothing concerning - you were usually always a little late. Your tardiness always gave him a laugh. He’d watch you stumble in between na’vi’s who were already seated - flustered and apologizing every time for passing through with an embarrassed smile on your face as you made your way to him.

When the clan began eating, he told himself you were just running a little more late than usual. Neytiri nudged him, asking him why he was not eating. He only smiled, fingers running over the bracelet on his wrist which you’d gifted him as he explained he wouldn’t eat until you arrived.

Jake gave his eldest son a toothy grin at his words - while Lo’ak groaned

“Seriously? You refuse to eat? She’s not gonna die if you take a bite, you know.” Lo’ak insisted, inspecting the tower of food on your plate with clear jealousy as Neteyam carefully moved it away from his brother - already anticipating Lo’ak wouldn’t even hesitate to snatch a fruit from your plate.

“Yes, I know. But I’ll eat when she comes. Jealous she has more food than you, baby bro?” Neteyam teased as Lo’ak rolled his eyes

“You know she’d share them all with me if I just asked her.” Lo’ak threw back as Neteyam grinned

“Yes. I know that.” He said, a smile on his face as Lo’ak resumed his meal, ranting on about how he’d never hold off his meal for anyone.

But Neteyam’s worriedness only grew as he didn’t hear the usual ruckus of your late arrival - his eyes searched the rows of peacefully eating na’vi and he didn’t see you at all. He also quickly realized your mother had also not come.

“Mother, I am going to check on Y/n. She and her mother are not here - may I eat with her, wherever she may be?” Neteyam quickly asked as Neytiri nodded her head with a frown

“I hope she is all right - make sure you take enough food for all of you to eat!” Neytiri called out after Neteyam as he quickly picked up your plate - bidding his family goodbye as his feet found the familiar path towards your home.

His brows were furrowed as he stood outside your sleeping area, seeing your mother and his Grandmother talking quietly

“Poor girl.” He heard your mother whisper as he slowly approached the pair with furrowed brows

“Auntie - Grandmother, Oel ngati kameie.” He spoke, his eyes worried as your mother sent the boy a sad smile

“Oel ngati kameie Neteyam. She is sick, my boy.” Your mother whispered, her quiet voice clearly indicating you were resting inside as Neteyam’s ears fell

“Sick? Y/n is sick?” He quickly asked as his Grandmother hushed him, handing Neteyam a small bottle as she turned to him with a strict gaze

“She won’t take the medicine - I have no idea why. That girl is stubborn, one of her only flaws. Do you think you can make her take it?” His Grandmother asked with urgency present in her voice as your mother gently took your fruit plate from Neteyam, giving his cheek a quick kiss before taking it inside. He smiled at her before turning back to his Grandmother with a nod

“Yes of course. She will take it.” He answered dutifully, knowing just how stubborn you could be at times. He loved everything about you - to him, you had no flaws. He did not see it as stubbornness, but determination.

“Good. Make sure she drinks the entire thing, every drop. It is necessary for her recovery. You care about her, right?” His grandmother asked as Neteyam immediately nodded his head

“Good. Now, go on.” She said, opening the flap and letting Neteyam go inside while she left, no doubt following your mother wherever she went.

You laid in your hammock, tracing the designs on the fabric mindlessly with your back towards him. He approached you slowly, his gentle hands moving forward to rest on your back

You turned at the touch of his hands - eyes confused and sleepy until you recognized the familiar boy - your yawne.

“Oh Neteyam! I missed you dearly.” You breathed out, your voice hoarse as Neteyam reached to cradle your face in his hands. He saw how tired you were and frowned

“My sweet girl, how did you get so sick? Y/n, you were fine last night.” Neteyam insisted, his voice concerned as he helped you sit up after seeing you try and fail with how tired you were.

“I am fine - just a little tired. And my throat.” You groaned, laying back down almost immediately after he helped you sit up with your arms outstretched above your head. Neteyam moved forward to feel your forehead before he let out a long sigh

“Your forehead is burning, tiyawn. Did you sleep well last night?” He questioned with a soft voice as he knelt beside your hammock, your medicine placed on the ground and out of your view as you let out a huff of breath.

“Yes! I was perfectly fine until this morning! I woke up with my head hurting and my feet aching.” You cried out as he pressed a soft kiss on your forehead, hands immediately moving to massage your feet after the words left your mouth

“My poor girl.” He said, his tone was teasing - you could easily hear the playful undertone. But you still curled towards him, relaxing as his hands released the pent up tension in your feet.

“Mmm. You know you’re the best, right?” You said as you closed your eyes. You felt his hands falter at your statement, and you peeked an eye open to look at him. He continued massaging, but he was frowning now.

“You won’t like me much in a little bit.” He said with a weak chuckle as you tilted your head in confusion

“Y/n, I know you won’t take the medicine. My Grandmother asked me to -”

“No!”

Your voice was hoarse as you yelled out, and Neteyam quickly put his hands up in surrender  

“Easy, easy yawne. Lay back down.” He said gently as you crossed your arms over your chest firmly

“Neteyam, please. I do not want to take it.” You murmured as you rubbed your eyes. He clicked his tongue - showing his disappointment in your words as you turned to him with a knowing look. 

“You wanna tell me why you’re so set on never taking this?” He questioned with a raised brow while holding the small bottle in the air, swishing it around as the green liquid moved inside

“I…I can’t tell you.” You stated, your voice quiet now as Neteyam clasped your hand comfortingly

“You know you can tell me anything, Y/n.” He spoke. His tone so calm after your outburst - so sincere that you felt yourself caving in from his sweet tactics

“Ok, ok. I am…afraid?” You said hesitantly, your words sounding more like a question than the intended statement as Neteyam’s eyes quickly widened

“No no, I know that look! You want to laugh!” You accused, pointing at him as he shook his head with a smile 

“Why would I laugh at such a genuine fear?” He said whilst laughing. You felt your cheeks heat up as you huffed, crossing your arms and slumping in your hammock

“I’m sorry, so sorry alright? Now, tell me why you’re afraid.” He apologized, moving closer to you as his laughter subsided

After rolling your eyes, you decided there’s no need to hide why at all

“It smells funky.” You confess as his smile only widened

“Funky?”

“Yes. Disturbingly.” 

The way you said it was so serious - like the medicine should genuinely be investigated, and it had him laughing all over again

“Oh I am so glad my sickness is so funny to you Neteyam!” You exclaimed as he quickly shook his head, struggling to wipe the smile off his face

“Y/n, listen. My Grandmother adores you, you think she didn’t pick the strongest and most effective cure for your sickness?” He asked as he searched your eyes, seeing your once positive demeanor fall as you realized the Tsahìk would never give you a bad medicine.

Your initial thoughts was that it had rotted when you’d first smelt the absolutely horrible thing, but you realized how silly that even sounded. The Tsahìk probably made it fresh just for you. 

You thought for a bit, sitting in silence before you let out a sigh that had Neteyam’s ears perking up.

“Fine, I will drink it.” You said, looking at the medicine with hesitation as Neteyam placed a kiss on your cheek

“There’s my girl. Open up.” He said while you carefully opened your mouth for him. He untwisted the cap on the bottle, carefully tipping it into your mouth as you swallowed the distasteful thing with a strangled gasp

After drinking the entire thing - every drop - he gave you the leaf holding water beside your hammock to wash down the after taste

You were still coughing, and he gently patted your back to help you - his encouraging words never stopping as he told you how good you were

“So brave, that medicine had me shaking too, you know?” He said laughing as you joined in with him, unable to hold in your giggles as his tail swayed at the sound

“Now, push over.” He said with a playful gleam in his eyes

After talking for what seemed hours and the two of you eating all the fruits he’d brought - sleep eventually took over.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You’d slept the whole day - and when you awoke, eclipse was nearing.

Your eyes widened as you realized the entire day had gone by while you were resting, and a sigh of disappointment left your lips as you realized you’d be unable to spend the rest of your day with Neteyam - as the two of you only separated at night to go to your respective sleeping quarters with your own families. 

He must have left after you fell asleep to give you any more space you might’ve needed - and as much as you loved his generous heart, you wished he’d been selfish and stayed. 

The medicine must have made you so tired, because it was only minutes later before you were asleep again.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

He awoke with his head burning and feet aching.

He groaned as he sat up, the light outside indicating it was midday by now.

He felt a soft hand on his chest lightly push him to lay back down, and he felt his heart leap at the sight of you

“Y/n?” He breathed out as you smiled sadly

“I got you sick - if you hate me, I can leave.” You whispered, and he sighed with pure relief as he realized you were better - your once tired eyes had regained their lively shine and the fact made him relax. He’d gone to sleep the night before tossing and turning - not knowing if your condition was better or if it had worsened - only contributing more to his lack of sleep and worsening his sickness

“Hate you? Never.” He said weakly with a breathless laugh that had you rolling your eyes and your arms reaching out to envelop him in a hug

“I am so sorry, Neteyam. It is my fault entirely. But I know just how to make you feel better!” You exclaimed, quickling looking into the pouch that Mo’at had given you as a pleased gasp left your lips

“Ta-da!” You singsonged as you held up the oh too familiar bottle

He let out a groan at the sight that had you laughing

“Can’t believe I’m the one taking it now.” He grumbled. Though his voice was entirely grumpy, there was a smile on his face as you opened the bottle

“There’s my boy. Open up.” You teased, throwing his words back to him as his lips parted in an instant for you.

You tipped the medicine into his mouth as he drank it all, a dribble of it trickling it down his chin as you wiped it away with a laugh

He was coughing moments later from the after taste - and like a good partner, you had water prepared and ready for him - and he drank it gratefully

Neytiri approached Neteyam’s hammock with the intention of simply checking in on him - but her steps slowed once she saw you kneeling beside him as the two of you spoke quietly

She watched with a secretive smile - the way you cradled Neteyam’s face as you peppered kisses all over him was simply adorable. She knew you’d have a heart attack if you knew she saw you kissing her son - so she began to leave, a smile on her face as she left the two of you alone.

After a lot of convincing, Neteyam let you lay with him in his hammock. You’d told him how the medicine the Tsahìk had given you would make sure you didn’t get sick again for the next few weeks - and he hesitantly placed his arms around you with a sigh - worried he’d get you sick.

“You’re so warm.” You mumbled against his skin as he merely chuckled, nuzzling his face into your scalp as he sighed

“Pretty sure that is because I’m sick.” He replied and you pretended to be grossed out

“Yuck!” You said laughing as you placed a kiss on his nose - one that had him blushing and hiding his face in the crook of your neck

It didn’t take even an hour more until the two of you were snoring away - your arms wrapped around each other as you slept safe and sound in one anothers embrace.

[bradleysass]

discuss - @into-the-jeggyverse - wc: 860

Regulus’s phone buzzed on the coffee table, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of the apartment. He glanced over lazily, expecting another mundane notification, but the screen displayed a message from James:

“We need to discuss something when I get home.”

Regulus’s chest tightened instantly. Nine simple words. Innocuous to anyone else, but to him, they were a thunderclap of dread.

What could James possibly want to talk about?

His mind immediately began assembling worst-case scenarios. Had he done something wrong? Was James unhappy? Had he finally grown tired of Regulus’s quirks, his walls, his inability to always put feelings into words?

Am I suddenly too much for him? Maybe… not enough?

The thought sent a fresh pang through his chest, and his breathing hitched. He stood abruptly, pacing the length of the living room. The silence in the apartment now felt oppressive, every second ticking by with the weight of unanswered questions.

Before his thoughts could spiral entirely out of control, Regulus grabbed his phone and tapped Sirius’s number. His brother picked up on the second ring, his familiar drawl echoing through the receiver.

“Hey, Reggie. What’s up?”

“James sent me a text,” Regulus blurted out, barely able to keep the panic from his voice. “He said we need to discuss something when he gets home. That’s it. No context. No explanation.”

Sirius hummed thoughtfully, but there was a lightness in his tone that Regulus was too frantic to notice. “Did he now?”

“Yes,” Regulus snapped. “And now I’m here thinking—what could it be? Is he…” He swallowed hard. “Is he breaking up with me? Did I do something?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Sirius said, but Regulus barely heard him. The floodgates were open.

“What if I’ve been too distant? Or too needy? Maybe I’m boring him. Or maybe he’s just realized that I’m…” His voice cracked. “That I’m not good enough.”

“Reg,” Sirius tried, but Regulus steamrolled on.

“You know him better than anyone. Do you think he’s… unhappy?”

“Regulus,” Sirius said more firmly this time, a faint edge of amusement creeping into his voice. “Calm down. You’re overthinking it.”

“How can I not?” Regulus snapped. “You know how I get with these things, Sirius. Just… do you know something? Has he said anything to you?”

There was a pause, just long enough for Regulus’s anxiety to latch onto it, before Sirius’s voice came through again, maddeningly neutral.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said smoothly.

Regulus groaned, running a hand through his hair. Before he could press further, the sound of keys jingling at the door froze him in place. The lock clicked, and the door swung open to reveal James stepping inside, his face unreadable.

Regulus’s heart plummeted. He muttered a quick, “I’ll call you back,” into the phone and ended the call. Setting it down on the counter, he turned to face James, his arms crossing tightly over his chest.

James’s gaze landed on him immediately, and his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping closer.

Regulus let out a shaky breath. “Your text message. ‘We need to discuss’? What was that supposed to mean, James? Do you have any idea what that—what that kind of phrasing does to someone like me?”

James’s eyes widened in realization, and his expression shifted into one of immediate guilt.

“Oh, no,” he said softly, closing the distance between them. “Reg, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t think—” He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I just didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Regulus blinked. “What surprise?”

James’s lips quirked up into a sheepish smile as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He opened the photos app and turned the screen toward Regulus. A picture of a sleek black cat, bright-eyed and curious, filled the display.

“I saw her at the shelter today,” James explained, his voice soft and a little hopeful. “She needs a home. I thought… well, I thought we could adopt her. Together.”

Regulus stared at the picture, his chest still tight but for entirely different reasons now. He looked up at James, who was watching him carefully, and the knot of anxiety began to unwind.

“You wanted to talk about a cat?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

James nodded. “Yeah. I wanted us to decide together. But if I’d sent you a long, excited message about it, it wouldn’t have been as fun to tell you in person.” He reached out, resting his hands gently on Regulus’s shoulders. “I’m sorry for making you worry. I’ll never send a vague text like that again, I promise.”

Regulus let out a breathless laugh, his shoulders sagging as the tension drained from him. “You’re an idiot, James Potter.”

James grinned. “Your idiot, though.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but leaned into James’s touch, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He glanced at the picture of the cat again and, despite himself, smiled softly.

“She’s… cute,” he admitted.

“So, that’s a yes?” James asked, his grin widening.

Regulus huffed but couldn’t hide the warmth in his voice. “Yeah. That’s a yes.”

[snixkers]

Superman

Pairing: Spencer Reid × GN! Reader

SUGGESTIVE CONTENT

Hurt/Comfort

For: Anonymous Request

Content Warnings: Hostage situation, reader held at gunpoint, unsub is shot and killed, canon level violence, heavy kissing, petting, suggestive

Summary: After you're in a hostage situation, Spencer lets you know you can't put yourself in danger like that again.

Author's note: Super happy with the way this turned out! Enjoy!

Feedback is always welcome!

Requests are OPEN

It was supposed to be a normal case just like any other, a serial killer loose on the streets of Chicago. The team had assembled a quick profile, but they didn't factor in one thing: a partner.

That's how you ended up in this situation, with the barrel of a gun resting on your temple and the unsub gripping your shoulders as your team tried to negotiate with the man.

He was getting more and more agitated, and his finger was slowly tightening on the trigger. You squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the end, when you heard a gunshot. The unsub fell over behind you, dead.

You turned around to see where the shot came from, your jaw dropping as Spencer lowered his smoking gun and put it back in it's holster.

It's not that you weren't grateful, but you certainly weren't expecting Spencer to take a headshot in a hostage situation. That wasn't the way he did things. He'd provide plenty reasons it was unsafe, complete with alternatives.

Compared to the couple minutes you were being held at gunpoint, the next few hours went by shockingly fast. There was a lot of paperwork and interviews with the local police, but when it was over, you were grateful to get back to the hotel.

You were packing your bags and gathering your things when you heard a few sharp knocks at the door. The peephole revealed it was Spencer, so you opened it for him. He stepped in and closed it behind him, watching you for a few minutes before speaking up.

"You could've died earlier."

You bit your lip, unsure of what he was upset about.

"And you saved me. Thanks, by the way. You're my Superman."

He looked a bit frustrated now, running a hand through his hair. Clearly, your joke only served to agitate him.

"It's not funny. I shouldn't have had to do that. You need to stop putting yourself it danger."

You snorted now. He was a such a hypocrite.

"This job is dangerous."

His eyes softened, and he reached down to take your hand in his. "Please. I'm worried because I might not be able to save you someday."

You nodded, leaning closer and giving him a half-hearted hug.

"I am. I will be. Okay?"

He nodded, his eyes fixed on you for a while before he leaned forward and gave you a kiss.

You quickly returned it, your hand intertwining with his and pulling him closer. He wasted no time grabbing you by the waist and pressing up against you, deepening the kiss as goosebumps grew on the skin he touched.

As shy as he was, his hands sure weren't. He palmed at your chest before trailing his fingers down your body to rest on the curve of your ass. You matched his pace, tugging at his tie, when-

Knock knock

Garcia's cheerful voice broke the silence. "Hotch says to get out or we're leaving without you! That means you too, Reid! I know you're in there!"

The two of you quickly sprang apart, fixing your hair and clothes before looking away from each other. You grabbed your bags, and he went back to his room to grab his, meeting you in the lobby of the hotel.

And throughout the entire ride home on the jet, he kept his eyes on you.

[scudevils]

it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas — QH43

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, bit of a rushed ending sorry, not proofread!!

inspired by: “it’s beginning to look a lot like christmas” by bing crosby [1.2k]

a/n: a quick one for boyfriend quinn appreciation

it was a rare quiet day in the middle of the season, quinn who was usually surrounded by the hustle and bustle of hockey life, found himself sitting beside you in the warm glow of holiday lights, the smells of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger filled the air, mixing with the sound of soft christmas music playing in the background.

you'd been to the store earlier in the week, a gingerbread house kit lay spread out on the kitchen table to welcome him home from the road game in carolina, your niece's expectant eyes looking up at the pair of you as the pieces game in their own neatly placed bags, you and quinn shared a look of hesitation.

"this is way more complicated than it looks," was the first thing he said, peering at the instruction booklet with a playful grimace, eyeing up your niece's miniature house which was going a lot better than yours. his hair, slightly messier than usual, hinted at the fact that he had been running his hands through it in frustration, dark strands falling in front of his face. you laughed softly, enjoying the moment of calm in an otherwise busy season, and even off the ice he was just as competitive. (even if it was against a 9 year old)

"i thought you were good at building things," you teased, taking a sip from one of the hot chocolate you'd made for the three of you, choosing to take a step back from the building business as it was getting a big heated. "you're an athlete, you know... strategy, precision, focus?" you gave him a wink.

quinn grinned, his eyes lighting up in that characteristic way that always made you smile. "i play hockey, not architect. but i'm willing to try. you're the one with all the crafting experience, right?"

you raised an eyebrow at his suggestion, the most building you'd ever done in your life was a science fair project when you were 11, and even then your dad had built the majority of it. "crafting experience? skylar's got more crafting experience with me, she still does homework."

"alright, alright, I'll admit it," he said, grinning, the little girl beside them too busy already decorating her gingerbread house to care about what you had been saying. "maybe I need your help after all."

he reached for the frosting bag with a dramatic sigh, and you couldn't help but laugh as skylar's first order of business was to take the icing out of his hands. "read the instructions first," she said, flipping the booklet open and starting to explain the steps.

quinn looked at the pieces in front of him, tempted to give up and just eat the gingerbread, but that wasn't his nature, squinting like he was trying to figure out the lines on a hockey rink for the first time again. "wait, do you put the roof on first, or the walls?"

"okay, we need to build the base first. that's the most important part," you said, guiding him through it, looking to skylar for approval and she nodded, adding sweets onto her own now. "if the walls don't stay up, it's game over."

with a bit of teamwork, and an insane amount of luck that neither of you bumped into the table, you two managed to assemble the walls, and quinn was about to put the roof on before an idea struck him.

"so, are we going for traditional?" he asked, his tone suggesting he had something else in mind as he eyed the candy decorations, almost as if he was a real interior designer planning the layout for their house. "or... are we going for something a little more creative? like... a hockey rink gingerbread house?"

you raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, of course he would say that, you loved the man but sometimes you swore hockey was the only thing on his mind. "hockey rink? you've got to be kidding. i’m surprised you aren’t dying to get away from your job."

but quinn was already pointing out ideas, his mind running with possibilities, the coloured icing they could use to represent the teams, the different positions they should put in. "what if we add little gingerbread players with tiny sticks? and like, a frosting rink with icing lines?" he was grinning now, clearly enjoying the process way more than he'd let on, enjoying the design park much more than he had the building part.

"you're impossible," you spoke through a laugh, his enthusiasm something you loved about him and couldn't help but let you get in the spirit too.

together, you piped out a frosting rink on the base of the house decorated little gingerbread men with icing and tiny candies, making them into the most chaotic-looking hockey players you'd ever seen, some with more lopsided faces than the others. quinn insisted on adding mini pucks made of chocolate chips.

skylar had also finished her house, adding the final touches the one you and quinn had made too, her a candyland inspired design with sweets lining the road and covering the house.

as the arena started to take shape, you felt a warmth that wasn't just from the hot chocolate on the counter. it was from the way his eyes lit up with every silly detail he added, down to the numbers on the jerseys that his teammates wore.

by the time you were both done, the gingerbread house hockey arena—although a little uneven and very unconventional—was something to be proud of. it was uniquely yours, and in that moment, it was perfect. beside it sat the little actual gingerbread house your niece has made, edible glitter covering the icing and pieces of sweets missing from where she'd eaten them.

quinn stepped back, inspecting your creation with an exaggerated squint. "i think we nailed it," he said, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

you leaned back in your chair, your head falling to rest his shoulder, admiring the gingerbread arena too. "honestly, it might be a little off-center..." noticing how the roof sloped down on one side while the other held up, "but it sure can't be called basic."

quinn chuckled, sitting next to you. "i think that's what matters most."

[st4rlvr]

Home sweet chaos || BCN

The apartment was quiet except for the muffled sounds of cardboard being ripped open and metal tools clinking against each other. Sunlight filtered through the half-assembled blinds, illuminating the chaos scattered across the living room floor: screws, wood panels, and instruction sheets that might as well have been in another language.

“Are you sure it’s supposed to look like that?” Y/N asked, brow furrowed as they squinted at the lopsided bookshelf Chan had been working on for the past hour.

Chan sat cross-legged on the floor, tool in hand, staring at the bookshelf as though it had personally betrayed him. His curls were already falling into his eyes, and there was a smudge of something—probably grease—on his cheek. “Of course! It’s all part of the process, Y/N. Trust me, I’ve got this.”

“You said that an hour ago, and yet…” Y/N trailed off, giving the uneven bookshelf another pointed look.

Chan sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the carpet with a thud. “Okay, fine. Maybe I don’t ‘got this.’” He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breathless laugh. “Building furniture is harder than I thought.”

Y/N chuckled, setting down the screwdriver they’d been holding. “So you’re telling me you’re a music producer, you can layer a hundred sounds and beats into a perfect track, but you can’t build a shelf?”

Chan groaned, covering his face. “Why are you attacking me in my own home?”

“Our home,” Y/N corrected with a grin. They crawled over to sit beside him on the floor, nudging his shoulder gently. “We’ll figure it out. Together. That’s kind of the whole point of this, right?”

He peeked through his fingers at them, his smile softening as he dropped his hands. “Yeah. Together.”

The two of them eventually managed to get the bookshelf upright—though they agreed it was safest to leave it in the corner where no one could touch it—and decided to abandon the idea of building the rest of the furniture for the day. Exhausted and covered in sweat, they both sat in the middle of the empty living room, surrounded by cardboard boxes.

“I’ll go grab food,” Chan said suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. “You stay here and relax. I’ll be quick.”

Before Y/N could argue, Chan was already halfway out the door, leaving them alone in the midst of the semi-unpacked apartment. They flopped back onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh, marveling at how surreal it felt to call this place home.

When Chan returned, he was carrying two plastic bags of takeout, the smell wafting through the room instantly. “I come bearing gifts!” he announced triumphantly.

Y/N sat up eagerly, their stomach rumbling at the thought of food. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Chan replied with a grin, settling onto the floor beside them. They spread out the food between them—containers of rice, noodles, and some dumplings that Chan had declared were “non-negotiable.”

Neither of them bothered with plates. Instead, they ate straight from the containers, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor, laughing about how this would be a core memory one day.

“It’s kind of perfect, though,” Y/N said between bites. “Even if the bookshelf is wonky and we’re eating on the floor.”

Chan smiled at them, chopsticks paused midair. “Yeah. It’s ours. That’s all that matters.”

There was something about the way he said it—simple and soft, but filled with meaning. The boxes and unfinished furniture didn’t matter. Neither did the mess or the chaos. It was theirs.

Chan nudged Y/N’s knee playfully. “Hey, next weekend, we’ll actually finish the rest of the furniture.”

“Or you’ll just give up halfway through again,” Y/N teased, earning a playful glare from him.

“Hey! I’m learning. Give me a break,” Chan laughed, shaking his head.

They both fell into a comfortable silence after that, the food slowly disappearing between them as the last bit of sunlight faded outside. The apartment still didn’t feel quite like home—yet. But sitting there, side by side on the floor, laughing over bad furniture-building skills and sharing takeout, Y/N realized it didn’t matter.

It already felt like home because Chan was there.

[ophelisstuff]

hiii! could u write some head cannons for Caitlin?

DATING CAITLIN CLARK HEADCANONS

authors note : i’ve actually been wanting to do this for a while but procrastinating smmm. But thank you to the person who requested this ! And i’m making a tag list ! dm me to be apart of it <3

requested by : anon

caitlin clark x reader headcanons

warnings : none

• Overprotective girlfriend who hates when you give anyone else your attention.

• “Well it seems like your friends company is better than mine.”

• Her mind is full of smart remarks, always giving an attitude whenever something doesn’t go the way she planned

• You always catching her mid eye roll and scolding her for it.

• Caitlin would try and teach you every sport she’s good at. Or trying to teach you the basics so you’d understand them.

• You two most definitely have a secret handshake, which Caitlin spent hours perfecting

• You help her pack for away games because she has absolutely no idea how to pack a suitcase the right way

• Her camera roll being full of pictures of you, and her lockscreen being a photo of you two

• Caitlin gifting you a necklace with her initials for your birthday, never wanting you to take it off.

• Always having her arm around your waist when in public, giving every stranger that looks your way an intimidating look.

• Hating when you aren’t able to attend her basketball games because she considers you to be her good luck charm

• Caitlin would refuse to talk to anyone except you after loosing a game, too upset to conversation with anyone else

• She’s always quick to shut down any hate targeted towards you, not caring who’s feelings she hurts.

• Caitlin giving you unnecessary attitude for no reason

• “Well no duh. Who didn’t know that already?”

• Her bringing you up in interviews and loving to showcase your beauty during special events

• An absolute sucker for naps, she falls asleep on your chest while watching movies

• The two of you clearing your schedule to have saturday rest days, to just stay home and cuddle all day long

• Caitlin refusing to let anyone touch her hair except you. Not trusting anyone else to do her signature ponytail except herself or you

• Always trying to take you on surprise dates no matter what day of the week it is.

• Always buying you shoes that’ll match hers.

• When she gets a new pair of sneakers, she’ll see if you want them too

• Caitlin having you wear her jerseys at almost all of her games so people know you’re taken.

• Her trying to assemble every piece of furniture you guys own by herself and refusing help

• You two would definitely have promise rings that would never come off of your fingers.

• Caitlin refusing to let you open the car door yourself and always wanting to open it for you

• Asking you to do her makeup for special events, because she doesn’t want anyone close to her face except you.

• You two definitely being dog moms and spoiling the pets like they’re real children.

• Caitlin hating when it’s her turn to doing the dishes, and procrastinating when it’s time to do so.

• “Well, it’s not my fault the sink isn’t getting hot enough!”

• You buying matching pajamas for the two of you and Caitlin pretending to hate them when she loves them.

[iiotic]

Hi

Maybe you could write Wriothesley x fem!reader moving in together, maybe some cute moment where Writhesley understands that all his dreams about a family come true

Sorry if it’s not for your liking

Have a great day!!!

"SO WHAT DO WE NAME THE CHILD?"

in which you and wriothesley, who just got married, moved in together. however wriothesley seems to think about other things..

before you read -> fluff, suggestive, fem reader, implied marriage, swearing, not proff read

word count: 0.7k

it's honestly so so cute!! I'm dying. thank you for your requests anon!! ((it took so long YET IT'S SO SHORT im dying) i cringed readinf thus ngl)

wriothesley never imagined himself starting a family, with all of his duties and the fact that he practically lived in the fortress of meropide it all seemed impossible. however that changed when he met you, you were so sweet and carrying he caught himself thinking about starting a family with you.

dreaming about moving in with you, having a sweet child running around; preferably a girl but the gender doesn't matter! most importantly being able to come home to you, the love of his life.

soon enough his dreams came true.

you were now standing in the local furniture store in fontaine with your soon to be husband, looking at different cabinets and kitchen appliances. it was truly a difficult decision to chose a furniture to your liking, whether it would be the colour or the right shape.

"what do you think about this one? it's vintage, cute." you said, pointing at a white, milky cabinet. the edges were quite sharp, dangerous even if you'd accidentally bumb into them.

"They're too light, they'd get dirty really quick" wriothesley said looking at the other side of the room. he quickly caught your attention pointing at another cabinet, seemingly a different style. modern, on the darker side, almost pure black.

"It's too dark, we wouldn't be able to see where it's dirty." you sighed, pinching your nose.

you were arguing over stupid cabinets for over 15 minutes. you were starting to get a headache and you didn't pick half of the furnitures for your kitchen yet.

"how about this one?" he asked, nudging you shoulder, nodding at a darkish cabinets with a milky white on top of them with soft edges. it wouldn't get dirty easily, it wasn't too light nor dark too. the perfect contrast. "the edges aren't sharp enough for the kid to bumb into it.." he added

yes.. this one was perfect

the day that you got the keys to your own house your imagonation was going wild. you'd run around the house with wriothesley on your side, telling him about your vision and him giving short remarks.

he felt like he was on cloud nine, he couldn't believe that it was actually happening.

unfortunately for you both, you had to assemble the furnitures alone. you agreed that the team that would do it for you was way overpriced.

this would lead to cute, domestic moments. whether someone messes up something or reading the instructions for over 10 minutes not understanding anything.

"wrio, do you know which screw is the right one for th.." you stopped in your tracks as you saw your husband all covered in water.

"do not laugh." he gritted through his teeth, but it was too late you already burst out laughing at the pure comedy scene in front of you.

wriothesley was assembling the sink in your bathroom, at least trying to. unfortunately he was no plumber nor did he wanted any help from you saying that "he was the man of the family" however that might sound.

you yelped as he pulled you to him, wetting your new white shirt in the process.

"i told you to not laugh." he said with such seriousness but his smile betrayed him. he softly pulled you in for a kiss to shut you up, his hands finding their way on your waist. you kissed back almost immediately, your hands tangling in his wet hair. fuck, he looked so attract with wet hair..

2 months later you finished putting the final touches to your new home. some pictures on the wall, plants in the corners and near the windows.

you were very satisfacted with your work in the kitchen, you organised everything with the help of your husband. everything was neat and pleasant for the eye.

the first night together in your new bedroom, in your new bed was rather.. passionate and left you fucked, with his seed inside you.

you cuddled wriothesley, hiding your face in his chest with your arms around his neck making yourself comfortable. you were sure that after tonight you will wake up sore.

wriothesley was so much satisfied and pleased with the fact that his dream of starting a family with the love of his life already succeded in 90 procent.

he purred slightly, nuzzling closer to you, whispering in your ear. "so, what do we name the child?"

© 2024 iiotic. — do not steal, translate or repost any of my content onto any other platform