#quick little comic idea i had

[doubledudeski]

he got sent to the dungeons for being too silly

[asjjohnson]

I just had the thought of making a future fic updating schedule of 'once in a blue moon'. (Partly for the pun.) ...But then I looked up how often blue moons happen, and it's only about once every two years. So... that's probably not a good updating schedule. :(

(I have an existing fic with an update schedule of 'Friday 13ths and Halloween'. I like the semi-randomness. I would like to think of similar schedules. ...Though I'd missed the last two update dates.)

[mikka-minns]

OH MY GOD😭😭😭😭😭

better safe than sorry

[sticksandsharks]

congratulations to the newly wed couple

thank you to everyone who has not only purchased the comic, but also had kind words to say in tags and through asks!! I am away for holiday for most of this month, and I have been/will be largely offline on account of this*-- but please know that my heart is incredibly full to know people like this story!!

(*any posts that go up here have been scheduled before I left)

A few recurring questions I'll answer here real quick:

Will Sacred Bodies have a physical print? Yes! I would like to self-publish this book after the fair is concluded and sell it at conventions and through my online store.

What are the Ba'It based off of? Their body/limb plan is based on pteradons!! with some bat and bird anatomy thrown in. Garaang are semi-bipedal so that makes the silhouette even weirder, but you see some quadrupedal stances in the comic and it might make more sense then. I don't want to post or talk too much about some of the minutae of their design, as it is part of the story itself. :}

What medium did you use for the comic? It's all digital; I used Clip Studio Paint to draw the entire thing. I use the base watercolour and design pencil brushes that come with the programme. How long did it take you to make the comic? It's a little hard to estimate-- initial ideas, visdev and writing drafts were intermitent at the start of the year; once I landed on the story, finalising the script would've taken no longer than a week of recurring writing and editing. It's the actual drawing that takes forever, unfortunately. I started thumbnailing around April, and pencilling, colours and painting were a 10-11 hour work-day commitment for most of June and July. (I lost a lot of work-time in May cause I fell ill, womp womp). I'd probably say it was 4 - 5 months of labour. Are you going to write more stories in this world? I would really like to! I have a lot of ideas rattling in my head for the Valley of the World-- the place that the folk of the Spire have escaped. That being said, I have a whole graphic novel to finish first! It has been pushed back on account (but not exclusively because) of me working on my SBCF entries the last couple years, and I don't want to neglect it any further!! (it's 350+ full colour pages though so it was always going to be a huge undertaking)

Thank you again for the outpouring of enthusiasm and support; it means the world!

[weirdmageddon]

i love these tags this person is so right

actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?

i wanna get into this actually

(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)

even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie

but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"

im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,

don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity

dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor

(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)

despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him

rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said

and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol

roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"

side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.

i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect

but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?

yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise

so, dave's environment

the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors

his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities (source)

roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok

what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)

rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:

and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear

but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable

there two types of ironies at play here:

seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)

doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)

you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.

"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"

how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1

he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”

dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.

*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift

dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:

if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool. even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.

basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"

speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use

oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. ​she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”

btw dave lalonde would look like this to me

[thebibliosphere]

Hi! I'm getting my first MRI (for my brain, with contrast) and I am TERRIFIED! It sounds like you've had a few - any reassurance or advice? (No pressure to respond - you probably get lots of these!)

It’s definitely a weird sensation and I understand the fear, but I actually don’t mind them. Some labs offer things like music or aromatherapy to keep people calm (some people find the machine extremely claustrophobic and they are aware of this) so check with your radiology department to see if you can bring in your own playlist if you think that’d help.

For my first MRI with the contrast they let me bring my childhood teddy bear and once I was situated in the tube, the lab tech placed him in my hands outside the machine so I could hold onto him, as well as the panic button that they give you so they can pull you out if you suddenly realize, yeah, actually, you’re claustrophobic and about to freak the fuck out.

I’m someone who panics in enclosed spaces, but the MRI was actually okay. I knew I wasn’t trapped because my feet were outside the machine and I just closed my eyes and made up fanfic in my head for forty five minutes 😅.

The drum spinning can be loud. So if you’re noise sensitive, ask about ear plugs.

I don’t usually bother with the earplugs and sometimes just talk to the lab tech over the intercom if they’re feeling chatty. They know I’m an MCAS risk with the dye so they tend to chatter more with me than other people, I think. My first ever episode of MCAS anaphylaxis happened inside of a CT machine from the contrast dye (different dye from the MRI dye). So they know my PTSD from being in big whirly machines is through the roof and do what they can to help. If you’re extremely anxious let them know. They’re used to it.

Afterwards, don’t be surprised if you’re dizzy or experience vertigo. I felt like I’d been on a very fast spinning ride when they pulled me out.

The tech explained this was the MRI affecting my inner ear and it’d go away pretty quick. I think it took an hour for me to stop tripping over my own feet, so if possible I’d suggest having someone there to drive you home/take a cab if you can.

Other than that, just try to make sure you’re well rested beforehand and give yourself something to look forward to after. I usually go to the bookstore or grab a new comic, but getting your favorite coffee or another little treat is a good idea too.

I hope your scan is uneventful and whatever reasons you’re doing in for resolves soon. Best of luck!

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 7.3k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (mild). Roleplay. Established Relationship. Masturbation. Dirty Talk. Unprotected sex. 

Summary: After much deliberation you finally decide to meet your hero at a meet & greet.  

Author’s Note: Sorry if the ending of this feels a little confusing. I did have an idea for a retrospective Part 3 of this that would cover the events in between Part 1 & 2, clearing up the confusion a little bit, let me know if you'd be interested!

The metal detector beeps, finally letting you through after the hassle of emptying your entire bag and getting a full body scan. You quickly collect your scanned belongings and you scuttle along, almost sprinting across the now-empty hallway. You’re breathing heavily, holding onto the bag over your shoulder as you reach the right door. Panicked and out of breath you show your pass to the man working the door and he just about lets you in grumbling something about it being way past the time slot and how you’re the last one in. You ignore all of it, instead you focus on your breathing and move along. You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to mask just how winded that rush got you. 

You take your place as the last one in the line. Turning around just in time you see the door guy close off the room, not letting anybody else in. Phew. You just about made it. You smooth out your summer dress, adjusting the bag you had over your shoulder as you look around the hall. God, you’ll be waiting forever!

You knew it would be busy but having usually avoided convention centres it still hits you hard with how overwhelmingly packed the hall is. The ventilation and air conditioning could be state-of-the-art and it would still feel stuffy. Looking around you feel like one of the few people who didn’t bother dressing up like their favourite heroes. You see about thirty Queen Maeves at a quick glance, another twenty Black Noirs, a few of the Seven’s new member Starlight but the most prevalent one is easily a sea of Homelander knock-offs. The sea of cheap red, blue and white assaults your vision, making it actually pretty overwhelming to look around.

For once Homelander is actually drowned out in a sea of look-alikes where normally he stands out like a sore thumb in all his primary-coloured glory. Homelander. Just the thought of seeing him here makes you pick at your nails and bite your lips with anxiety. Sure, you’ve met him before. You’ve talked. You even had sex, really good sex, goddammit. You have history. But still, you’ve never done this. Not the in-public meet & greets that you decided to put yourself through today. But still, you’re doing this for him. 

The longer you’re standing at the end of the line the longer being surrounded by fans dressed in Spirit Halloween versions of the Seven’s costumes is becoming less comical and more uncanny valley. You only wonder what it feels like to them.

You slowly move through the line. Sighing impatiently, your nerves are slowly being replaced by irritation as you watch the interactions play out in front of you. You’re now close enough to see and overhear. Thankfully with each step you take forward the people in front of  you get what they came here for and they leave, making the hall a little more breathable. 

You’re now watching Homelander as he tends to each fan, all puffed up and high energy to replicate the vision they all have of him but you see how much he wishes to be anywhere but here. Most of the Seven do. Vought plucks them from what most expected to be their duties, like saving the world, and instead they drop them in front of cameras and paying fans. You watch as Homelander signs each piece of merchandise his fans bring him, one after another with a smile on his face.

Having seen part of his real self, or the extension of himself he doesn’t show the media you see the smile for what it is. Placating, empty, downright forced. Were you none the wiser you wouldn’t have thought to look past the showmanship but now you knew better. It was easy to notice his tells, his jaw ticks anytime he’s irritated, his eye twitches anytime he has to hold a smile for too long or anytime he’s forced to compliment someone. You overhear his booming stage-voice going, ‘you look great buddy, wear it better than I do!’ for about the twentieth time. The crowd eats it up, again, and somehow they’re blind to his tortured expression. Sure, he hides it very well but if any of them cared to look underneath the surface it would be glaringly obvious. Instead they look at him like the hero they want him to be. Flawless, perfect, serving their needs. The more you’re privy to this viewpoint the more it grates on you. He’s so much more than that! And you don’t understand how they don’t see it. More than that, you're angry that they willfully don’t want to see it. Why would they ruin the image of a perfect hero they look up to when they don’t care to know the person behind the suit in the first place. 

You shake your thoughts away, focusing on keeping up with the queue. Thankfully the hall has now almost emptied, few residual fans loiter around taking pictures of themselves in their costumes with the Seven members right behind them. As it’s almost your turn, and with that the end of the event, you clumsily pull out a postcard out of your bag clutching it in your hands getting it ready to be signed.

With each step you hear him clearer and clearer. Your heartbeat picks up and by the time the Homelander female cosplayer in front of you gets her very own, ‘you might as well take my spot, you pull it off better than me’, your heart is pounding so hard that you think it must grate on Homelander’s nerves. You rub the glossy paper of the postcard in between your fingers trying to distract yourself from the impending doom that’s bound to be caused by whatever comes out of your mouth. Even after all that’s happened between you two, all that history, you cannot stop yourself from feeling flustered in a situation like this.

You’re so stuck in your head that you don’t realise that the lady in front of you already left and all who’s left is…well, you.

You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar voice.

“Looky, looky, who's here? I can't believe you actually showed up at one of these.” There he goes, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he quickly looks you up and down. Already his eyes are glittering with excitement. Your heart skips a beat at his smile. It's more genuine. You see the annoyance seep out of him, his posture a little more relaxed. 

“Yeah…about that. I thought I couldn't really call myself a fan otherwise right?” You rattle off some lines and your anxious mess of a gut is slowly unravelling to make room for the coil of excitement replacing it. Sure, you’re nervous. How couldn't you be. But the place is nearly empty and there isn't much he could say that would get you as flustered as he did the first time.

“Here for an autograph? The one I gave you before wasn't good enough?” Right. Scratch that. You blush a bright red as the images flood back into your mind. And he's grinning so widely, clearly pleased with how he can so easily make you into a blubbering mess. Even if someone overheard, there’s technically nothing dirty about his words but the shiver they send down your spine along with the vivid imagery is enough to make you feel indecent in a public space.

“No—no! It was, um, great. I just—uh—wanted something a little more permanent.” You quickly look around seeing if anyone caught that interaction as if they could read your mind. Well, you are in a room full of superheroes, who knows what they can or can’t do. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear like anyone is interested in Homelander signing a photo for yet another fan. The rest of the Seven is slowly filtering out of the room, finally relieved of their duty.

“Alrighty-doo, let me sign that for you.” He takes his hand out prompting you to put the postcard in his palm. You do so, giving him a little timid smile. Your hands shake a little as you retreat them back by your sides. Catching the way his eyes linger on the movement you cover your shakiness by clasping your hands together in front of you.

“Is this all you want me to sign? Did you really wait the entire line for that?” He says his eyes squinting incredulously as he waves the postcard with his likeness in front of you. Without waiting for your answers he still places it in front of him reaching for his marker pen.

“What was I meant to bring?” You scrunch your eyebrows with confusion. Sure, you weren’t used to going to these events but you still brought something he could sign, that’s good enough, is it not?

“For starters, something that my signature won’t cover entirely.” 

“It’s fine if it covers it.” You brush off his concerns. Really you didn’t care about the signature as much as you cared about seeing him. So placement be damned.

You look as he uncaps the pen, turning the card around. It’s a photo of him in his hero pose standing against a very patriotic background. Originally it came in a pack of seven postcards, one for each member of the Seven. You don’t want to admit that you were so anxious over deciding whether you would even turn up or not that when it came to the day you forgot to bring an item to sign. Hence the pack of generic postcards you bought on the way when you realised that you forgot just about the most important item. This also turned out to be the reason for your tardiness, you spent way too long in the shop just angsting over the small selection of items you could even pick from. 

“You know it's a real shame you of all people didn't come dressed up. I'd like to see you as Mrs Homelander.” He says all cheeky and amused at the image in his head, while he’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  

“Oh no no no, I couldn't. I don't think it would be a good look on me. I mean nobody can rock the uniform like you do!” The idea of dressing up as him was ridiculous, you couldn’t just take that away from him. He’s more than a circus animal to you.

“You think I rock it?” He gives you a look, clearly fishing for compliments while he lets his voice rumble. He might not be in your ear but you still feel a shiver dance down your spine. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the effect his voice has on you. He just knows how to pull your strings. And what’s a puppet to do if not follow.

“It looks very good on you. The colour brings out your eyes.” You make an awkward gesture, pointing at your dress and then your eyes, as if it wasn’t obvious that those two had the same colour on him. You cringe internally but he always seems endeared by your awkwardness. You think it probably feeds his ego. You’re always such a mess in front of him and he slurps it up.

“Wowie, heavy on the flattery today are we?” He’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  “Oh for fucks sakes.” He tries another two times, the leather of his glove creaking with pressure around the pen. You expect him to snap it in half at this point but he just sighs and recaps the used marker, placing it down. He looks around, his jaw ticking as he mumbles, “where the fuck is Ashley…” He rolls his eyes, muttering something about being surrounded by incompetent idiots as he stands up. 

“Just, come with me, I think there are some spares in my dressing room.” He waves his hand, still holding the postcard in the other one.

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal!” You feel guilty at the way his suggestion sends a shiver up your spine. You’re not entitled to it but the fantasy of him fucking you in his dressing room still plays out in your mind. 

“Nope, you waited your turn. You know I’m not one to leave my biggest fans empty handed.” He winks at you before he beckons you to follow him. You give a short nod and you scurry behind him like a little duckling, mesmerized by the sway of his cape swishing with each purposeful step. You feel your heart rate rise with every step, just being in his presence is overwhelming and the closer you get to his dressing room the more vivid your fantasy gets.

“Righty-ho,” Homelander says as he opens the door to his dressing room, fiddling around to pick up a spare marker. He presses the postcard against the wall signing it for you with a silver sharpie. You stand in the half open door a little awkwardly. Rather than focusing on him, you’re looking around making sure nobody sees you standing in Homelander’s dressing room. He tears you away from your paranoid thoughts as he hands the card back to you with a sing-songy, “there you go!” 

Your eyes widen and you gingerly take the postcard with a “oh, thank you,” and you gently put it back into your bag, not wanting to smear the ink. Part of you was disappointed that he genuinely took you here for innocent reasons. 

Like the open book you’ve always been to him he reads your facial expressions for what they are barking a laugh at the dumb-struck look you were sporting. “What? Did you think I brought you here to fuck you?” He leans against the doorframe, his tone a little condescending and mean. 

You really do your best to recover but your embarrassed blush and the spike in your heart-rate is such a blatant giveaway of your true thoughts. “N-no! I wouldn’t, of course not.” It doesn’t matter what you say in the moment, it’s not wiping the all-knowing smirk off his face.

“Jesus, you’re so easy, you know that?” His gaze is predatory as he looks you up and down again, this time slowly, reaaally taking you in. Before you know what’s happening he yanks you into the room, closing the door behind you. For all his strength he controls it well as you don’t end up with a dislocated shoulder after a move like that.

He cages you in against the door, leaning close to your ear so he can get his voice nice and low and he whispers, “For that kind of slutty behaviour I definitely need to fuck you.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You love how easily he reads you, there’s nothing you can hide from and you know that these days, you’re his favourite book. In a way it’s liberating, it removes the thoughts behind actions, it removes the second-guessing. You know that he knows what you want. So you don’t have to make propositions and embarrass yourself further, he’s either gonna take you as he pleases or tell you to get lost. So far it’s always been the former. 

His gloved hand grabs the side of your jaw as he leans back and the woodsy, natural scent of leather whiffs past your nose. His other hand is less stationary, he brazenly glides his hand down your dress, generously palming your tits before he slides down further down your waist and back, settling on your ass. “Gotta teach you a lesson that you shouldn't be spreading your legs for men you don't really know that well.” He growls out tilting your head so he’s directly staring into your eyes with his impossibly piercing blues.

“You’re not just a man.” 

“Mhm you got that right.” He purrs all pleased at the obvious stroke to his ego. You’re all flustered, breathy and eager for him and he loves it. The pure adoration and love you give him so easily just flows through him, feeding that black hole starved for affection inside him.

He didn’t wait a second longer to kiss you, one gloved hand still on your jaw, the other quickly moving up to the back of your head pressing you into him. With a moan he kisses you, already acting like you’ve been starving him this entire time. His kisses are feverish, already hot hot hot as his lips ply yours open. You feel his shaky breath hot against your lips while the plush pillows of his lips are pressing against yours in a frenzy.

You wrap your hands around his neck for support more than anything. You know how he gets. Your heart rate has skyrocketed by now, beating hard and loud in his ears as he presses his tongue in between your lips, already wanting to be in you one way or another.

You part your lips for him just like you’d part your legs and you let him kiss you, heavy, hot and wet as he holds you with almost shaky hands trying to get as much as he can out of you.

His ravenous kisses don’t relax you, they make your body feel tight, wound up, always expecting and wanting more. At this moment you need him as much as he needs you. You grind your body against him with each more pressing and needy kiss. You know he can feel you through his suit, even though it’s handily hiding his hard-on. He still moans when you rub against him, clearly just as wound up as you are.

He pulls away, his eyes no longer that bright piercing blue but now his pupils are blown, his gaze lustful and heavy. His breathing is rough and stuttered. Even though he can’t get winded or tired his body is so strained that he pants for you like a thirsty dog.

Homelander takes his time to calm down, wanting to take control of the situation, he wants you to look up at him with those unsuspecting sweet wide doe eyes while he defiles you. And you do, you look up at him, panting out of actual lack of breath and you stare in reverence. 

There he goes, grinning like a shark again and you’re already waiting for the foul words that he’s undoubtedly going to thoroughly wet your panties with.

“Tell me,” he purrs out, seducing you with his dulcet tones. “How many times did you make yourself cum to my voice, huh?” He’s now leaning into your ear again, knowing this is where the occasional brush of his lips makes your body burn bright and hot. “Or to the memory of my cock inside you?” 

You expect him to be filthy and talk with no filter, it’s his specialty behind closed doors, but it still catches you off-guard. It especially does anytime you’re reminded of the time he utterly ruined you for any other man in your home, in your safe space, in your bed.

“I don’t know—many times. I, um, I lost count.” You don’t know exactly what answer he wants from you but you know that he will turn each and every one against you. His hair tickles the side of your face as he nuzzles into you with a small whimper before continuing. 

“Yeah? Maybe you should show me, do it for me. A little performance as a reward for all that I've done for you.” You hear the restraint in his voice. You know he wants nothing more than to just fuck you, have you fall apart on him. For him. But you also know Homelander loves to play. And he doesn’t want the game to be over yet. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” He goads you with that. Homelander knows just as much as he swallows up all your love and affection; you thrive on being reminded of how much you adore and worship him. How much you’d do anything for him. Anything. 

Homelander pulls back from you, his hands now firmly on your waist as if you were a flight risk.

“What do you mean?” You regain some sense of self after he gives your hot and flushed body a little break. 

“I mean you’re gonna sit your pretty ass in that chair, make yourself cum for me, while I watch.” He guides your body towards the further end of the dressing room where he points at a chair in front of a lit vanity table that’s still littered with make-up and brushes from when his team got him ready for today’s event.

Your body is buzzing with excitement but part of you is still a little embarrassed by such a blatantly open display. He wants you to sit in that chair, spread your legs and give him a perfectly lit view of the way you get yourself off? Yeah, that’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done. But again, for him, you’ll do anything. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He pulls the chair out a bit tilting his head towards it. He looks at you, blatantly undressing you with his eyes. Literally, undressing. You may not physically feel his x-ray vision but the look in his eyes and the way he stops at your tits with a leery smile on his face is very telling. He doesn’t bother to hide how much he ogles, he knows how much it turns you on anyway. “Come on, panties off and hop on.” He clicks his tongue impatiently.

You sneak your hands under your dress and pull the hem of your panties down. You slide them down your legs until they pool at your ankles where you step out of them with your shoes still on.

Homelander chuckles to himself as he picks up the undergarment inspecting the damage. “You’re like a faucet, always fucking dripping wet.” He brings them closer to his face, inspecting the pair of Homelander-themed panties. He inhales the scent of your pussy now that it’s long seeped into the fabric. “I didn’t think these would be salvageable after last time.” He speaks as if he was talking about the weather and not pure debauchery while he indulges in the scent of your cunt.

“I got more pairs.” You said with a shrug as you got into the chair. You had to jump up a little as it was set on the highest setting for Homelander’s viewing pleasure.

You watch as he tosses the panties on the vanity table in front of you. “You’re gonna have to spread those legs some more.” He tuts with his tongue. You spread your legs as wide as you can in the chair and he shakes his head. “No, nope that won’t do either. Legs up on the arm rests.” He commands and as much as you want to comply, even you have your limits.

“I’m not that flexible!” You yelp out in amusement. “Wait!” You exclaim again except this time he easily manoeuvres you around in that chair with his stupid strength and you feel like a pretzel as you’re being pushed into the right position.

He ends up hooking just one of your legs over the armrest letting you rest it against the vanity table and giving you a comfortable enough position but more importantly, giving him a great view. “See, there you go. Flexible enough.” He pulls off his gloves one by one, throwing them on the table, out of view. “Come on, show off for me,” He coos in your ear, his bare hands, hot and smooth, sliding up your legs picking up the hem of your dress on the way as he pulls it up.

You gasp at the view in front of yourself. In the lit mirror in front of you you see yourself spread wide, your pussy easily visible and glistening in the bright light. This might as well be a porn shoot with how well lit and visible all your parts are. As you instinctively start closing your legs Homelander presses your thighs down, barely putting any power into it yet you feel the unyielding strength thrumming through his fingertips.

“Don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen it all.” He tucks the skirt of your dress above your waist and behind your back. Your hand slowly slinks down to rest on the bunched up fabric of your dress.

He straightens up properly standing behind you, his hands land on your shoulders, close to your neck, squeezing softly. He watches you in the mirror. He extends his pointer finger pushing your jaw up so you look up and meet his gaze. “Keep going, spread that pretty pussy for me.” He growls in your ear as his eyes are locked on the way your fingers slide down your slit, your pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy open for him to see. “Just as I said, like a fucking faucet.” He chuckles at the sight of you drenched and dripping.

You blush at the way he’s staring so intently at your reflection. Your fingers tentatively run up and down, gathering the wetness on your fingers, bringing it up to your clit where you rub small, shy circles around it. You’re taut as a bow and struggling to relax.

“Stop thinking and start feeling.” Homelander purrs in your ear. “I know you can do this for me, can’t you?” His voice sends a hot flush down your body, and you feel your clit throb under your fingers.

“Yeah… I can.” You breathe you, closing your eyes for a second to take a deep breath. The tension slowly leaves your body as Homelander presses soft kisses down the side of your face as he leans over to your other side. You let your hand go on auto-pilot trusting it to know what to do. You suck in a sharp breath as he sucks on your jaw, giving it a little nip while you still circle your clit with a soft squelch of your slick.

“There’s my girl.” He watches as you breathe deeply, your eyes finally opening to watch as he descends more kisses down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, pressing in your fingers a little harder, at the right pressure in the right spot. You’re just about to dip lower, push a finger inside your wet, needy hole but Homelander speaks up. “Uh uh, nothing but my cock is going inside that pussy today so keep your fingers on your clit.” Your entire body prickles with heat all over at his words. He’s so brazen and upfront and no matter how many times you hear it it always makes your head spin and pussy throb. 

You nod a simple ‘okay’ and only ever slide your fingers down to collect more of your own slick. Homelander is whimpering with you as if just the sight of your pussy was enough to get him off. For him, it’s intoxicating. His senses enhance the way your slick squelches loud to his ears and the scent of your pussy just makes him want to stop this little game and rail you already. Yet, he’s a patient man when he wants to be. And more so, indulging in his own desperate urge isn’t as fun as watching you submit to him first.

“Eyes open.” Homelander interrupts the thoughts and visuals in your head. Your eyes snap open and you meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. You didn’t even realise you had them closed. “What were you thinking about?” He asks, almost testing you. As if saying, you better not be straying too far from the path he wants you on.

“‘M thinking about you fucking me.” You say meekly, your fingers rubbing at a particular rhythm now that you know will get you off. Your clit is already throbbing, aching under your fingers.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself missy, first you’ll have to cum for me.” He says nonchalantly while he pushes the strap of your dress and bra down your free arm. As much as you’ve gotten more used to functioning around him, his voice still makes you dizzy, especially when he’s a master at saying the most depraved shit. 

You pause to help him get out of the other set of straps and when your arm goes up to slip out of the strap he gives your slicked fingers a little suck, tasting you with a pleased grin making you flush hot.

While you go back to rubbing your clit Homelander unclasps your bra from behind your back dropping it on the floor and he pushes your dress down, already groaning at the sight of your tits free for his eyes to feast on. He presses his hands against your tits from either side, groaning at the sensation of the plush pillows underneath his hands.

“That's a good girl, keep rubbing that clit.” He growls out an order, yet somehow he looks more frazzled than you while he's not even the one performing. “Open up,” he whispers, his voice frayed at the edges as he presses two fingers against your lips. Obediently, you open up giving them a suck and laving them with your saliva while you keep eye contact with his reflection. He moans at the raunchy display, his eyes glazing over as he pulls his fingers out. With both his hands back on your tits he pinches your nipples, overwhelming you with the different sensation of one being rubbed wet and the other dry. You whine at the sensation, your pussy throbbing with each hot breath you feel against your neck as he tucks his head against it.

He listens to your heart beat like a drum in his ear, while he gives your nipples all his love and attention. He whispers and moans sweet nothings into your ear whilst watching you rub harder and faster finding the perfect rhythm that has cascading heat climb up your spine. “Thaaat’s it, come on—fuuck—come on, you can cum for me. I know you can.” Homelander watches as your muscles tense, seeing your body just ready to snap. What really does you in is the way he’s whimpering like he’s the one getting off. It’s like he’s sharing all the pleasure you're feeling with you.  

You cum with Homelander’s lips whispering against your ear as you hold your breath, your body tense until it finally gives in and you feel the wave of heat and tingling pleasure wash over you from your core to your limbs. “Ohhh god.” You finally release your breath, your chest heaving with the release.

Homelander is less impressed. Clicking his tongue again against the roof of his mouth.

“Mhm that won’t do, you can do better than that. I’ve seen you cum better than that.” 

You barely have the strength to counteract his claim. This was easily one of your strongest orgasms and he’s trying to say that it was weak? Oh please. You shake your head. You know he’s just playing his little game of ‘I can do whatever the fuck I want’ so you let him.

“Come on, up you go,” He says as he pulls you up on your feet all wobbly and numb from the way you were sitting on the chair. He pushes the chair out of the way with enough force that it topples over with a bang. He bends you over the vanity table where you’re up close and personal with the mirror, watching Homelander’s reflection as he hurriedly unzips his pants pushing them halfway down his thighs. 

You can’t see his cock from this angle but you’re sure it’s rock fucking hard and leaking precum with the way he’s panting like a dog in heat. He’s not even in you and he looks about three strokes away from finishing.

“God, fffuck!” He grits out through his teeth before parting his lips letting a long groan out as the tip of his cock parts your folds, immediately finding your soaked hole and pushing inside with one long slide. He huffs and puffs, his head tilted back as he keeps his eyes shut with restraint. His cock is hot and hard inside you, giving your pussy something to quiver around. 

You’re overstimulated, your nerves totally fried and your body has still nowhere recovered from your performance of a lifetime but you still take him in. You push your ass towards him, whimpering yourself as you feel his hands land on your hips, holding you there. “Look at how your pussy just opens up for me. Taking me riiiight in.” Homelander’s voice is strangled and raspy as he hisses air through his teeth.

You whimper at the way his words leave you buzzing and mindless with pleasure. You prop your elbows against the table as he starts fucking you, dragging his cock agonisingly slowly at first as if he was so sensitive he was about to bust. 

Thankfully that gives you some time to recover and your pussy is no longer screaming at you that it’s too much. He gives you more and more with each thrust, letting out a breathy soft moan each time he hits home. Tip to hilt on every slide. 

His boots kick your legs together giving him a tighter, more pronounced feel. That’s where he really starts to pick up speed. He moves his hands up, gripping where the fabric of your dress is still bunched up as he wholeheartedly fucks into you, minding his strength of course, he gives you what you can take and not a drop more.

You’re so deliciously taken in by him that you barely remember where you are and that you reaaally shouldn’t be screaming and moaning at the top of your lungs. Against all odds, your body is still so wired up and wound up that you feel the climbing sensation prickle at your nerves, your legs quivering with each stroke.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Homelander pulls out of you unceremoniously and you whine.

“I was so close!” You pull a displeased face in the mirror, looking at his reflection.

“I know. And so does everyone on the other side of that door.” He mumbles as he picks up the panties he tossed earlier on the table except this time he balls them up stuffing them in your mouth. You protest around them, your eyes widening in shock and your body flushing with indecent heat when you get a remnant of your taste from the soaked fabric.

“I don’t need people barging in to see who’s screaming bloody fucking murder.”

He turns you around, swiftly picking you up and plopping you on top of the vanity table where you’re nicely lit from behind. “Now behave, the door’s not locked. I’d rather not have anyone see you like this. Capiche?” You nod fervently, at this point just doing anything to get him back in you. 

“Good girl.” He coos as he pulls your legs up wrapping his forearms underneath your thighs, his hands gripping the sides for easy control. And just like that he slides back into you. You give muffled little sighs into the fabric of your panties as he fucks you hard against the table, making it rattle on its legs. The littered makeup and brushes were now rolling off and in some cases breaking on impact.

“You’re always so fucking worked up. Just need someone to fuck you don’t you. Poor little fangirl, so obsessed with me she doesn’t even have time to date anyone else.” He gives you a sharp grin, his canines sharp like a predator’s would be. You body flushes with embarrassment at the almost degrading comment and with the way you’re gagged and fucked you feel like Homelander’s personal toy. 

He fucks you until your legs tremble in his hold and your eyes flutter shut with each press of his cock deep inside you.

He slows down with the literally mind-melting grinds of his pelvis against yours and instead he looks you straight in the eyes getting your attention. “Did you learn? Will you be good?” You nod. He takes the panties out of your mouth, leaving the now even more damp fabric back on the table. 

You keep your promise and you keep mainly quiet, biting your lips shut and only letting the occasional whimper out as he strokes a particularly good spot inside you. Instead you let your body do the screaming for you. You shake and tremble around him, all tense and hot and Homelander doesn’t need to hear you scream to know that you’re close.

With your lips free again he captures them, as if he’s been starved this entire time without them. He kisses you deep and wet while he bucks into you, slowly losing his impeccable rhythm as he’s so strung out for an orgasm it’s bound to happen any second.

“Ah—I’m, uh, close…” You nearly whisper out, all strangled and needy. Homelander nods, clearly just as far gone. He lets one of your legs go, instead letting you wrap it around his waist as he places his fingers on your clit, giving you the extra push to the finish line.

He doesn’t wait for you as he cums in the next, one, two, three, strokes. But he pushes through still fucking into you while his cock pumps you full of his load. You cum immediately after, it’s more the thought than the faint feeling of him finishing inside you that just pushes you over the edge. A burst of buzzing fireworks sparks behind your eyelids as you close your eyes shut through the euphoria sinking into your bones. 

You’re panting, catching your breath, moaning your residual finish in small whimpers. “Wow, that was—”

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Sir, you’re needed on stage in 10 minutes.” Ashley’s panicked shrill can be heard on the other side of the door and your heart stops for a second before realising it’s her. Ashley knows better than to barge into any rooms ever since Homelander’s shown interest in you. 

“Oh well, there goes the afterglow.” You mumble with a tired laugh. Homelander nods quietly as he tucks himself back in, finally spent and satisfied—for the time being at least.

Homelander looks at you with fond hunger, leaning in for a soft kiss. “Yeah. Sorry I have to cut it short.” He grumbles, displeased, as he nuzzles his face in the junction of your neck.

He pulls away, reaching for your bra and passing it to you so you could make yourself presentable again.

“Tell me, did you actually leave the door unlocked?” You ask. 

“No! I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. Well. I want you out there with me, just not when you’re freshly fucked. That’s all for me.” He gives you a wide grin, unable to stop himself from peppering you with kisses, capturing your lips again hungry for them as if you’re constantly denying him air. 

“Thank you for today.” He breathes hotly against your lips. “You know how to indulge me, I really didn’t think you’d turn up.” He smiles against you, caving in for another kiss.

“What wouldn’t I do for you?” You say with an amused roll to your eyes, but it’s all light-hearted. He knows you really would do anything for him. 

“I haven’t found that out yet.” He rumbles all pleased as he helps you make sense of the mess he made of your dress.

“And you never will,” You beam at him, your heart pounding again but this time it’s just from that overwhelming love you have for him, the butterflies that don’t seem to ever calm down in his presence. Even though you’ve been secretly together for a couple of months ever since the fated phone call, the excitement hasn’t even begun waning yet. 

“Hey, you know, you’re a really great actress. Had me sold quite a few times. Maybe I should get Vought to cast you in a movie alongside me, huh?” He grins as he picks up his gloves, pulling them over his hands again. 

You have to laugh. Sure, you’ve enjoyed role-playing as the obsessed fan that you were a few months ago but it wasn’t all acting. 

“I wasn’t acting! Well, obviously I did with the ‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen’ part but beyond that I was really nervous to be with you like that in a public place. You know how I get. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you publically, it’s just a huge adjustment. So… baby steps.” You finally adjust your dress though you still very much look like you just got railed. 

“Come ooon, let me make you mine officially. Fuck this sneaking around. The people who need to know, know. The rest is not important.” He presents you with his sweet honeyed voice, and he’s cheating really, he knows how much it affects you.

In a way, he’s right. The people who matter at Vought know about you seeing as you’re up at his place every other day but there was something terrifying about announcing to the entire world that you were Homelander’s girlfriend. That’s nothing easy to get used to. He’s not just a celebrity. He is the celebrity. You will have to say bye-bye to the comforts of a private life. But maybe that’s all worth it for him. 

“Okay. How about you go do your job and I go do mine and when you see me for dinner we can talk about it again. Sounds good?” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another sweet kiss.

“Sounds good." He repeats before continuing with a fond, "I love you,” which always comes out a little strained. He’s never been able to say it without letting himself drown in the endless pool of emotions that are just swirling around inside him. 

“I love you too. Now go before Ashley has a heart attack. You’re already late.” You kiss him sweetly, adjusting his hair, making it look more purposefully-tousled, less ‘sex-hair’. You let him go, smoothing your hand down his suit. 

“Oh please, I’m the Homelander. Does the party really even start without me there?” He blows a raspberry into the air with a scoff.

“Sure doesn’t, babe.” You shake your head, amused as you watch him wave you off and shut the door behind himself.

You took the time to make yourself look more presentable but you couldn’t leave the room in the state you both left it in. So you collected the things that fell, you wiped the surfaces clean and you trashed whatever broke on the way. It’s the least you could do.

You looked into the mirror, almost not recognising the woman you’ve become over the past few months. Being someone who feeds off your endless adoration has done wonders for your confidence. You no longer feel crazy and obsessive. You’ve finally found someone who’s never gonna have enough of you. Someone who inhales your love like the oxygen he needs to breathe.

You revere Homelander less as an icon and more as a person, as a partner, these days. You know so much more of who he is now and strangely, while he scares others, you’ve never felt safer in his presence. Something about you two just clicks. It’s no wonder he wants to show you to the rest of the world. He wants to lock you in, have people forever associate with him.

And soon enough, there will be no way out.

[Part 3]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @morishitoshi

[anniebeemine]

subtle- s.r. x reader

For the last two weeks, you’d been noticing something strange about Spencer. He wasn’t acting like himself, and for the smartest guy in the FBI, he wasn’t exactly subtle about it either. It started with the little things—doors closing abruptly as you approached, drawers being slammed shut, and the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps whenever you entered a room. It was almost like he was trying to hide something, but not doing a very good job of it. His usual effortless chatter—the rambling facts about anything and everything—had been replaced with awkward silences and quick, nervous smiles.

At first, you chalked it up to the fact that you had recently moved in full-time. It was a big adjustment, after all, and Spencer had been living alone for so long that it made sense he’d need time to get used to having you around all the time. But as the days passed, your initial reasoning started to feel less convincing. There was something more going on, something he wasn’t telling you.

Your mind, of course, spiraled. The idea of him cheating crept in for about two agonizing hours, making your heart race and your stomach churn. But then you remembered who you were dealing with—this was Spencer Reid, the man who once cried over a nightmare where you left him. The same man who wore his heart on his sleeve and wouldn’t lie if his life depended on it. Cheating was out of the question; it just wasn’t in his nature.

So, with that in mind, you found yourself walking into the kitchen one evening, determined to figure out what was going on. The moment you stepped into the room, Spencer practically jumped out of his skin, his eyes wide with something that looked suspiciously like panic. His hand reflexively shot behind his back, as if he were trying to hide something.

“What’s behind your back?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light and teasing, though curiosity gnawed at you.

His cheeks flushed a deep pink, and he stammered, “What do you mean? There’s nothing behind my back.” He shook his head a little too quickly, his eyes avoiding yours in a way that only made you more suspicious.

“Spencer,” you said, laughing softly, “I can literally see you hiding something. What is it?”

He panicked, taking a step backward as if to put more distance between you and whatever it was he was concealing. The clumsy retreat would have been almost comical if it weren’t for the growing tension in the air. You reached out, trying to see what he was hiding, but he jerked away, keeping his back to you like a shield.

You stepped back, amusement fading into genuine concern. “Oh my god, you’re serious. What is it?”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. The longer he stayed silent, the more your anxiety grew, twisting into a knot in your chest.

“Spencer, you’re scaring me right now.”

Finally, with great reluctance, he slowly brought his hand out from behind his back, revealing a small velvet box. Time seemed to stop as your eyes fell on the box, understanding dawning on you in a rush of emotion. You clamped your hand over your eyes and, without thinking, screamed, “NO!”

His heart dropped, and he froze in place. “What do you mean no?”

You were practically hyperventilating, your words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “Do not show me because if you do, I’m going to cry, and then you’re not going to be happy with proposing in the kitchen, so this did not happen.”

Spencer’s face was a mix of confusion and fear, his mind racing to catch up with what you were saying. “But… it is a yes?”

You peeked through your fingers, meeting his nervous gaze. “Yes, Spencer, it’s a yes.”

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief washing over him as he took a tentative step closer. “Are you sure? Because I don’t want to ruin this moment—”

You cut him off with a kiss, your hands trembling as you cupped his face, the velvet box pressed between your bodies. “Yes, Spencer. It’s a yes. A thousand times yes.”

Spencer’s expression softened into a look of pure adoration, and he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you as if he were afraid to let go. “I’m sorry it wasn’t more romantic,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, tears already spilling down your cheeks. “This is perfect. You’re perfect. I just—can we pretend I didn’t freak out?”

He chuckled softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “Only if we can pretend I wasn’t hiding in the kitchen.”

“Deal,” you whispered, feeling the warmth of his breath on your lips as you smiled through your tears.

With a tender kiss, Spencer finally opened the velvet box, revealing a beautiful ring that caught the light just right, sparkling in a way that made your heart flutter. He took your trembling hand in his, slipping the ring onto your finger as both of you laughed and cried, the joy and relief of the moment overwhelming.

It wasn’t the grand, romantic proposal either of you had imagined, but in that small, cluttered kitchen, with the dishes still in the sink and the faint smell of dinner lingering in the air, it was perfect. It was real. And as Spencer pulled you into another embrace, his fingers brushing the ring on your hand as if to reassure himself that this was really happening.

[moonstruckme]

i would KILL for a spencer reid x bau!reader who greets each other after a case is over like the taylor/travis post-concert video 🙏

Thanks lovely!

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 453 words

By the time he gets off the jet, Spencer’s exhausted. The team had spent all of the previous night working the case and then arresting the killer in the early hours of the morning, and he hadn’t even been able to catch a wink on the five-hour flight back from California. The sun is too bright, his back hurts from hunching over a desk all night, and he really, really wants to demolish some takeout from the Chinese place across from his apartment. 

None of that matters when he enters the building and sees you already on your way to greet him. Your walk turns smoothly into a run as a smile breaks out on your face, and even though he’s ready for it, Spencer makes a little “oof” when you throw your arms around his neck. 

You squeeze him tight, an almost inaudible squealing sound coming from the back of your throat as you press your head into his neck for a split-second before pulling back and kissing him. Spencer smiles against your lips, and you have to stop when it catches, your teeth clacking together. 

“Missed you,” you say, beaming up at him. 

He keeps one hand around your waist while using the other to clear the hair from your forehead, dropping a kiss there. “Missed you more.” 

“Not possible.” You give him another squeeze, going up on your tiptoes to hook your chin over his shoulder. 

“Does this have to happen every time?” Prentiss asks, brushing past the two of you. 

Spencer can feel your silent laughter under his palm. “Only as long as I’m on desk duty,” you say. You lower yourself to the ground to send a pointed look in Hotch’s direction. 

He doesn’t look up from his phone, large fingers punching comically tiny buttons as he texts. “One more week,” he says, going up the stairs to his office. 

You’re disappointed but not surprised, frown evaporating when Spencer laughs at you. He palms your face, tilting it up for another quick peck. “Did you really think you were going to sway Hotch with PDA?” 

“Worth a try,” you chirp, chasing him for more, but Spencer dodges you and you hit his chin. You’re fine with that, and you kiss it again to show it. “Bribery’s all I’ve got.”

“Once your hip has healed, we’ll be happy to have you back out there with us.” 

You hum. “Sure, whatever. Hey, want to grab takeout from that place across the street on our way home? You must be hungry.” 

Spencer’s hand traces a path down the inside of your arm until he gets to your hand, intertwining your fingers as you walk towards the elevator. “You have no idea.” 

[rubiehart]

hii just seen ur requests open !! was having a thought about jj marking you up on ur neck n stuff knowing ur gonna have to cover that shit up cuz ur going out to family dinner or an event of some sort 😭 ur all like "jj i quite literally told u i was going out 😐" and he's like "u weren't complaining two seconds ago babe idk.." perhaps u can expand upon this i luv ur writing !!

thank u so much cutie i looooove this idea!!

standing in the bathroom mirror, fingers running across your neck and chest, lips puffed into a concentrated pout, wondering how the hell you’re gonna be able to cover up jj’s ‘masterpiece’ as he so comically called it when you warned him that you had a family dinner the following night.

he swoops in, swinging around the doorframe and standing directly behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your neck, “whatch’a doin?” he mumbles into the skin as you sigh, shaking your head in disapproval, knowing this is exactly what started this problem.

“tryin’ to figure out how i’m gonna hide this shit.” you huff, gesturing to your neck as jj smirks, proud of himself but trying not to show it knowing it would only earn him a scolding from you.

“yo, don’t diss an artist’s work infront of him, ‘s mad disrespectful babe.” he says, faux offended with a hand on his chest, rolling your eyes and shrugging him away with your shoulder. “anyways, didn’t hear you complainin’ last night..” he taunts, grabbing your hips and rutting his sweatpants clad hips into your ass, mimicking high pitched moans and whines as you chuckle at his impression.

“i do not sound like that.” you say matter of factly, jj stopping his movements and moving around you to swipe his toothbrush from the cup on the sink. “yeah whatever you say princess.” placing a quick kiss on your temple and walking into the bedroom, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, you brighten up a little at the kiss, smiling to yourself as you reach for your foundation.

[starsofteal]

Daylight

Halsin x Tav // Halsin x Reader

Summary: Tav misinterprets Halsin’s declarations, thinking he must not want her as much as she wants him. Can Halsin convince her of his love? A/N: Well, my first Halsin fic is here! Based off this dialogue from the game, featuring a classic miscommunication trope. When I first came across this dialogue, I found myself rather disappointed by Halsin’s declaration, and I realized I was focusing on all the wrong parts of it. I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so here we have a scenario in which Tav has done the same. This fic is so self-indulgent it should be a crime. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort (emphasis on the comfort—I promise all’s well that ends well). Pretty spoiler free, except for the opening dialogue if you’re romancing Halsin and you want all that to be a surprise. 

“Relationship?” A deep chuckle rumbles in Halsin’s chest. A sinking feeling settles into your gut. You weren’t sure what to expect when you broached the topic of a potential relationship, but a laugh? A direct blow from an enemy sword would have hurt less. 

“Such terms belong to civilization—a little unfamiliar to my lips.” His words continued, but that soft smile, those kind eyes, the strong, steadfast shape of Halsin, it all begins to shift, distorting just slightly as traitorous tears prick at your eyes. A quick bite of your inner cheek reminds you to hold steady, to not let the tears fall—by every star in that gods damned sky, you are not going to let him see you cry. 

“…you and I should each seek happiness wherever it lies…”

He’s still going on? You think to yourself. How long can one rejection take? You bite your cheek even harder, a coppery tang bursting on your tastebuds. 

Halsin’s words echo in your mind, despite the fact that his monologue seems to continue, piercing your heart again and again, the pain stealing the breath from your lungs. You will yourself to take in another breath.

“Let others know the happiness of being with you.” Halsin smiles down on you, not an ounce of malice in those soft green eyes. The staunch difference between his kindhearted gaze and the red-hot pain radiating in your chest was nearly laughable. In fact, at that very moment, you were unsure if your next steps would include crying, laughing, or launching an all out assault on the mountain of a man before you—an action that would surely not work out in your favor given the comical size difference between you two. 

In the end, it was all you could do to offer a small, meager, “I see.” It’s a notable effort to keep the emotion from your voice, but you’re proud of the attempt all the same.

A frown breaks out across Halsin’s face, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Have I said something wrong, my heart?” 

Those two words are a slap to your face. You don’t trust yourself to speak, not again, so without a word you turn and make your way to your tent as fast as your feet can take you. 

The fabric barely has time to fall in place behind you before the warm tears finally break free. 

_________

Two days had passed since the incident. While you wanted nothing more than to mope about on your bedroll and avoid Halsin altogether, your situation doesn’t exactly allow for such luxuries. 

Which is how you find yourself in the woods with Shadowheart, foraging for ingredients to top off your party’s supply of potions and tonics. Though you left early in the morning, the sun glares bright overhead now. Wiping a bead of sweat from your brow, you crouch low beneath a bush and scan the area for the bright violet blooms Shadowheart had you scouting for. 

“I just don’t understand why you had to drag me out for this,” you fuss at your friend as thorns from the underbrush prick your side. Your clothing offers little protection against natures most irritating defenses. 

“Surely there’s…someone more suited to this than I.” Your following scowl can’t be entirely blamed by the literal thorn in your side, not as thoughts of Halsin flash through your mind once more. 

Shadowheart hums absentmindedly. “Yes, this is true. Halsin is more in tune with the forest,” she mutters, collecting something from the earth too small for your eyes to make out. A soft clink tells you the specimen makes it into the glass bottle. “I was actually hoping to talk to you about that,” Shadowheart continues, popping the cork back on the bottle and tucking it away. 

“About what?” You hiss as another thorn embeds itself in your palm. You toss a scowl her way before distracting yourself from the conversation as you fiddle with removing the thorn. You’re not sure which hurts worse, the abrupt change in conversation topic or the wound in your hand. Impervious to your dirty looks, Shadowheart makes her way over to you. 

“Well, you two were nearly inseparable. Absolutely enamored with each other—anyone could see it.” She takes your hand into her own to assess the damage.

“And now, well, if I’m being completely honest dear, you’re rather dour, you seldom leave your tent, or you’re looking for any excuse to get away from the party—sorry this’ll only hurt a second.” You wince as she pulls the thorn free and presses hard on the wound to stanch any bleeding. “And, well, Halsin’s been…unusually forlorn. Like a poor dog that’s been kicked in the stomach.” 

With a scoff you withdraw your hand, taking care to apply pressure to it just as Shadowheart had done. 

“I couldn’t care less what Halsin’s been doing.” The lie is ash on your tongue. 

Shadowheart looks at you then, really looks at you. You try your best not to fidget under her assessing gaze. 

“What happened?” 

“I—“ 

“And don’t bother lying to me,” she’s quick to interrupt. “Save it for someone else. I know something has been bothering you.” 

Resignation floods you. Leave it to Shadowheart to see right through your bravado and into your heart. 

“I was a fool for thinking he could ever be happy with me.” The words are soft as they fall from your lips, but they burn your heart all the same. A firm weight falls on your shoulder as Shadowheart offers an encouraging hand. 

“Tell me everything.”

_______

Halsin’s voice calls out your name from just outside Shadowheart’s tent. His low timbre still brings a tightness to your chest, but you will yourself to breathe normally. You’d been doing your best to avoid him since getting back to camp with Shadowheart, but you suppose now is as good a time as any to rip that particular bandage off. 

“Yes, Halsin?” You ask matter of factly, not even looking up from the array of ingredients you’re currently sorting through. You pointedly ignore his gaze as he steps into the tent, taking up a majority of the albeit limited empty space. 

Halsin clears his throat, clearly uncertain how to proceed. You two had always shared such an easygoing openness between you,  but the last two days had left him scrambling for purchase. 

“I was hoping we could talk,” Halsin smiles down at you, undeterred by your clear avoidance. 

“Mm, we are talking.” You collect up one of the empty potion bottles, wiping at a smudge spot with the edge of your tunic. 

Halsin forces a chuckle, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course we are, but, erm, perhaps we could go for a walk? Enjoy some of nature’s company for the evening?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Your tone is sharper than you’d intended, but the guilt passes over you in a second as you replay his words in your mind, his scoff when you so much as mentioned a potential relationship. 

Halsin sighs. He had hoped that his 300 odd years of experience would give him a leg up in navigating this prickly conversation, but—as is usual when you’re involved—his heart and his tongue seem to be tripping over one another. 

 “My heart,“

That gets your attention. Your gaze snaps up to his, laced with venom. 

“You do not get to call me that. Not anymore.” 

Halsin feels his own chest start to cave in as the hurt flashes across your face—you master it a moment later, but the damage is done. 

“I’m not sure what I’ve done to upset you,” he starts, but you interject again. 

“It’s fine. I’m not upset,” you force some neutrality back in your voice. “You weren’t interested in things continuing between us, and that’s fine. Nothing to apologize for.” You gesture to the flap of the tent. “You can take your leave now.” 

Halsin does the opposite, braving another step closer. 

“Of course I need to apologize. It appears my words have caused some confusion. Worse yet, I fear they’ve caused you pain.” 

At that, you still, finger pausing over the bottles set up in front of you. 

“You must know that I would never intend to hurt you.” Halsin’s tone was bordering on pleading. “Even now, it physically pains me to know that I’ve hurt you so.” He draws a hand to his chest, moving as if to soothe an ache that’s nestled beneath the surface there. 

You glance up to see the hurt now reflecting in his eyes. It’s enough to bring forth a sigh from your lips, your shoulders caving in as resignation takes over your body. Even now, you can’t find it within yourself to hate him, no matter how much easier it would make this. 

“You’re not responsible for my feelings, Halsin,” you sigh. “They are my own.” 

“No, but I do take responsibility for my words,” he counters. 

“You don’t want a relationship with me and you said as much. There’s nothing left to be said.” Despite your best attempts, your voice breaks on the last word. You close your eyes, clinging to the blunt words, mentally rebuilding your armor to power through the rest of this conversation. 

“There is so much left to say, my heart.” Halsin’s gentle words caress your face like the sun’s rays on a warm summer day. “I have so much left to say.” 

You keep your eyes closed, focus on taking another breath, keeping your heart steady. “Then speak.” 

“I love you.” 

Your eyes spring open, and Halsin is before you, close enough to touch. A large, tentative hand reaches up to cradle your face. You don’t pull away, and that’s enough to bring relief to Halsin’s heart. 

“I don’t understand,” you whisper, afraid your mere voice would crack the perilously thin ice you suddenly find yourself on. “You said—“ 

“That I would not keep you to myself,” Halsin is quick to finish the thought. 

“That we should seek out other people,” you correct, a touch of anger shading the words as you step out of Halsin’s grip. 

At that, Halsin’s eyes widen. “No.” His voice holds more sharpness than the druid had ever shown with you before. “I said no such thing.” 

“Well, maybe not exactly, but the sentiment was there,” you grumble, the frustration seeping through at your hazy memory. 

“That ‘sentiment’ is misguided.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but you do it anyway. 

“Well, forgive me if I don’t have it memorized word for word—I was a little busy having my heart broken,” you snap. 

Halsin pauses for a heartbeat and you watch the pain shine in his pale green eyes at your words.

“And I will never forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused you these last few days. But listen to my words now. I beg of you.” 

Another heartbeat passes. He takes your silence as permission to continue.

“I don’t abide by these conventional rules set in place by society. My home is in nature, and I follow the path the Oak Father has set before me. These ideals of what relationships should or shouldn’t be, you’ll have to forgive me if they're all but foreign to me.” 

Another wave of disappointment washes over you and you close your eyes in a futile attempt to deter the familiar pinpricks of tears. A warm, familiar hand caresses your face before tilting your chin up to bring your gaze to his. 

“But trust me when I tell you that I have never met someone like you. My heart does not stir lightly. But it does for you. What I feel for you pales in comparison to those who came before you.” 

There is no doubting the sincerity that lies in those soft verdant eyes. 

"It feels as though I have been asleep in a centuries long dark night, and now I am finally seeing daylight,” Halsin’s deep voice soothes, each word repairing the aches and tears of your heart.  

“There is no one else for me, my heart. Call it what you wish; you are all I want. Nothing would make me happier than to have you by my side for the rest of my days, if that is what you desire as well.

My love for you runs deep and true. Never doubt it, my heart.”

And then his lips are on yours, and every thought eddies out of your head, but one: Halsin loves you. 

Pure joy and relief floods your body and you don’t even bother trying to stop the tears of joy that follow. Halsin pulls back from the kiss just enough to swipe the tears from your cheek.

“I love you, too, Halsin,” you whisper in the space between you as Halsin presses his forehead to yours. 

“Forgive me, my heart. For the pain I have caused you.” 

You smile up at that handsome face you’ve grown to hold so dearly. Your slender hand  reaches up to caress his cheek, tracing the swirls of his tattoo. “Only if you’ll forgive my foolishness for doubting you.” You feel the shame rise up, bringing a heat to your cheeks.

“My heart, there is nothing to forgive,” Halsin murmurs before pressing another kiss to your forehead.

[m0nsterqzzz]

Something Stupid

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

summary: and then she goes and spoils it all by saying something stupid like...."I love you."

content: absolute teeth rotting fluff. pining for each other but wandas is much more intense? tiniest bit of blackhill if you squint.

a/n: had this idea for a while, and I actually kinda like it??? idk. first time for everything. reader is referred to as "sweets" like twice just because I love the nickname. it's what my boyfriend calls me. anyway. love yall!!

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Wanda Maximoff loves you.

She’s known that for years.

She’s known it since she first became an avenger and felt a strange urge to gain your forgiveness over everyone else's after what her and her late-brother Pietro did during the battle against Ultron.

She knew it when you became her best friend, teaching her how to control her magic and really just how to enjoy life.

She knew it when she had to watch as you got ready for dates with people that would never live up to your standards. Not she thought she would live up to your standards- no, she knew she couldn't- but she did know she treat you better then any of those no good pigs who are just looking for a fuck buddy ever good. The witch wouldn’t go up against your suitors though, just standing on the sidelines as her heart slowly breaks faster and faster the more you don’t see her in the same light you do them.

Little she did she know, she was the only one you truly wanted.

So finally, Wanda worked up the courage to ask you out so she no longer had to cry into her pillow while you were out sucking face with someone else.

Surprisingly, you agreed easily. The only thing you had to say was that she had to promise it wouldn’t change anything between you guys for the worse. If it didn’t work, you guys couldn’t become like Natasha and Maria. (those girls can’t be in the same room as each other for more than 2 seconds without making a backhanded comment about their four week long situationship)

The Maximoff girl agreed, eagerly setting up a dinner date.

It had quickly gone wrong.

The reservation was somehow not in the book despite the fact that Wanda called the fancy dinner place with insane prices about six times in the hour-long drive there. So you told her it was fine, that you’d be happy with some food from the delicious Thai place down the road as long as you were with her. But they were out of your favorite and Wanda ate so much that she felt ready to barf as you guys walked out of the restaurant- that was before she actually did barf in the parking lot. 

Finally, you guys headed to a bar near the Avengers tower for a quick nightcap, but that quickly turned into you both downing two drinks each before stumbling onto the dance floor.

A sweet looking old man who’s been reading a comic book in the corner sees you two and decides to put his own change in the jukebox and press play on a slow, but peaceful song. He sends you guys a smile, winking Wanda's way before he continues to read about some cool looking superheroes.

Wanda’s hands fall to your waist, gently gripping them as you both sway. Your head falls to lay on her shoulder, arms wrapped around the back of her neck as the music fills your ears. Her breath is on the back of your neck, warm, but it doesn’t even begin to compare to the feeling of her lips as she places a gentle kiss in that same spot. 

Then she goes and spoils it all by saying something stupid like, “I love you, sweets.”

You roll your eyes, thinking back to how many times people have told you that during first dates just to get in your pants. Though you will admit that when you hear Wanda say it, it brings a small, warm, fluttering feeling to your chest, and you manage to let out a small giggle before you say, “No you don't. You don’t love me Wanda. You like me. There’s a difference.”

She fights the urge to tell you that she knows there is a difference between love and like. She knows that because she’s felt both those ways towards you. Why can’t you just understand that so she doesn’t have to find a way to put it into words?

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

After a few days of her saying the same thing and you never believing her, the witch realizes she has to put it in words. Nothing else is capable of explaining how she feels about you. How she’s felt for so long.

So she recruits Natasha and Clint for help, and they spend the day working on some speeches. By 2pm, she has this;

“Are you from Tennessee? Cuz you’re the only ten-I-see.” - A line from Natasha which she used on Maria who was passing by at that moment just to prove to Wanda it works. (Natasha left and was found leaving the agents room an hour later. Apparently that’s back on)

“I love you.” - Clint Barton, the stupidest man on earth. There is a reason people call him bird brain. They were there because the three words are not enough to describe what she feels towards you. Did he even read what was on the brunch invitation? It clearly stated; “fixing Wanda's love life; no I love you’s, no magic town in which she controls so she can make Sweets fall in love with her against their will.”

“Hey, do you have wifi? Cuz I’m really feeling a connection.” - Natasha. She once again used it on Maria and was gone for another two hours. Can someone please address this?

“Start listing facts about the baby turtles you saved. Always gets the ladies.” - from Tony, who was walking by the living room and decided now was the best time to interrupt. He has never once gotten close enough to endangered animals to be able to ‘save’ them, but we can pretend if he wants too.

“Are you a beaver? Cuz dam.” - Natasha. (someone needs to restrain Maria from jumping the redheads bones. She is literally needed at this meeting.)

So, as we can see, no one is any help. 

She decides after that to just go with her gut, and her gut is telling her that you’ll know when the time is right, and hopefully will send her a sign.

Maybe the sign is sooner rather than later.

The witch spends about an hour in her bedroom in front of her mirror, trying on every outfit from sweats and a t-shirt to the 10,000 dollar dress Tony bought her for her birthday. Which clothes would draw your attention to her? She thinks about that alot, which is why she wears different outfits everyday simply in hopes of you sending her a small compliment. She always spends countless amounts of time planning the perfect outfit just to hear you say, “You look pretty Wans.”

Why is this happening to her?

It’s when she sets up a cute little picnic under the stars with all your favorite foods and snacks and a makeshift tv screen with a projector to watch your favorite film do you realize that you are deeply and utterly in love with Wanda Maximoff.

She’s sweet, and pretty. She can always make you laugh when you truly think you no longer can.

And besides all that, she’s your best friend. The one that will stick with you through thick and thin simply because she wants to be beside you.

You can’t help but feel your cheeks beginning to heat up every single time she even glances in your direction, let alone actually speak to you. You can feel your stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and nerves as she just… exists.

You don’t tell her that though, afraid of getting your feelings hurt.

You just sit down on the nice thick blanket with her, grabbing some grapes to give a few to her and a few to herself as she presses play on the movie. It’s silent other than the sound of the movie, but she can hear your thoughts louder than any film. It’s not like she’s trying to read your mind. The witch vowed to herself to never use her magic on you unless it was necessary or life saving. That includes mind reading. Your thoughts are too loud though, and even with the amount of control she has over her powers, they still fill her head as she tries to focus on the movie.

“I love her.”

“She says she loves you.”

“She doesn’t mean it.”

“Yes she does.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter. I love her.”

Your internal battle on if she truly does love you or not breaks her heart into a million pieces, though she doesn’t want to call you out on it and make you feel uncomfortable. So you guys continue silently watching the movie. She doesn’t mention your loud thoughts, and you don’t mention that you can feel her eyes burning into the side of your face as she stares.

When the movie is over and the projector turns off, you guys sit in the darkness of the night. There are stars dressing the night sky, so you silently look at them as Wanda turns on her side so she can gently pull you closer to her. 

The moment is perfect; looking up at the stars in each other's warm embrace, your back pressed against her front and she moves around until she snuggles her head into the crook of your neck, so close to you that your perfume fills her senses and puts her into a peaceful bliss. Your truly happy as is she, and this time, as she says the tree words, you find yourself believing her;

“I love you.”

She doesn’t regret it or cringe out of embarrassment when she says it like she did last time. The witch just lets the words hang in the air. If you choose to say them back, you do. If not, at least you'll understand how much she truly means it.

“I love you.” You whisper back with new found confidence, and her chest fills with warmth and pure happiness. You finally believe her. Her words sounded so sincere and simple, not like the drunk words she said a few days ago. It’s the only reason you feel okay telling her the truth. You love Wanda Maximoff.

“I love you.” She mumbles, leaving a chaste kiss on your cheek.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

[wheneclipsefalls]

Little Gift- Introduction

Pairing: Soft Dark Neteyam x Human Fem Reader

Beautiful Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2

Sumarry: The RDA are forced to negotiate with a certain Olo'eyktan. Luckily, there is only one thing he wants.

Warnings: dark, dubcon/noncon, suggestive, kidnapping, aged up Neteyam, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, humiliation, dark Neteyam, swearing, power imbalance, etc. (not exhaustive) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N: I had this idea in the middle of the night two days ago. This will be the introduction of the mini series. It is dark content so read at your own risk.

tiyawn: love

mawey: be calm

oeyӓ: my (possessive)

Masterlist

The rope is coarse against your wrist and ankles, tied tight enough to leave squirming out of the question. However, it's the thick fabric gag that has you grinding your teeth together in discomfort. They leave you no opportunity to ask questions. No way to understand your fate before it unfolds. 

Colonel Quaritch had been even more cold and distant as you were prepared for the mysterious treck. You had been in the middle of packing your stuff, preparing to return home with the rest of the RDA when you had been dragged away and dressed against your will. 

Now kneeling here in the middle of Pandora’s forest wearing little more than sparkly scraps, you have never felt more exposed. The intricately beaded top does little to nothing to cover your hardening nipples and it’s easy to catch some of the Colonel’s brats sneaking a glance occasionally. 

“Colonel,” Lyle calls to your left. “For a final touch.” He holds a large pink ribbon in one hand, eyes snapping over to your small form with a smirk. 

“Be quick.” Quaritch grumbles but he doesn’t hide the amusement painted across his face. 

You attempt to scoot away when Lyle approaches you but he wrangles you back into place one handed. Another recom keeps you still with hands on your shoulders and before you know it Lyle is using the ribbon to tie a big bow directly over your breasts.

You muster every hateful thought into your heated glare, not that it does much to kill his mood. 

It’s obvious that you are the one left out of the joke everyone seems to revel in. Several times you wonder if all of this is some sick prank. Dressing you up only to drag you into the middle of the woods and leave you for dead. Perhaps even kill you themselves. 

However, thirty minutes of kneeling in the mud with a small army on high alert around you proves plans to be otherwise. There is something ominous about that pink bow tied around you, something even more suspicious about the traditional Na’vi clothing that has somehow been made to fit you perfectly. 

“That bastard sure likes to take his sweet time.” Mansk huffs. 

“What more did you expect from one of Sully’s filthy half breeds?” Quaritch sneers, readjusting the heavy artillery into his shoulder. 

“Makes a lot of demands too. Swear if we didn’t need these resources-” Lyle starts but is cut off.

“And yet we do. So shut your trap and pay attention.” The Colonel snips at him. It’s almost comical to see how fast Lyle straightens and goes back to scanning the terrain for movement. 

Always the Colonel’s bitch. 

You wish this ridiculous gag wouldn’t stop you from finally speaking your opinion freely. If you are about to meet your demise, the least they could let you do is get some long awaited satisfaction. 

Tension bleeds into the atmosphere. The former marines snap to attention and guns are locked into place, the formation fanning them out to combat any potential threats. 

It takes several dreadful seconds for you to see them but finally a pair of golden eyes just barely shines through the thick forest. They are in the trees, crouched to the ground, in bushes, some even swooping overhead on banshees. 

You marvel at their ability to hide in the nooks and crannies of the forest. However, even now you recognize that they are choosing to be seen. They have decided to make their presence known. 

Your heart thunders.

Tied and kneeling between the two juxtaposing crowds feels like being offered up as a human sacrifice. 

Do the Na’vi believe in live sacrifice?

Perhaps they too put up dead to their deity as a sign of loyalty. 

And you are pampered and primed for the taking. 

“Signed, sealed and delivered as promised.” The Colonel grunts, boot clad toe nudging your vulnerable form. 

Dread slinks through your veins.

What have you done to deserve this?

The Na’vi that steps out into the open is one that you can recognize instantly. Even a human of low status among the RDA knows what Jake Sully’s eldest son, and now Omatikaya Olo’eyktan, looks like. His face has become a focused target that the RDA have been working to exterminate for months. Now, it feels all for naught as they have been brought to their knees and forced to leave Pandora with little resources. The same reason you prepare yourself to say goodbye to this mysterious planet for good.

However, that was the idea before you were prepared like a trussed up main course for the taking. 

You struggle fruitlessly in the binds once more and Neteyam’s eyes center on you. Peering up at him hurts your neck as you are once again reminded of how tall and muscular the Na’vi are. His shoulders give the illusion of spanning out even further with the traditional feathered mantle he wears. 

His head slants to the side before he is prowling closer. You attempt to jerk away from his large hand coming to your face but that only ends in you falling back on your rear. His lips turn down as he inspects your tied wrists. There is nothing you can do as he holds both of them easily with one hand. 

“I was told she would not be harmed.” He speaks lowly, voice thick with a Na’vi accent. 

“She put up quite a fight. Even getting her to hold still during the shot was a pain in the ass.” Quaritch replies.

You remember all too well the fear that had overcome you when they brought out that long needle. The developed serum was a success naturally but it still racks your anxiety higher to fully breathe Pandoran air without your mask. Even more so, you feel strangely more exposed in front of this Na’vi legend without the glass to separate you from him. 

“I don’t appreciate excuses.” His golden eyes flicker towards your face and a small smile appears. “But I am pleased to see it fits.” Long fingers trace the lines of your necklace top before toying with the ends of the pink boy. 

You stiffen beneath his touch, eyeing the sheathed dagger across his chest. 

Do sacrificial ceremonies require specific clothing? 

Maybe dressing a sacrifice up in pretty ornaments and clothing proves to their deity its value. 

Either way, you hope it’s fast. The Na’vi are trained killers, but at least they should know how to end a life swiftly. 

“I would be pleased to see the resources you promised.” The Colonel bites back.

Neteyam sighs and purses her lips as if the small army around them is simply an annoyance instead of a threat. 

“Trades are not historically present between the Omatikaya and your people. I am not opposed to taking instead. Remember that.” 

You can hear the shifting guns behind you. The Colonel’s anger boils through the air and you are surprised to find no smart response coming from him. Neteyam leisurely tugs the ends of the bow, perfecting its shape and you are mortified to feel your nipples tighten beneath them. He nods his head and a few armed Na’vi step forward and hesitantly hand over a few tubes of minerals.

You recognize it as unobtanium, most likely the small amount left to mine from the last Home Tree. Your eyes widen. All of that for you? 

It wouldn’t be enough to make the RDA’s trip a success but it would surely cut down the financial loss significantly. But why give it over? Just to kill you? Had their deity sent out a bounty on your head and if so, what had you done to piss Her off so immensely?

“As promised.” Neteyam rises back to full height, hands settling on his hips. “I trust you understand what is to come to those who do not honor this agreement.” 

“Consider her a…peace offering. A special gift from the RDA.” You can hear the smirk in Quaritch’s tone, even the chuckle that Loyd fights to hold back. Your teeth dig into the fabric gag, praying more than ever that now would be the one time you would be able to rip him a new one. 

Your own special gift before you leave this life. 

“I tire of your presence, demon.” 

Quaritch scoffs but you can already hear the shuffling of retreating boots as they slowly but surely exit the scene. The only home you have ever known and now it is nothing more than a memory. You’re left to the demise of the Na’vi like a shiny object to be collected. 

And with the way Neteyam smiles and studies your form intently, you can’t have found a better analogy. Kneeling once more, large hands cup your cheeks, fingers encasing the whole side of your head. 

“Oeyӓ tiyawn, you are shaking.” He tuts, features softening at breakneck speed. Eyebrows furrowing, you watch closely as he carefully parts the hair from your face. “So nice to meet you, properly that is.” He chuckles, as if telling a joke only he knows the context to. 

Unease tightens your muscles and you’re sure that if your heart rate picks up anymore the organ will simply give out before they even have a chance to kill you. 

He sends a look to the side and instantly the rest of the Na’vi party retreat back into the forest. Your forehead creases. What is a sacrifice without an audience? 

Unless. 

Neteyam’s fingers comb through your hair.

Unless the Olo’eyktan has decided to have his fun with you before you are offered up. 

Tears spill from your eyes and you can’t stop yourself from trying to beg through the gag.

“Oh tiyawn,” His thumbs wipe away your tears. “You do not need to cry anymore. Not now that you are mine.” 

A hiccup catches in your throat, wide eyes looking up at him. 

“My sweet pet.” He husks, lips curved into a prideful smile. 

Your heart drops to your stomach.

Pet. 

How does he even know what that word means? The Na’vi do not keep pets. Perhaps he misspoke. 

But when one large hand circles around the back of your neck and you remember one thing: this man was raised by both Na’vi and Sky People. 

Frantically shaking your head in protest you try to get out words that will convince him to release you. It’s a strained effort with the cloth gag and his giant hand grasping your neck. 

“Mawey, little gift, before you hurt yourself.” He lingers over the cloth gag and for a moment you have hope that he will remove it, instead Neteyam gives you a sympathetic smile. “My poor tiyawn, I would love to remove it but I think we will need to go over some ground rules first. I’ll need you to listen without distraction for that part.” 

Your thoughts tangle into a million knots as vast ideas of what these rules may entail generate frantically. 

It would be easier to believe that a Na’vi has no purpose for a Sky Person as a pet but it’s impossible to miss the lust swimming in his golden orbs. Nor the wandering hands that now come to squeeze your plush hips. 

“You’re even more breathtaking up close.” He grins. When had he seen you from a distance? “Especially in proper clothing.” 

You can barely see through the cloud of tears over your eyes so you miss when Neteyam unsheathes his knife. That is, until you feel the cold material against your ankles. Terror grips your heart but to your surprise the Olo’eyktan cuts the rope around your feet. 

Foolishly you take advantage of this slight freedom only to be snatched around the waist and pulled onto his lap. Neteyam chuckles as if your escape attempt is the cutest thing he has ever seen. Your hips ache slightly at the stretch it takes to straddle one of his muscular thighs. 

“Misbehaving already, hm?” He raises a hairless eyebrow at you, one hand slink down to settle over your rear. Luckily he seems more amused than angry. After all, you have to admit that there was no real chance of you outrunning him in the first place. And now that those muscular arms are locked around you, there is no hope of beating his strength. 

Humiliation runs deep when you feel the first trickle of arousal stain your tiny loincloth. Neteyam’s thigh flexes and your pussy greedily takes the friction as an invitation. His nostrils flare, no doubt taking in your changing scent. 

He doesn’t further your embarrassment, however. At least not yet. 

“My father told me about these.” He muses, fingers playing with the bow once more. “It’s said to represent gifts. I always thought they were silly but now…” Heat runs straight to your core when his thumb dances over one escaped nipple. “I quite like the look of it on you, little gift.” 

A whimper escapes your lips without permission, snagging his attention. 

“Needy little pet, aren’t you?” A dark laugh rumbles his chest as his thumb casually slips underneath to bow to torment one nipple. “Do not worry, oeyӓ tiyawn. I’ll have you seeing stars before the night is through.” 

Everything in your mind says no but Neteyam’s skin is warm and his hands are skilled as one teases your nipples while the other explores your backside. Your body preens into the touch, desperate for some semblance of comfort to hold onto. And in the dangerous atmosphere of Pandoran nights, your instincts tell you that this man is what separates you from death. 

However, you are still held as prey under his gaze. 

“But first I think it is time to get you home.” He leans forwards until your noses are touching. 

“You will be more comfortable in my bed, pet.” 

And so it begins! As always, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts! <3

unofficial taglist: @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 (thought you might like it, baby) @itchaboi-itchyboy @zafrinaxyz @lilghostiequinni @criticallybella

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the official taglist for future parts

[writerwrabbleswords]

Bookish | Wolverine/Logan Howlett X [Male Librarian] Reader

 What made libraries so special? Logan might have answer to that, and it's the guy behind the desk.

 Quick notes :  This was an idea that came to me randomly! I liked the idea of having a more softish reader since it’s a personality that contrasts so well with Logans - think opposites attract! As usual, this story is set from Logan's POV (I’ll do Reader POV at some point, most likely in a oneshot rather than in these drabbles)! There will most likely be a few things (or many) that aren’t accurate to the X-Men comics/movies lore, and this is because I have yet to see the movies… I will be changing this shortly, however! [Side note, I will be completing a request sometime today and posting it alongside a part 2 to the Iron Man variant reader drabble.]

Story Details :  About 1,300 words, Male Reader referred to as ‘You/Your,’ Reader has a soft personality, Reader’s outfit is vaguely described, inaccurate implied history of mutants and their evolution, so much fluff, Logan slightly OOC (?)

Chuck wanted him to go to the damn library. He didn’t even like the library. Apparently the old telepath needed some specific books on mutants for a presentation he was going to give to the students at the school. So, of course, he sent Logan. Asshole.

  The older mutant pushed one of the front doors open, stepping into the building with his mouth set in a firm frown. A few of the guests looked up at him, but otherwise remained focused on their own book searching or reading. He huffed, his brows furrowing slightly as he took in the large area of books - not counting the second floor. Logan did not want to spend the whole damn day in this stuffy library, so he swallowed his pride and approached the librarian desk nearby.

 To his surprise, however, he was met with you. You had a knit sweater on, with a button-up beneath it and a pair of dress pants; Logan couldn’t help but admire your form for a beat, taking in the small details about you. It took a moment before you looked up from the book you were reading, a warm smile gracing your face as you set it aside and gave the mutant your full attention. 

  “How may I help you, sir?” 

  Your voice made something flutter in Logans’ stomach, but he pushed the feeling aside. He cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looked away in an attempt to straighten his thoughts.

  “Does the library have books on mutants and their history?” He asked gruffly, fixing his eyes on you once more as he continued, “Specifically the mutation history?”

  The way you blinked, pursing your lips in thought as you rubbed your chin made his heart thump oddly; why were you so… cute? At the thought, the mutant shook his head slightly, trying to clear his mind and focus on the task he’d been assigned.

  “We have a mutant section in both fiction and nonfiction, but what you’re looking for is more likely in our history catalog,” you reached forward, typing something into the computer just beside you as you tapped your fingers against the wooden desk, “It might be in nonfiction, though. Is there a specific book you’re looking for?”

 Logan watched you closely, his fingers twitching subtly as he felt the sudden urge to smoke; a cigar would’ve helped loosen him up, he guessed. He blinked when you suddenly addressed him, his focus shifting to what you’d said as he nodded and pulled out a small sticky note from his pocket. Written down in Chuck’s neat handwriting were the titles of the four books he needed, and the mutant handed it over with little a word.

 You took the note in your hand, your fingers brushing against his as a shiver ran up his arm at the contact. The small hum that left you was, admittedly, kind of cute - it reminded him of a puppy trying to remember a command it was learning. As you scanned the list of books, a small smile graced your features, making the large room practically light up.

  “Ah! We have three of these books!” You stated excitedly, turning back to your computer and presumably typing in their titles, “I know the one on mutant evolution in cells should be in mutant nonfiction - numbers 400 through 500 - but the other two I’m unsure of.”

  When you got the answer you were looking for, your hand swooped as you scribbled out the location of each of the books Logan needed on a small slip of paper, the smile never leaving your face.

  “They’re all very good books, you know,” your voice brought him out of his thoughts, “I’ve read the one on cell evolution and mutant development over the decades; they’re both packed full of information I think more folks should know.”

  The fact you were pro-mutant - something so rarely seen these days - made a small part of Logan feel almost grateful. He had been expecting you to be closed off and aggressive (he didn’t know why that was his expectation, but considering how mutants were treated, he figured it was just how it was when he went out and about), but the way you so openly discussed that you thought people should learn more about mutants made him reconsider his opinions. After a pause, with the only sound nearby being the scratching of your pencil against paper, Logan spoke up.

  “Do you have any other recommendations?” His fingers flexed, “On mutant history, that is.”

  He watched as you seemingly perked up, the smile on your face turning to nearly a grin as you typed out something on the library computer,

  “Actually, I do!”

  When you found what you were looking for, the older mutant watched as you added a few more titles to the list of what he wanted and their location within the library.

  “There’s a book on mutant inventions I always recommend, as well as one on the PTSD epidemic currently affecting mutants - that one is less history focused, but it’s still rather insightful,” He listened as you spoke with such certainty and excitement, as if the topic was one you were deeply invested in, “The only other one I could recommend would be by Dr. Hancock, a leading mutant researcher in cracking the X gene in mutants. That one is the last one on this list.”

  With a slight tilt of your head, you set the paper with the list of books down on the desk in front of him, tapping it with your fingers as you seemingly thought for a pause. Logan glanced down at the paper before taking it in his hand, his eyes scanning your writing as he let out a grunt of approval - you were quick and efficient, and that was something he could appreciate.

  “Can I ask you a question?” The mutant found himself asking, unable to keep the words from leaving him.

  You simply nodded, still smiling so kindly as waited for him to ask.

  “Why are you so… interested in mutants? You seem to know a lot,” 

  It was a harsh question - incredibly straightforward and blunt, just as he was - but you seemed to take it in stride, simply rubbing your chin as your gaze went upwards in thought. Logan decided he liked the way you looked when you were pondering something; it reminded him of something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Well, my interest started primarily because I had a mutant friend when I was younger,” you admitted honestly, finally refocusing on him, “They taught me quite a lot - about the oppression and lack of rights - and after that I devoted time to learning as much as I could because I never wanted to make a mutant feel less than.”

  Your answer had Logan pause, his eyebrows near lifting to his hairline as he stared down at your seated form; that was not the answer he was prepared for. He was prepared for you to say something like ‘I wanted to learn about others,’ or, ‘Mutants are fascinating,’ not that you wanted to make them feel equal. The thought had a slight smile tug at his expression, the sincerity in your words ringing true even for him.

  “Bleeding heart, then,” He said with an amused huff, looking back down at the list in his hand before he gave you a slight nod, “Thank you. For the help.”

  Logan watched as you laughed softly, picking up your book and flipping to the page with your bookmark in it,

  “I’ll be here if you need more of it, sir.”

  The smile on his face widened slightly as he finally stepped away from your desk, his fingers brushing over the paper he held as he began to step towards the part of the library you’d indicated was where the books he needed would be.

  It was only when he found two of the books that he realized he didn’t have a library card. Fuck.

[beegomess]

T.N. || Can you be my sister?

Summary: On a hot summer day, you find yourself alone in the family mansion, accompanied by Theodore, your boyfriend, and your little sister Sofie, who is eager to learn spells before entering Hogwarts. After a magical experiment that ends in a comic accident, the trio comes together in an afternoon of the girls... and a Theo. Warnings: none

Open orders!

The sun rose strong that summer morning, filling the mansion's garden with a vibrant light, despite the gentle breeze that blew through the trees. The heat persisted, and the shadows of the trees seemed more and more inviting. The garden, meticulously cared for, exhibited perfectly arranged flowers, symmetrical bushes and a fountain that twinkled under the sunlight.

You were alone in the mansion, while your family was traveling, when Theodore, your boyfriend, arrived at the door, accompanied by Sofie, your 11-year-old little sister. The little one, always excited in her presence, could barely contain the enthusiasm when she saw her. Since he had lost his mother and was at the mercy of his father's constant bad mood, the environment in the Nott mansion was gloomy, almost suffocating. The garden there, which was once colorful and vibrant, had become gray, devoid of the life that Sofie wanted so much. She also had few friends and almost no female figures around.

Since you and Theodore started dating, however, everything has changed for Sofie. She quickly began to see you as the sister she never had. At events and meetings, she always looked for you, seeking refuge in your company, and loved when you could spend some time together. Her presence brought color and lightness to her world, something she seemed to desperately yearn for.

That morning, Sofie almost dragged Theodore by the arm to you, her face illuminated with excitement.

- It's going to be fun! - she insisted, gently pushing Theodore towards the garden. - We can play outside!

You smiled at the scene. Despite pretending to be bothered, Theodore had a visible affection for his sister, and it was easy to see how attached she was to you. Soon, the three were in the garden, and Sofie, with bright eyes, looked around, full of expectation.

- Theo, you have to teach me something! - the girl asked, her eyes shining with expectation. - I'm going to Hogwarts in a few days, I want to get there knowing cool spells!

You cast a suspicious look at Theodore. Teaching spells to an 11-year-old child, you thought, already predicting that it wouldn't end well.

- I don't know if that's a good idea... - you warned, but Theodore just shrugged, a carefree smile forming on his face.

- I'll teach you something simple, no big deal. - he said, pulling the wand. - Sofie, pay attention. I'll teach you "Depulso".

- Depulso? Theo, that's kind of aggressive for a child... - you started, but he was already turning to his sister.

- It's not that dangerous, trust me. - Theodore replied with a wink. - Besides, she needs to learn to deal with spells a little more... practical.

You just shook your head, but approached, ready to intervene if necessary.

Sofie, always quick to learn, took the concept quickly. With her eyes wide and her wand in her fist, she was ready to try the spell.

- Depulso! - she exclaimed with determination, pointing the wand at a nearby stone, which was thrown away.

- Very well! - Theodore praised, satisfied.

The girl was clearly proud of herself, but, amid the excitement, her focus faltered. In the next movement, while turning the wand distractedly, he unintentionally pointed directly at Theodore.

- Depulso! - she said again, not realizing what she was doing.

You barely had time to react before seeing Theodore being thrown back hard, right against one of the biggest trees in the garden. He hit his back on his torso with a dull sound, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop.

Sofie turned pale, her eyes full of shock and terror.

- Theo! I... I didn't want to! - she screamed, dropping her wand and running towards her.

- Sofie, calm down. - you said, bending down to be at her height and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. - He'll be fine.

With Sofie a little calmer, you went to Theodore, who was slowly recomposing himself. He rubbed his back with a grimace of pain.

- I warned you... - you said in a light tone, extending your hand to help him get up.

- Yes, yes, you warned... - Theodore murmured, accepting his help and getting up with difficulty. - But it's still impressive. She learned fast.

- Too fast, by the way. - you commented, looking at the little one who, still worried, watched everything with wide eyes.

The sky was already dark when you finally collected yourself into the mansion. Theodore, lying in his bed, tried to move as little as possible. Each movement seemed to cause a new wave of pain, and his ribs, where he had hit the tree, were painfully swollen and purple.

- You should have been more careful. - you said while preparing an ice pack to relieve his pain. - You know Sofie still doesn't have that much control.

- I thought she could handle it well... maybe I underestimated the power of the spell. - Theodore replied, trying to hide the discomfort in his voice.

As you put the ice against his ribs, a slight moan escaped, and he tried his best to maintain his posture.

It was at that moment that the bedroom door opened slowly, revealing a hesitant Sofie. His eyes were full of worry, and the guilt was evident on his face. She entered silently, looking at Theodore with a mixture of sadness and remorse.

- Theo, I'm sorry... - she murmured, approaching the bed. - I... I didn't want to hurt you.

Theodore forced a smile, trying his best to hide the pain.

- It's okay, Sofie. I'm... I'm fine. - He said, his voice failing slightly.

You watched the scene with a tender smile. It was obvious that Theodore was lying, but the intention was clear: he didn't want Sofie to feel worse than she already was.

- Are you in pain? - the girl asked, her eyes wide and sincere.

- No, no...- Theodore lied, the persistent smile.

Sofie, however, seemed unconvinced. She looked at you and then at Theodore, before muttering:

- I'll stay here for a while, just to make sure you'll be fine.

With a resigned sigh, Theodore did not stop her, and Sofie sat in the chair of her dressing table, watching carefully as you finished fixing the ice pack on Theodore's ribs.

- You have a huge stain here. - you commented, lifting his shirt enough to see the bruise that spread through his ribs.

Theodore just moaned in response. While you were packing the ice pack, he took a piece of paper from the bedside table and, with difficulty, wrote a few quick words. You read the note and, without saying anything, smiled slightly.

"I'm dying of pain, I need something stronger"

Sofie yawned once more, her eyes filling with sleep.

- Your brother will be fine, I promise. - you said softly, going to her. - But I think it's time for you to sleep.

She agreed with her head, no longer having the strength to protest. You took her in your lap gently, and Theodore watched her with an affectionate look. With her falling asleep in your arms, you took her to the next room, where you put her on the bed carefully, covering her with the light blanket.

The next morning, the sun did not enter through the curtains, and the heat of the previous day seemed to have given a small truce while the rain fell heavily outside. Theodore was still in bed, motionless, but with a look that showed that he was feeling a little better, although the pain was still evident on his face.

You moved slowly, wanting to avoid any sudden movement that could cause Theodore discomfort, and got up from the bed in silence. He watched you with a faint smile, still half asleep, and nodded lightly.

- Good morning. How are you feeling? - you asked, leaning over to give a soft kiss on your forehead.

- As if he had been hit by a spell. - Theodore replied with a slight humor in his voice, despite the pain, and you laughed softly.

Theodore was sitting on the bed, trying to settle down while you passed a medicine over the large purple bruise that spread down your back. He moaned softly at every touch, but tried to keep his composure.

It was at that moment that the door opened slowly, and Sofie, still in pajamas and with disheveled hair, appeared with a worried expression. She hesitated a little before entering the room, looking at her brother with eyes full of guilt.

- Theo? Are you... better? - she asked shyly, taking small steps towards the bed.

Theodore, when he saw her, smiled tenderly, although the pain was still evident on his face.

- Yes, I am, Sofie. - He tried to look convincing, but he couldn't completely hide the discomfort. - Nothing I can't stand.

Sofie climbed into bed carefully and sat next to him, watching the bruise on Theodore's back while you finished passing the medicine.

- I'm sorry about yesterday... - she murmured, her eyes still full of remorse.

Theodore laughed softly, but soon regretted it when the pain made him shrink.

- It's okay, I was a terrible teacher. - He looked at Sofie with a tired smile. - But don't worry, I'll still teach you more things... but maybe something less destructive.

- Do you promise? - Sofie asked, already with a glow of expectation in her eyes.

- I promise. - Theodore said, with a soft nod.

As soon as Sofie looked around her room and saw more clearly the items on her dressing table, her eyes shone with curiosity. The perfume bottles and delicate combs caught his attention. She cheered up instantly and, with quick steps, ran to the chair, sitting facing the mirror.

- Can you do a hairstyle on me? - she asked, her pleading eyes reflected in the mirror while she fixed her hair with her small hands.

- Of course. - you replied with an affectionate smile as you approached, taking a delicate comb from the dressing table. - Let's see what we can do with these curls.

Sofie laughed excitedly, and while you carefully began to braid and fix her hair, Theodore just watched from the bed with an amused look, still trying to stay still.

Sofie smiled broadly at the mirror, visibly excited by the prospect of spending the day by her side. After braiding your hair with colored ribbons, you decided to enjoy the rest of the day with light and fun activities.

You watched Sofie's favorite movies, those with magical adventures and enchanted creatures that made your eyes shine. With each exciting scene, she looked at you with a huge smile, commenting on what she liked and what she hoped to find at Hogwarts.

- Will I learn spells to talk to animals like them? - she asked at one point, pointing to the screen.

- Maybe not in the first year, but maybe one day? - you answered with an encouraging tone.

After a few movies, you went to the kitchen to decorate cookies. Sofie plunged headlong into the task, spreading colorful coverage on all sides, while you laughed at the disastrous attempts to draw shapes. In the end, half of the cookies seemed more fun than perfect, but that didn't matter. What was worth was the laughter and the light moment they shared.

Back in the room, Sofie got excited about the idea of doing makeup, so you decided to try different colors and styles. Colored powder, shiny lipstick and sparkling eye shadow were soon scattered on the dressing table while one made up the other. She laughed out loud every time she missed a line or exaggerated the color, and you had fun following her tireless energy.

- Look how it turned out, Theo! - Sofie exclaimed, turning to her brother in bed, who pretended to be amazed.

The day passed quickly between laughter, jokes and colorful sweets. The connection between you and Sofie grew with each activity, and Theodore, even in pain, seemed happy to see the two having so much fun. It was one of those simple but special days that would be kept in the memory with affection.

____________________________

masterlist

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

[elwensa]

Hornfels is not one for superstition. But sometimes...

I know I am currently posting old comics, but I'm also gonna post the new ones!

I felt the need to draw a quick comic, something light hearted and wholesome. I had this little idea for a while, and finally decided to draw it.

the Hornfels, Hal and Hatchy relationship is something I like to think about. I think everyone had their little emotional support when Feldspar disappeared. Slate had Mica, Gossan had Porphy, and Hornfels had Hal and Hatchy!