#their canonical last name is Xavier i think

[svnnyd4ys]

sally leftenmost window (xavier?) you have actually never left my brain x

[always-just-red]

@lunariadew asked: 'Can you write a poly fic maby like a feel good fic or date night or something with all the boys! I’m greedy and I think there’s not enough poly fics as there should be'

Nothing profound this time around! Just some good old-fashioned shenanigans. I've wanted to do a fic with all the boys for SO long (Infold, hire me to write a sitcom-style show for the guys, PLEASE) I've kept it platonic since it's early stages; it's open to interpretation about how many sparks are flying and between whom exactly..... 👀 But if ppl want more of this, I'm all over it. Platonic or romantic? I'll play it by ear!

Game Night

L&DS Boys X Reader

Summary: The most important men in your life can manage one evening together, right? For you? Please? Pretty please?

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, some swearing, a lil conflict, non-canon (I know some of the guys probably know each-other but we're pretending they don't 😇)

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Rafayel… what do you think this is?”

The artist stands at your open door, wearing a self-assured smile and one of the flashier outfits you’ve seen him in, and that’s really saying something. Between you is a bouquet of lilies, petals curled like frozen licks of fire that compliment— deliberately, if you had to guess— the warmer fires within his eyes. Those eyes narrow at your question.

“What do you think it is?” he says suspiciously, lowering the flowers.

“…Game night?”

You’re not sure why you phrase it so tentatively. You know what it is; you’re the host. You open your door wider, stepping aside to give Rafayel a better view of the apartment behind you, and the remainder of his smile sinks.

“Hi,” Xavier calls out, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s giving a wholesome sort of wave.

“Hi…” Rafayel answers, barely more than a whisper as his eyes flit between everyone else in the room, because he’s the last to arrive. “Game night, yeah,” he nods assertively, “I knew that.” Then a deep breath: “Can I, like, put these somewhere—”

“Kitchen counter,” you gesture.

“Got it.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Closing the door behind him, you watch as he skirts past the lounge and makes for your kitchen, where another bouquet already lies waiting. He zeroes in on it. “Looks like mine’s not the only heart you’re breaking tonight, huh, cutie? What are these—” he pokes at a petal— “daturas?”

“They’re her favourite,” speaks a distinctly low voice.

Rafayel doesn’t look up. He plonks his bouquet on top of the other and winces: “They’re really not, though.”

“He’s right,” you chip in, giving Sylus a sheepish smile, and now Rafayel looks up, beaming.

“She likes roses,” Zayne says, with the calm confidence he’d quote a medical journal. On the sofa beside him, Xavier nods, and you grin at them both.

“Noted,” Sylus chuckles.

Rafayel’s less convinced. “Since when?!”

“Since forever, Raf. I like lilies too, so I didn’t say anything, ‘kay?” You beckon him back to the lounge, ignoring his splutters of disbelief. “C’mere, let me introduce you to everyone.”

The man slinks to your side like a reluctant shadow, and your hands find your hips. “This is Zayne. Xavier,” you point out, putting faces to names; Rafayel’s heard stories about each. Then you nod towards Sylus. “Over there’s Skye.”

From his place by the window, Sylus lifts a hand in greeting.

“So… yeah,” you finish. Oh, wait! “Guys, this is—”

“They know who I am,” Rafayel shrugs, his fame apparently heavy on his shoulders. He glances around the room for validation, but he gets none, so he tries again. “You do know who I am, right?”

“Sorry,” Xavier admits with an awkward smile, glancing back at Sylus: you?

The man has to think about it. You know for a fact he’s traded more than one of Rafayel’s paintings for a profit, but he smirks and gives an even more exaggerated shrug than the artist himself.

Really?

“You’re Rafayel,” Zayne states plainly.

“Yeah! See, I told you, cutie—”

“You slipped on a paintbrush and checked yourself into Akso, right? The nurses still talk about it.”

Rafayel’s enthusiasm drains. He looks conflicted as he mulls over the additional information. “In, like, a good way?” he hazards.

Zayne stares back at him, wielding silence like a scalpel before cutting deeper with a: “…sure.”

You bite back a smile. Leaving the two to discuss the finer details of Rafayel’s notoriety at the hospital, you wander over to the kitchen, where you fish out a vase from the back of a cupboard. You fill it, set it down on the counter, then reach for Sylus’s bouquet. There’s a black satin ribbon; you untie it.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sweetie?” asks the man himself, joining you discreetly.

The others can’t really hear you— they’re still talking. “What,” you smirk, retrieving your scissors from a drawer, “you worried Xavier’s gonna arrest you?”

Sylus laughs lowly, quietly. “That’s adorable.”

“Good.” You pick up a flower and trim a leaf from the stem. “Because even if he wanted to—” you wave it, just short of his face— “I’d protect you, ok?”

He regards the flower beneath his nose. Smiles smugly. “These can be toxic, sweetie.”

“Really? Whoops.” You put it down, then snatch up a lily from Rafayel’s bouquet. “En Garde!”

“These too.”

“What the hell?”

The flame-red flower drops from your fingers, and Sylus laughs more sincerely. “Stick to roses, kitten. Or…” He moves his hand over his deconstructed bouquet, his Evol pruning the rest of the leaves from the stems. A tendril of it gathers the flowers, delivering them to him so he can hold them out to you with a flourish. “Live dangerously. Who am I to judge?”

You take them, then plop them into the vase. “Cute.”

“I’m here all week,” he grins. “You’d better wash your hands, hmm?”

With a hmph of agreement, you turn to the sink. You spend half a minute, rubbing soap and warm water over your hands, and when you turn back around— still drying them— something is different. The lilies are gone. Sylus is looking at you, innocuous.

“Real mature, Skye.”

He makes no effort to defend himself. You’re about to tell him that his magic better extend to making flowers reappear when your attention is whipped back to the lounge. The voices from that side have raised, so you lean forward on your kitchen island, watching their owners in a sort of stakeout.

“I take it you have a plan,” Sylus whispers, leaning with you.        

You look at him. He looks back. “The plan is for hosts,” you scold, “not guests.” He’s much too close so you step away, reaching for the vase of daturas and holding them threateningly out, like you’re not afraid to use them. “Go back to the guests, deserter.”

Sylus lifts his hands in surrender, smirking in a way that says he knows he’s met his match. You shoo him further, back into enemy lines, then resume your stakeout. Xavier is sharing his own “embarrassing” medical story— talking about a time where he once passed out from exhaustion while fighting at your side, and you think it’s supposed to make Rafayel feel better.

It doesn’t, of course, and even Zayne is gazing down at the floor, self-conscious.

Sylus meets your eyes across the room, signals with a tip of his head: now's a good time for that master plan, sweetie.

Right. Your plan. Your master plan, yeah.

…

“You should have picked the doctor.”

Sylus’s words are near-silent: for you, not anyone else, and you pretend you don’t hear them. “But no,” he carries on, because he knows you can, “you just had to have the artist.”

“It’s Pictionary!” you snap, drawing all eyes in the room.

Lounging beside you, Sylus feigns an amused surprise, as though he hasn’t just been trying to elicit that exact reaction. On the other sofa, Zayne and Xavier stare, taken more genuinely aback. You give a smile of apology.

“Guys, concentrate!” Rafayel clicks his fingers at you. He’s stood in the centre of the space by a large drawing pad, and he goes back to frantically sketching on it. The drawing is… interesting. Abstract. Maybe even beautiful? But you don’t have a clue what it is.

“Thirty seconds,” warns Zayne, studying the little egg-timer he’s guarding.

You tilt your head at the drawing. There’s maybe a— wait, where did those extra colours come from? Where did he even get those pens? Anyway… there’s a circle. “A globe?” you guess. “Earth! No? Umm… oh! The sun! The moon!”

Rafayel shakes his head with every suggestion, adding even more intricate, unhelpful scribbles. Is that a fifth pen?! You nudge your other teammate, calling for back-up.

Sylus regards the drawing listlessly. “A unicorn.”

“What?!” Rafayel’s tone has reached a pitch that almost makes you wince. “No! C’mon, are you even trying?”

“No,” Sylus lilts with a pleasant smile, lifting the drink he’s been nursing to his lips.

You kick his foot. “A bowl of fruit!” you exclaim, determined to make up for the lack of enthusiasm. “A plate? A plate with food? Breakfast! Lunch! Dinner!”

“Time’s up,” Zayne interrupts, and it’s a mercy, really; you deflate with a sigh.

Rafayel puts his hands on his hips as he takes a step back to observe his work. He tucks four fine-liners back into his pocket— purses his lips as though he really can’t see a problem— and he’s keeping you all in suspense.

Sylus is up in an instant, stealing a card from where it’s been discarded on the coffee table. He reads the answer, then rolls his eyes. The original pen was also abandoned, so he plucks it up, then strides to the drawing pad.

He draws an oval. Then a triangle.

“A fish! A fish!” you cry out.

“You’re good at this, sweetie,” Sylus grins. He puts the lid on the pen with a click before dropping it into Rafayel’s hand.

“Is it my turn?” Xavier asks, trying to relieve the tension of the room. He gets up and smiles as Rafayel passes him the pen. “Your drawing is pretty. The composition is really—”

“Don’t,” Rafayel says. “Like, thanks? But don’t.”

“Fair enough,” Xavier chuckles.

You all prepare for the next round: Zayne handing you the egg-timer, Xavier re-organising the stack of prompt cards. Sylus takes a photo of the drawing pad before ambling back over— a moping Rafayel in tow— and they both sink down either side of you. You glance at the latter, giggling. “A fish, Raf? Really?”

“So I didn’t just wanna draw you some basic fish, ok?” The artist crosses his arms with a pout. “But fine, enjoy mediocrity, I guess.”

To your left, Sylus raises his glass in toast to the notion. There’s a noise: Xavier tearing the used page from the pad. You look up. “Xavier, can I have that?”

“Sure.” He brings it over to you.

You look at the drawing again, holding it at arm’s length and rotating it experimentally. You’re seeing a lot, but nothing that screams ‘fish’. There’s a circle, still. Oh! “It’s a fish bowl! Wait, wait, wait— is that Reddie?”

“Yeah!” Rafayel beams.

“Aww!”

The renewed team spirit drops off with Sylus; he’s on his phone, not paying attention. He seems to sense your scrutiny because he peers up, gives a ghost of a smile, then returns to whatever he’s doing. Meanwhile, Xavier is ready for his turn, so he signals for you to start the timer. You give him a thumbs up as you turn it over. “Go!”

He starts drawing.

“A car,” Zayne guesses after all of five seconds. Correct. Next. “A river? No. Oh. A snake.” Yes. “A cupcake?” Also yes. (In fairness, he was never going to struggle with that one.) “A person? Ok. Oh, a scientist, no? Ah, a doctor.” Yes again, and really— what?

Zayne continues to list correct answers, though thankfully, that’s the last of the coincidences. You watch on, vaguely in awe, until you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You check it casually, aware that Sylus is next to you, looking down at it too.

It’s a text from him: The drawing… Can I have it?

You glance up at him subtly, meeting his eyes and giving a discreet yet firm shake of your head. He frowns. You’re not having this debate here, now, so you let your gaze return to the drawing pad while idly retrieving your drink.

A few seconds later, there’s another text: Found buyer

Then another: Quarter of a mil

You almost choke on that drink.

“Umm… cutie?” Rafayel asks, poking you. He points at the timer you’ve left on the coffee table, and the top half is empty.

“Shit, yeah. That’s time!” you call.

Xavier stops drawing. The small, crude sketches behind him have reached double digits. He looks really proud. “Great! How many was that?”

His eyes find you. Zayne and Rafayel’s, too. Were you supposed to be counting? Uh—

“Eleven,” says Sylus, and it’s way too smug to be a lie.

“Awesome!” Xavier flips the drawing pad over to where you’ve been tallying point totals. He adds eleven marks to one side. “That’s—” he counts both— “ah, thirty-three to nine.”

A silence falls over the room. Unsure of what else to do, you give a half-hearted round of applause and Xavier laughs awkwardly, still humble, despite it all. “I think we’re kinda done with Pictionary, yeah?” you suggest, rising from your seat. “I should probably get started on food, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.”

The insistence came from Xavier, and you freeze suspiciously; he’s never turned down free food.

“You’ve already done so much,” he explains, “setting this all up for us. You should relax, really! Leave it to me.”

The word ‘relax’ is not synonymous with the image of Xavier anywhere near your kitchen, but he’s looking at you so earnestly, blue eyes brimming with warmth, and what are you supposed to say? No thanks, Xavier— I value my life? Everyone’s watching you. Gods help you. “That’s really sweet, Xavier. Thanks.”

Your fellow Hunter’s smile widens even more. He heads off to the kitchen, a spring to his step that makes your heart sink with dread. “Actually—” you glance at your ex-teammates— “could you two go help him? Zayne and I’ll tidy up over here.”

Rafayel and Sylus do as they’re asked, even though their expressions remind you that cooking is not, typically, a three-man job. It’s tactical, though. You wanted a moment alone with Zayne. “Are you ok?” you ask, once the others are out of earshot. “I know this must all be a lot. The guys can be, well… yeah.”

He knows what you mean, right?

Zayne has slipped away from the couch; he’s crouched on the floor, collecting a few prompt cards that have wandered astray. He glances up at you, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “I’m ok,” he assures with a fond smile. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” He hands you the cards and you slot them back into their deck. Then you turn to the drawing pad. “You and Xavier make a good team, huh?”

The doctor straightens to his full height. “Mmm. It helped that we didn’t spend the entire game comparing the size of our… drawing abilities.” 

You laugh unashamedly. The pen’s still at-hand, so you pick it up— reward another point.

Zayne chuckles.

“Food’s gonna be a while.”

You both turn, following the voice back to Sylus, who has apparently decided he’s had his fill of kitchen duty. What was that— a minute? He seems to have anticipated your dissatisfaction, because he’s brought a bribe with him: the box of chocolates that had come with his bouquet. It’s already open and he holds it out, tempting you.

He’s right— you don’t know when you’ll next be eating— so you select a heart-shaped chocolate, popping it into your mouth with a smile and a muffled: “thanks.”

Sylus smiles back. Then he holds the box out to Zayne. “Doctor?”

It takes a nod of encouragement from you to prompt Zayne into taking something. He chooses a white chocolate truffle, mumbles his own thanks, but Sylus doesn’t relent— not yet. He shakes the box slightly, incitingly, and he doesn’t move it away until Zayne takes two more.

Your physician shoots you a surreptitious smile as Sylus falls back onto the couch, content he’s won your hearts, and that he won’t be sent back to the kitchen anytime soon. His long fingers lift another chocolate from the box, and he meets your eyes as he slips it slowly past his lips, humming like he’s enjoying himself.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. He gives you the least convincing look of innocence you’ve ever seen.

There’s an exclamation from the kitchen: “Hey, where did my flowers go!?” 

Shit. You hastily push the drawing pad aside then scurry over to assist Rafayel. You don’t have a plan, exactly; it’s not like you can help him look for them. “Umm… they’re around, Raf. I moved them somewhere safer, that’s all.”

“Where?”

“Uh—”

“Does it matter?” Sylus speaks from behind you, because he and Zayne are close at your heels. “She said they’re somewhere safe.” He leans on the kitchen island. “Don’t you trust her?”

Rafayel scoffs. “I trust her plenty.”

“So prove it. Drop it.”

“Skye,” you caution, “stop.”

Sylus does stop, but not because you asked. He’s done enough already, hasn’t he? Rafayel is bristling with indignance— a lit fuse— and behind him, Xavier sneakily checks the trash can, looking relieved at what he doesn’t find. He gives you a subtle glance: Where actually are the flowers?

You lift a shoulder an inch: Beats me!

There’s a soft, almost imperceptible crackle, and it draws your eyes to the vase of daturas between you all. They’ve caught light— their petals twisting, darkening, within larger flowers of fire.

“Rafayel!” you gasp. “No, no, no, the fire alarm!”

The torched flowers are encased, all of a sudden, in a fine layer of shimmering frost. Sylus blinks down at them, unmoved by their destruction. Zayne’s hand is still outstretched, snowflakes etched over his palm. Then something… odd happens. The ice doesn’t stop. It spreads over the rest of the kitchen island, to all of your bewilderment.

“Zayne?” Your voice is fraught with worry, but you don’t give a damn about your kitchen.

The man winces, and you so rarely see him out of control. The silver-white patterns have crawled up his wrist, and the ice continues to spread; even Sylus steps back. Sharp, jagged crystals start to form— inching out towards everyone.

“Zayne!” you try again.

His chest rises as he drags air through his teeth; it looks like it hurts, but the ice does stop. The others are still, suspended by momentary uncertainty, and you rush to Zayne’s side, taking his hand.

“What the hell was that?” Rafayel remarks, shaking away his surprise and thawing an icicle that’s way too close for comfort.

“He wouldn’t have needed to use his Evol if you hadn’t used yours.”

It’s Xavier, strangely— you would have expected Sylus. The Hunter’s tone is gentle as always, but there’s something behind it, this time: a frustration that lends an edge.

Rafayel hears it too. “Hey, I’m not the one who started this!” He points to Sylus. “He—”

“Has been lighting fires all evening,” Xavier finishes. “But at least his were only figurative.”

Sylus laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh where you just know he’s vying to make things worse. “Look at that,” he says, “the boy next door can bite.”

Xavier’s eyes sharpen. Beside you, Zayne slips his hand from yours. It’s an instinct you know well. This moment is volatile, and you have to be ready. It could go a dozen different ways; it’s just waiting for a spark.

“Guys,” you manage to get out, “please, just… everyone, take a breath, ok? Everything’s fine, we just have to—”

A spark.

There’s smoke. Actual smoke. “Xavier, behind you!” Zayne alerts.

It’s creeping out of the oven and Xavier turns— eyes wide— to open its door before any of you can stop him. Thicker smoke billows out, filling the air, and you all scramble away from it. The fire alarm triggers. You think Rafayel’s shouting something, but you can’t really hear him. Then Sylus is shouting. Maybe even Zayne. The alarm is piercing your ears and making you dizzy— or is it the smoke?

You feel a hand on your shoulder and suddenly everything changes.

There’s cool air, brushing over your skin, and it’s dark; you’re outside the building. You can still hear the alarm, shrill but further away, and your window is easy to spot: there’s a red light flashing behind it. Sylus leans into your vision, saying your name.

“Stay here,” he tells you, “alright?”

He’s gone in another moment, lost to a flicker of crimson-black darkness.

Gods, you’re so stupid.

…

You sit on a short wall outside of your building, and the street is full of people. You recognise most of them: neighbours. Every single one is mad at you. You’re all waiting for the alarm to cut out— for the all-clear to be given. The fire wasn’t that serious in the end, but there’s still a procedure. You would know; this isn’t exactly your first evacuation.

The guys are safe, which is good, because it means you can kill them later. They’ve all gotten lost in the throng, and your neighbours can keep them. Maybe they’ll kill them for you.  

“Hey, cutie.”

You were staring down at your feet, but you look up at Rafayel’s voice. He’s coming towards you, evoking a sense of déjà vu, because he’s clutching a bouquet of flame lilies. That’s… the bouquet of flame lilies. How?

“Skye gave ‘em back to me,” he explains, chuckling at your expression, and he’s close enough now to hold the flowers out to you. “I don’t know where he was keeping them. His Evol’s weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say timidly, taking the bouquet and gazing down into the petals; they still smell sweet.

Rafayel sits next to you, shuffling close, and he leans his head on your shoulder with a tired sigh. You want to be mad at him. You really, really do— but you’re suddenly not.

“I’m sorry, Rafayel.” The admission barely makes it out of your throat.

You feel his head lift. “You’re sorry?”

“I know it was just a misunderstanding,” you speak into the flowers, “but tonight… wasn’t what you were expecting, I get it. I mean, I kinda threw you into the deep end with all this. You didn’t know you were gonna be around other people, and I—”

“Whoa— cut that out, yeah? You’re killing me, cutie. I spend the whole evening causing trouble, and you’re gonna take all the blame? Nope. Not happening. It was a collaborative effort at least, ok?”

You giggle. “Ok.”  

“Good.” His head slumps back down on your shoulder, and yours tilts to rest against it. “Thanks, though. Really,” he whispers, so quiet you almost don’t notice.

Footsteps and familiar voices draw you from the intimacy of the moment. The others are wandering back to you, having finally escaped the veritable mob of your neighbours. They all look tired.

Xavier settles down on the other side of you, and Zayne sits beside him. Sylus takes a seat next to Rafayel with a huff, but he’s not half as unhappy as he’s pretending to be.

All of you sit in silence, gazes flitting between your window— where there are still glimpses of moving figures— and everyone else who’s been evacuated. For the first time all evening, the quiet isn’t tense. It’s peaceful. Easy.

“We’ll do better next time,” Zayne speaks softly.

Next time? You scoff. “Do any of you actually want there to be a next time?”

“I had fun,” Sylus chuckles. He’s taken his coin from his pocket, and he flips it, amusing himself.

“I had fun too,” Xavier grins.

“Cooking again, Xavier?” quips one of your neighbours, as they happen to pass by.

The man beside you laughs, but you can tell it’s forced. Your hand finds his; you give it a little squeeze, letting him know that it wasn’t his fault. His heart was in the right place. It’s always in the right place.

You nudge Rafayel away from you so you can sit up straighter, your free hand rubbing your arm, caressing prickled skin. You’re about to ask for a jacket when something heavy drapes over your shoulders. It’s a coat— still warm— and its owner is stood behind you; you didn’t even notice him get up.

“Thanks, Sylus,” you smile.

All eyes turn to you. What are they—?

Oh.

[sanguineterrain]

professor pretty | charles xavier

Summary: You duck into a pub to escape a creep. Just when you've lost hope that you'll get to go home at all, a pretty-faced professor comes to your rescue.

Pairing: young!Charles Xavier x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings/tags: creepy guy intimidating reader, charles to the rescue, flirting, drinking, professor!reader, i tried to make it accurate to an english university and make him English but if there's any mistakes feel free to lmk.

this is a modern au in that movie canon is the same but they have cellphones here bc it's easier lol

the divider

There’s a man at the back of the pub, in a scary leather jacket and combat boots, and he won’t stop staring at you. 

Instinct tells you that he’s not going to let you leave either. 

You noticed him after you left the school. That’s what first pushed you into this pub across from the university. Now you’re parked on a stool. You really want to go home, but instead you’re sticking close to the frazzled barman who’s managing about thirty first years who are just jazzed about the new school year. 

You’ve ordered a pint, even though you’re not really a beer drinker, but when in Rome and all that. You’ve had about two sips. 

You sneak a look over your shoulder. The man is still there. Fuck.

“Could I have another pint, please? Cheers.” A man leans against the bar top, hand running through his light brown hair as if on instinct. You’ve seen him once this week, at the university, when you were trying to get your own classroom set up for the term. 

You don’t know his name or what he teaches, but you do know that he likes the poofy-haired, off-duty secretary in the red dress that came in about an hour earlier. And she seemed to like him back. You’re surprised he’s still here.

You rest your chin in your hand, watching detachedly as he orders. He’s got a nice smile and even nicer manners. Posh. Probably a jerk. 

“Hello.”

You look up. Professor Pretty Boy is standing closer to you, blue eyes warm. His smile fades as you look at him.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, brows knitting in concern.

You sigh. “Yeah, great.”

The last thing you need is another guy screwing up your night. Even if this one is considerably better looking.

He rests his elbow against the bar top and pushes his finger against his temple. 

“Is someone bothering you?” he asks after a moment.

Your eyes widen. “How did you–?”

“I recognize the look. Fella in the corner, yeah?”

His words make you tense. You sneak a look back. The man is still there, though he’s now on the phone. 

“I think he’s going to follow me home if I try to leave,” you whisper. 

His eyes soften in concern. You watch him watch you. Then he seems to make a decision.

“I’ll be right back. Stay here, alright?”

He heads straight for the creep. You watch, slack-jawed, as your unsuspecting knight in a crisp, white button-up says a couple words to the man. Then they go outside. 

You turn around, guilt washing over you. What if he gets hurt?

Well, so what, says another part of you, it’s not like you told him to confront the guy.

But your knight returns in thirty seconds, every hair in place. He gracefully slides onto the stool next to you and takes a gulp of beer. Foam gathers on his upper lip. You can’t help your disbelieving smile.

“You’ve got…” You gesture to your mouth.

“Ah.” He takes a napkin and wipes his mouth, avoiding your gaze. Is he flustered? 

“There’s just no dignified way to drink a pint, I’ve learned,” he says, clearing his throat. He smiles at you, less rakish and more bashful. 

“How did you do that?” you ask. “He must’ve been there for half an hour.”

“Hm? Ah, well, I politely explained that that sort of behavior isn’t tolerated here, and that I was very happy to call the police.”

Your brows rise. “Wow. He seemed determined to stay.”

“I can be very persuasive, I’ve been told. Oh! How rude of me.” He sticks out his hand. “My name is Charles. Charles Xavier.”

You shake his hand. It’s cool and soft. You tell him your name. He repeats it softly.

“It’s very nice to meet you, though I wish we’d met through better circumstances,” Charles says.

You nod. “Me too. But thank you, seriously.”

“No thanks necessary. Men should let others live in peace.”

“Words of the century,” you say, raising your glass.

“Cheers,” Charles says, clinking your glasses together. 

You both take a drink. You’re considerably more relaxed. And no, you’re not really Professor Xavier’s type, but you like the company. At least for tonight. 

“So, are you visiting?” he asks. “Pardon my saying, but you don’t sound…”

“Like you?” You playfully raise an eyebrow.

His eyes widen. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ve only been here a week, actually. I took a teaching position at the university.”

“You don’t say! I teach here too. What are you teaching? Wait, no, let me guess…”

Charles squints in concentration, putting his hand to his forehead. “Hmm… ah! Women’s literature?”

You shake your head. “You’re on a roll, seriously. I’m in awe.”

Charles waves you off. “You’re too kind. I’m just perceptive.”

And there’s a pinch of something in your gut, something that tells you that it’s more than good perception. But you don’t detect any malice in Charles. In fact, you feel nothing but kindness and genuine interest emanating from his gaze. 

“Well, let’s see if you’ll go two for two. What author am I teaching first?”

Charles smiles at you knowingly, and you’re sure he’s about to say it.

“Oh, I haven’t a clue. Hmm… Ms. Austen?”

You laugh. “No, I’m very sure that the students at Pembroke have gotten their fill of Austen in their A-levels. Do you give up?”

He grins. “Yes, I do. Tell me all about it, please.”

“I didn’t peg you for a quitter, Charles.”

“I know when I’m beat,” he says softly, and the tips of his fingers touch yours. 

To your surprise, you don’t pull away, even though getting involved with a professor your first week would be bad.

But there’s something magnetic about him.

“I was thinking I’d teach The Haunting of Hill House.”

Charles raises his brows. “Horror? My, my. Quite a first impression. I like it.”

“Got to make it memorable, don’t I?”

“I don’t think you’ll have trouble with that,” he says. Your face warms under his incessant charm. “You’ll get on fine here. I’ve been teaching for a few years. My sister keeps pushing me to find a place in America, but I have a hard time letting go of the familiar.”

“I bet you’re popular here,” you say, and Charles immediately catches onto your meaning.

“Heh, well…” Charles purses his lips mischievously. “Ahem. I try to make the course engaging, especially since I teach graduate courses. But I’m a homebody, truly. It’s my sister who pulls me out here, and one thing leads to another, and I get to meet lovely new lecturers with impeccable literary taste.”

You turn and focus on your all but abandoned beer, tracing shapes into the condensation and hoping you’ll get some reserve back.

“Does this charming routine work on everyone?” 

Charles laughs. “Actually, my routine is something like, um…” 

He leans in, half-lidded. “I have all the time in the world for a darling with the TCHH gene. You would call it curly hair, I call it a mutation. A most alluring mutation, mind you—you see, mutations are what took us from single-celled organisms to the dominant form of reproductive life on the planet. And being that it’s my field of study, and I take my studies very seriously, I would love to explore what other genetic wonders you’ve been gifted with.”

It’s quiet for several moments. Then you begin to giggle. Charles schools his expression, feigning indignance. 

“And what’s so funny?”

“You’re not serious,” you say. “Does that really work?”

“I don’t know why you’re laughing—it has a nine out of ten success rate,” Charles says, sticking his nose up. “People like genetic facts.”

“I think they like your pretty face more than the facts, Professor.”

You wince as you realize what you’ve said. Charles pounces immediately.

“Apologies, I can’t hear you very well in this loud pub… did you say my face is pretty?”

“Oh, put a sock in it,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Like you don’t know.”

That draws a full laugh from him, face scrunching in delight. You smile back, shaking your head.

You check your phone out of habit, feeling like it’s been a long time and… holy hell! 11:46. You curse, scraping your stool back.

“Dammit, dammit. I’ve got a lecture tomorrow morning! I’m so sorry, Charles, I have to go.”

You hadn’t meant to stay so long, but the stranger had frightened you, and then you’d met Charles, and…

But you stop short upon seeing the door because of the terrifying thought of the stranger waiting outside for you.

Charles must sense your hesitance. “I can drive you home.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m only a ten minute walk away,” you say, but it’s weak.

He puts a hand on your back. The touch is fleeting, but he’s warm through your shirt. 

“Then I’ll walk with you. I love walking. And the rain will come soon—got to take advantage of clear nights.”

You look at him. He already has his coat. You suddenly remember the woman he’d followed to the back table. 

“Are you sure? Didn’t you have a…”

“She wasn’t interested,” Charles says, back to his perceptive ways. His gaze is fond. “I’d rather walk with you, anyway.”

“You’ve already charmed me, Charles,” you say as he walks you out of the pub.

“No charm,” he says simply, holding the door for you. “Just being honest, darling.”

You feel infinitely better on the way home. Charles keeps your spirits high, providing you with endless advice and assurances for your new job. 

You go up the steps, taking out your key to the flat. 

“Look, um…” 

You stop and turn. Charles follows you up. He starts to touch your arm, then stops. He straightens his tie instead.

“If you see that man again, or someone like him. Someone who doesn’t look right. Promise you’ll tell me, alright? You can reach me on my mobile any time.”

He hands you a card. Charles Xavier, Mutant Expert. Huh.

You look at him, fear returning. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, he won’t bother you. But if… I don’t know. Never mind. No, I’m worrying you. I’m just making you paranoid. Forget that.”

You shrug. “You’re keeping me safe. I like that.”

Charles chews the inside of his lip for a second. Then he leans in and kisses your cheek. You inhale sharply. 

His thumb lingers on your jaw before he pulls away completely.

“Good night,” he says, pupils dilated in the dim light. 

“Good night, Charles. Thank you.”

“Any time. And if you just want to go for a pint, that number isn’t just for emergencies.” 

“Are you that sure of yourself?” you ask, hand on your hip.

“No.” He smirks. “I just happen to be very perceptive.”

[ventismacchiato]

RAFAYEL HEADCANONS

canon complaint, established relationship

sorry guys, can u tell i have a favorite

matching everything. phone charms. earrings. nails. socks. you name it, he’ll buy everything in two.

begs you every other day to get a matching tattoo with him. he’s even drawn up multiple designs for you to choose from and will keep asking you until you eventually agree, how could you refuse?

hates cats, says he’s allergic (he’s not) but will run out the room when your cat walks in when he’s staying over. one time you asked him to feed it when you were away on a mission and you watched through your cat cam as it took him fifteen minutes to get the bravery to even get five feet near your cat.

so very chronically online. he’s a certified yapper. you’re his only follower on his private twitter and best believe he’s posting every single thought he has, and he expects you to reply to every single one. also asks you to match profile photos, but he has commitment issues so you guys change them almost every week.

you usually wake up to at least one voice note from him, minimum of five minutes long. you got used to playing them as podcasts as you got ready for work.

honestly he already probably gets his nails done, but will let you do them for him. more so force you, he’s lazy. but if you like to have yours done he would be able to do the prettiest designs for you.

aquarium dates are his favorite, no need to get a guide because rafayel will talk your ear off the moment you’re inside.

boy who cried wolf. fakes being sick for your attention so much so that you don’t even believe him when he actually is. not until thomas tells you that rafa has been whining about missing you in bed.

clearly has abandonment issues and gets upset when you don’t let him know where you are or if you’re okay. he’ll show up at your apartment the few times you pass out from a mission and forget to reply, ready to be mad at you. but the moment he sees your wounds and tired eye bags he loses any ounce of anger he once had.

love language is quality time, doesn’t matter what you’re doing as long as it’s together. he’s the type to tag along when you need to go grocery shopping or pick up something. he just likes to be beside you.

he is a brat, so he’ll laugh as he watches you struggle to carry all the groceries back inside. but it’ll only last a few seconds before he scoops them from you. if you guys go to a carnival together his immediate thought is to win every prize there. it’s only when he’s sucked the poor booths dry is when you have to tug him away.

claw machine dates are weekly and mandatory, but if you think you’re getting a turn think again. he gets too into it and forgets to share. you’ve come to learn you just need to pry him away from it

always follows the sidewalk rule but in return will make a big deal out of you opening doors for him since you’re his bodyguard. he’s the girlfriend in the relationship fr

that’s not the entire time though, when it’s just you two and he’s all worn out from being annoying all day his tone will go softer and his gaze warmer. he loves you he really does he just showcases it weirdly

constantly asking, morelike begging, you to stay the night. even if you have work the next day he says he needs you to fall asleep. it’s happened so many times you eventually brought one of your uniforms over and some clothes so you could spend the night and still go to work. it’s hard not to give in to him.

loves pda. if it was up to him he’d have his hands on you constantly. will get sulky if you don’t hold his hand when you go out.

much like xavier i don’t think he would enjoy working out. but if you need to go to the gym to train he’ll sit on a yoga ball beside your treadmill and talk your ear off. he’ll spot you on the machines but won’t go near anything. he will offer to sit on your back as you do push-ups though. you decline.

nsfw

probably a switch but after seeing his tipsy invitation and ebb and flow scenes he’s giving he prefers to be on the bottom. probably bratty at the beginning but according to the cards he gives in pretty easily, letting mc tie him up and referring to you as master likeeee. i feel like he just wants you to enjoy it more than he wants to enjoy it. gets off at seeing you get off type of deal.

he’s giving pillow princess vibes but if you ask he’ll give you the same treatment but tease you the entire time tbh he’s sooo bratty but i can’t see him being a hard mean dom. like he’ll give into you but make you work for it. edging kink all the way

“hmm, should i stop? i can’t let you finish this quick.”

“wow i didn’t know you were so sensitive here.”

“i haven’t even used my fingers yet and you’re already this wet.”

100% down to try any sex toy can you imagine him buying some sort of tentacle dildo as a joke cus he’s a mermaid but then you end up actually using it on him one night

[xdivinedecay]

Patron saints for US election aftermath

Below are some saints I humbly recommend to pray to as the United States faces this new and challenging era after the results of our recent election. Those that use prayer for intercession may find comfort in learning more about the saints below, and building a communication with them.

Social justice — St. Martín de Porres Poverty — St. Francis of Assisi Women — St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Immigrants — St. Frances Xavier Cabrini Racial justice — St. Katharine Drexel Ecology and environment — St. Kateri Tekakwitha (the first Indigenous American saint) Education/teachers — St. John Baptist de La Salle

If you'd like, I have included some notes and extras below —

Please if you can, take some time to learn about St. Martín de Porres! His soul is beautiful and his work was absolutely selfless as he cared for others in the face of social abuse and adversity. He really is someone to aspire to be like.

I nominate St. Elizabeth Ann Seton in this particular instance as it's difficult to pin down a definitive patron saint of women (all of my cross-references didn't produce a strong label on any one saint; many were for mothers or some other aspect attributed to womanhood, so there are many options). But St. Elizabeth was the first American-born citizen to be canonized as a saint, and in her life she started a Catholic school for girls. She is most known for founding of the Sisters of Charity of Saint Joseph’s, the first religious order in America who contributed significant humanitarian work. In the wake of the US election results, I think she is an apt choice for connecting with for intercession.

I'm a biased St. Joan D'Arc follower, but hear me out. She was the crux of saving her home country from the very literal brink of being lost to Britain in a war that spanned a century. She rallied the last skeleton crew of the remaining French monarchal power that had all but been defeated already, and helped to take their name and land back from the English. I will be continuing to pray to her regularly to help find ways to fight for our freedom and remain courageous. I encourage others to do the same if you pray to her, or would like to start.

While I wish I had a suggestion for a saint to pray to for the LGBTQIA+ community, as they are adopted through history (St. Sebastian) or are not strictly official. But there are some interesting perspectives to find online, I just couldn't find a saint I could comfortably name with my whole chest for this particular group. I was intrigued by some responses on this Quora thread on the matter in question.

As always, these are only suggestions based on my imperfect research, as I am still newly navigating my reclaimed faith. If you have other patrons to recommend, please add them in a reblog so that others may learn about them.

divider made by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

more lists of patron saints — Patron Saints for your problems • Patron Saints for World Mental Health Day

[thenightshadowqueen]

Top ten SFTH character couples

(in my biased opinion)

Okay, first of all I’m so sorry to anyone who followed me for anything other than Shoot from the Hip content; I swear I’ll put in more variety. Someday. (Also go check out Shoot from the Hip.) Second of all, I did not join Tumblr with the intention of making a bunch of lists, but they’re fun to write and people seem to enjoy them, so here goes.

10. Justin x the Beetroots MC (headcanon)

Listen, I do NOT condone the whole “if they’re bullying you, that means they like you” bullshit. That being said, years and years later, after both of them have grown as people, I think they could have a really sweet relationship, at least after they work through everything.

9. André Beetroot x Xavier (canon, somehow)

I kind of ship this in a joking way, but also kind of not? They make sense together in a really weird, fucked-up way, and I’m so here for it. (I cannot believe that they’ve canonically hooked up. Multiple times. I love AJ so much for giving us this.)

8. Andrew x Nigel (headcanon)

It’s so toxic. It’s so toxic, and I know that, and it would never be okay in real life, but some dark part of me is really fascinated by the possibilities. (I cannot emphasise enough how much I am intrigued by this in FICTION ONLY.)

7. Jack and Jackie (canon)

Complete turnaround from the last two, but these two are genuinely so sweet. I honestly don’t even have much to say about them, but I love them. So much.

6. François x Mimi (canon)

They are so toxic. They’re horrible people, and they only make each other worse. And I love it. (You know, making this list did make me worry about my mental health slightly. Just slightly.)

5. Toby x the meth wife (canon)

First of all, this is the gayest straight-presenting relationship I’ve ever seen, and I love it. (I totally headcanon them both as bi/pan/queer/etc., but that’s not the point of this post.) And honestly, they’re so supportive of each other. They’re, like, genuinely a healthy couple (in a SFTH play? Can you imagine?). They have so much love for each other, and I could talk about them all day, but I’m fairly sure no one needs that, so I’ll stop.

4. Andrews x Betruva (headcanon)

Listen, I might be a little biased because they’re new, but they kind of have everything I look for in a ship. They have millennia of history, which is always a good start. They’re ancient nemeses. They founded a church named after them both???? Honestly how much more gay can you get?

3. Esmerelda x the vampire slayer (canon)

I like to imagine that Esmeralda survived, and they fall in love, and they have to work through the trauma of the slayer (I think I saw the fanon name Samantha? But I’m not sure) trying to kill Esmeralda. There’s just so much angst potential, and oh, now I want to write a fanfic.

2. Bubba x Jeramiah (canon)

They’re a fucking classic, okay, and they’re a classic for a reason. They are the best gay cowboys, and I love them so much. I know I should have more to say, but I feel like it would just be incoherent screaming.

1. Derek x Titch (canon)

Listen, who else could it be? They are so fundamentally amazing. It’s a classic case of “he fell first, he fell harder” (even if we don’t get to see a lot of the “he fell harder” part, I believe it with all my heart). I love Titch working though his issues and learning to open up, and I love Derek being so helplessly in love with him. I love them so much, and they deserve the top spot.

[estrellami-1]

I was about to nap earlier and I legitimately spent the entire time thinking about middle names for everyone, so, without further ado:

Stephen Joseph Harrington

I imagine his father’s name is Richard Joseph, so they have the same middle name, and Steve hates it whenever he remembers.

Robin Bernadette Buckley

Much like Steve, she hates her middle name, so she makes one up on the spot whenever someone asks her. The most insane one was ‘Crowbar’.

Nancy Elouise Wheeler

I can’t remember who asked, but someone was asking for her middle name a while ago and this just popped into my brain and op agreed that this sounded like her.

Michael Alexander Wheeler

He doesn’t have many feelings about his middle name; he went by ‘Alex’ in third grade but that only lasted about a week. However, he hates it on principle because Nancy has said before how fun it is to full-name him.

William Jacob Byers

He’s pretty okay with his name, too, up until Jonathan started calling him William Jacob in a British accent.

Jonathan David Byers

Named after the Bible characters. Jonathan finds it ironic because how did his mom pick the two gayest people in the Bible. How. Joyce, who didn’t know David’s best friend was named Jonathan, has no answer for him.

Dustin Clarence Henderson

Yes, this is what Gaten said his middle name is. Ergo, it is canon.

Lucas Xavier Sinclair

I don’t really have a reason. He just seems like an Xavier.

Maxine Crystal Mayfield

She hates it, absolutely loathes it, tells people it’s Chris. That is up until Chrissy. She hears Eddie’s story and decides she’s okay with sharing a name with her, so she starts using Chrissy.

Eleven Jane Hopper

I feel like this was an obvious one. An alternate—especially when she goes to school—is Jane Elizabeth Hopper, but since all of her friends know her as El/Eleven anyways, she just takes Jane as her middle name.

Eddie Nicholas Munson

He’s always been slightly tickled by the fact that he’s got such a proper middle name and such a hillbilly first name. Not even Edward. He’s got Eddie Nicholas on his birth certificate. Fuckin’ wild.

[racefortheironthrone]

Cherik (xmen) - like the loganxscottxjean throuple (s), any basis in the comics to pull from? And any personal opinion on that interpretation of xmen’s arguable most important relationship?

Great question!

Before I answer it, I'm just going to express a pet peeve of mine, but I'm not a particular fan of that ship name, in part because I don't really think of Magneto as "Erik" any more, especially in this context. In the comics, Xavier met Magneto as "Magnus" (which was Magneto's human name for the first thirty years of publication), and it strikes me as odd that this wouldn't be the name Charles would default to in emotional situations. (Charles is still enough of a bad boyfriend that he forgets to call Magneto "Max.")

"Erik Lensherr" came about only in the late 90s, in a context that made it quite clear that this name was a cover identity that Magneto constructed with the assistance of a Romanian forger to protect his true identity from various intelligence services. (It's also tied to the odd decision to retcon Magneto as Sinti Romani, but that's a separate issue.) Moreover, for the past sixteen years it's been established that Magneto's canonical birth name is Max Eisenhardt, and it is that name which he responds to in the Sphere of Judgement.

But to answer your question, there's much more textual basis for that particular swooningly homoerotic relationship than there is for the throuple. These two have been the most poorly-communicating, dysfunctional, co-dependent, non-monagamous bi4bi pairing in the entire Marvel Universe - albeit one always couched in carefully deniable subtext and brightly signposted visuals between X-Men #161 and #200. Hell, when Magneto first joins the X-Men and becomes Headmaster, he goes so far as to adopt Charles' last name!

(Pictured: the intricate rituals.)

Their relationship has endured quite a few deaths and resurrections, murder attempts (quite often by one against the other), a mindwipe or two, the joint creation of a being of pure evil, and much more. It only became more prominent in the early 2000s thanks to the Fox movies, and has been front-and-center throughout the Krakoan Era.

[beneathashadytree]

I had a bit of a "hang in a minute..." thought when going through my 5*memory cards the other day. I started playing the last day of the drunk MC/Zayne and MC/sniffy sniff Rafayel event (I lucked out and got both, but not Xavier's) and it made me think that MC and Zayne have definitely bumped uglies (the business trip card is HELLO 👀) Whereas Raffy and Xavier are merely hinting at maybe, possibly doing the do.

There is another Zayne card that heavily suggests they banged, but I've been asleep since then and can't remember what card.

What do you think?

I will be sending another ask coz I just thought of something else!

I’ve gotten most cards in the game despite being F2P… except for the V-day cards🥲 But here’s my interpretation of this!

Like in the company’s previous game MLQC, the dates with the boys are scattered across different points in their timeline with MC.

For example, Business Trip Date is 100% after they’ve been long dating. After all, Zayne always strikes me as a particularly cautious person and definitely waited a long time to have sex with MC, due to the fact that he’s too worried about Astra’s curse to truly give in to his desires. Also the fact that he probably follows a “well-mannered” agenda to a T: ask them out on a date, kiss their cheek, kiss their lips, make out with them, sleep together, and so on. He’s also just naturally more reserved despite having a heart of gold, and so he’s probably careful with his own emotions, especially since he’s canonically had zero experience before MC. However, in other dates, like the almost-kiss one (forgot its name) you can see that it’s still in that awkward, early phase in the relationship where he’s holding back a lot of his feelings and it often backfires because it comes off as him being standoffish (Zayne is literally just me but in a different font😭😭). So currently? They’re not even dating. A little fast forward? Dating, but kinda shy. Massive fast forward? Sleeping together and teasing each other.

As for Rafayel and Xavier, the same also applies!! They’ve both respectively slept with MC and it’s heavily implied in the same way Zayne’s was. It’s only a matter of WHEN exactly that happened, since the dates are also all over the timeline.

Rafayel’s V-day card was lovely, but it certainly implies that he’s gotten more confident about being more risqué around MC. Despite appearances, he’s incredibly shy and embarrassed about intimacy at the start even though he deeply craves it, and that’s simply because of the way he grew up (being told you’re to be a refined God can’t have been too easy on him) and because of the fact that this is his first lifetime where he gets to be with MC without the constant threat of them being taken away from him. Being an artist also heightens his passion and his ability to tap into his well of feelings, so he can’t help the fact that he constantly desires to be with MC, and that translates into the natural progression of physical intimacy as he knows it. However, in the early days, he’s extremely careful about not toeing the line even when sharing a bed.

As for Xavier… whew. He’s just about the most forward, sneakiest one of the bunch, and I love the fact that it contrasts his endearing earnestness so much. Like, yes, he would absolutely burn the world to protect MC’s smile (he’s a little morally grey, after all, he just reins it in for their sake) but he’s just so so eager to pull the most sinful sounds from them in the name of his all-consuming adoration. The most recent card (the one with the gym clothes) makes it obvious that he’s more than willing to take the first step in their relationship, but it’s just a matter of him waiting for the MC to reciprocate. He’s careful, but makes his intentions VERY clear. During the V-day event, he’s easily the boldest out of the 3. It’s clear this is much later in their relationship, because he literally promises to keep them up all night (!!!) and is certainly okay with having them feel him up and act coy while he presses kisses to their body. On the other hand, in that one card with the Pocky game, they’re still at the stage in the relationship in which he can tease them and fluster them so easily by just surprising them with a kiss. So it’s pretty early on, I’d say.

Coming from the MLQC fandom, the messed up timeline doesn’t bother me, because I know that this is because in-game it hasn’t been long since they first “met” and the game hasn’t been released for long either. It makes sense that during dates, they wouldn’t be in a relationship yet. But since it’s an otome game, they have to feed the fans a little with indulgent dates set in the future to encourage fans to keep investing in the game and stay interested until they actually do start dating in the timeline (eg: 2 years later, maybe). And after that good long while, they’ll only keep pushing out dates where they’re already dating, and things slowly get more and more domestic. So it’s a game of patience!!

This turned out to be a massive rambling post, sorry😭😭 I’m pretty unhealthily obsessed with this game (as I was with MLQC years ago, honestly) so I love spinning my own interpretations of the lore and characters.

[gojoswhitebabydolllashes]

IF I DIE TONIGHT IMMA MAKE IT EPIC

Logan howlett x reader

-

Warnings: deadass I do not know. Sad. Sad kitty cat. Idk everyone's sad. Some things may not make sense yet. Major Canon divergence

-

I don't remember the first time I wanted to die. Maybe it had been when I thought I lost Logan for good. The nights I slept alone and the days I spent cooking on my own and the nights I spent watching the TV, lying by the radio incase I received a message. I even chopped the wood.

And then one day the radio just, went silent.

I had been getting small messages every now and then, whether from a random or a helicopter pilot or just government things. But one day it all just stopped.

I think that's what true fear feels like.

Silence.

-

Westchester was just as I remember. So lively and comfortable. But not as warming, it didn't feel as much like home as it should have.

"So what are we even doing here?" Wade asked.

Behind us, Charles stepped on a few glass shards with a crunch and then looked up at us. "There's someone here I think can help you," he grunted as he fixed himself.

"God I hope it's doctor strange, God he's delicious in the first movie" Wade spoke under his breath.

I side eyed him, and as I did, I noticed Logan had stopped walking behind us and was standing at the window of a shop. There was something melancholic about it.

"Logan?" I questioned him as I walked toward him "what are you looking at?"

He tilted his head down and left, eyeing my feet approaching, and then looked back to the window. Inside on display was a small baby sock with pink frills. It lay abandoned on a splintered wooden shelf.

For some reason, it affected Logan more than I felt it would.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

Stupid question.

"Let's just get out of here" he grumbled and walked off.

My mouth fell into an o shape as I stood baffled by what just happened. Nevertheless, I picked up my feet and started walking again.

-

🧠

Sometimes, when I get time to myself. I like to think of Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr. Both powerful mutants with incredible abilities, arguably they were otherworldly. Best friends and yet enemies.

Charles once told me, "To be so close is to be too far away"

Since then, I still don't have a fucking clue what he meant. I thought about it every night, asked people what they thought of it.

Yet I still don't have an answer. And when I ask Xavier about it. He says "each day you get further away, is a day you get just that bit closer"

And if he hadn't been so old I would have punched him for being so cryptic.

-

"Is this the place?" I asked and turned to Charles.

He nodded with raised brows. "This is is the one"

The building was made of red brick and had pristine white bordered windows lined with vines and small flowers.

"Its so beautiful every part of me is crying" Wade stated. And silently me and Logan cringed, and I could have sworn Charles did too.

"The people inside aren't. So watch yourselves" Charles warned us.

"You know I wish I could. I wanna rewatch my best jerk off moments"

Logan ran a hand down his face and rolled his eyes into his head.

-

Inside seemingly already waiting for us, we're 3 people. One was a woman in a long purple robe like a witch. One was a man in a bright blue leather suit, and the last was another man in a dark green suit.

All were undeniably a bit scary to look at.

"Charles dear, you've returned," the woman spoke, then Gasped "oooh and with guests"

"These are my acquaintances. You don't need to know their names" Charles spoke.

I assumed they weren't of major importance if our names weren't even necessary.

"What can we help you with?" The man is blue had a deep voice.

The kind that made you want to turn around and leave. Like being caressed by a bear growl.

"I need a truthspeaker" Xavier said bluntly.

Apparently, that's a normal thing around here. Saying things like everyone is supposed to know what that is. I tell you what bloody annoying is what it is.

"Well, here's one right here." The woman is purple pointed to herself and stood up off her chair and strode elegantly toward Logan.

She snaked her manicured hand around his bicep, then up his shoulder and around his neck. Smirking with her maroon lips, she eyed me.

Snarling with disgust and anger and whatever comes in between, i stared back at her. She flicked at logans beard with her bright red nail, and his eye twitched slightly. Without another thought, I looked at the wall.

"Oh, you're an interesting one, aren't you?" She was talking to me. I turned my head slowly to face her.

"So much emotion. So passionate and pure. Like a wildfire, aren't you?" She grinned with that fake feminine grace that made me sick.

"Do I look like I want to talk to you?" I said blankly.

Before another word came out of my mouth, the woman grabbed a silver stick adorned with red gems from her pocket and swiftly stuck it to my mouth.

I found myself then and there unable to move or say anything.

"So complex. Very intense" the woman smiled with her eyes closed. It was creepy.

"So much sadness and despair. I've never felt such loss in one person. You've experienced great trauma in your life. Grief is never easy. You know one person will experience one traumatic event by the age of 17. By the looks of you, I'd say you have had one each year of your life. Always grieving and putting yourself into dark places. Is there someone who got you out of that place? That helped you?",

This was when I started looking at Logan. With glossy, red eyes, i watched him as his face changed. Into someone I knew. Some thing one that I recognised. He changed and contorted to create a man I loved. A cruel joke was being played, and I was the punchline.

The woman turned her head to Logan and then back at me grinning.

"Oh I see what's happening here. You love him don't you? And you can't handle the handle the feeling"

I started sobbing harder. "Alright that's enough" one of the men spoke but the woman shut his off quickly.

"You can't bear to watch him can you?, it pains you to know he does not love you. So dreadfully, it consumes. Your love for him. It encapsulates you, suffocates you, and drowns you. It is you. It is all you ever have been, and all you ever will be"

And for once. I could not tell someone they were wrong.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 17

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 9.7k

a/n: Hi sweethearts, its here... part 1 of New Orleans. Enjoy and happy Kinktober.

CW: Mentions of past poor relationship with eating

Masterlist

Javier is a smooth operator, you'll give him that. He slips out of your house without disturbing your mothers tranquil slumber. You were no good either, awoken by a chaste kiss, “Call me.” he whispers at 4 in the morning before disappearing out your window. You stir, still convinced you were dreaming. You wake with an attempt at nuzzling into his chest but instead you're met with the ghost of his warmth and the sound of your mother calling your name from the kitchen. 

Eyes squinted you rise from bed and immediately sit back down. Your eyes widen and flash at your bare lower half, the soreness was a bit much. You know Javier would power trip if he saw the way your legs gave out. You wince as you waddle over to grab some pants.

You walk down your stairs into your kitchen with a warm flush on your face. You last saw your mother when she practically said you weren’t welcome in your house any more and now she has a narrowed eyed glare at you when you stumble down the stairs. Two eggs cracked, both for her. Her plate ready with tomato’s right where Javier bent you over and fucked you just 15 hours prior. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. 

“Good morning.” You croak with a yawn, passing her to open the fridge for some water. Her eyes follow you the whole time, trying to read your every move. Judging bit by bit. 

Your eyes drag down to the counter where the house phone goes unhooked and stretched laid flat. She must have just gotten off the phone. You ignore it, you felt like your mother was always on the phone. Always stressed about the boutique. 

“You’re sleeping with Javier.”

She says it matter-of-fact. Despite being prepared for the accusation you feel your stomach flipping. You had scripted this approach and prepared yourself before you dozed off after actually being fucked by Javier Peña (for the second time).

You flare your nostrils and widen your eyes in the best acting you’ve done in years and you deliver it so perfectly, “Xavier?” 

You almost want to giggle, and your mother gasps—a mixture of relief and concern. Her eyes dart to the phone and you follow her gaze. “You’re back together?” She lowers the stove heat and crosses her arms, this is her dream. Marry you off to the soldier, the well off soldier. But her reaction is less expressive, maybe I should ask who she was just calling. 

Later, you think, crush her twisted dreams now, “Oh you were talking about Javi!” You laugh as if her accusation was nothing short of ridiculous. “C’mon mami.. Why would you—oh the car?” You roll your neck, let go of all the knots and cracks.

Your mothers shoulders fall, probably upset that you aren't trying to work things out with your very awful ex. You wish she knew, how horrible he was, she’d still side with him. 

You never described your mother as cruel, not even when you went away to Miami, when you could’ve rewritten your story. Your mother hadn’t beat you, she never called you names and she rarely ever yelled. And she wasn’t always cold. She could be kind to you, friendly, but she could also be mean—too straight up, afraid of white lies. She never loved you much, you knew people you met in college who showed you more love than your mother had. You spent all your life alone in your own home but at a certain point you made family with others. 

Yet you ached for that affection from your biological family.

You hadn't given up completely and you reached an age where you could form a relationship with your brother. Finally, he wasn’t an extension of your mother, he could form his own opinions. You could distract yourself from the cast of sadness when she stares at you too long, when she’s reminded of how you came to be. When she looks at you and sees your father.

But through her frowns and sighs you at least had Frankie. Your brother was yours just as much as he was your mothers. He took care of you, you cared for him, he was mean, he was rude, but he loved you so much he never knew what to do with it. He struggled to protect you from certain things but he tried his best. God, he isnt good at showing it but he cares. He’s trying his best, you don’t think anyone loves you as much, and he doesn’t even love you all that much so it’s a bit sad and embarrassing when you think of it. 

Your mother and Frankie found common ground on most things, it was just a quirk they developed from sharing so much time together. You and your mother have never agreed on anything in your life.

There were few things the two differed. Frankie was a cowboys fan and your mother favored the Texans. She hated his long hair, Frankie promised to never cut it. Frankie would kill Javier if he found what the two of you do, your mother will kill you instead.

 Frankie saw it as a situation of respect, you were his baby sister for crying out loud. He thought your crush was a nuisance at worst, but he had seen how distant you got when he left. He wanted to kill Javier when he found out he kissed you before he went away, shit he wanted to kill you too.

And your mother, she thought your crush was child’s play. She saw Lorraine and Javier, she told you once that that, the romance between two teens, deciding to start their lives together, that was a display of true love. Your mom smiled over her food as she gushed over Javier and his girlfriend. You struggled to keep your food down when you entered the bathroom. 

You don’t know when she made that decision because she seemed to be very indifferent to Javier’s personal life before he left. You guessed it was when she started having dinner with Lorraine's mother twice a week. It was also paired with her not considering you good enough for the son of Don Chucho. Makes more sense now that you know she slept with him too.

In her head it was Javier and Lorraine forever, so even if you admitted right now that you were sleeping with him she would find some way to talk you out of it for the sake of Lorraine. 

You explain the bar lie and she believes you without batting an eye.

Between flickered glances at the phone and at you she presses some questions about his job and if he’ll speak to Lorraine before he leaves.

Mrs. Smith is convinced Lorraine and Javier will get married soon. You try not to audibly sigh as you go on about not being sure. She nods and serves her plate of eggs, you were meaning to ask why she came home early but the bubbling anxiety of mentioning Louisiana took over.

“Javier is driving me to Baton Rouge.” You drop nonchalantly. Pushing your sex and bed head out of your face as you sit on the stool. Her fork clatters and she coughs. 

She’s silent for a moment, her dark brown eyes half lidded, her nostrils flaring slightly. Just like you, you got that from her… that small tick when you’re frustrated. She only urges an e por que?

You keep it cool, you know she’ll be upset regardless. “I’ll be staying with my grandmother for the weekend. Javier has a work trip in New Orleans, I’ll catch a ride.” 

She lets out an overdrawn sigh, “señor dame fuerza,” she mutters her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Always so dramatic, your eyes flash to the clock, shouldn’t she be in church? You’d bring it up but you know if you do she’d throw that fork at you. “¿Sabes qué? No puedo detenerte.”

Your brows raise in shock.You let a silence beat before you reply, “No, you can’t.”

She sighs, “You know I’m just trying to protect you.”

And you don’t know what has gotten into you but— “Too late for that.”

Your mothers aging eyes widen, her mouth parting slightly in shock. For a split second you feel a pang in your chest, the guilt for that second is unbearable. But who had been there when you cried so much you’d choke? Had she felt guilty when she passed your room when you cried for her affection when you were just six. Had she felt guilty then? 

Her gaze falls to the plate and you twist the knife further. “I’ll be apartment hunting there too, for this coming winter.” It comes to you on the spot, you never had the intention to do so but after her “move out” suggestion the idea came naturally. Maybe it was a mixture of hope, hoping the family in Baton Rouge would open their arms to you and never make you feel unwelcome. 

Her brows raise a bit and with her smallest stutter she whispers, “Bien.”

“Good.” You snap, crossing your arms.

Her eyes widened again, appalled at your audacity. “Well–I’m going to work. I called your brother about you and Javier so you might want to clear the air.”

Your mother dramatically exits like she had two days ago when she dropped the first bomb of the week. An unbearable panic explodes in your chest, you physically recoil the second she leaves. Hand over your chest, you try to bite back tears. 

No–not yet. No, not this time. 

Avoidant, often you call yourself that. You avoided the things that made you feel anything other than a sense of security.  You’d have 7 blow up arguments with your mother a year, in reality you should have an argument a day but you often avoided that too. You avoided all things Javier when he was gone, avoided breaking up with Xavier until the very last minute.

It was just in your nature, so after a few shed tears and a coughing up the milk you chugged from your wrecked nerves, you avoided the thought of being confronted by your older brother. You avoided the idea of having to lie to his face and then somehow convince him that despite your mothers claims you were indeed not fucking his best friend but you are also heading on a completely platonic mini vacation together in just a few days. 

The trait was probably your fathers. Your mother never avoided a confrontation, she’d follow you up the stairs before you physically create a barrier between you two. Frankie had been the same way, stern and a bit mean but always in search to solve the problem the second it started. The second he found out you had kissed Javier from some girl who stopped by the hair salon he drove straight to the house to talk to you about it. That was them and like most things ‘mom and son’ you just couldn't be on that same level.

With that when your mom left you alone after that bomb you had locked yourself into your room and planned your lessons for the week, completely (sort of) shutting out all thoughts of this morning. 

Until 2 pm when you had gotten hungry after only drinking milk that you spat up like an infant. Your brain splitting in two when you’re met with the back of your big brother's head. Somehow feeling some more of that bile lingering and coming back up. 

“Frankie…” You whispered turning the corner and into the kitchen where he sat at the island stool. His hair still long and curly, Genie had a love-hate thing with it, on one hand he had beautiful healthy curls and on the other he looked a bit shaggy with it. It was a bit 1975 of him, the denim and mustache. Him and Javier being best friends just made sense, their style never evolved. 

You see his face now, in his hands is a book and his eyes aren't as angry as you feared. That scared you the most, so you began, “Gordo–” His eyes flashed to yours again, maybe calling him by your childhood nickname was a bit much. “Mami is mistaken, you have to believe me– me and Javi never-we haven’t-god, we’re not even.”

But Frankie cuts, “Did you take a psychology course at Miami.” 

Um…

Your brows pull tightly, afraid of where this is going. Is he just going to ignore the whole– “Yes-yeah I did, childhood and adolescent development and psychology.”

“Did you ever read Julian Ridden, anything from him?” Frankie taps his book and places it on the counter ignorant of him, his hand splayed on the cover and then slowly retreated. Words upside down, cover a pale palm out open. 

You shake your head, “No– it was more like Piaget and Freud, what does this have to do with anything? I want to talk to you Frankie!”

Well so much for being avoidant. Now that he’s here you want none of whatever he’s trying to do now, no mind games, just let me lie to you dammit. 

“Ridden came up with the Being and Knowing theory about parents who grew up with out a father of their own. He says that men who never had a father figure in their life often overcompensate in the lives of their children, they know what's it like to not have a father so they become what they wished for.”

Your brows soften for a moment, the tightness in your chest shifting from the possibility of being caught to concern for your brother. You take a step closer, pulling the book towards you and flipping it. “Frankie…are you alright, I know–well I don't but I figure the idea of being a father feels scary.” 

“I’m sorry for not being there for you when you were little.” His head drops and you hurry to his side, slinging your arm over his shoulders. He shook his head in disagreement. It’s okay, you murmur into his shoulder. “It isn't okay, upu had no one, not even mami. I see it now. And I know it wasn't my responsibility to play the role of your father but I could’ve been a better example of what a man should be.”

Your heart splits in two and suddenly every worry you built until now washes away, a few tears fall at the sound of something so unfortunately true. You just hated that he realized how it’s been for you,  that now he’s hurt too, you only wished that this would only pain you. “It’s okay you did your best, I’m better now.” 

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose and shrugs you off, startled you wipe your own tears afraid of what outburst is coming from this, “You looked for that in Javi–I know me, your dad and even fucking Xavier didn't treat you well, Javier was there for you and I feel like I prosecuted you for that–it's fucked up.”

There it is, taking the back of your palm you wipe your brow and land your hands on your hips. “What…”

“Listen, I was too hard on you about Javier. I know that now, I get it. He left and I blamed you internally, and sure some of it was your fault but I don’t know why I lacked sympathy for you all I thought about was myself.” 

You cross your arms, now he’s entering waters unknown. When Javi left your brother distanced, you had taken the educated guess that it was because he was starting his life with his girlfriend not much else. Blame me? What was my fault? For what? You bite the inside of your lip, staring down the profile of your brother's face. “What do you mean?”

His brows screw, still his gaze fixed on nothing ahead of him. “You made shit awkward, Javier never called and when he did all he wanted to talk about was you.”

Your face flushes, “I’m sorry what– Javier doing Javier shit has nothing to do with me. He’s a famously known flaker, he leaves.. Often and when he does he like chooses to not exist in our lives. That's not my fault!”

Frankie closes his eyes and exhales a frustrated one. “Obviously some shit happened before he left which I know now was him fucking kissing you, god you should’ve never let that happen Andrea.”

You mirror his angry exhale and your tears have since dried. “Oh give me a break, I was fucking sixteen and in love with him, god forbid we share a kiss. Jesus christ, it wasn't that serious, he left and stopped calling. He's here now!”

Frankie’s head snaps to you in disbelief, “Wasn't that serious? He left and you didn't fucking eat, you were never home and when you started to be healthy again you started dating that–that prick, that called you fat on your birthday dinner. You leave for Miami and you never call, you come home and you work out until you’re sick and now Javier’s home and all of a sudden you're easy going and healthy and fine. That is a big deal!” 

You stood frozen in front of him feeling like an open wound. Everything you hid, all the habits you tried to keep under wraps. How you skipped the meals your mother made, when you cried embarrassed when Genie found you on the side of the road after nearly fainting from a run. You had blocked it out, avoidant, Xavier had asked if you really wanted dessert on your eighteenth birthday, in front of your brother. He sat and watched. You were at a loss of words for once, you couldn't muster up anything to say. All things were true, he was right but you couldn’t face the connection. 

“I…” You swallow the lump in your throat, “Yes, Frankie, yes I struggled. But it is what it is, it’s in the past!” You just accepted that idea 4 days ago but you couldn't tell him that, no. 

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping tile, “I can sympathize with you now, we’re grown up but you complicated shit and I lost my best friend! You need to take responsibility.”

“I didn't do anything wrong!”

He scoffs, “Oh please! I wasn't the best brother to you but you knew Javier would do anything for you, you knew he was with Lorraine and you still had to have him! You never saw it this way, how could you? All you think about is yourself, but he was my friend first! He was my only fucking friend Andrea and-” His finger is pointed in your face. You're so angry you could slap him but that wouldn't end well, you and your brother were never above rough-housing. The optics arent the same now that the two of you are adults. “And imagine how I feel… after all this time, all this distance to get a call from mami saying regardless of it being my only boundary you're still seeing him? Please tell me I’m mistaken, nena. I’ll fucking kill him you have to understand me–he’s my family but you’re my little sister and I’m not letting him hurt you again, I cant watch it again. ” His finger falls. 

Your skin feels a size too tight at that, the nickname he gave you when he first held you in his own chubby toddler arms. The burn of little sister, his stare blown and frantic you couldn't even tell exactly what he was mad about but it seemed to all boil over. Those six years of resentment you never knew he held.  Standing in the kitchen where you had the man he’s begging you to be away from, below the bathroom where he asked you to go away with him and now with wild embers in the deep brown irises of your big brother, he pleads. 

He is pleading, please don’t lie to me any longer, please don’t, not Javier, anyone else.

And you feel it, the guilt, the sick twisting storm throughout your body. You feel everything at once, you feel the paternal look in Frankie's eyes, his newfound fatherhood giving him perspective on how it must have been for you. You feel the resentment in how you acted after Javi left, how you never considered how his best friend leaving burned him too. 

But so selfishly you’re brought back to the feeling of being in his arms. You hate that your brain is proving Frankie's point. Javier makes you feel stable, safe and maybe it’s unhealthy but it’s the greatest comfort you’ve ever felt.

You hadn’t known warmth until then. 

 Come november he’ll be gone and if you're careful no one gets hurt, he leaves and your secret is kept. Frankie is your family, he has hurt you 4 times over, he passed your room when you wept and rubbed in your face the relationship he had with your mother. You loved him to death but your feelings for Javier belong to you. You’re so tired of being told how to behave.

You lie.

“I am not sleeping with Javier.” Frankie’s tense shoulders drop, and you drag on the falsehood. “Mom got the wrong idea but I told her he had dropped his car off here so he could head to the bar and I’m so sorry for fucking shit up but its…me and him are different now. He’s my…” Your eyes drop, not having the heart to look at him as you fabricate all he knows. “He’s my best friend too, he knows about my grandma, he’s taking me to see her so we’ve been spending time together.” Half true, you hadn't even brought up your grandmother to Javier but you hoped to soon. You flick your gaze upward and your brother is stone face,  internalizing all that you laid out, all the deception, you feel the trust between you two chipping piece by piece. 

Your grandma, he whispers to himself and instantly frowns. He pulls you close to him tightly. You stay in the embrace for long, beginning to cry in shame. Feeling sick to lie to him this way, sob while he believes it’s because of your paternal trauma. 

He’ll never forgive me. 

Your brother leaves and it takes a few hours of complete isolation for you to feel anything at all. Sitting with your legs crossed in your bedroom, reliving all the good and bad in your story. Trying to pin-point all the wrong Frankie has done to justify lying to him the way you did. It’s radio silence in your room as you numbly pack, each corner tucked and rolled is a reminder of all the relationships you’re ruining. You think of your mother as you pack, you think of every time you packed a bag or lack thereof. 

There were few things your mother did for you. By fourteen you were made to make your own dinner, pay for your own hair cuts, and keep up with your dentist appointments. But the one thing you could always rely on with your mother was her packing skills. She’d watch you struggle and let out an exasperated sigh before shoving you out the way and taking matters in her own hands. 

Now at 9 pm you feel your mothers presence at the doorway while you struggle. It’s slight, the breeze surrounding her body, you feel the narrowed eyes peeled to the back of your head, the room pulsing with anticipation. 

Will you be my mother again?

The weak part of you pleads. 

But she closes the door for you without another word. And it's so silly but you begin to tear up, it's done once and for all.

You try your best to sleep that night but you find it impossible. You arrive at your class 10 minutes late with the students shaking their heads when they observe the cup of coffee in your hand. Class goes as good as it could be considering it was antsy eighth graders who had failed their algebra final. Two more weeks of summer school, one more month until you make a decision on your classroom. It makes you giggle a bit being called Ms. Diaz. 

Javier doesn't call you Monday night but you know it's for the better. You know once you hear his voice you’ll miss him and you shouldn't do any more secret rendezvous until your family quits the speculation. You’ll have him all weekend, you'll have him in a few days. 

On Tuesday you come home from work to a stranger taking care of your baby sister. Slowly your mother cuts off your purpose in her home. Hiring a nanny named Florencia, you still pick up Sol and give the nanny a break. Rolling your R’s in her face and watching as she attempts to mock you, she gets fed up. She smiles and pulls on your hair.

You’ll miss her the most you think, sometimes she makes you believe maybe you’ll be a good mother. 

Wednesday ebbs and flows, you see Javier at the market. He stops in his tracks at the end of the aisle, strangely reminiscent of when he saw you for the first time after his year away. You in your bikini top and him in his dark jacket in 7/11. This time Javier looks around for on lookers and you do the same before he stalks you down the aisle, pushing your cart away before grabbing at your cheeks for a quick kiss that has your chest heating. 

He steps away from you, creating distance in case a customer comes by. No one would know how had just kissed her.

You blush profusely and before you could tease him a worker passes you with a cart and begins stocking right next to the two of you. 

“My dad is waiting in the truck.” Javier blurts, you take this moment to appreciate his attire. You want to ask if he dresses up this nice every time he goes for errands, you on the other hand… how funny would that kiss look to onlookers? A fully suited Javier pressing his lips to you in an oversized flannel and denim shorts. 

You nod, “Okay…” 

Javier looks over at the nosy employee, the two of you knew who the worker was, he was in Genie’s graduating class. Javier rolls his tongue in his cheek annoyed with their interaction being startled and it would be far too obvious to take the conversation elsewhere. Tilting his head to the ceiling and that familiar Peña sass you're so used to. He narrows his eyes at the worker again and shakes his head. Your cheeks hurt from the active attempt to not laugh. 

“I’ll see you around Andrea, you look great.” He teases, his hand squeezing our shoulder. The worker stops his stocking at that and Javier doesn't give you the opportunity to pinch him because he's walking away. 

Thursday you attempt to finish packing, stomach flipping at the thought of being on the road with Javier at 5 am the next day. Ten hours on the road and 3 nights alone. You stuff your birth control in between your towel and going out dress. 

Right before bed, Javier calls your home phone. You aren't given the time to say hello. 

“Are you okay?” He urges beyond the line. Your brows pull tight, your eyes dart to your packed back on the floor and to your clock, 10 pm. 

“Yeah…are you okay?” You laugh and to your surprise he doesn't laugh back.

“Frankie came to my house today.”

Your heart skips a beat and you sit up in bed. Fuck. “O-okay what did he say?”

“I dont know… I just, I’m so sorry. I apologized to him for writing him off but you never told me about you eating or your grandmother I’m so-”

Your ears run hot, “Oh god he told you! I’m going to fucking kill him, jesus christ Frankie” 

“Andrea let me see you, I can't wait until the morning. I need you to know.”

“Javi… please. My struggle was my business and it wasn't you or whatever, I was going through a lot more than you leaving at that time. I-” Your voice dies for a moment but you continue before Javier could cut you off. “I would rather talk about this tomorrow, please Javi.”

He’s silent for a moment, a beat, in that silence your brain clicks, Oh my god I haven't even told him about my grandmother. 

“My grandmother”

“Your grandma” You both say in sync but you allow him to continue. “Your fathers mother contacted you, why didn't you tell me?” He says softly. 

It wasn't intentional, at least you don't think it was. You're not sure when was the appropriate time to bring it up without it seeming like you accepted this weekend trip for a free ride. “She wants to meet me, she lives in Baton Rouge. I just didn't want to feel like I was just using you for a ride.” You sigh, afraid to admit. The thoughts of maybe being accepted by your father or a grandmother or an aunt, anyone. Your breath shudders.  “I know… I know it's stupid but I’m so desperate for a family Javi.”  You whisper. 

He lapses into another silence. In those seconds you grew embarrassed with yourself, with your desperation. You felt a pang of ungratefulness, you saying this to someone who watched his mother walk out. You think of the people who have no one. You think of your own mother whose parents passed while she was a teen. Why did I say that? 

“We’ll go see her on our way back home.”

Your brows pull together “What?” You frown. 

“You should never feel like you're using me, I’ll take you Sunday to meet your grandmother.” You're silent again in a space between disbelief and expectation until he pushes you over the edge. “And… I am your family, you will always have me. But I think you know that.”

Your breath dies again, your chin quivering out of control. 

I love you. How desperately you want to tell him, Javi, I love you so much. 

Your mother is awake when you load your bags into Javier’s truck. You hear her rattling in the bathroom when you tie your shoes, you know she’ll watch from the window in her robe when you buckle in so when Javier grabs your bags you distance yourself, avoiding whatever affection he itches to show you.

You exhale when he settles in. He looks awfully handsome today, already dressed in conference attire. A lovely fitted mustard button down and black pants, his eyes flitting down to the glittering watch on his left wrist. And he tries to lean in again and you turn your head towards the window, and he gets the message. Still mutters curses regardless and pulls out of your street. 

It takes 30 seconds to be on an empty dirt road and hes dangerously leaning to bite on your exposed shoulder, “Missed you querida, taste so sweet.” He grits and your redden straight down to your chest before letting out a ticklish giggle. You wiggle your hand around his head and tug his head off of you by the root of his hair. He looks at you with wet parted desperate lips and good god, you want him to pull over but–

“Eyes on the road agente.” 

His eyes narrow and he shakes away his urge and continues down the road. You roll your neck, what an awful night of sleep you've had. You kick off your sandals and bring your knees to your chest. Leaning your cheek on your knee and you admire the man next to you. Sunrise splitting the pretty green trees, creating a lovely canary colored cast on the strong of his nose and eyes. His eyes, your stomach jumps, what lovely lashes on a man. You're envious. 

It's silent until you're out of town and heading in the direction of George West, his eyes side glancing at you and double takes. His right palm covers your knee and pats, “Don't sit like that, it's dangerous.” Your lip quirks and you comply, remembering when he had said the same thing on your way to Liandra’s quince six years ago. He smirks at how quickly you obey, his calloused hand inching slowly up your leg and under your dress. 

Your lip is between your teeth instantly and you part your legs. Hands at the end hem of your pearl colored dress.

Eyes still on the road he drags his fingers against your thin panties, your breath hitches as your buck your hips to give him more space, instead he slips his fingers in the space below, cupping you. The bumpy road jerks your core against his palm, you gasp and he chuckles.

“Javi…” You rub yourself on his palm, your free hand gripping his wrist. Your eyes fluttering closed, feeling the ball of his palm create the most necessary friction on your clit. Your panties ruined already, he must love the feel of the wetness seeping through. 

His eyes stay on the road the whole time, “Hurry up, two more minutes and we hit a town.” He keeps his cool while you unravel next to him, inching towards an orgasm at dawn. And you let go of his wrist and run your hand up over your dress, needing as much touch as possible. You grip at your breast and hump his palm faster. This, this is quite the sight because despite your shut eyes you can feel Javier’s distracted gaze. “Christ, yeah baby let me see you.” Shamelessly you pull the top of your dress down, exposing your pretty peaked nipple and thats it. 

Javier is moving his hand from under you and swerving the car off road. Thankfully these backroads won't see anyone but long haul truckers at this time because you're still so disoriented from the neared climax you don't think to fix yourself up but from the way Javier puts the car in park you know you wont need to fix anything. You're unbuckling and slipping your panties off instantaneously and he follows.

Unbuckling, unzipping and pulling out his erection. And to hell with thinking twice because the sight of him aching and twitching against his shirt has you scrambling on top of him. 

His hands steading you as your hand slips between you, grabbing ahold of him with his tip prodding your entrance. You sink down, you moan softly but Javi is letting out a throaty rasp. Still you aren't used to the stretch of him especially from this angle. Your dress pools around the two of you, blocking any view of your bodies connecting. 

No time to get used to this position, immediately he's driving his hips into you and you're bouncing, riding Javier. His hands gripping your ass, the windows fogging as the car fills with no sounds but grunts, whimpers and slaps. His mouth open and sucking at any inch of skin, finally his mouth suctioning your breast. Your hands tugs at his hair as you make a mess on his lap, the zipper of his pants will leave a mark you just know it. And you feel it, the pit, the dizziness, he feels you clench around him.

“C’mon Andrea, make a mess on me.” He grits, and you comply once again squeezing him tightly, leaking onto his lap. You're crying in pure pleasure and at your final call of his name he’s spilling into you, warm and just as messy. 

He holds you tighter as the two of you float, still blurry eyed and dazed. You catch your breath together. 

Like always you're so limp and fucked out that he takes it upon himself to disconnect the two of you and adjusts your dress. Planting sweet kisses in your hair, feeling empty and gaping you find it hard to move but he does it for you once again, guiding you back to your seat, buckling you in.

And like that you sleep for the next 3 hours of the drive

“Six more hours querida… We’re in Inez… according to the map.” 

You wake to his right hand tangled in your hair, supporting your neck. You take a few seconds to realize that you're curled up in the passenger's seat of Javier’s truck. Squeezing your eyes tightly adjusting to the full blown daylight, eyes darting to the time, 8:40 am. 

“Oh my god, do you want to switch?” You panic, you hadn't even offered splitting the labor. The ride was nine and a half hours at the very least and even harder navigating with a map. You had never driven for longer than two hours but it seems Javier is used to this sort of commute. 

His face screws in disapproval and his fingers scratch at your head. “Todo bien, you can take the last hour. We should arrive by 2, the social lunch is at 3 but we can skip that.” 

You nod, rubbing your eyes letting out an annoyed noise when his hand slides away from its place in your hair. Back to both hands on the wheel, your eyes flash down to the skirt of your dress and you feel clean? Your eyes dart to Javier’s lap and he's changed into a brown formal pant. “Did you–?”

His eyes follow yours and land back on the rolling roads, he nods. “Yeah, I cleaned you up when you were asleep and I changed… not sure how I would explain to Agent Messina what the wet spot on my pants was.”

Your brows shoot high and you laugh, “Fair point…” A fleeting feeling of uncertainty brushes you at the reference to another agent. You were alright in social settings but you're a school teacher for crying out loud, you have no idea what sort of people you’re about to encounter. In your head you see yourself walking into a dining hall full of suited men whispering and beating around the bush when asked questions of their career. You picture Javier in that setting, how you've rarely ever seen that ultra serious demeanor and disinterested aura. Rarely, but you have seen it, you remember just how cold he can be when you think of him shouldering Xavier out of his way nearly a month ago. You think of how stern he can be with you at times. Why does the thought of him working such a dangerous job scare and turn you on at the same time. 

“So…” You drag in between the silence, “What should I expect this weekend.”

“Well, today there's the DEA social lunch thing, they're holding it so the bell hops could take our things up.”

You wiggle your brows, “Fancy…”

“Yeah, well after that we can settle in but from 7 to 9 I have a mandatory conference with my new co-workers, Colombia co workers.” He clarifies and you nod. “Then we have the night to ourselves. The guys will probably want to get drinks but we do whatever you want.”

Your chest heats, you almost want to roll your eyes at him. “Whatever… Okay and Saturday?”

“I have my long conference, 10:30 am until 2:30 pm.” 

You let out a low whistle, “Four hours, jeez. Is it top secret?” 

He rolls his eyes, “Probably. Don't take it personally, you knowing I’m leaving because of Pablo Escobar is enough.”

“Yeah, yeah… and after that?”

“Right, it’ll be time just for us. French quarters maybe?”

You beam, “Yeah maybe. Are any of your office friends going away to Colombia?” The question leaves you before you can form a purpose for it. Sure you'd love to meet the friends he might've made in Houston but a small part of you worries some people there will be aware of the existence of Lorraine and they will be aware of you, not being her. Afraid of a possible awkward conversation, oh god who are you to Javi? How will he introduce you–

“I think two guys from my section should be coming along. Felipe, he’s likable and polite. Dominican guy, but there's also Julian… not a fan.” His hand goes for the cup holder, fishing out a cigarette and you narrow your eyes at him. “Will you light me?” He asks.

Still with a scalding glare you grab his light and wait for him to slip the stick between his lips. “I’m just being helpful but I don't approve.” You strike the flame with your thumb and light him up. He mumbles a thank you and continues. 

“Julian is in his mid thirties, kind of upset about my age and all that. He also got into it with Lorraine at a Christmas party a few years back.”

“Oh… what happened?”

Confirmed, you're going to die. His co-workers have met his long term girlfriend and now he's bringing you… his… oh god, are they going to think you’re in some ménage à trois? You hear stories from your college friends about white collared men and their wandering hands. 

Javier taps his cigarette on the window, his face wondering how to start this story. But he starts with all of it, “When I got moved to train and work with the DEA me and Lorraine were in a trying to make it work phase.” Drag, “You know she’s very outgoing but she can get real defensive when she has a drink in her system. Anyway we had argued the night before so tensions were high when I decided to bring her to our christmas party.”

Your brain flashes briefly an image of Lorraine holding your arms telling you you’re beautiful on New Year’s eve, guilt and shame bolt through you, you tune out a small portion of his story thinking of Lorraine and her kindness towards you. 

“…Julian decided to comment on Lorraine’s outfit choice. I mean you know how she was, very conservative being pastors daughter but when she wanted to dress up she… you remember what she wore to New Years?"

Your eyes widen, “How can I forget!” Custom made orange jumpsuit, you could’ve dropped dead from jealousy that night. 

“Well he made a comment about me letting her leave the house in her outfit.”

You scoff, “Well whatever he had coming he deserved it.” You murmur, you hated that. You know that it was typical for women to comply with what their partners want them to wear but not for your generation. That was the time of your parents, every girl now wants to dress like Madonna and it’s great. 

Javier laughs, “Yeah he did… Lorraine straight up called him… and I quote, 'a lonely short man with the complex of a man who’s 6 foot'. And slapped his drink from his hand, got all over his suit.”

You burst out into a fit of laughter, imagining the face on this stranger. The two of you laugh together at the image, but once the laughs died you fell into that familiar space of trepidation. You bask in the light silence while your brain ticks off the uncomfortable feeling of missing her as a friend. The strange sting that maybe she’ll never want to speak to you again.

“Hey…” Javi calls, ashing his cigarette in the cup holder. “¿Todo chido?”

You frown, “I don’t know… it’s stupid.” Your gaze averts out the window, passing a mall and some rest stop. His hand reaches out to your knee giving it a squeeze of encouragement. Whatever, “I kind of feel guilty? I know you two aren’t together but there’s a part of me that still wants her in my life. I liked being her friend that year.” You find it embarrassing to admit but most things are out in the open now with you and Javi, you have no time to keep these little feelings to yourselves, it’s what tore you apart for so long. 

Javier’s grip loosens and your frown deepens as he retrieves it entirely. You look to him this time and his eye twitches slightly, you know it does that when he’s keeping something hidden. No time for that. “What Javi.” You say sternly.

His head darts to you and back to the road, “Nothing…”

“Javi.” 

“Alright. With Lorraine… don’t feel guilty. She had your mind made up about you once she started college. I think her friends opened up to what was right in front of her.”

You lips twitch in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Javier sighs, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight now. “Well… I suppose they made her realize that you were a part of our relationship failing.”

“Me?” You had no part in that, he told you they had problems before the two of you kissed, before. The whole time it was all you, your crushing and whatever. You now know Javi had feelings for you then but you thought it was a back burner issue, from the stories you’ve heard it seemed like Lorraine and him were just too hot headed to be together. 

“Well me more-so but it’s easier to fester dislike for someone you don’t have to face every night, so ever since then she’s kinda built a dislike for you.”

Oh. 

Your heart is stuck somewhere again, this time between relieved and sad. Sad that after all these years of being jealous you still craved being her friend, yet it didn’t go both ways you suppose. And relieved that she already disliked you instead of possibly dropping the, hi I know we were close while you dated Javier but now I’m fucking him! 

“Never mind then…” You drag, “Well I’m sure giving her a reason to hate me.”

Javier shrugs, “Everyone hates us.” 

You giggle although the thought is absolutely terrifying to you, “Yeah… that’s true.” 

“We should talk about Frankie.” Javi pitches after your two hours of talking about everything and nothing. You groan and pull his hand to your mouth. Shaking your head you mumble into his palm. 

“Can’t talk sorry.” He scoffs at your attempt and removes his hand, whatever… you murmur. “Okay… okay. You first, mine is too much.” And it was, you’d have to detail the side of your mother he may not know, tell him about how it used to be between you and Frankie and you’d have to tell him about the accusation from your mother. 

Javi can tell it's eating you alive because he intertwined his fingers with yours the second the crease between your brows deepened. “He showed up to the house, I was scared shitless when he started the conversation with your name. The conversation… it didn't go the way I was expecting.” His voice is low for that last part, you comfort him this time, placing your free on top of the hold you two had. “I guess I hadn't realized how much of a bad friend I turned into once I left. I think I lost my way when I was in Houston, I pushed everyone to the side and I think the only person left without an apology was your brother.”

You recall the face your brother made the night Lorraine broke the Houston news. Despite being wrapped in your own panic your first instinct was to look at Frankie. Frankie stared off into the distance with the same face of worry he had when mama would yell at them, disassociating for a moment before Genie beams with excitement. He imitated a smile when squeezing Javier's shoulders in congratulations. When you really think about it, Javier had been your brother's only friend. 

“He loves you a lot, you're his family. But we are all selfish, he deserved an apology but you cant torture yourself over being oblivious.”

And you swear you see Javier’s eyes welling, you want to lean over the console and comfort him but you leave him to it. You leave him to process, letting go of his hand. He reaches for another cigarette and you light it. 

With the wrist of his smoking hand he rubs his eyes, “Okay… your turn.” He chuckles through a rasp of emotion.

You tell him all, about your father and how your mother only ever loved him and how your existence has always been a reminder of the heartache she felt that day. Javier holds onto your hand again when you tell him that Frankie was cruel to you until middle school, that he’d never comforted you, that Frankie softened up to you when Javi got in the picture. Javi couldn't believe that, it was true, no one had ever shown you kindness and Frankie attempted to follow suit. Instead it manifested in overprotection and control. 

It ended with your grandmother, with your mother cutting you off and your crushing ache for– “I’ve never truly felt loved by my family, it always felt conditional. I guess I’m reaching out to my fathers side in hopes they’ll welcome me there.” 

Javier stops at a red light and looks over to you. His mouth twitching in hesitation, “Regardless of what happens you will always have a family, no matter where we stand or if we hate each other in the next few months, you will never need to look for a family as long as I’m around.”

Valet, fancy.

You itch to comment when the bell hop takes your bags. You explore the lobby a bit while Javier is a few feet away from you getting directions to the lunch they were both craving so badly. You hoped you were properly dressed, it was a favorite dress of yours, it’s pearl color and your sandals had a wedge. 

The lobby was lavish, mosaic tiles, gilded pillars and beautiful bouquets of flowers at every turn. And it couldn’t get any better. You look up and are met with beautiful ceiling paintings and glistening chandeliers. Jesus.

“Andrea!” Javi calls from across the room and you make your way toward him. The man he spoke to was moving away to handle business elsewhere. “Everyone’s down this hall, apparently it’s more so a cocktail hour.” You groan, hungry as could be. He takes hold of your hand, in a public space, you stomach grumbles and you can’t tell if it’s from lack of food or the idea of being like this with him. He laughs, bringing a hand to squeeze your stomach. “It’s alright, I’ll call up room service later we’re just going to show face.”

Show face indeed, the room is packed. And you're a bit underdressed, dressed for lunch while everyone in the room were suited and in cocktail dresses. Your brows raising at the sight of men with guns in their holsters. Sure you're from Texas but open carry wasn't as common near you. Then again you're walking into a room of DEA agents. Javi squeezes your hand, “My co-workers are over there.”

Through the room Javier is given nods and smiles. You are too, men and women alike smiling and nodding at you too. Ahead of you was a tall woman in her 40s with shoulder length black hair, the only woman in the room with a suit. Messina, you assume, next to him is a tall dark skinned man with short buzzed hair in a gray suit. Upon arrival Javier’s face splits into a smile and he lets your hand go to hug his coworker. Felipe, you assume. 

You're left smiling and saying hello to Messina. “You look good, Vaquero.” He squeezes Javier’s waist as they part. “Missing your cowboy hat.” He jutts his chin towards Javier’s cowboy boots. Javier shook his head and rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever Yank.” Northerner, funny. For a moment you feel out of place, standing at Javier’s side without a name or acknowledgement until Felipe extends a hand out to you. 

“Pardon me, I’m from New York but I do have manners. What's your name sweetheart,”

Your brows raise at the sudden attention, you take his hand and he shakes it. Instinctually Javier steps closer to you. “Andrea, nice to meet you.”

“Beautiful name.” He smiles and looks back to Javier with raised brows. Javier squinted in distaste and snaked his around your waist to pull you into him. You smile down at your feet with a blush from both the compliment and also the way Javier’s hand felt so large splayed on your waist. “So…” He wiggles his brows and Javier scoffs at his co-workers nosiness. 

Javier looks at you briefly, “So…” He mocks, “This is my girlfriend Andrea.”

Oh. 

It's disarming the label coming from his lips, you feel a heat rise from your belly straight to your ears and cheeks. A small part of you is kicking yourself for reacting to such a label but its beautiful to the ears.

So you were his girlfriend, huh. 

“Well she’s beautiful, right Messina?”

Messina smiles, “Indeed, you can call me Claudia.” She reaches out and you take her hand, cold and soft, reminding you of the hands of your mother. 

“Can I call you Claudia?” Felipe beams.

“No.” She cuts and Javier stifles a laugh. You lean into Javier giggling at the interaction.

“Where’s your girlfriend Felipe, the receptionist?” Javi teases but Felipe seems to be equally as amused. 

Felipe smiles, “Fiancé, she's around somewhere.”

You look up at Javier who looks absolutely stunned at the announcement, “No mames…” He drags and Felipe shakes his head. He was definitely not kidding, “Congrats, wow.” Javi blinks, his eyes scanning the room. 

“This is perfect, you two could get to know each other during our meeting.” Felipe waves his finger around the air. Quickly his smile fades, “Good god… Julian coming your way. Have fun, lets go Messina, we've had enough of him today.” 

And like that the two of them sip their cocktails and leave you and Javi stranded. “Fucking assholes.” Javi chuckles before Julian comes into view and Lorraine was right. He was a short man, shorter than you. His suit hung loose on his body but he was awfully handsome and muscular. Although it looked a bit silly with his stature, you smile at him.

“Javier Peña, who’s this?” He says in a far grosser and irritating way, no way near the way Felipe asked. He stood with a glass in his hand. Javier’s face falls into that face he rarely shows you, his stone cold agent face. 

You speak before he can for you, “I’m Andrea, his girlfriend.” You offer your hand and he laughs condescendingly as he shakes it. Clammy. 

“Girlfriend?” He looks at Javier, “This one has a far better dress, a bit underdressed but at the very least not indecent.” He elbows Javier’s side, referring to Lorraine, thinking you aren't aware of whatever unfunny joke he’s attempting to make. Javier’s nostrils flare and before he says anything he’ll regret, you cut in. 

“Well you might need to head to the tailor for the pants. And the jacket lacks… a stain of booze.” You tease right back. His face drops entirely. Javier’s head snaps towards you and his mouth splits into a smile. 

He grabs your arm, “Alright, she’s had a few too many, we're going to our room.” He begins to drag you away and you giggle.

“I haven't had a drop!” You exclaim and he laughs, leaving Julian in the dust as he walks you through the room. 

“You're crazy.” He shakes his head concealing his chuckle as you two exit the room. The air conditioning hits you hard once you leave the bustling room. In an instant he’s hauled you over his shoulder in the hotel hall, “Alright let's go have sex.” 

You shriek from being off ground as he runs in the hall towards the elevator with you dangling over his shoulder. 

Back in Laredo Lorraine calls Genie apologizing about not being able to attend her bachelorette party. Genie and Lorraine had stayed in contact all 6 years, close enough that Genie had Lorraine’s name down as a possible bridesmaid. 

“It really is fine, i���ll be a dud anyway I can’t drink.” Genie jokes, she told Lorraine that she’s trying to get pregnant but not that she’s actually carrying. She excuses her new dry lifestyle on not wanting to gain weight before the wedding. In reality all she’s been doing is gaining weight. 

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, how’s the wedding planning going? Almost a week, are you ready?” She beams, sitting on the counter top of the apartment her and Javi shared. She had half her things packed to come home for the wedding. 

Genie chuckles, “Girl, that’s none of my business. That’s all Andrea and Ms. Diaz.” 

Lorraine bites the inside of her cheek at the sound of your name. She wonders if you and Javier have seen each other since he went home or if you still held that fiery personality and kept distance. 

“Andrea… How’s she doing?” Lorraine closes her eyes, a bit fearful of how it sounded. 

“Oh Andrea? She’s good, teaching school and all that. She’s on a little weekend trip with Javier though. She deserves a break.”

Lorraine feels her cheeks heat in jealousy. 

“Are they—? You know, together?”

She doesn’t care now, she feels it’s her right to know. Genie is silent for a moment and each second that passes Lorraine is angrier.

“No, they aren’t. You know they’ve always been close.”

“Well she’s always had a crush on him though, knowing Javier they’re probably fucking somewhere… that fucking man…”

“Alright, no need to speculate.” Genie interrupts. “It’s their business, but I’m highly doubtful.” 

Lorraine scoffs and looks down at her growing belly. Her brows furrowing and a sudden wave of hope. 

“Right…” She flattens her hand there, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

[jackyjango]

What are some of your angsty Charles Xaiver headcanons? I love your writing so much!

Hello, Anon! You like my writing you say!!? EEKS! Thank you so so much. 

And as for my angsty Charles Xavier headcanons, oh boy, where do I start? I’m not sure if these are headcanons, or just canons, or something else entirely, but here goes some of them, nonetheless (And this doesn’t stick to much of canon… It doesn’t stick to much of anything really) So, bear with me, for I got carried away.

The doctors and nurses at the hospital are annoyingly kind. Charles hates it. Because behind all their smiles and assurances, and ‘You’re healing exceptionally well from the surgery Mr.Xavier’s, is sheer pity. Days pass in a hospital bed, and so do more faces behind tags. ‘There’s still hope, Dr.Xavier,’ some one says, ‘The feeling in your legs can return over time. Things will get better, you’ll see.’ Hope? Charles laughs bitterly. And how can things get better? Erik isn’t there.

Out of everything, it’s probably the loneliness that drives him insane, the absence of Erik’s bright mind beside his. So Charles drinks. He drinks to make the rest of his body as numb as his legs. Especially his aching heart.

Anger and violence doesn’t come easily to Charles, but he’s angry now. Angry at Erik. He could have, and for the most part has, forgiven Erik for everything - for his legs, for hurting the children. But he cannot forgive Erik for leaving him alone.

The school is thriving. The Children and Raven are there, yes. But it’s not the same. It never has been.

A man named Logan breezes into the school one summer morning biting on the end of a cigar. They call him the ‘Wolverine’. He’s burly as a beast and has the claws like one. And when he asks Charles, ‘Wanna fuck bub?’ from the end of a kitchen table, Charles agrees readily. Whether to prove something to himself, or something else to Erik, or just to feel like his younger self once again, Charles doesn’t know.

Logan doesn’t tease Charles with his clever words, doesn’t gather Charles against his chest like he’s something precious, doesn’t kiss Charles like a man possessed. He doesn’t make love to Charles like Erik. He just fucks like a beast, and Charles is extremely thankful for it. 

Logan leaves as quickly as he’d arrived, promising to bring a few mutants who could benefit from the school. 

There’s only so much Charles can hide in his study drowning himself in expensive scotch. His children need him. Slowly, he eases back into his role of a Professor, and with it, some of the anger and bitterness abates. 

Logan returns a few months later with a girl with healing abilities. With the help of her powers, Charles gets back most of the feelings in his legs. He still has to use his wheelchair for the most part, and his entire body hurts, but Raven cries in delight and says, ‘This is great, isn’t it?’ Is it? Charles can’t say. Even with the feeling in legs, Charles feels just as numb as before.

When Logan asks Charles a few nights later if he’d like a repeat of last time, Charles smiles woefully and says, ‘Good night, Logan.’

Probably the only good thing to come out of this entire ordeal is Charles’ new found understanding of his mother. She drank herself to a stupor in denial of his father’s demise, ignoring Charles in the process. How was Charles any better than her?

Charles wakes one night to the sight of Erik floating into his room through the window. For a few seconds, he thinks it’s a dream. But when Erik starts accusing him of naivety on an article Charles had published about Mutant Education a few days ago, it becomes all too real. He punches Erik in the face like he’d wanted to all those days ago. He stumbles from bed, and his legs ache, but he doesn’t care. They argue, spew insults at each other, and almost tear each other out for two hours straight before falling into bed.

‘Wait,’ Charles says, stopping Erik’s frantic hands. ‘I slept with Logan.’ He feels stupid now that he has said it. He and Erik haven’t defined their relationship in any way. Still, keeping it from Erik feels wrong. ‘And I slept with Emma.’ Erik says. And that’s that, Charles supposes. Erik leaves the next day before the sun or Charles is up.

He doesn’t hear from Erik for 4 months after that. Erik comes in one night sans accusations and assertions, and sans that damned helmet, and whispers fiercely into Charles’ mind, I’m sorry, for … everything. It’s all too easy to fall into bed with Erik then. After all, It’s one of the only things they agree upon whole heartedly.

In the winter, they hire a new teacher for the school. Abigaile has a PhD in Mathematics and Physics, and comes highly recommended. She has lovely eyes and a bright smile, and bats her eyelashes coyly at Charles. The intent in her mind is unmistakable. Charles smiles at her kindly, and calls in for Hank. ‘Please show Ms. Brand to the classes. ’There really can’t be anything between them. How can there be? She doesn’t have large and callused hands like Erik’s. She doesn’t have a sculpted jaw or broad shoulders like Erik. She doesn’t possess a baritone voice that wreaks havocs on Charles’ body. Hell, Charles wouldn’t even fit perfectly against her like he does with Erik. Charles curses under his breath and closes his eyes. ‘You’ve ruined me for women, you Bastard.’

Charles gets a call on the phone in his study at 2 in the morning. The person on the other end is silent, but he knows without a shred of doubt in his mind that it’s Erik. Charles takes in an unsteady breath and says, ‘Please tell me you’re okay, Erik. Please…’ Erik grunts in response and the line goes dead.

To say that Charles misses Erik is an understatement. He misses arguing with Erik. He misses training the children with Erik. He misses their late night chess games, Erik’s teasing smiles and knowing looks. He misses the fire of passion smoldering in Erik’s eyes when he look at Chearles. Hell, he even misses Erik’s smoking. Sometimes, he misses Erik so much that it manifests into a physical pain somewhere between Charles’ heart and stomach. It doesn’t lessen over years, only dwindles into absence for a few hours he’s with Erik, and flares stronger than before once Erik leaves.

When Charles is feeling maudlin beyond reason, which he is for most of the week, he writes to Erik, knowing full well that it’s a moot cause. 

Dearest Erik, I feel like a Regency heroine writing to you….  ……. ……. Bobby froze the pond on the grounds today. Can you believe it? I’m so proud of him, Erik. The poor lad hes been struggling with his control…. ……. ……. I wish you could see it too. Yours Faithfully, Charles

My dear Erik, Ororo threw a fuss today. So much so that it started to rain over the mansion for a few minutes….. ……. ……. Wish you were here with me. Yours truly, Charles

Old Friend, The children threw a small party for my birthday today. Raven baked a caked. And no, it wasn’t as awful as the one she had baked for Alex’s birthday, but it was threateningly close….. ……. ……. Not a day goes by without me wishing you were beside me. Love Aways, Charles

My Love, There was an post in the paper today that a Mutant Experiment lab was destroyed in the East Coast. It reports that the damage was extensive and that the authorities are searching for the cultrip. You know that I don’t agree with your methods, Erik. But I admire your intent. So would all the mutants you saved from that lab. While I know fully well that you can take care of yourself, and your own, I can’t help but worry for your safety, my love. I worry about you constantly. There are more and more scars on your body each time I see you, and how I wish I could kiss it away. Are you eating on time? Do you sleep at all? Please take care, Erik. Yours Forever, Charles

The letters sit tucked chronologically in a box under Charles’ bed, and some of them are still wet at the corners.

Once night, Erik floats into his window with cuts on his face and blood on his uniform. Charles cleans his wounds with blurry eyes, and vows to tear the next person person who accuses Erik of being selfish.

Despite his promises of not looking into Erik’s head, Charles traces Erik’s activities through Cerebro, and refuses to feel one bit guilty about it. It's the only way he'll know Erik is safe. Sure, Erik’s damned helmet makes it all the more difficult, but through the years, Charles has gotten creative. He can pinpoint Erik in a crowd of people even across two states.

‘You should date someone,’ Erik says one night as he sits on the edge of Charles' bed dressed to leave. 

‘Really?’ Charles asks, ‘And why should I do that?’ ‘Because I want you to be happy,’ Erik says, and Charles wants to punch him. How dare he!? How dare Erik tell him to date someone else when he holds Charles’ beating heart in his fist. It’s cruel.  ‘And what makes you the authority on my happiness?’ Charles asks with no less cruelty. Erik doesn’t deign his question with an answer and leaves.

Gone, too, is the box under Charle’s bed that hold the map of his heart.

Erik goes missing for eight months this time, and Charles all but leaps out of bed when the phone in his study rings at 3 in the morning.

‘Erik, please don’t hang up,’ he pleads, and when Erik stays silent, ‘Please say something.’ ‘There’s nothing to say. I just wanted to hear your voice,’ says Erik. Charles knees give away and hot tears fall out of his eyes. But he can do this, he can keep talking. Anything to keep Erik with him. He wipes at his eyes and smiles into the receiver. ‘Do you remember Jubile? The tiny girl with two braids? You won’t believe what she can do, Erik…’ Charles talks into the night and doesn’t stop even when his voice turns horse. And even after that they simply listen to each other’s breaths.

Charles keeps a set of Erik’s clothes in his wardrobe. Over the years, the turtlenecks smell less and less like Erik, but when Charles drapes it over his pillow, and imagines that it’s Erik chest under his ear, he can still smell the sharp scent of Erik’s musk, spicy and clean and fresh.

He also keeps Erik’s favourite bottle of scotch and his preferred brand of cigarettes in a cabinet in his office, and guards it like a dragon guards its gold.

For all that Charles loathes smoking, and has banned it on the grounds, Erik seemed to be the exception to that rule. Hell, Erik has been the exception to all of Charles’ rules.

They hire Jonthan in the fall to teach Mutant History. He’s a tall man with blue eyes and auburn hair. He looks at Charles with a knowing smile and intent in his mind. He would be good for Charles, wouldn’t he? He’s smart, well read and kind. He even holds the same integrationist ideals that Charles does. But... Jonathan doesn’t have Erik’s razor sharp smile, the kind of smile that lights up Charles’ insides and heart. He doesn’t possess the wicked wit that comes so easily to Erik. He doesn’t bear the piercing focus, which when focussed on Charles makes him feel invincible. Jonathan doesn’t even smoke. Charles laughs in exasperation. ‘Good God, Erik! Must you torment me so?’

It’s almost a year later that Charles sees Erik. They fall into each other’s arms way too easily. 

‘Don’t tease me, Erik,’ Charles commands when Erik’s mouth meets the lobe of his ear, ‘I won’t last long.’ ‘Me, too,’ says Erik. ‘That means we’ll just have to go again.’ ‘And whose fault is that? You were gone for more than a year.’ At that, Erik stops, ‘Does that mean that you haven’t…’ he gestures between the two of them. Charles laughs woefully. ‘There hasn’t been anyone other than you ever since you came floating into my room all those years ago.’ ‘Oh,’ Erik says, surprised, ‘There hasn’t been anyone for me beside you, either.’ Charles laughs wetly for a long time. ‘I thought I was alone,’ he says softly. Erik kisses him, and whispers to his lips, ‘You’re not alone, Charles. Not when you I have something to say about it.’

And it sounds equal parts like a promise and a challenge. It sounds just like Erik.

Charles remembers reading somewhere, Like because, and love despite. However impossible, maybe the author had Charles and Erik in mind when they wrote it.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Hey guys! So ToF updates tomorrow and I wanted to apologize for the lack of Divisa chapters.

It seems like I'm apologizing to yall a lot— but I digress.

Divisa isn't on hiatus or hold or anything, it's just a 'i post when I post' type of story and I haven't been writing in it. I've just been so hyper-focused on ToF lately since I've got a clear plan of what I need for it! I'm sure it'll be around 50-ish chapters until it ends, it may be more or it may be less tbh.

I might start making my chapters longer and I won't edit them nearly as much, or I'll edit them on another place that I post (like wattpad and AO3) first and hopefully the edits (like italics and stuff) will transfer 🤔

Anyways, for the plan, smut will more than likely happen after Xavier's myth– if I can fit it into the story, that is, but it'll more than likely happen! It'll be between Sylus and the reader, so if hope no one minds him getting the first shot, but the reader is going to be really stressed once these flashbacks/forwards are over and will need some help.

However, for those who don't want smut, I will post the smut as it's own separate chapter. I'll just make it a "2.0" or "chapter name +"! Which means the smut chapter will be considerably shorter, but if you don't want to read smut, the story will still flow the same regardless! For the non-smut chapter, I'll just have them insinuate the smut and cut it there, since I have plans for what happens after! 💜

But yeah, anyways, I have a clear cut plan for ToF, which means I also have an ending in mind! I want to complete the story before any new chapters or characters are added 🤔 however, if the story branches are canon, I will write those after the 'freak-out, avoid them all out of guilt' arc.

For the ending, I won't spoil much, but the reader will have children. Now, I personally don't want children and if I did, I'd be getting a surrogate, however I want the reader to have a child with each of the love interests. I already have the names and gender chosen. The children will be two sets of twins, one boy and three girls. (I'm sorry for not splitting the gender equally, but I never see baby girls in stories, I always only ever see baby boys. Especially in manhwa). Zayne and Sylus will be the fathers to one set with Rafayel and Xavier the other fathers.

And while it is highly unlikely to happen, it is possible for twins to have two different fathers and...it's gonna happen twice 🤷🏻‍♀️ Now while i already know what they're going to look like, the children will have their specific father's hair colour, but the eye colour of the other father. I would've had the children be an even split of you and the love interest but...I'm already doing that for Divisa (oops– spoilers ig), so i wanted to do something different!

To get yall excited, I'll reveal the names too! I'm feeling extra generous today ig 😭

Zayne's will be the boy and his name will be Jasper. It's not for its meaning though it does mean "precious stone" and "treasurer". It's because of the jasmine flower, "Jas".

Sylus's daughter will be Maevis. The name means "song bird", so i think it's quite fitting. The name also gives off kind of dark vibes and dark vibes fit Sylus to me!

Xavier's was a bit of a struggle, but i decided on Lucia. It means "of the light". I wanted a light themed name for his child and I really wanted to choose Marisela, but that name means "star of the sea" and i didn't want to use both Xavier and Rafayel's vibes for her, so Lucia it is!

And lastly, Rafayel's daughter is Cordelia. Now, at first, you might be like "but Pluto, Marisela!" Or "Myrena is right there!" Myrena means "of the sea" by the way. However, Cordelia means "daughter of the sea" and also "heart of the sea". Both of these meanings, especially the heart aspect, make so much more sense in my eyes and I hope you like the idea as much as I do!

They will be taking your last name since I can't recall any of the LI's having a last name 🤔 and I'm thinking of giving the children flower themed middle names. I'm not completely sure yet though tbh since middle names aren't necessary...but I also have an idea for what they'd call your baby bump 🥺 i won't share that though, since I'd love to see yalls reaction to it in the story itself!

Anyway, there's still a lot left of this story and I hope everyone is as excited for it as I am!

(I won't add too many tags, since this isn't an officially story update. That'll be tomorrow <3 but i do want this idea out there, because it's something im really excited for and I'm sure yall will love it)

[sneakymystique]

Charles Xavier's Will

In Uncanny X-Men #24 (Vol 3) it was revealed that Charles Xavier was married to Mystique when his will was read:

"I, Charles Francis Xavier, of the town of Salem Center, County of Westchester, and State of New York, being of sound mind and memory, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my last will and testament, hereby revoking all wills and codicils previously made by me. I declare that I am married as of the date of this will and that my wife's name is Raven Darkholme."

This laughably out of character moment was a hallmark of Bendis' run. I think the best way of explaining it in light of prior and subsequent canon is that Mystique stole Charles' will and left a fake copy just to troll the X-Men.

[hxlyhoax]

Paralyzed

Based off of Paralyzed by Big Time Rush

Rowan Laslow x Reader

warning(s): I hate the ending. semi proof read. all mistakes are mine. if I need to add anything else let me know :)

━━━━━ © hxlyhoax 2023 do not steal, post on third party sites or translate my work. I do not own the rights to Wednesday or any of the canon characters mentioned.

You walked with Enid right by your side. You were new to Nevermore and she was showing you around while also keeping you up with the latest gossip around the school or in the next town over that was named Jericho.

“Dude” Xavier frowned at his roommate, hitting his arm. “Huh” the dazed boy let out, looking at the long haired boy. “You weren’t listening?”

Rowan shook his head, guilt clear in his features. “I got distracted.” he frowned, watching as Xavier furrowed his eyebrows and looked to where the shorter boy nodded his head. “Oh, They’re new.”

Rowan only nodded, biting his lip. You’d never notice him. He knew it. Xavier knew it. Hell, Enid probably already knew it.

The next time he saw you was when you were going against Bianca in fencing. He watched intensely as you and the siren went after each other, smiling once he realized you had won the match.

“Nice moves.” Bianca smiled, staring you down. “Thank you.” you nodded, smiling back before looking over to another student who wanted to go against you.

“You should talk to them.” Xavier whispered in the boys ear, smiling softly. “I- I can’t-” Rowan shook his head, taking a short breath. “And why is that?” the long haired boy frowned, tilting his head. “They’re out of my league. And i’ll make a fool out of myself if I do.” the boy frowned, looking to his roommate with a look similar to a wounded puppy. “Would you like me to talk to them for you?”

“You would do that?” Rowan asked, confused as why the boy who seemed to careless about him would help. “Yeah” Xavier nodded, looking towards you again, waving slightly when he noticed you were looking in their direction.

You waved back with a smile on your face. A smile that made Rowan melt. Oh, how he loved you.

The third time he saw you was at the carnival. You were accompanied by Xavier who was hopefully putting in a good word for him.

“So how are you liking Nevermore?” Xavier asked, smile on his face. “It’s alright” you shrugged, “Kind of like every other private school i’ve been to, just with more outcasts and I actually like the uniform.”

“You like the uniform?” the tall boy cringed, watching as you chuckled lightly and nodded. “Way better than my last ones. Those were hideous.”

“Do you like anyone?”

You stared at him for moment, head tilted. “I like a lot of people.”

“No, like like.”

“like like ?”

“like like.” Xavier nodded his head, trying to laugh at thought of you two just repeating two words. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t think I know anyone that much to “like like” them.” you shrugged, “But I am curious about someone.”

“Oh? do tell.”

“This boy. He wears glasses. He’s-”

“Rowan. His name is Rowan. He’s my roommate actually.”

“Oh- Did I do something wrong? Because it seems like he’s always avoiding me.” you frowned, placing your hands in your pockets.

“Oh, no. I can promise you, you did nothing wrong. He’s just really awkward that’s all. But, if you liked to meet him I can set something up.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” you shook your head, smiling softly. “But, thanks though.”

“No. I insist. He’s right over there actually.” Xavier pointed to a boy who was sitting alone at a bench. The same boy you had been curious about for weeks. The same boy you may have developed a little crush on. The same boy who-

“Well?”

“Uh, sure. Yeah, let’s go.” you nodded, missing the way he inaudibly chuckled to himself.

“Rowan” Xavier called out as the both of you walked over, watching as he turned his head, eyes going wide at the sight of you. “Oh, hi.” the boy smiled, pushing his glasses up, doing his best to control his breathing, keeping a tight fist on his inhaler that was in his pocket. “Rowan this is Yn. Yn this is Rowan.”

“Hi, Yn.” Rowan nodded, staring at you for a few seconds before looking to the ground again. “Hi, Rowan. It’s nice to finally meet you. Heard a lot of good things actually.”

“Good things?” he asked, looking up, cheeks going red as Xavier winked at him. He really was playing wingman. And he’d forever be in debt to the psychic. “Yeah. You’ve got yourself a good wingman over here.” you chuckled, sitting across from him.

“Oh- Uhm- Wingman? No-”

You stared at him as he used his inhaler, frowning slightly. “Do I make you nervous?”

The boy in the glasses looked at you, swallowing silently. “Not in a bad way.”

“In a good way then?”

“He likes you.” Xavier cut off the awkward encounter. “Xav-”

“I like you too.”

Both boys looked over at you. Xavier smiling in triumph and Rowan in shock. “You do?” Rowan began to smile, setting his inhaler down, controlling his breaths once again. “I do.”

[ainsellshadewalker]

Minor update to the X-Men Evolution Wings of Fire-fied AU: I am scrapping (for now) making it the Dark AU version. I have ideas, but I really want to fledge out with a different story first, then maybe work my way back around to a WoF version of the Dark AU.

So, um, is it okay if I info dump a few ideas + minor story plots + scenes I really really want in my fic/au at some point? I shall assume yes, but don't worry, you don't need to understand the book plots at all! You can look up a picture of the dragon tribes, but seeing as the mutants are hybrids, well, they'll be a bit different. Let's dive in-

Plot and AU Ideas:

#1 • There is the One of Us AU, or regular gradual platonic yandere X-Men Evolution au, centered around the background tension and dread, but with no extra add-ons, just a pretty standard au or plot, I guess, with Reader (Bee) being a new mutant, but who appears as a HiveWing and seems to initially have no powers at all...

#2 • There is the Propehcy AU, where the teen are part of some vision and prophecy that can either save the world or end it, but it woukd be hard to fit everyone in, but I do like small prophecies...

#3 • A Secret Animus AU, where Reader (Bee) has not an animus-like ability, but full animus magic, the most rare mutation of all... in this Reader is more nervous, fidgety, and avoidant, but it is a bit more stressful and tense than the other options...

#4 • A Neglect au, where Reader (Bee), due to appearing seemingly normal and average, is shunned by the mutants, or at best forgotten about, and Reader eventually ends up hurt or captured, and possibly almost dies... but is saved at the last minute, and now the others have to try and take care of them and make up for lost time, while Reader wants to act like nothing happened and go back to the regular status quo...

Story Plots:

• possibly stopping or freeing Dragon! Apocalypse or using his animus scroll (magic scroll of limitless potential spells)

• Reader finding out they're related to someone

• Reader possibly having a darker past than everyone thinks (such as Reader used to work for a villain/evil dragon; or Reader was rejected by their family for being a mutant, despite not appearing like one; Reader almost dying when they were really young; or maybe all three, who knows)

• Reader trying to find perfect gifts or make perfect gifts for everyone, and the teens and adults do the same thing (a seasonal story, possibly as an extra or it's own stand-alone oneshot) (this one woukd be very sweet, with a bit of silliness)

• Prinicpal/Headmaster Kelly (he's going to be a SeaWing named Kelp), slowly realizing that he's wrong to hate mutants, and that groups like the Weapon X Program (called Wing X Program) and the MRD aren't good for everyone, and kinda has a talk and understanding with Xavier (because I know he's a squishy jerk, but I want to use 97's character growth on this version of him, so at least one normal dragons doesn't stay a jerk)

• Dragonets! Jean and Scott gradually getting together, and it's sappy and sweet and has a touch of hurt/comfort (they deserve better, let these two be happy)

Small Scenes (I just want these to be canon!):

• Reader hunting like a heron, then teaching Todd or Lance how to do it, too (they use their wings to create shadows, then stab the fish when they swim below it)

• The teens (dragonets) trying to cook, but most of then have never used fire, let alone a pan or pot or seasoning

• Reader finding one of the teens sleeping with them because of a nightmare, so they just let them stay, putting a blanket over them, then going back to sleep

• A beach day (the kids and adults just play in the sand and lazily swim around and catch some crabs and seagulls and laugh together) (they need to be found family)

• Reader crying, and someone comforting them

Well. This is all i have so far. I need more sleep. I hope you are doing well, ainsell! Please get some rest, drink some water, and have a snack.

Those are all wonderful ideas! Something you can do to tie in multiple points, Apocalypse sending visions to Bee to release him. They're not demanding though and he seems to actually care and acts very fatherly and protective over them. Something bee doesn't have from the others because they're just not as special as their pack. Except, the reason for apocalypse to be so doting is the fact that Bee is his child who's mutation is reincarnation. He doesn't know why they don't remember as much as when they used to reincarnate he sees that there are some memories but blames the xmen and brotherhood for causing so much distress in Bee that they've forgotten they were ever loved. And maybe when Bee finally gives in they've grown cold and uncaring to the world, so instead of immediately causing the end of humankind, his main goal because he knows no other way to save mutantkind, Apocalypse bonds with Bee and teaches them that there is still something to love in the world. Seeing that the person who's supposed to know only destruction and violence according to myth treat his young so carefully truly wanting them to heal and be as they are causes the xmen and brotherhood to rethink their behavior. Which leads to them somehow separating Bee from Apocalypse to talk but Bee doesn't want to talk and tries to leave. Cue Stryker seeing an opportunity taking Bee and setting up for an end where you decide who gets custody!

I rambled a bit sorry but you have so many good ideas to bounce off that something always grows