#I don’t know enough about any of these things to know how they can work together

[luveline]

hiii can we have clark and his shy girlfriend who’s never had a boyfriend before, so she thinks she has to be ‘sexy’ for him and how he reacts? love

cw: mildly suggestive, fem “Can I come in?” 

“I’m peeing!” 

You’re inspecting a little bump on your leg, actually, that could be a zit but doesn’t really look like one. 

“Yeah, honey, I just need to grab my laundry. I won’t look!”

You roll your shoulders. You’ve been getting used to this with Clark very slowly —how easygoing his love actually is. Doesn’t care if you’re peeing, if you’re naked and unready, if you forgot to shave. Doesn’t mind the way your stomach gurgles at night laying under his arm, or the smell of your hair in the mornings; that not-quite-sweat dampness, he loves it, burying his nose in your neck every time without fail.

And now. You could have your panties around your ankles with a soft tummy roll and he doesn’t care. It’s perturbing. 

“Can’t wait two seconds?” you ask lightly, unlocking the door. 

He’s vaguely apologetic. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to rush you off the pot,” he says, moving you aside with a nice hand to your shoulder. 

“Oh, what?” you ask, wrinkling your nose at his weirdest phrase to date. 

“If you need to go–”

“Clark, stop. Stop, please.”

“Well, don’t be shy about it!” He pulls your slouchy sweatpants back up your hip and kisses your temple. Quick, chaste, and soft. “Got any laundry for me? I’m doing lights.” 

Later that night, after you’ve showered and he’s washed up, his neck still the tiniest bit red from shaving, he sits at the headboard in his boxers with his legs crossed. He’s reading a paperback against his thigh, the pages bent back in one hand. 

It makes your stomach warm. Zinging excitement all over your skin at the idea of being where his paperback is, under that same thoughtful stare. 

You check your reflection in the full length mirror. 

It is terrifying to want him like this, but you won’t be a fool. Clark can hardly be expected to match your mood if you crawl into his lap like a worm begging for a nice touch. No, you have to try to persuade him into amorousness. You check that your shift is falling nicely and move for the bed. 

Clark looks up when you kneel, his face quickly taken by a smirk. It looks funny on him, missing any of the smugness you might see when he’s Superman against one of his boggling villains. He seems boyishly pleased before you’ve so much as opened your mouth. 

“Are you busy?” you murmur softly. 

“Oh, never too busy for you,” he says, rolling it around in his mouth as he places his book upside down on the nightstand. 

“No? I don’t have to persuade you to put things down?” you ask. 

He really couldn’t look happier. Like, he’s ecstatic rather than lustful, though this is often how it starts with him. 

“Nothing in there could be as interesting as you are,” Clark says. He pats the bed in front of him. “Come here? There’s more than enough room for you.” 

You cannot crawl sexily, won’t kid yourself into thinking so, instead walking carefully on your knees until you’re in touching distance, settling quietly, carefully. 

“You’re such a treasure,” he says, more to himself than you as his fingers brush your knee. “Have you always worn stuff like this?” 

“The shifts?” you ask, pinching the fabric between your fingers. “No, not really.” 

“No?” 

“No. I bought a couple when we first started dating…” You flush at the idea of telling him something like this and then tell him anyhow, because you might be the shyest thing he’s ever seen, but you’re also undoubtedly in love with him, and craving to have him in confidence is a constant. “It was exciting, when you asked me to be your girl,” —that exact phrase— “I went online that night to look at babydolls and, uh, new panties and things, I never had to before. I liked thinking about it.” 

His fingers work further down your thigh. “Never had to?” 

“No. You’re my first boyfriend. You know that already.” 

Clark soothes away your puzzled tone with a big hand spread out over your thigh. Shaved again. He rubs at you searchingly, his brow slightly crinkled. “I’d have you in a sack, if you wanted that.”

You laugh. 

He smiles. “I would. You could wear full briefs to bed.”

“Yeah, cos that’d be sexy. Me in my jammies, you’d love that.”

Clark smarts, indignant. “I would.”

You laugh again, wrapping your fingers around his thick wrist. “Sure.”

“Honey, I would. I’d love to see you in your pajamas. I didn’t realise you had pajamas, I– stupidly, I thought this was what you’d usually wear to bed.” 

“I’m supposed to be sexy.” 

You hadn’t meant to say it quite so abruptly. Clark wasn’t expecting it either, his lips parted enough to catch a slip of his tongue. Just as abruptly, his teeth snap and his mouth closes, both hands finding yours. “You are,” he says, his mouth such a serious line that your heart feels like it’s constricting in your chest for a moment. “Without trying, you are. With effort too, don’t get me wrong, I– I don’t think I’ve ever had so much blood in one place–”

“Clark,” you whine, unbidden. 

“–some nights, your dresses, those lacy skirts and stuff, that’s all beautiful. You’re beautiful. But don’t think you have to dress up every night for my benefit, huh?” Your face goes so hot you can feel it in your ears, ‘cos his voice is like satin, talking to you like you need it gentle. “I’d just as happily have you in one of my old t-shirts. Or your jammies.” 

“Why are you asking me about this?” you deflect. 

He closes his hands around your wrists with a light squeeze. “You won’t let me in the bathroom when you’re in there most the time, but every night you stand in the door in one of these lovely things and I was just… wondering, I guess. I can be really awkward. I wanted to know if I was overstepping with the bathroom thing, but. Anyways. I have my answer.”

“What? What answer?” 

“You have a complex. I’ve given you a complex,” he says decidedly. 

“You did not.”

“I did. Clearly, I haven’t made it obvious how much I want you at all hours, in anything, and you assume you have to dress up to earn my affection.” Clark dips his head forward, a sweet, dark curl kissing his forehead. “Tell me you like the lingerie, at least.” 

“I do.” You realise you can tell him more, and decide to trust him with a little more truthfulness. “I don’t love shaving my legs every night.”

“No?” His eyebrows rise. “Then don’t.”

“Yeah? You won’t care?”

“Of course I won’t.” 

You hold your arms toward him and he does the same, taking your hips into his hands as you begin the melding ascent into his lap. Clark folds you into him nicely. “And you really don't care if I stop wearing the lacy panties?”

“Honestly? I assumed you were spoiling me. I had no idea you thought I’d care about them otherwise. Wear anything. Wear nothing.”

You press your nose to his neck, withholding a sound too close to a moan at his smell and general solidness beneath you. His arms are a vice around you that you’d rather die than lose. Especially now he’s letting you say goodbye to headrush-showers and the two hour delicates wash on cold. “Promise?” you murmur.

“I promise.” 

Clark proves it with a gift just a day later: a five pack of granny panties and pair of pajamas two sizes too big, for your ultimate comfort. He still finds a way to get you out of them, though, citing an intrinsic sexiness about you that you’re more than happy to oblige him with. 

[headkiss]

Clark x shy! reader was soo freaking cuteeeeee babe i need more. Maybe their first date or first time staying the night with each other, where reader is flustered and clark remedies it

Love your writing queen

thank u so much lovely!! (part 2 of this request, but can be read as standalone!) | 0.9k, fluff, word girl used in reference to reader <3

Clark Kent is in your shower.

A month ago, you never would have believed it. It was the kind of thing that really only happened in your dreams. Now, though, you can hear the sound of the water running. The sound of something falling and a muffled curse, too.

So yes, he is actually in your shower and he is also sort of your boyfriend. Almost.

You’ve only been on a handful of dates, but you’ve known Clark long enough — have had feelings for him long enough — to know that this is the kind of thing that just feels good and easy and right.

Clark had already been planning on asking you out when Lois told him to “please put that poor girl out of her misery” and that was the final push. Not that he needed it.

He’s different outside of work, you’ve learned. Somehow even sweeter and sometimes you have to pinch yourself when he isn’t looking just to make sure that this is real.

Tonight is one of those times, because he’s spending the night for the first time. Because you’re waiting on your bed, straightening pillows and fixing the sheets while he’s showering feet away.

Especially because he walks out of your bathroom with sweatpants hanging low on his waist and his t-shirt stuck halfway over his head.

And you’re not blind. So of course your eyes flick down to his chest and his stomach, still a little damp. Of course you can’t bring yourself to look away or move until he clears his throat “A little help?”

“Oh!”

You walk over to him and find the hem of his shirt. It’s all rolled and twisted against his back, and he has to bend his knees a little to help you reach it properly. Your fingers brush against his skin as you tug it down into place, and it feels like touching a piece of art.

Clark’s hair is a wet mess when he gets his head through the neckline, and you smile as you fix that, too. He straightens when you’re done, takes your wrist into one hand and kisses your palm.

“Thanks. Got stuck on my glasses.”

“Mm, I think you did that on purpose. Ulterior motives and all.”

Clark doesn’t tell you that he did not in fact get stuck in his shirt on purpose — he really is that awkward. He knows you’re not the type to initiate things very often, and he relishes the feeling of your hands on him, of you near him in any way.

He simply smiles, a little guilty, something close to smug but not so conceited. “Uh huh. And thanks for the shower.”

You feel like you should be thanking him. It’s a surreal kind of intimacy to see him this way, to have him in your apartment, smelling like your soap.

“The water pressure’s not the best. And I got you a toothbrush.” You pick a piece of lint from his shoulder, “Do you need anything else?”

Clark has yet to stop grinning. “I’m perfect, stop worrying about me.”

“I always worry,” you shrug, shoulder to your cheek.

It’s then that he notices that you’re still in your work clothes, too focused on your face and your hands on him before. “Aren’t you gonna get comfy? I mean, I love those pants, but surely you don’t wanna hit the hay in them.”

“‘Hit the hay,’” you repeat. Such a dork.

A dork that still makes you nervous. Not as bad as you had been before, but there are still moments when you’re not sure how to act around him.

He levels you with a kind, pleading look. Be honest, he’s asking you.

You sigh, face turned away to mumble “My pajamas aren’t sexy.”

Clark gently nudges you to face him again with a knuckle to your chin. “Honey, clothes don’t make you sexy, it’s the other way around. If you’re worried about what I’ll think, don’t. I think you’re beautiful in anything because you’re you.”

He says it like it’s simple. A fact.

Then he’s slapping his hands over his glasses and turning around. “I won’t look, promise.”

It’s so sweet you could cry. There isn’t a judgemental bone in his body when it comes to you, and each time you’re reminded of that you fall for him a little more.

So, you get up and go to your dresser and change. Clark listens to the sound of your feet against the floors, the drawers being pulled open. When he hears you slipping your clothes off, he thinks he could come undone from the sound alone.

Once you’re changed into a pair of boxer shorts and a baggy shirt with a neckline so stretched it nearly hangs off your shoulder, you’re climbing onto your bed and tapping Clark’s shoulder. “Okay. Done.”

He turns around, smiles that dimpled smile again and gets you both settled under the covers.

He’s facing you, glasses still on, cheek pressed into your floral pillowcase, hand pushing the hair from your face. “Told you you’d look pretty.”

“Don’t be fooled. There’s a hole in the armpit of this shirt.”

He shifts to his back, both hands finding the armpit seam of his own tee, and rips it. “There, now we match.”

“Clark! I’m sewing that up tomorrow,” you say. A pause, then: “Do you need another pillow? Sorry my bed’s kinda small.”

He tugs you close and pulls your face to his chest, effectively silencing your worries with the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

[nonsense-and-puzzlement]

Sorry to put you on blast but this.

And it can still be really really hard. Personally I think, especially with headaches.

I get migraines. My whole family get migraines. I know I get migraines. I got prescription painkillers for my migraines through college. But, my migraines are different to my families. My family tend to get your traditional migraine- it’s debilitating, they get all the symptoms, and they need to lock themselves in a dark room until it goes away. But, they’re fairly rare. I however, have chronic headaches that culminate in a migraine after about 3 months of a constant headache. The thing is, after 3 months of your head hurting and a week of light and movement sensitivity at the end of the day, the pain getting worse and that sensitivity lasting all day doesn’t feel like a proper migraine. And the queasiness is unrelated I’m sure. And if people ask you about your headaches you just say you get them nearly every day because you do remember some days when your headaches wasn’t hurting and they get a look of pity and say poor you and assume you’re exaggerating a little. And that is how I gaslight myself into thinking I didn’t have migraines and I’d exaggerated as a teenager. It wasn’t until I started getting visual auras so bad I couldn’t see out of my right eye that I reassessed. I still didn’t go to a doctor until over the counter codeine barely took the edge off. I had been to doctors before but because I wasn’t sure my symptoms were severe enough to be a migraine, they brushed me off as someone who needs to distress and drink more water. After laying it out exactly as it happens (to a new doctor), they put me on meds that have sorted the chronic headaches and the migraines last 6 hours not 3 days.

Now, I know my migraines are symptomatically mild, but a daily headache is not normal. Nor is it gone away if you don’t notice it for 15 minutes while you wash your hair. Regular headaches without an identifiable cause is not normal. And unfortunately, in my experience, sometimes someone at work isn’t going to point it out to you.

So my rules of thumb:

Pain is your body’s warning sign. If you are in pain something is wrong.

If you are constantly or regularly experiencing the same pain, and you do not have an identified condition that causes that pain, you should seek help as that is not normal.

If other people in your life complain have episodes of the same problem you have but don’t tend to push through in the same way you do (e.g. call in sick for headaches, say they’re feeling anxious so don’t attend an event), consider reassessing your baseline and if that is the normal response to what you are acclimatised to- and if you should be acclimatised to it. N.B your family might be a bad comparison point as they may have the same issues as you/have shaped your behaviour.

If your normal levels of pain worsen or change in nature, seek help as that is an acute issue, not a part of your chronic issues.

Sometimes, if you have ignored pain long enough, it will change a bit in nature. This is your body trying to make you pay attention, it is not that your old problem is fixed but now you have a new different one.

Then mostly healthcare advice but also maybe parents:

If the person you are seeking help from brushes it off, or labels it something that is to do with the symptom (e.g. you just get headaches), affirm to them how your case is particularly abnormal and/or why you are concerned that the symptom might be a part of a larger condition (e.g. I know I get headaches, but I do not think my frequency/intensity/other concern is normal and I’m worried this might be a symptom of a larger problem. Can you test for any larger problems this may be a symptom of/what is it you would be looking for that would make you concerned)

If the person you are seeking help from says it is something that doesn’t match your symptoms (e.g. I was told I had tension headaches because I went in with jaw pain that was worsening my headaches. Turns out I had TMJ pain caused by me clenching my teeth in my sleep because of the head pain, but that would then add tension headaches on top of my baseline headache), feel free to disagree with them and/or seek a second or third opinion. If people keep telling you that your symptoms are different to what you are feeling, they are wrong.

It is so SO easy to gaslight yourself, and it is so so easy for others to people to gaslight you even accidentally. You are the expert of your experience and if you are healthy, you should not be in pain.

Equally, the word pain can be substituted for most other negative experiences: sad, terrified, exhausted, itchy. Generally, any negative experience should be transient and with an identifiable cause. If it is not, seek help.

"everyone experiences [symptom]" how many times does it have to be explained that it's often about the frequency of the symptom, not the symptom itself

[teaboot]

I was discussing the topic of trans people in sports with someone today when the conversation turned to trans women in women’s spaces crept in, as it always seems to, and the lady I was talking to said something that I thought was interesting

What they said was, to the best of my recollection, “Women have had to work damn hard for a long time to get what little we have…. …and I don’t like the idea of someone who’s had all the privileges of being a man their whole life saying they know what it’s like to grow up as a girl…. …[and] I don’t like them using resources allocated to [cisgender] women.”

Now, there’s a lot to unpack there, but specifically that bit in the middle- the statement of, “I think trans women have benefitted from the patriarchy as men in their formative years, and then grow up to become competition for limited resources dedicated to cisgender women, who I think are more deserving because they’ve been victims of the patriarchy longer”

And I think that- interestingly- this makes a slight bit of sense to me. I don’t AGREE by any means, but I can follow the thread of logic and see how she came to this conclusion.

But I think the thing here- the vital thing, the difference between our two conflicting conclusions- is that SHE saw it as, “trans women deserve resources, yes, but they shouldn’t receive them from the same facilities or programs as cis women”, and the way I see it is, “women at large need enough support that they don’t see their own sisters as competition” and “no amount of past suffering is a higher priority than current suffering, and so current aid should be distributed according to current need”

And yes, it’s exhausting that this is always where the conversation seems to go- to the caricature of trans women specifically being invaders- but every time it does, it feels like I learn a little bit more about the person speaking

Which may be as I suspect in this particular case, at the risk of reading too deeply into it with not enough hard fact, “my experiences as a young girl were traumatic”, “I yearn for security and reassurance that I never got and I am now envious of others who do”, “I’m afraid of scarcity”, and “I tie my current identity so strongly to my own trauma and negative experiences that I tie some amount of any person’s identity or value by how much they’ve suffered”

Which again, really has nothing much to do with trans people at all, actually, does it

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 15: The End (A)

Warning: This chapter will contain blood, gore, and violence. Read at your own risk.

Just then, the anger, misery, and pain that has built up within you for the thirteen years you were trapped in Wayne Manor fills your body and it feels like you’re a furnace that’s been filled with tons of coal and is now an inferno.

No, this is not how things are going to end! You didn’t survive all those years in that wretched mansion with the worst people imaginable just to be dragged back there and forced to live in some sick joke that calls itself a family just when you finally got your life together!

With your newfound strength, you burst through the ice encasing your body, sending chunks of ice of various sizes flying in all directions. The Bats put distance between themselves and you to protect themselves, which gives you the perfect opportunity to charge Bruce and grab him by the throat; he gasps and his hands immediately grasp yours to try to dislodge them, but your strength is in handed not only by the Megamycete, but the righteous judgment you intend to deliver onto the Waynes.

“Let’s get rid of this,” you mock as you grab his cowl and rip it off, ignoring the shock the fabric gives you, revealing Bruce Wayne’s shocked and pain filled expression, “I want to see the fear in your eyes!”

“Father,” you hear Damian yell as he and the other bastards rush towards you in an effort to save Bruce.

In response, you summon a pair of mold wings and take off with Bruce in your grasp while mold tendril emerge from the dome’s walls to keep the others distracted.

“I’ve thought about this day for years,” you say as you slam Bruce into the dome’s wall. “Every time you and your bastards made me feel like shit, I thought about how I would give it back to you tenfold! Once you all are dead, I’ll finally be able to move one with my life!”

Several tendrils emerge from the wall and pierce through Bruce’s limbs, causing him to yell in pain as they worm through his limbs and wrap around his body, trapping him and leaving him unable to escape. While you’re sure the tendrils are enough to keep him there, you know better to underestimate him, so not wanting to take any chances, you rip off his utility belt, once again ignoring the shock it emits, and crush the entire thing into bits and pieces.

“Don’t go anywhere, Mr. Wayne,” you mock as you turn around so you can carry out the rest of your revenge. “And enjoy the show.”

“Y/N, wait,” he shouts, fear and desperation completely audible in his tone, but you pay him no mind.

You have work to do.

Thankfully, the rest are still distracted by the tendrils, so you’re able to sneak up on your first target: Dick. It always pissed you off to no end how Bruce’s “golden boy” was always called the best big brother; how people would swoon over the sight of him spending time with the others, no matter what time it was, or what he was doing at the moment.

You always wondered what it would be like to have an older brother since the ones you saw on TV were always nice and strong and funny, but it didn’t take you long to realize Dick was like that to everyone else but you. To him, you were an outsider, never a brother and over the years, your resentment towards the man piled up enough to rival Mt. Everest in scale.

“Guess we’re finally spending time together, Dick,” you mock as you grab him by the neck and fly up high, causing everyone to shout his name in fear as they could only watch on in horror about what’s about to happen. “Too bad it’s over a decade too late and it’ll obly be for a few moments.”

“Y/N, please,” he pleads. “I’m sorry for—“

He’s cut off by you ripping off his right arm, causing him to shout in utter agony. You look at the arm you just ripped off, examining it like it were a weird rock and not the limb of a person before you drop it onto the floor below you.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like if a bird had its wings ripped off,” you say nonchalantly, like you were about to commit murder. “I mean, for a creature that spends most of its life in the air to no longer be able to take flight? That has to be a death sentence, right?”

You pull off his left leg, causing another round of yelling and everyone to shout both his name and yours.

“You may not be a bird, but you’re an acrobat, so you know what it’s like to soar through the air. So, it’ll probably be the same thing for you, right?”

You rip off his left arm.

“To no longer be able to swing around and do those tricks of yours? That has to be a serious tragedy, yeah?”

And with the right leg ripped off, he now just a torso that can only convulse and yell in pain as his blood drips from the blood stumps where his limbs once were.

“You should’ve left me alone. Goodbye, little birdy.”

And with that, you release him, letting gravity bring him back down to earth. His siblings try to gather around to catch him, but you command a tendril to emerge through the root and pierce his heart, holding him up as his blood rains down below.

You watch as he tries to say something, but all that comes out are a few weak, wet gasps before he goes silent and his body goes still, signifying that he’s dead.

“Dick,” Bruce shouts, the pain in his voice now apparent for all to hear and you can see tears begin to fall from his eyes.

(Yes, he now knows a fraction of your pain! Finish the rest! Make them suffer!)

Next up is Jason.

You always hated Jason because he always thought his pain was the only one that mattered. He went on and on about how Bruce failed him and replaced him with Tim, but instead of leaving Bruce and Gotham behind, what does he do? He comes back and goes on glorified tantrum just so he can get Bruce’s attention, unsure he wants Bruce’s job or his approval.

He had his head so far up his ass that he actually thought you were a replacement for Jason, but had he thought about someone other than himself, he would see that Bruce only brought you into his house because he had a legal obligation rather than out of fatherly love. Anyone from the outside looking in would see no one thought you a part of the Wayne Family.

And you know the real sad part of it? The two of you were in the same boat.

Bruce failed you just as much as he did Jason and you both wanted him to take you into his arms and promise to take care of everything and never let go.

Had he came to you during his early Red Hood days, you would’ve helped him become a better Batman than Bruce ever could be before killing both Joker and Bruce. The thought of you being a sort of Robin to him almost made you laugh.

Almost.

Now, all you want to do is make him feel the pain he made you feel when you first met.

You slam him into the dome’s wall and summon a moldy crowbar and hold it high above your head. Even with his helmet, you can tell he’s having serious flashbacks to that night in the warehouse with Joker.

“You go on and on about how you died,” you say as you begin to repeatedly beat him in the head with your weapon, making some serious cracks in his helmet. “How he failed you. But think about it, Jason, with your personality and people skills, you were always gonna die! Whether it was being shot by a cashier in a failed robber or gunned down in a gang war, you were doomed to die early!

“Maybe instead of blaming him, you should blame yourself, Jason!”

You broke through his helmet and Jason’s face is now various shades of black and blue with dark red blood mixed in. He long stopped fighting you and is now looking at you, all signs of fighting gone and replaced by fear and pain.

“This time, Jason, stay in hell where you belong.”

And with that, you shove the crowbar in his forehead, piercing through his skull and brain, and holding him up as his body goes slack.

You hear Tim yelling Jason’s name and charging towards you in some sad attempt of revenge, but you quickly turn around and use a newly summoned tendril to pierce his stomach, stopping him dead in his tracks.

While all the Waynes gave you the creeps, Tim always creeped you out more than the others combined; not long after he moved in, you learned he had an obsession with Batman and the Robins, following them around and taking countless pictures of them over the years.

In fact, that’s how he managed to worm his way into the family, by blackmailing Bruce into adopting him.

It pissed you off to no end that he was treated so well after doing such a dirty tactic while you, Bruce’s biological son and legal responsibility, were treated like shit on the bottom of Bruce’s shoe.

You always thought there was something wrong with Tim, but when you discovered that Tim was always spying on everyone in the manor, keeping track of every aspect of their personality like they were some goddamn psychology experiment.

“I gave you the chance to leave me alone, Tim, and you still kept putting your nose where it didn’t belong.” You bring him closer to you and tenderly place your hands on either side of his head in a mocking gesture, your thumbs directly below his eyes. “You won’t be needing these anymore.”

And with that, you jam your thumbs into his eyes, causing blood to drip from the sockets and Tim to scream in pain. You allow his screams to go on for a while before crushing his head like a tin can, covering your hands in blood and grey matter; you dismiss the tendril, sending his body falling to the ground, landing with a unceremonious thud and sprawls across the ground.

(Three have fallen to you. The rest will soon follow.)

Cass, like the psycho she is, leaps out of nowhere, blades in hand and tears streaming from her eyes, towards you, clearly more interested in revenge than capturing you.

You never interacted with Cass much. In fact, the only time you two were in the same room with each other was when Bruce brought her to the manor. You never will forget those cold, soulless eyes of hers, how she seemed to be looking into your soul for… something and based off the look she gave you, she didn’t find what she was looking for and ever since, she’s given you a wide berth.

“What’s the matter, Cass,” you mock as you dodge her attacks with ease as her anger makes her sloppy. “Mad that I swatted them like the gnats they are?” That clearly pisses her off more as she becomes more aggressive in her attacks. “Did you love them? Are you capable of feeling love? Do you even know what love is?”

You summon a blade in your hand and meet her weapons with yours and when you look at her eyes, you see nothing but sadness and hatred in them.

(You must have hit a sore spot. This could be beneficial to you.)

“Come on, Cass, with your upbringing, you should know you were never going to be a real person. Hell, that’s why Mr. Wayne took you in in the first place. He took one look at you, saw how fucked up beyond all repair you are, and decided to bring you into the fold so he wouldn’t be the only that wasn’t human!”

Her rapid breathing shows she’s furious beyond words at this point and you can’t help but widen the grin that’s adorning your face.

(It will not be long now. Just push her a little more.)

“He saw himself in you,” you continue as you block more of her attacks. “You’re both so fucked up, you’re not even human.” You two clash blades and look each other straight in the eye. You lean forward so you can say something that should set her over the edge. “He wasn’t your father, Cass, he was your master. And without him, you have no purpose.”

If she could talk, she’s no doubt be screaming in rage right now, but all she can do is hack away at your blade and you allow it to fall apart so you could lure her into your trap. Once your blade was destroyed, she leapt forward so she could deal a fatal blow.

She was cut short when you summoned two blades and slashed quickly, stopping Cass in her tracks. She looks at you, her eyes wide in disbelief, before she looks down at her abdomen.

Slowly, a steady stream of blood trickles out of nowhere before quickly gushing out in a torrent, staining the ground beneath her feet. Then, Cass’ upper body slides to the right and lands on the ground while her lower body slides to the left.

You can see Cass move her arms, like she’s trying to crawl away, but she’s lost too much blood, so she quickly goes still, never to move again.

Stephanie shrieks out in sadness before charging at you.

Unlike the others, Steph actually spent some time with you after she moved in. That lasted for about a week and once she found out that you weren’t like them, that you were normal, she discarded you like a puppy that had gotten too big and she had nothing more to do with you.

“You killed them,” you shrieks as she try’s to punch you. “They were your family and you killed them!”

“They were never my family,” you growl back as you dodge her fists. “And had they left me alone, they’d still be alive.” You summon several tendrils and thrust all of them towards her at once, skewing her like she were a pincushion. “But don’t worry, you’ll be joining them soon enough.”

You pull the tendrils out to reveal Steph has been reduced to a bloody hole-ridden chunk of meat. Her body wobbles a bit, as if she’s going to move, before collapsing into a heap onto the floor.

“And now, there’s only you,” you say, turning to Damian, who is obviously crying, but he still stands confidently.

“Brother,” he says, his voice wavering a bit. “I know we committed many transgressions against you and we do not deserve your forgiveness, but what you have done cannot go unpunished.” He holds up his sword towards you in a threatening manner. “As the heir of the Wayne Family, it is my duty to avenge my fallen brothers and sisters.”

“How cute, you’re pretending you love them.” You summon twin blades. “Look at your upbringing, Damian: Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul, Ra’s al Ghul, League of Assassins. Face it, you had no idea what love was growing up and you still don’t. You’re not human, you’re a demon. And I’ll take pleasure in killing you.”

With that, you two clash blades, both of you trying to get the upper hand, taking advantage of every perceivable opening, and quickly covering any drop in guard.

“Remember how you went on and on about how easy it’d be to cut me down,” you say as you swipe at Damian only for him to dodge. “You were so damn smug that you were taught how to swing a sword before you knew how to crawl and if you decided to get rid of me, it wouldn’t remotely be a challenge. How about now, Damian? We’ve been going at this for a while now and I’m still standing!”

“I’m sorry for how I treated you, brother. I knew you had no training whatsoever, but I was so determined to prove myself the true heir of our father that I went out of my way to berate you.” He thrusts his blade towards the center of your body, but you jump back just out of his reach before locking blades.

“He’s not my father!”

Bruce Wayne is not your father, nor will be ever be; he was just a man that slept with your Momma and managed to get her pregnant.

And thats what pisses you off so much: no matter how much you hate and wish it weren’t so, half your DNA will always be linked back to that bastard.

Even the Megamycete can’t fix that.

And every time you think about it, you feel your insides heat up to the point you feel like you’re about to melt.

With your newfound rage, you bash your blades against Damian’s sword with so much force that it shatters like it were glass and not tempered steel.

Even with his mask on, you can tell you’ve shocked Damian so much that he’s frozen like a deer in headlights.

(This is your chance! Take it! Take it now! Kill him!)

And you do. You swing your blades down in vertical motions, cutting his arms off, causing him to yell in pain.

“Take this, you son of a bitch,” you shout as you slice his legs with each blade, cutting them off and sending him falling to the ground. “This is what you get! All those years of treating me like shit and I’m the one on top I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

You continue to shout hate-filled declarations and insults as you slice Damian over and over with your blades, reducing the once proud young man into ribbons of meat and blood.

Once you get out of your rage-fueled blackout, you see that very little remains of Damian. In fact, had you not known better, you’d never know it was once a human body.

“Burn in hell, you little bastard,” you mutter before spitting on his remains. “You won’t be missed.”

“Damian,” Bruce shouts as he cries over his last child being slaughtered before his eyes.

(Now there is only him. Finish him.)

“So, that’s the last of your brood,” you mock as you sprout your wings and fly up to him. “And don’t think I forgot about Barbara. While I was busy killing your bastards, I ordered countless of the Megamycete’s roots to the Clocktower and had them crush her into bloody paste.” You chuckle as a thought squirmed into your head. “Think she’ll get her legs in hell, or is she doomed to be a cripple there, too?”

Bruce lets out a tearful whimper, but remains silent.

“Tell me how much you hate me,” you say as you pierce his lower torso with your blades, causing him to yell out in pain. “Go on, do it! Say how much you egret bringing me into this world! Shout at the top of your lungs how you wish you never met my Momma! Do it!”

“I’m sorry I failed you,” he whispers, but you’re able to hear it well enough. “I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve given you the love only a father can give his son.” He looks you in the eye and you can see sorrow, regret, and mourning in his gaze. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry for everything.”

Once upon a time, you would’ve given anything to hear that. You spent countless nights in bed, wondering how it would feel to hear Bruce admit his mistakes, to hold you in his arms and promise to never let go, to declare his love for you and to do better.

Now, however? It just pisses you off.

“You’re apologizing to me?”

Left leg.

“I don’t;t need your apologies!”

Right arm.

“You had your chance to do that and you fucked it up! Just like you do with everyone and everything you come in contact with!”

Just half an inch from his heart.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

After a few more stabs, you release him from his bindings and grab him before he can fall.

(It’s time to put an end to it all. Go. We will go on ahead and make preparations.”

You summon several tendrils and use them to gather the remains of Bruce’s children and bring down the dome so you can fly off into the night sky.

“Take a good look, Mr. Wayne,” you mock as you position him to face the tower behind you. “You’re legacy’s about to come crashing down.”

With that, you order the roots in Wayne Tower to begin taking out what little support structures are still in place, sending the tower crashing down in a sea of debris and dust.

This isn’t just about killing the Waynes, you need to completely destroy everything that would allow the Wayne name to carry on; if order to be free, you need to make sure that no one will ever utter their names ever again.

And after tonight, the Wayne name will die. Sure, people will still talk about them for the immediate future since your destruction of them will give people something to talk about for some time, but humans are notorious for having short memories.

How many statues of heroes are passed by everyday by countless people without so much as a glance?

How many monuments are talked about without anyone truly knowing why they’re there?

How many people learn lessons just to turn around and make the same one over and over?

In time, the name Wayne will slip from everyone’s minds before eventually being forgotten about. And with the Megamycete, you have all the time in the world.

You arrive at Wayne Manor and crash through the front doors, releasing everyone and sending them scattering across the foyer. From the second level, roots emerge from all directions, carrying various items, ranging from from jewelry and cash to vintage bottles of wine and priceless antiques.

“What’re you doing,” Bruce says before coughing up blood on the marble floor.

“Just taking a few things,” you reply as you take stock of everything the Megamycete has collected. “With everything you assholes have done to me over the years, I’d say I’m owed some monetary compensation as well as blood payment. You don’t mind, right? I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna need them where you’re going and it’ll be a shame for everything to be lost. Don’t worry, I’ll put it to good use.”

Just then, a tendril emerges with an unconscious Alfred in its grasp.

“Alfred,” Bruce shouts before you slap him with a nearby tendril.

“Shut up, you’ll wake him. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna kill him.” You order the tendril to stop and you look down at the sleeping man before, someone you once trusted with your life and secrets. “Despite his betrayal, I still love him, you know. He was the only one that was kind to me in this godforsaken place. The only one that the days here even remotely bearable.”

You bend down to kiss the man on the forehead before ordering the tendril to resume taking him outside.

“So, this is it,” you say as you turn back to face Bruce. “This is where you die: alone and surrounded by your children as your watch your world collapse around you.”

Just then, several explosions go off in various parts of the manor, both on the surface and in the Batcave, and with the Megamycete’s preparations complete, the explosions cause massive fires to break out all over, burning everything they touch and allowed to burn uninterrupted as the sprinkler system’s been clogged with roots.

“You know how they say it’s been a pleasure,” you ask as fire begins to enter the foyer from every direction. “It hasn’t. Burn in hell, Bruce Wayne.”

And with that, you march out of the house, closing the doors behind you and steeping back to watch as the place and people that caused you so much misery goes up in flames, consumed in a blaze that will never rival yours.

At your feet, Alfred makes a noise and when you look down, you see he’s still out.

(We were surprised you allowed him to live. It is as you said to the bastard, he betrayed you. He allowed your torment to go on for so many years. Why allow him to be the only survivor?)

“Because he was the only family I had. He made surviving that hellhole easier. I owed him one.”

(There is a possibility he will retaliate. After all, he loved them, as well.)

“I know,” you sigh as you watch a portion of the manor collapse, causing the fire to burn even more. “We’ll deal with that if and when the time comes.”

You place a bundle of the butler’s most prized possessions next to him before gathering up your gains and departing into the skies.

(So, what is next?)

“What?”

(You exacted your righteous vengeance and slew the Waynes and destroyed the monuments to their name. Where will you go from here?)

It’s a logical question. Anyone who ask you that after everything you’ve done tonight. You’ve thought about this moment for years, thinking it was impossible for most of that time, but now, here you are, still standing after all your demons have been conquered.

“That is the question, isn’t it? Guess I spent so much time thinking about getting to this point that I never really thought about what would come next.”

(Understandable.)

“But, with the Wayne Nightmare over, I’m ready for what happens next. Get ready, ‘cause we’re about to grab life by the horns!”

(We look forward to it.)

You awake with a slight start and when you look at your surroundings, you see you’re on the mini yacht you bought a year ago after that night in Gotham. You’re in your favorite folding chair on the deck with the sun setting directly in front of you, painting the sky in a beautiful assortment of oranges and pinks; you’d fallen asleep while getting some sun.

As expected, news outlets all around the world had a field day when the smoke finally cleared and it was revealed that Wayne manor had burned down and the famous family within had perished; many assumed Alfred had some hand in their fate, but he was eventually cleared of any foul play.

Your heart aches a bit at the thought of the old butler.

Naturally, the Waynes’ funerals were extravagant and widely attended by all, guests ranging from city officials like the mayor and Commissioner Gordon to common everyday people who said they owed the Waynes a debt of gratitude that will never be repaid and at the center of it was Alfred.

You approached him after all was said in done, taking the form of one of the many countless people in the Megamycete’s records so you wouldn’t be recognized.

“I’m sorry, Alfred,” you told him. “Not about what happened, but what it did to you.”

“I’m sorry, too, Master Y/N. I wish I had done things differently back then. I should’ve tried harder to get them to notice you, to make them stop treating you so poorly and to embrace you as you deserved.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him they were never going to accept you.

He moved back to Britain the next day and a month after that, he killed himself, claiming in a letter that he could no longer live with the weight of his failures.

You cried when the news reached you and visited his grave, which was right next to the Waynes. He said he wished to be buried next to his family. You refused to allow the Megamycete to absorb him, wanting him to finally know rest, and used the nearby roots so that his grave would always have flowers.

Of course, all sorts of reporters visited your house, wanting to know your thoughts about the death of your “family,” but you declined to answer any of them, your only comment on the subject being: “If I wanted nothing to do with them while they were alive, what makes you think I want anything to do with them now that they’re dead?”

With all the valuable things you looted from the manor, you amassed a fortune that would guarantee you a life without a day of work. You kept the cash and sold all everything else to Cobblepot, who was over the moon at the thought of owning anything taken from Wayne Manor just before it was burned down, especially anything that was precious to the Wayne Family itself. He said if he couldn’t do in the Waynes himself, he’ll just have to settle for desecrating their heirlooms, his favorite being the famous pearl necklace Martha Wayne wore the night she was murdered.

You also aided Lex Luthor in his mission to acquiring what was left of Wayne Enterprises, selling off every last secret you had that would allow him to turn the once great empire into another one of his subsidiaries. Once the purchase went through, he added millions into your already vast fortune. Last you heard, he was working on turning Gotham into Metropolis 2.0, tearing down all the older buildings and replacing them with gleaning skyscrapers made of steel and glass.

A small, petty part of you was glad to hear that as Lex would further speed up the erasure of Bruce’s legacy with all his new plans and his drama with Superman. Plus, Bruce would no doubt be furious at the thought of someone other than his family being responsible for Gotham.

With your seemingly endless riches, you bought this mini yacht and decided to go sailing around the world, a dream your Momma had said she was going to fulfill one day, but unfortunately never had the chance to see through. You even named it after her, that way it was like you both were doing it.

But that wasn’t the only reason why you did it. With you being the last surviving person with Wayne blood, many people wanted to ask you about your thoughts on the Waynes’ deaths, what you felt when you heard the news, and were you involved in any way.

You expected people to hound you, so you decided to disappear for a while. You still own your house and plan on returning to it, but escaping from the public eye and letting the drama play out before eventually dying down was definitely the smart thing to do. Plus, no one ever said they regretting traveling to see the world.

“Never realized how beautiful the world is,” you say as you pick up your glass of champagne.

(Neither did we. We look forward to seeing it with you.)

“And we will. After all, we have all the time in the world. And no one to stop us.”

You take a sip and lean back in your chair, content in the sunset at sea before you.

You look forward to seeing what this new chapter has in store for you. And if someone tries to get in your way?

Well, they say hi to the Waynes in hell for you.

Tag List: @lunaluz432 @type-ink @bat1212 @eyeless-kun @deathbynarcisstick @orbitingtraveler @1s3v3n1 @roseytheteacup @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @bellethesleepypotato @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @exactlynumberonekryptonite @paolexsstuff @fantasyhopperhea @c0l1fl0r @ellaprime7 @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @ratchetprime211 @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @bunbunbread @starsdotalk @luna57765 @solelifauna @jsprien213 @diejager @lizz-lrm @v0idl1nq @chericia @wizzerreblogs @tinybrie @creativechaosx @randomlyappearingartist @ferchu0406 @kik1010 @butterflycardigann @1-800-crazy @im-so-goddamn-tired @twismare

[stonesense]

I've been meaning to ask you about this and what do you think. Zevran tells us that he took the contract to kill Warden because he wanted to die. But then after we defeat him, he really tries to convince us that we should spare him, that he would be useful for us and just tries his best to not get himself killed. Why? Did he realized that actually he doesn't wanna die? Got scared?

some assorted thoughts on this

1. there’s a lot we don’t know for sure about zevran’s mindset going into that ambush. if him wanting to die was simple clear-cut intention, i think we can all agree there are easier ways to get that done than bidding for a contract to assassinate a warden and then hiring several people to set up an elaborate high effort ambush for that warden and then dodging lethal blows enough to get knocked out instead. so his goal isn’t just directly to die as early as possible. if nothing else, he wanted the “excuse” of having done as much as he could, the merit of having died fighting. and we should keep in mind that it’s even possible that while zevran is able to identify months later that what he wanted by chasing extremely dangerous contracts was to die, he wasn’t necessarily fully aware or fully admitting that to himself at the time

2. in my humble opinion, one of the first things you have to know to understand zevran is that surviving was, for much of his life, the core foundational pillar of his entire self-image, self-worth, and identity. the logic he was taught works like this: “crow training is brutal and many recruits die -> you survived it -> you are more than the weaklings who gave up or failed, and you are more than the cheaply-bought child you once were, because you have survived, and that makes you a Real Crow, a legend, Someone Who Matters.” he was proud to be a crow once. then comes rinna’s death, which is tragic because he killed someone he loved, but what actually makes it catastrophic to his worldview is that it proves this core logic false. rinna was a Real Crow who passed all the tests, too, but her life still didn’t matter, she died horribly for no reason and the crows simply didn’t care. he realises how expendable she was and therefore how expendable he is, still worth no more to his masters than the handful of sovereigns they originally spent on him. ANYWAY, my point is, as much as parts of this worldview have been torn down, it’s not going to completely go away overnight. the fight to survive is still so integral to the way his head works, and when you wake up in front of an enemy after being knocked out cold, you’re going to go with what’s instinct, what’s habit, what’s muscle memory. for zevran, that’s staying alive. it’s likely to me that he thought fast, acted on impulse, and didn’t feel anything until later

3. even if zevran was clear with himself that he wanted to die, the circumstances he woke up to were very poor ones in which to die. one might call a man of his profession an expert on different circumstances in which to die and he’s developed some standards, okay. i suspect that in his worldview, dying fighting might be acceptable, but being slaughtered as a forgettable helpless prisoner who just lay down and accepted it is a whole other thing. he still dreads the purposelessness of simply giving up; he wants badly for it to mean something. and naturally it was unbearable to do the “true crow” thing here and die before revealing any information under torture. like there’s a very specific course of action he was trained to take here. earlier in his life, he has been tortured, has willingly accepted that as a chance to prove himself, in the expectation that it would prepare him for strength in this moment. which is why for this new resentful post-rinna zevran, his first priority on being captured is to immediately cheerfully spill all information to the warden before they can even attempt to torture him, an incredible act of spite for which i love him so dearly. i think he very much thought this would be the last thing he would do before he died and it’s like as he’s talking through this (one of his toolset notes when talking out why he might join the warden is even like “this is occurring to him as he speaks”) that he first realises he is now holding a polite conversation with the target and may have a shot at something and hey in for a penny in for a pound, let’s throw a wild proposal out there and go all in and at least he’ll know he did as much as he could

[elodieunderglass]

Four things that I try to take forward from Terry Pratchett, when crafting cosy-feeling material with a bite:

1. You can - more or less - trust me. Sometimes I’m arch or flippant or frivolous. Sometimes I’m in a bad mood. Sometimes I’m catty, often sarcastic, and quite often motivated by spite or rage. But I am not seeking to betray you. My writing may hurt - often, what I want to write about is hurtful. But I don’t want to harm you. I am not here to be a bully. I derive no pleasure and no power from being an asshole. Since you know that? You can relax. You can trust me.

2. I like you. I am not the enemy of my readers. I am glad you are here. I like you and want you to be well. I believe in you. I also trust you a lot. I trust that if I write about things that are uncomfortable, you’ll come with me. But most of all, I trust you in return: if I fuck up, you’ll forgive me. This makes me braver than writers who have to cringe in fear.

3. Someone has to be the grownup (and I hate it when it’s me.) Terry Pratchett often wrote from the perspective of being the adultiest-adult in the room. He was a partner, a parent, a member of his community. He had earned wisdom to draw on. Reflecting strong experiences and lived character is a true, vital, brave characteristic of a powerful writer, and it shines. It isn’t just about “writing children accurately” or “writing old people on purpose” but that’s a hallmark of someone strong and brave; someone who has experienced enough of life to understand the interiority of other people. I might not be the best at this, but I try. The effect, at first glance, is cozy and lived-in. Zoomed out, you realise that such rich, rewarding textures tend to come from people with rich minds.

4. It’s fucking funny. That’s ultimately it. That’s where people fall down when they try too hard - they’re not funny. That’s why viral posts do well - they’re funny. That’s why a lie can run around the world before the truth has got its boots on - the lie is funny. Wherever possible, Pratchett was funny. Where he couldn’t be funny, he at least had the craftsmanship to be witty. Because people like to laugh, his work will create a good feeling in the reader, no matter how heavy the material.

Rich and funny stuff tends to have high re-read value, which makes it VERY cosy indeed. If it’s also trustworthy and wise, it will become a treasure over time.

I’m not claiming to live up to any of this, but if I ever get into a hole or corner, I try to remember how to be brave and funny and true, and I often get out of it that way.

So I've been thinking about a discussion over on the Discworld reddit recently

Basically someone was like 'Discworld has become my go to cosy read'

And someone was like 'Disword isn't cosy it's actually very satirical and can be quite scathing and not escapist fluff'

But to me I would also class Discworld a cosy/comforting read.

And I think the fact the series does go to some pretty dark places is part of why I find it comforting, because Discworld doesn't shy away from the fact that bad things happen and you have to just get on with it and the fact it's full of characters who are often kind of fed up with everything but still go and do the Right Thing anyway even if it's hard and I actually find that more comforting than if it was like 'Oh nothing bad ever happens' setting.

[mommyslittlebird]

Fixation

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader (HSG universe)

Summary: After a long day, Wanda has to calm you down using some unconventional methods.

Word Count: ~1.2k

CW: discussions of pregnancy?, womb fixation, Fruedian stuff, but it's all SFW

A/N: I don't know if this is anything, but I've had a shit day. I don't know if a womb fixation is a thing, but I'm making it one. Anyway, if anyone has a vacant womb I can curl up in for the next 3-5 days, give me a call.

Wanda had gotten very good at knowing all of your tells: the way your hands trembled when you were hungry, how your gate changed just a little when you hadn’t gotten enough sleep, your nervous habit of whistling when your mind was racing with worries. Tonight, however, she didn’t even need her mama instincts to tell her you were upset. 

You shuffled into the living room in one of her hoodies. It was massive on you, trailing down your thighs so far the pajamas shorts you wore underneath weren’t visible. You chewed anxiously on one of the too-long-sleeves, fraying the cuffs. Wanda had tried to break the habit several times, especially given your affinity for stealing her clothes, but eventually she’d just surrendered to the fate of wearing jackets with chewed sleeves. 

“Baby,” she cooed sympathically. “What’s wrong? Come here, pumpkin. Tell mama what’s got you all worked up.” She tapped her thighs, ushering you gently onto her lap. 

You curled up against her immediately, tucking your knees to your chest and resting your head on her shoulder. Wanda gasped in surprise when your free hand found its way under the hem of her shirt and rested on her lower stomach. Your palm slid across her bare skin, to her hip, then traced its way back to her belly button. You silently caressed the skin there until she stopped you, stilling your hand with her own. 

She had known about this little habit of yours for a long time now. It was a fixation of sorts that seemed to come in waves: you’d go months without thinking about it, and then something would happen and suddenly you couldn’t keep away. Whether she was cooking, sitting on the couch, or even sleeping, your hands and eyes would always find their way right back to this specific spot right below her belly button, where stretch marks spanned from hip to hip after carrying her twins. 

After carrying her twins. Not you. 

“Sweetheart,” she whispered, already preparing to defend whatever nonsense was about to spew from your mouth about how you’d never really be hers. 

You finally pulled the sleeve you’d been chewing on from your mouth. She knew what you were going to say before you even opened her mouth, but the quiet, broken words never failed to pierce her heart regardless. 

“It’s not fair.”

She swallowed, tucking your head under her chin and rubbing your back through the thick material of the hoodie. “I know, baby,” she admitted. “I know it’s not.”

“I never got to be inside you,” you said. “I never got to be part of you. I was never connected to you. I was never your-“

“Don’t.” Wanda interrupted, firmly, but not unkindly. She would let you have your mourning. She would comfort you through each broken explanation of the indescribable longing in your heart. But she would not tolerate any implication that you were any less hers. 

You stiffened and pulled your hand from her stomach, instead grabbing her shirt in a tight fist. “I’m sorry,” you sniffed. 

She kissed the crown of your head. “It’s okay, darling,” she reassured. “I just need you to know that you have more of my heart than anyone else in the world. And nothing can change that. I love you so much.”

You nodded against her chest. “I know. I just…” you sniffled again, “I wish I were made of love, is all.”

You laid down on her lap, shifting your position so you were pressed up against her stomach in a tight ball. You grabbed a throw blanket from the couch and tossed it over your head. 

“Maybe we can pretend for a little bit,” you proposed quietly, muffled slightly by the blanket. “That I’m in your belly and… and you haven’t met me yet but you’re excited to. And you already love me so much.” You poked your head out of the blanket to look up at her. “Or we don’t have to… if it’s stupid.”

Wanda froze for a moment, but then a soft, sad smile spread across her face. It was a silly request, really. Nothing she said could change what actually happened. It would be nothing more than a fairytale. And yet, when your big eyes peered up into hers, she couldn’t bring herself to deny you. She couldn’t turn back the clock, but she could craft a narrative for you to carry with you. She pulled the blanket down over your head again, cocooning you against her. 

“We decided to wait, your father and I, to find out whether you’re a boy or girl,” she started, rubbing over the thick blanket in slow, soothing circles. “Your father thinks I’m crazy, because I tell everyone I already know you’re gonna be my little girl. I can just feel it.”

She shifted slightly, laying down on the couch so you could lay on her stomach. “I call you my rolly polly because you keep me up at night with all your rolling. The only thing that calms you down is my singing. It drives your dad crazy.”

“You sing to me?” You asked in a quiet, broken voice. 

“Of course I sing to you, angel,” she reassured. “I sing… lullabies mostly. But what seems to calm you down the most is my operatic cover of ‘The Middle’ by Jimmy Eat World.”

You giggled and the vibrations spread across her whole chest, warming her from the inside out. She pulled you closer. “I’m craving… ice cream and salt. Not together. Most of the time. I already know you’re a sweet tooth and I already can’t deny you a damn thing.”

She sits in silence for a minute, trying to gauge your reaction under the thick blanket. Then there’s a sniffle and another whispered question. “And… and you’re excited, right? This is something you wanted to happen.”

“Oh baby, I can hardly wait.” She doesn’t even need a moment to think about her answer. “I’ve taken up crochet and I’ve already made you a blanket and some little hats. Out of the softest yarn I could find. Only the best for my baby girl.”

“And then- when I came out- you weren’t disappointed were you?” You asked, voice trembling again. 

“Disappointed? Oh heavens no,” she nearly gasped. “The moment they laid you on my chest I knew you were better than I could’ve ever imagined. You were perfect. You are perfect. My angel. My miracle. My special girl. I have never been so happy to be anything as I am to be your mama.”

You poked your head out from under the blanket and uncurled yourself from your ball, resting your head on her chest. You could feel her heartbeat and the vibrations of her humming in her ribcage, soothing and melting away the last of your nerves. She could feel your muscles relax as she ran her nails up and down. She craned her neck upwards to kiss your head. “Rest, my love,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You whined and buried your face in her chest. You could hardly keep your eyes open. She took your hand in hers and brought it to her collarbone, splaying your fingers out against the skin there.

"Goodnight, angel. I'll be here when you wake."

[florencebirdsong]

Soft Bunny, Warm Bunny, Little Ball of Fur

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Basement Bunny AU - Chapter 3

Summary: a good bunny deserves a good burrow

Tags: darkfic, conditioning, kidnapping, touch depravation, touch starved, implied drugging

Authors note: Here it is!!! Thank you for all the lovely comments they make my heart so warm. Please enjoy this new chapter <3 I haven’t read this chapter over as many times as I like to but I have work today and I don’t want to make you wait another 12 hours. Especially since I posted mid morning last Friday. I’ll try to go over it again tonight depending on how well work goes.

Just a reminder that this is a series of interconnected oneshots on how each rule is learned and not a day by day.

ao3 | masterlist

Chp. One | Chp. Two |

One visit, Mistress doesn’t pet your hair. She doesn’t the next time either. Or the next. Or during feeding time which has never happened before.

Anxiety churns in your gut. What’s changed? She hasn’t asked anything of you and you haven’t done a single thing different during her visits, or otherwise. You wrack your brain. There has to be something. Whatever it is, it isn’t bad enough for her to withhold food or water. Which means it’s small. But what? You can’t think of anything. You tug continuously at your shirt.

She doesn’t say anything on her next visit and you’re too scared to ask. Something has to be wrong for her to stop and you don’t want to know what she’ll do now that she isn’t taking away food or water. What will you have to do to make it up to her? What new command will you obey next?

You freeze as you realise what you’re thinking. It’s a good thing she isn’t touching you any more. She kidnapped you and locked you in a concrete room. What the hell is wrong with you that you miss it?

You shift your weight as you think about how long it’s been since you’ve had a proper conversation with someone, since you’ve experienced casual affection that isn’t being fucking patted. You try to give yourself some grace but it doesn’t really help. You know humans need to be touched but it doesn’t help the squirming in your gut. She is the only one offering it.

Or she was.

———

Many visits and many long days (weeks?) later, she enters empty handed. You’d been about to fall asleep but you jerk upright at the sight and press your back against the wall. First no touching and now bringing in nothing? Is there no command you can do to make up for it?

She sits on the couch. A mix of anxiety and hope has you staying in place. She hasn’t touched you in forever. What could coming in empty handed mean if not for that?

She points at her feet and you scramble over. She watches impassively. You stop exactly where she pointed, next to her instead of in front.Your hands shake and you press them against your thighs to try and hide it.

She gives you an expectant look and you slowly lean your head against her thigh. Your face never leaves her, looking for any indication that you’re doing the wrong thing. Her hand moves and you can’t help your flinch. Relief blooms in your chest when her fingers run through your hair. It feels heady. A craving denied finally fulfilled. You press tentatively then eagerly into her hand. She uses her nails to lightly scratch your scalp and you shiver. You knew you’d been missing her touch but now that you have it you have the scary feeling that you’d do anything to keep it.

You don’t get very long to bask in her attention before she moves. You reluctantly lift your head when she tugs your hair. She stands and it takes two steps for you to realise she isn’t heading to the door. Instead, she crosses the room and sits on your bare mattress.

Why is she— what? She isn’t meant to do that. She isn’t meant to go into the room that far at all let alone sit down there. You need her to stand up. You don’t want her to leave yet. What are you meant to do?

She raises a hand and you cringe back even with the distance between you.

“Come, pet,” she says. It’s been so long since you’ve heard her voice that you do.

You can’t bring yourself to stand when she’s sitting so low. What if she sees it as a threat? You don’t quite crawl towards her. It’s too much even with how often she has you on your knees. You keep your feet under you and use your hands for balance. It feels silly but you want to be able to launch yourself away if you need to.

Her hand stays raised and you stop just out of its reach. Her fingers curl and you cautiously tilt your head towards her. She didn’t pet you for nearly as long as she normally does and after so long without it…it leaves something deep inside of you desperate.

You move the last little distance and your eyes slip close as the feeling of her nails lightly scratching your scalp. A quiet noise escapes you at the feeling and you move insistently closer. You don’t realise how close until her hand moves to the back of your neck, lightly scratching your baby hairs, and your eyes flutter open.

Your breath freezes in your throat. She is right there. Half an arms length away. It’s stupid to be freaking out about this, you know it is, you’ve pressed against her thigh a hundred times. But it feels different to be so close to her face and you can’t help shrinking from her intense gaze.

The hand on the back of your neck stops you and you freeze when it squeezes, eyes widening just a little. It starts to push you down towards her lap and you panic. Her other hand grabs your shoulder and she keeps forcing you down.

“No!” you whimper and try to push yourself away using your hands on the mattress not daring to touch her. It doesn’t help. Her grip is strong and your body follows your head. For the first time you lay fully on her lap. Her hands keep you there — keep gripping you for long moments before one returns to its ministrations in your hair. Your heart beats a fast rhythm in your chest.

“Relax, bunny,” she murmurs.

How? How can you possibly when you are so close to her? You want to shove her away but the long days without touch make you just as desperate to cling to her. It makes you as tense as a taut string ready to snap.

“Relax,” that commanding tone returns and her nails presses harshly into your skin. They dig deeper every second you don’t and you force your body to go limp. Her hands instantly turn soft again and your body doesn’t know how to react. Your breaths are still sharp but your head drops to press fully against her. “A little more,” she says and you focus on your breathing. She doesn’t speak again until it evens out. “Good bunny.”

The last bit of tension in your body melts away. She doesn’t say anything else and you bask in the feeling of her hands on your skin again.

Eventually the soothing feeling of her fingers running through your hair and the warmth of her under you lulls you to sleep. You can’t bring yourself to be upset about it when you eventually wake.

———

It’s close to lights out when the locks click. You quickly move to kneel by the mattress. She doesn’t always sit there now. Sometimes she chooses to feed you from the couch and she still seems to like when you kneel at her feet by the door. But it’s easier to move to any spot from here instead of the awkwardness of crawling back to her on your bed.

She opens the door and you try not to show the shock on your face. She’s wearing sweatpants. They look high end but you don’t think you’ve seen her in anything that doesn’t classify as business casual. Excitement still flares in you when you see she isn’t holding anything. She pats you much less now when she has food or water. Although wariness wars with it, especially when she starts walking towards you.

You’re right to be wary. Instead of her sitting on the edge like always she gets onto it. Your fingers dig into your thighs as you watch her settle on the mattress against the wall. This is— this is bad, right? Kidnapper climbing onto your mattress is bad. And yet it’s a struggle not to follow her. She hasn’t been withholding her touch like she did before she first sat on your mattress which means she isn’t going to— she isn’t going to do that, right?

She pats her lap. You don’t move. You can’t. Even though you sort of want to. Being in her lap like that is nice. Being able to so easily fall asleep is nice. It being such a big jump meant she felt like she needed to withhold touch from you to make you more agreeable. You didn’t realise it at the time but you still spend most of the day by yourself. You’re bound to have some realisations. She hasn’t done that this time. Which has to mean she isn’t making another big jump. And that is a big one. An impossible one.

She raises an eyebrow. You shift nervously. You think it makes sense. Her legs probably hurt or something after a while. This will be more comfortable because she’ll be able to spread out. On your bed. With you on top of her.

You look away but your eyes keep getting drawn back in. She doesn’t move; her expression doesn’t change; she doesn’t tell you to come. It’s the same thing but a little different, you try to reassure yourself. And even if she hasn’t verbally said the words it’s still obviously a command. Disobeying means no food and water. Is lying next to her really worth that? No, not when you’re pretty sure (hoping desperately) she only wants to do what she’s always done. Pet you.

You put one hand on the mattress and then another. Her expectant expression doesn’t change. You swallow again. Your mouth is so dry. You crawl to her. Two seconds later you hesitate, kneeling by her thigh. Her hand reaches up and you resist the urge to flinch. She doesn’t like it when you do and since she’s on your bed you really don’t want to upset her.

Her hand curls around the back of your neck like the first time but instead of lowering you to her lap she guides you to her shoulder. You’re pressed right up against her.

You know she doesn’t like you being tense. You know that. But you can’t force yourself to relax. Her shirt is soft against your cheek and for the first time you can smell her musky perfume. She grabs your wrist. Your heart stops when she moves it towards her waist but she doesn’t go lower. She wraps your arm around her. Her other hand moving from your neck to gently run her fingers through your hair. This is…nice. You think. It’s not that different from before. You just feel more of her now. Pressed against her chest with your legs brushing hers.

Her nails scratch your scalp and you slowly begin to relax. This is definitely nicer. Her smell wraps around you and her warmth is so nice compared to the slightly chilled air. You don’t even twitch when her other hand begins to rub small circles into your arm. You slip into that hazy place between awake and asleep.

Sometime later it stops and holds your arm instead, giving a gentle squeeze. You hum a questioning sound but she doesn’t say anything. You’re too cozy to move and it isn’t like she’s ever subtle when she wants something so you don’t feel like you have to. You nuzzle closer, just in case she didn’t hear you. You forget it not too long after when she doesn’t move. An easy sleep calls to you and you can’t deny it.

———

You wake up to a blanket. It looks alien in this space. Purple and fluffy. You cautiously reach out to it half-expecting that awful noise to come back but nothing happens when you touch it. It’s soft against your fingers. You run them over it again and again in a soothing motion.

Is this your reward for lying against her and falling asleep? If it is then what will you get next time? A second blanket would be nice. You’d have one for the mattress and one to lay under. A third to wrap around you when you sit elsewhere? Maybe?

It could just be a one time thing. You didn’t get an anything from lying in her lap. Not an object, anyway.

You wrap it around yourself. The room is forever this side of chilly. It’s not a proper bed cover but it’s still warm. You pull your knees to your chest and rest your cheek on them. The blanket feels soft and comforting against it. For the first time you’re warm without her. It doesn’t feel better.

———

The next time she enters when you’re close to sleep she makes you kneel next to the mattress. You leave the blanket on it. You stay there when she gets onto it.

Your fingers twitch as she grabs the blanket but you don’t dare stop her. She lays it out on the mattress before sitting against the wall again. She taps her thigh twice and you crawl over to her. The same nervousness as last time rises within you but you don’t hesitate. You know you probably shouldn’t fall asleep again but it’s the deepest you’ve slept since waking up here.

You stop beside her, her hand curls around your neck and she guides you into her shoulder. Your hand goes automatically around her waist. You freeze when you realise what you’ve done but she doesn’t scold you. The hand not on your hair rests lightly on your arm and you slowly relax into her. She’s come in when you’re tired again so it’s easy to slip away in her hold.

She’s gone again when you wake up. You’re not sure how to feel. This time there’s a pale fitted sheet folded into a perfect square at the foot of the bed. You don’t know how she keeps slipping away without waking you up when you’re practically on top of her. It’s even more worrying that you don’t wake up to her coming back in. But what is more even more amazing is the fact that she’s been able to fold a fitted sheet into a perfect square. It’s the first time you genuinely consider if she has magic.

You give yourself a few moments to wake up properly. Your mouth feels cottony and your arms are wobbly in that half-awake stage. You rub the sleep sand from your eyes and resist the urge to burry your nose in your shirt. Her smell clings to you now. Will it stay on the sheet too? You pretend you don’t have that thought as you get up and pull your fuzzy blanket off.

Putting a fitted sheet on a bed without a frame is only marginally easier than with one. It’s made harder by your constant awareness of the cameras on you. You try very hard not to be aware of them at all but now you’re trying extra hard because you’re well aware of how fighting with this kind of sheet looks from the outside. At least it smells nice. The floral detergent smell is either very strong or you’re not used to scents anymore. Either way you’re looking forward to lying on it tonight.

It’s hard not to jump right on it but you manage. Mistress will be down with food soon and once you lay down you won’t want to get up. You lean against the couch and stare at how the new colour takes up so much space. The blanket is a darker colour and you spread it out on the mattress to try and contain it.

———

The third time you fall asleep against her you wake to a pillow. A bare one but a pillow nonetheless. You press your hand against it. It’s your preferred firmness. You position it in the middle of the bed feeling weird.

Time seems to stretch in between her usual visits. It feels like a week and no time at all when she enters wearing a different pair of sweatpants. You stay beside your mattress, eyes going between her and the pillow.

She lays down and rests her head on the pillow. Not even propped up against it but fully laying down. You swallow and nervously pick at your shirt. She raises an eyebrow and slightly lifts her head.

“Did you think the pillow was just for decoration?”

Your fingers pick at the seam in your pants. It’s not that different, really. You’ve already been lying completely against her when she was sitting. This would be no different.

Except she doesn’t guide you to lay your head on her chest. Instead she has you lay on your side and she wraps herself around your back. Her arms snake over your waist and pull you tight against her. Your breath hitches. Her nose brushes the back of your neck.

“Isn’t this nice?” she asks.

“Yes, mistress,” is your automatic response. You can practically feel her smile.

You lay like that for a long time. The usual sleepiness you feel under her touch nowhere to be seen.

Her fingers begin to make small patterns and you flinch. You wait for her hand to move. Under your shirt or lower. But it doesn’t.

“Relax, pet,” she says but you don’t know how. Her fingers over your shirt is much less comforting than in your hair and even the feeling of her warmth wrapped around you doesn’t outweigh that.

“Pet,” she says warningly but you can’t relax no matter how much you want to.

Her hand stills but that doesn’t really help. She sighs and her hand moves to your hip. She pulls until you roll over onto your other side. You look at her shirt instead of her but she grasps your chin and moves your head up. Her eyes are so blue and you’re surprised to see no ice in them. Although there’s only a hint of warmth in their analysing look.

Her other hand cups the back of your head and she uses it to guide you into your usual place, hidden in her neck. She uses the hand still on your hip to pull you firmly against her. You relax instantly. This is familiar. This is safe. You know what happens next. Her hand curls in your hair and you practically go limp, letting out a happy sigh.

“Is this better, pet?” she asks quietly. You nod and snuggle deeper.

It takes you longer to fall asleep than before but her hands stay soft, her fingers gentle in your hair.

——

You don’t notice it at first. It’s tucked under your pillow and you’re too busy fighting with yourself to notice it. You’re starting to miss her. And not just in the human contact way but in the I’m-sad-when-I-wake-up-and-you’re-not-here way. You’re more upset about the fact that you aren’t upset about it. You should be. You should be hating yourself for it. This is exactly what the movies warn everyone about when it comes to kidnappers. But all you can think about is her. Her gentle fingers, her soft hair brushing your sensitive skin, the pleasant smell that clings to her clothes.

The only thing that sates that annoying part of yourself is how you reacted to the spooning. Which is not something you’re thinking about. Falling asleep (against) next to her is hard enough.

So consumed in your self pity you don’t notice the reward until you manage to drag yourself upright. You catch it out of the corner of your eyes. A tiny bit of colour, different to your sheet. Pulling it and up makes it unfold into a rectangle. It’s a pillowcase.

You eye the it critically. The material is nice but you don’t see how it matches the fitted sheet or your blanket. But then your blanket doesn’t really go with the couch either.

Still, it’ll be nice to have. You stuff your pillow into it and try to ignore the pang of disappointed at how it covers the smell of your mist- of her shampoo. Not that you were smelling the pillow. And you’re only so aware of her different scents because there’s no other ones in here, of course. You fluff it like you’ve seen people do in movies and place it where she laid her head.

There’s still the constant chill to the air so instead of ‘making the bed’, you sit on mattress and wrap your blanket around you. You sit and stare at the pillow. It’s weird to think that this is your life now. That the thought doesn’t really upset you anymore. Being upset hasn’t gotten you anything apart from longer days. Life is a bit easier now that you aren’t alone all the time.

A couch and almost-fully made bed. A few more allowances and you’ll have a little apartment going. You smile like it’s a joke but something in your chest hurts.

You keep swinging between fixating on wanting to leave and wanting to see her. Both make you feel awful. You shut your eyes and try to picture the layout of your previous bedroom instead.

———

It’s hard to stay calm the next time she enters without an offering. She’s never given in to you like she did the night before. The chance of her allowing it again is very slim but you haven’t been able to come to terms with the new position. Which is so stupid because how is spooning so different to you curling against her side?

You know the answer to that. You’re ignoring it. You can’t face what your reaction to it means. You’re holding onto your indignation instead.

Nothing unusual happened during your normal food and water visits. So she probably isn’t fuming mad but she also seems to keep action and consequences to the specific behaviour they’re happening in. Still, she doesn’t mention how stiff you are when you kneel by her on the couch or the fact that you didn’t lean into her when drinking your water. You never risked looking at her face to see her reaction but her hands have remained gentle. That doesn’t mean you aren’t extremely aware of every second passing.

You have no guesses for your next reward so you don’t have that to distract you. The new pillowcase lost its shiny newness after her first visit today and your daydreams have been shit escapes from thoughts of her since day one. Your body keeps switching between vibrating with anxiety and being so heavy you can’t move.

You’re curled up by the couch when she comes in at the end of the day. You look up cautiously. The emotions of the day have left you exhausted. You don’t want to deal with the million what-ifs or thinking of every horrible reaction she’ll have to you saying no like last night.

She stops halfway to your bed when you make no move to join her. She gives you an analysing look. You put your head back down on your knees to avoid it. Only the smallest tingle of nerves remain. She doesn’t allow the silence to linger.

“The same position as usual, bunny,” she says. It’s the same neutral tone she uses for her commands but it’s still weird that she seems to be reassuring you. Does she actually care how overwhelmed you are or is it just to get you to behave?

You slowly lift your head. You can’t tell if she’s telling the truth or not but she’s never lied to you before. She doesn’t say or do anything else. She stands there and waits. You swallow nervously. She’s never lied before, you reassure yourself, and there’s no reason to go without for something you’re quite happy to do.

You uncurl and curl to her. She has always laid down first so you stop beside her. She gives you a brief pat on the head before lying down.

You kneel beside her and let her move you. The reassuring weight of her fingers wrap around the back of your neck and lay your head on her chest. You don’t even hesitate. Lying on her chest means more warmth if less skin. It’s an easy compromise compared to last night.

One hand runs through your hair and the other rubs small circles on your arm. You relax with a full-bodied sigh. Her familiar scent surrounds you and you slip into a deep sleep.

You see your reward the second you wake up. At some point your grip was switch out with it. It takes a moment to realise what it is since it’s a wall of white but when you shove it down you realise your arms are full of a duvet. A bare one like everything else you start with. It’s thick and looks like it’ll keep you warm which is good. You don’t need to guess what the next reward will be.

The soft blanket is folded up by the mattress which means you get to keep it. It seems she only takes things away when you’re bad. It looks brand new like everything else you get.

You get up and shake it out on the mattress. You climb back on with your blanket and sit, wrapping it around yourself. Now you can have a blanket you take with you as you change positions throughout the day.

———

Her next bedtime visit is exactly the same as the last. She tells you that it’ll be the same position, you slot yourself against her, and fall asleep to her fingers in your hair.

This time you wake up to a duvet cover. Another shade of purple. You now know her favourite colour. Or is it the colour she’s picked for you? People do that with their pets.

Putting it on is as fun as ever and you flop on top of it when you’re done. No second pillow then. Oh well. It’s not like it’ll get used with how closely Mis— she keeps you.

Not too long after you get the cover she enters with her hands behind your back. You’re curious as to what she would hide but what interests you more is the fact she’s smiling as she enters. It’s not a big smile, you don’t think she can do a big smile, but she never enters with more than a neutral expression.

You stay where you’re sitting since you can’t predict where she’ll sit. She stops a few steps in front of the door.

“Come here, bunny.”

You do. You kneel in front of her and try to peek behind her without being obvious. You can’t see anything so you sit back on your heels.

“You’ve been such a good pet I’ve decided you deserve something extra.” Her quirked smile stays and your curiosity grows.

When the silence lasts to long you remember her thing about manners.

“Thank you, mistress.”

She stops hiding the item. It’s a stuffed bunny. She holds it towards you and you carefully take it

“A bunny for my bunny,” she taps your nose. “Doesn’t it look just like you?”

You know she wants you to agree so you nod and look down at it. It’s fuzzy and small, barely big enough for both of your hands to go around it. And instead of a teddy bear shape it’s posed like a real rabbit laying down. Its fur is so soft. You’re grateful to have something new to run your fingers over.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly, something you’ve never done before. It never felt necessary before because everything you got had been a trade. But this isn’t a necessity or something everyone should have like the bedding. It’s small and cute and a gift just because.

That pleased look that you love so much returns and you ignore the darker one hiding in her eyes. Your fingers run over the soft fur and you bring it to your cheek without thinking. It’s just so soft you have to. You rub your cheek against it. The softness is soothing.

Realising what you’re doing in front of her you quickly lower the bunny to your lap. Embarrassment burns in your chest and keeps your eyes on the floor.

“Such a good pet,” she murmurs lowly. Her voice is almost husky.

The attention she lavishes on you that visit feels…firmer, more intentional. When she leaves you place the bunny in front of the pillow. No longer a mattress but a pretty little bed.

[loganficsonly]

i have an idea for a non-smut logan fic if you want it! people always use logans enhanced senses to hear readers pulse quicken around him if their attracted/nervous and him using it against them, but what about the other way around? like reader also has enhanced senses and can hear HIS pulse quicken around them and is always asking if hes feeling alright, if that makes any sense? no worries if you don’t want to use this prompt, keep up the good work!

this is such a unique and sweet idea anon! thank you for entrusting it to me, i hope i did it justice! also i don’t know why but this reads like a shoujo manga LOL 😭😭😭

title is a random memory of karlach's voice line from bg3. also might be ovulating which is why this got suggestive in the end... i am just a girl

making me sweat!

logan x gn!reader (let me know if it isn't!), 1.6k WARNINGS: suggestive, reader is a mutant and slightly oblivious for plot purposes, nicknames ("sweetheart", "bunny"), logan is prooobably a little ooc idk

The first time you notice, it’s a lazy Sunday morning.

You’re lounging in the kitchen, dragging your feet to make the most low-effort breakfast you can think of. Kitty is talking to you from her seat on the island—something about the meaning of dreams—while you stand on the other side, spreading butter on freshly toasted bread.

You hear it. A heartbeat, coming from the far corner. Its owner is the only other person in the room.

Logan sits there by the window, accompanied only by a cup of steaming coffee—black with no sugar—and wearing a thousand yard stare. The only indication he’s aware of other people’s existence is the acknowledging grunt he gave when you and Kitty walked in.

The sound is faint, but the more you focus on it, the clearer it becomes—as clear as your enhanced senses will allow, at least. Distant, but distinct.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He looks different by that light streaming in from the window. Peaceful.

A far cry from the first few months of his stay, when you could hear his nightmare-fueled groans down the hallway. Somewhere along the way, after a lot of pain and absolution, his turbulent soul settled down.

Today especially, he’s the unlikely poster boy (man?) for tranquility. Eyes half-lidded, sporting a cowlick, except it’s just his pointed hair that got crooked in a different angle. The steam from his coffee wafts up, visible in the morning light. He’s gazing out the window with a look that suggests he can’t quite believe in the color green that paints the mansion grounds.

Again and again, you’re slapped with the reality of just how handsome he is.

As if your heart didn’t jump the first time you laid eyes on him.

“The teeth falling out one, I’ve had, but hair? Ugh, that’s—hello?”

Kitty’s clearly talking to you, but it’s Logan who blinks.

And turns straight to you.

Catching your stare.

…You’ve been staring? Shit.

But then you hear it. His heartbeat, unmistakably hitching and picking up speed. Thump thump thump.

Play it cool. You offer him a small smile and turn your attention back to Kitty.

“I think teeth falling out is worse.”

“You can’t say that until you’ve dreamed the hair thing.”

As Kitty launches into a one-sided argument over the psychological damages of losing body parts in dreams, you over-butter your toast and wonder if caffeine’s effects are that dramatic.

The second time is at a mall.

You and Logan are chaperoning a bunch of younger students for a day out. It’s strangely crowded for the hour, but thankfully Logan’s presence is enough to keep the kids in line. They disperse happily, probably off to spend their allowance at the arcade or Toys”R”Us.

It’s hard not to notice his heartbeat when he’s standing right next to you. One glance at him, however stolen it might be, is enough to tell you that he’s stressed. Mildly, at least. Far from the kind of pressure that coils during a mission.

He looks nice in his leather jacket. You push the thought away.

“Something the matter?” you ask gently. He blinks, tearing his gaze away from the row of shops surrounding the open-air piazza to look at you. You stare back expectantly, head tilted to get a better look at him, as if you’re trying to run diagnostics on his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Logan feels a twinge of annoyance passing through the veins in his face.

How can you look so adorable when you’re worried? And what’s got you on his case all of a sudden? It’s bad enough that the two of you are alone on a day out (if you take the twerps and the general public out of the equation). Now he needs to be able to handle you paying specific attention to him?

“Lotta people, ‘s all,” he deflects. You nod, and for one second he thinks he’s in the clear.

Then you grab his wrist and tug. Once. All soft-like and playful.

The gesture’s innocent to the point of making him sweat. You point at a quaint-looking coffee shop, one with velvet seats and a table by the window, unoccupied like the rest of the store.

“It’s a lot quieter there,” you smile. “Shall we?”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t resist as you lead him into the coffee shop, hand light around his wrist.

The rest of the afternoon, the two of you sit across each other, knees almost always brushing. People-watching, quietly talking. Two drinks on your table. One yours, one his.

You stare at his cup. Black, no sugar. Then you tune in to his heartbeat like it’s the radio.

It’s still faster than usual.

“You sure you’re not allergic to caffeine?” you ask, resting your chin on your palm.

His brows furrow at the sudden question. “I don’t get allergies.”

“Huh.”

“Why?”

“Nothing,” you murmur.

The third time is when you finally figure it out.

There are no external factors. No crowds in a mall, no darker-than-black coffee. Just him and you on the balcony, arms leaned out past the top rail, two not-quite-normal people wrapped in a warm summer night, separated only by the ten inches between your elbows and flimsy sleep clothes.

“Can’t sleep?” you whisper, as if scared to break the quiet.

He hums. “Something like that. You?”

“Same.”

Thump, thump, thump.

It’s almost like his heart is out in the open, the way you can easily perceive its beat without having to focus. You’re drawn to it, at this point. God knows you’re always searching for it in a crowded room, always listening, always asking: is Logan here?

When you hear it, you can’t decide if it’s calming or worrying.

You turn to look at him. He’s already looking at you.

“Did you drink coffee earlier?” you ask.

He raises his brow. “Ten hours ago, yeah.”

“You don’t feel… weird or anything?”

He freezes visibly. There’s a silent beat, a little too long for your liking.

You frown. Maybe you could’ve worded that better?

“What do you mean?” he rasps.

“I mean—your heart, Logan.” You sigh, like just the thought of it drives you to an extreme point of unease. “It’s always beating a little too fast every time I catch it. Like you got arrhythmia or something. You sure you don’t have arrhythmia?”

You move closer, just by a hair, palm slowly coming to rest on his chest right above where it would be. What possesses you to do that, you’re not sure, but all you know is the drum of it worries you.

You feel it under your hand. Pulsing. Alive. Wild.

“I know you said you’re not allergic to coffee, but could it be that—”

You feel something hot and concentrated, then look up.

His eyes.

He’s watching you.

You realize you touched his chest without warning, as if the laws of personal space didn’t apply. He looks tense, and for one second you think he might be mad, but the blaze in his eyes betray an emotion akin to frustration. The same kind people get when someone misses an obvious point. A point spelled out in big red block letters—

Your mouth goes dry.

The only common denominator is never coffee.

It’s you.

And suddenly the world becomes a few degrees warmer.

“…oh,” you whisper dumbly, eyes wide.

“Oh’s right, sweetheart,” he murmurs, not bothering to conceal the bite in his tone. You try to move your hand away but he grips your wrist, keeping it there, close to his heart. He lets you feel the pulse of him under his hard chest, muscles rippling as he slowly backs you into a wall.

“You got a habit of listenin’ to people’s internal organs?”

“No, I was just—”

“Listenin’ to mine?”

“Well, yes, technically, but I swear—”

Logan leans down, the hand not caging yours moving to tip your chin up. Your eyes are pinned to his, brilliant even in the moonlight.

You can tell he’s not letting this go.

“You know what it means?” he asks.

You swallow, feeling a flush flare in your cheeks. Then nod.

Thumpthumpthump. It’s in your ears. It’s so loud. Is it yours, or is it his? You can’t tell anymore. The lack of distance between his body and yours blends the sounds together. You feel dizzy.

There’s a glint in his eyes that ensnares you. Dangerous. Decisive.

“You know, you’re not the only one who can hear heartbeats,” his low voice rumbles through your hand on his chest, reverberating into your body and making its home there.

Oh. Oh.

Then his hand trails up your body, infuriatingly slow as his palm treks a path to your chest, pressing greedily on the left side. His touch burns you up more than the sun.

“I can hear yours, too,” he breathes, sounding more and more like a growl, “and it’s faster than a damn rabbit’s. Faster than mine.”

“Logan,” you whisper, except the sound is so airy that one might call it a squeak. You’re not even sure what you want to say.

“You finally got it figured out, bunny?”

“I… I think so,” you breathe, clutching his t-shirt. The nickname doesn’t even fully register, because he moves down to kiss your neck, mouth open. You shiver at the sensation, feeling the upward tug of his lips against your skin.

His next words are murmured like a secret, turning your knees weak.

“Got some ideas to make it beat faster,” he mouths against your ear. “You’d let me try, won’t you?”

[double22]

THE DRESS Epilogue - Sophia Laforteza

Childhood bsf! Sophia Laforteza x fem!reader

Synopsis- You and Sophia are the complete opposite, she was a straight A student loved by everyone, and you were a artsy quiet skater. After going through a lot your love story blooms, to something big. And you reached the final step for sealing the deal which is a Laforteza Family dinner.

Warning/tags- fluff, non-idol AU, bad grammar and spelling mistakes, enjoying life, lowkey rushed

AN* Love this song, really underrated rnb, listen to it. Just starting writing fics so don’t expect much. English is my second language and I’m writing to improve. Thanks for trying it! I lowkey rushed it and Im a little sick so it might be bad sorry😬

Part 1 , Pt 2, Pt 3

The morning sunlight spilled across her face as she laughed at something you'd said, that soft, easy laugh that still made your chest ache in the best way. It was ridiculous how much you loved her. How much you loved 'us'.

It's been 6 months since the two of you started dating, and you wouldn't replace a single day. Enjoying every first's, The first date, the first sleepover, first valentines, even your first fight. Those milestones brought you and Sophia closer.

Sometimes, You still don’t know how you got this lucky. She could have been with anyone, but she chose you and every day she reminds you, why you’d choose her a thousand times over.

“You’re staring again,” she said softly, her voice half‑teasing as she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

You smiled, unable to look away. “How can I not?”

Her cheeks flushed just a little, the way they always did when you said something honest. She rolled onto her side to face you fully, hair falling into her eyes, and for a moment the world felt impossibly still just the two of you, tangled in sheets and morning light, like nothing outside this room existed.

Her fingers found yours under the blanket, warm and familiar, and neither of you felt any need to get up.

“Stay a little longer,” she whispered.

“As long as you want, princess” you said, pushing her hairs out of her beautiful face with your other hand, meaning every word.

It still amazed you sometimes, that she was here, that she’d chosen you. She wasn’t perfect, not in the way movies make you think someone should be. But she was perfect for you.

The way she laughed too hard at your own jokes. The way she knew when you needed silence and when you needed to be pulled out of it. The way her presence made life feel less heavy, less lonely.

“Don’t overthink it,” she teased gently, as if she could feel the thoughts turning in your head.

you squeezed her hand. “Not overthinking. Just… appreciating.”

And as she laughed softly, eyes half‑closed, you could spend every morning like this, staring, smiling, loving her, and it would never be enough. You wouldn't have enough time, theres moments like this when you wished the earth would spin a little slower, would allow you to enjoy her presence more.

But the world spins ahead, never waiting for your steps.

Eventually, the warmth of the bed couldn’t hold you forever. She stretched first, hair messy, eyes still half‑closed as she muttered something about coffee. You laughed and finally swung your legs over the side of the bed, the floor cold against your feet.

The kitchen smelled like morning toast browning, coffee brewing, eggs sizzling softly in the pan. She sat at the counter, chin in her hand, watching you move around like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You’re too awake for this hour,” she teased, yawning.

“You’re just not awake enough,” You shot back, sliding a plate in front of her.

She smiled, picking up her fork, and in that simple moment barefoot, tired, sharing breakfast in a quiet trailer. You felt it again: that steady, impossible happiness of being exactly where you belonged.

“Is your mom working again?” Sophia asked softly, munching on her eggs.

“Yeah, double shift,” You replied with a smile. “So you get to keep me all to yourself.”

She looked up, a slow smile spreading across her face, and for a moment, the kitchen felt like our little world.

You glanced over at her, still smiling. “Hey, since you’ve got me all to yourself today… want to go shopping later? Maybe find something nice just for you?”

Her eyes lit up, and she nudging you playfully. “You trying to spoil me already, huh?”

“Maybe I am,” You said, grinning. “But you deserve it.”

She nodded, eyes sparkling. “Alright, Y/N. But only if you carry all the bags.”

You laughed, standing up to clear the table. “Deal. And maybe you can pick out something I get to see you in.”

You guys finished breakfast slowly, the easy comfort between the two wrapping around like a warm blanket. Outside, the city hummed with life, but inside, it felt like our little bubble.

The sunlight filtered gently through the leaves lining the quaint shopping street, casting dappled shadows on the cobblestones beneath our feet. The air was fragrant with the scent of fresh bread and blooming flowers spilling from small storefronts.

She paused outside a little boutique, her eyes lighting up at a display of delicate scarves fluttering in the soft breeze. You watched as she reached out, fingers grazing the fabric, her smile radiant and effortless.

You stepped closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “That one would look perfect on you,” whispering, voice low enough so only she could hear.

Her cheeks warmed, and she glanced up at me, eyes sparkling. “You always know what to say.”

The both of you wandered slowly through the shops, her hand finding yours naturally, fingers intertwining with a comforting familiarity. At a flower stall, You picked out a small bouquet of wildflowers, nothing extravagant, but somehow it felt right to give her something simple and beautiful.

“Here,” you said, pressing the bouquet into her hands. “For you.”

She looked down at the flowers, then back at you, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Seeing her smile, brought one in yours. Maybe this could be forever just living life to make hers better. Yah you would love that.

The afternoon sun warmed the streets as we walked side by side, her hand slipping into yours without a word.

“You really don’t have to carry that,” she said, glancing at the bag in my hand. "I was just joking"

You shook your head, grinning. “I’m your personal shopper today. Besides, it’s a good excuse to hold your hand more.”

She laughed, cheeks flushing a little, and leaned into you as we ducked into the next store. The bustle of the market faded around you, all you saw was her, bright-eyed and laughing, perfectly happy just being together.

The two of you strolled side by side beneath the soft glow of late afternoon, “I wanted to tell you,” she said suddenly, glancing up with a shy smile. “There’s a dinner at my place next week, just family. I really want you to come.”

My heart skipped. A dinner with Ms Laforteza. you smiled, trying to keep it casual. “Sounds great.”

But inside, nerves churned. Her family was wealthy, far beyond what you was used to. Every cent you earned from your part-time jobs seemed to disappear on her: dinners, little gifts, surprise outings. You loved spending and treating her but that meant you never had nice clothes, sometimes even borrowing suits from Lara. How could you show up in their polished home.

Then you remembered the last time you met Mrs Laforteza, you were sneaking into Sophia bedroom in the middle of the night. Carefully, you climbed up, heart pounding, until, crack! The curtain was pulled aside, and there she was. Mrs LAFORTEZA right in front of you, her eyes wide with surprise meeting yours.

You froze. you probably looked like a burglar caught in the act. Instead of anger, she just stared for a beat… then burst out laughing.

“Is everything okay?” she asked now, sensing the hesitation in my silence.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. Just… nervous, I guess. Your family’s got a fancy place, and well, I’m not exactly rolling in cash. And last time with your mom…” you trailed off, cheeks heating at the memory.

She squeezed my hand gently. “Hey, it’s not about money—or perfection. They want to meet you. The person who makes me happy.”

Her words settled over me like a balm, easing the knot in my chest. And somehow, that felt enough.

The morning light slipped through the blinds as your alarm buzzed insistently. You groaned rolling over to get ready to go to school. School somehow became something you forward to, your heart racing excited to see your friends and obviously Sophia.

You quickly got dressed and picked up a coffee, as you skated to school already running late. Although your grades got up, some habits stick forever.

Senior year is almost over, with finals exams rolling out and graduation coming quicker than a heartbeat, and next semester you will be attending Berklee, your dream school with Sophia attending Harvard, the both of you 7 minutes away from each other.

The wheels of my skateboard clattered against the pavement as you cruised up to the school entrance, the wind tugging at your hoodie. you skated right past a group of teachers chatting near the door.

“Late again, huh?” Mr Bennett called out, shaking his head with a grin.

“Only on days that end with Y,” You shot back, hopping off the board and flipping it under your arm.

Ms Collins laughed. “Careful, or we’ll have you teaching the skateboarding class next semester.”

“Hey, I’m ready, curriculum includes ollies and kickflips, You're welcome to join anytime” you said with a wink.

They chuckled as you headed inside, the usual school buzz mixing with the easy rhythm of the morning.

Slowly walking down the hallway, making your way to physics class. AP Physics the class you dread. Passing that class was a nightmare, as the last 6 months you improved your grade from a F to a B+.

Opening the door with confidence that you don't even know where it came from, you walk in nodding at Mr Brennan and make your way beside Megan and Lara.

“It’s just devastating how you always manage to lower my expectations,” Megan said, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “How’s Ms. Lara supposed to learn with her role model showing up late like this?”

Lara rolled her eyes. “Yeah, seriously. At this rate, I might as well take up napping in class.”

You smirked. “Hey, someone’s gotta keep the tradition alive.”

Megan laughed. “Yeah, you’re basically the legend of being fashionably late.”

“Legend? More like the CEO of late,” you shot back, throwing my backpack down next to your seat.

Just then, a small rubber ball bounced off your shoulder. You looked up to see Mr. Brenan standing nearby, a sly grin on his face. “Alright, CEO of late, time to focus,” he said, tossing the ball again. “Daydreaming won’t help you pass the next test—even if exams are over.”

You caught the ball, grinning back. “Got it, Mr. Brennan. Full attention, I swear.”

He gave a mock-serious nod before turning away, leaving you and the others chuckling quietly.

You couldn’t help but notice the shift in Mr. Brenan ever since your grades started climbing. The same teacher who used to give up on you, disappointment edged on his face, commitments to a low, now looks at you with a soften edge.

He still kept his tough, no-nonsense edge, but there was less impatience in his eyes and more… respect. Sometimes, during lectures, You caught him giving a small smile when you answered a question right or stayed focused longer than usual.

It wasn’t just about the grades. It was like he finally saw you were trying, really trying, and that made all the difference. Maybe it was the best kind of recognition, quiet, unspoken, but enough to keep you pushing forward.

The bell rang, and chairs screeched against the floor as everyone packed up. You slung my bag over my shoulder and headed out with Megan and Lara, the hallway buzzing with lunchtime chatter. You guys grabbed your trays in the cafeteria and found a spot by the windows. As you guys sat down, you sighed, poking at your food.

“What’s with the dramatic sigh?” Megan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Lara added, smirking. “You sound like someone just failed you in life.”

You shrugged. “Sophia invited me to this big family dinner next week. You know, her whole rich family. And… I don’t know. I’m nervous. Last time I met her mom, I literally got caught sneaking in through her window.”

Lara burst out laughing. “Oh my god, that’s still the funniest story ever.”

Megan shook her head, grinning. “You’re overreacting. Her mom thought it was funny, remember? If they didn’t like you, you wouldn’t be invited to dinner.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “I’m just worried I’ll screw it up again.”

Megan leaned across the table. “Trust me. Just be yourself. They already like you, idiot.”

“Yeah,” Lara said, stealing one of your fries. “Besides, if you mess up, at least we’ll get another great story out of it.”

You groaned, but couldn’t help laughing with them. Somehow, they made it hard to stay nervous for long. And then Sophia walked in. She spotted you immediately, her smile bright as she started walking over.

Megan smirked at you, whispering, “Uh oh, here comes your fancy dinner date.”

Lara nudged you under the table. “Quick, look casual. Try not to look like you were just panicking about meeting her family.”

“Shut up,” You muttered, straightening up way too fast and nearly knocking over your drink.

Sophia reached the table, sliding into the empty seat beside you. “Hey, guys. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Megan said innocently, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Absolutely nothing,” Lara added, clearly fighting back a laugh.

You forced a smile, feeling your face heat up. “Yeah… nothing at all.”

Sophia looked between the three of you suspicion creeping into her smile. “Uh‑huh. Sure.” Then she quickly smiles "By the way, My mom wanted it to be special, so wear something nice, like that suit from the mixer"

You gulped down your drink, its formal now...wow you really are screwed.. "God, You love that suit don't you" teasing her to hide your nerves.

“You look so good in that suit,” Sophia said with a playful whine. “Like… you looked so delicious.”

Megan made a face, dramatically gagging. “Ew, can you guys be all couple‑y somewhere else?”

Lara chimed in, laughing. “Yeah, seriously. You don’t have to rub it in, I already feel single enough over here.”

Sophia smirked, leaning closer to me. “Sorry, can’t help it if my girlfriends hot.”

“Please,” Megan groaned. “Save it for after lunch.”

Lara pointed her fork at me. “You owe us both a double dessert for having to witness this.”

You just laughed, shaking my head, feeling your ears heat up as Sophia grinned at you like she’d just won.

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

The day came faster than you expected, your heartbeat racing fast and out of pace. The Laforteza house was even more impressive at night, all warm lights and polished wood floors that somehow made you feel even more out of place. You clutched the small gift you'd brought like it might keep you grounded.

When Sophia opened the door and led you inside, her mom was already waiting in the entryway, arms crossed and a playful smirk on her face.

“Ah, Y/N!” Mrs. LaForteza greeted warmly. “So good to see you again.”

“Good to see you too, ma’am,” you replied, trying to sound calm even for someone whose palms were sweating.

She gestured toward the doorway dramatically. “This is called the door, it'swhere normal people enter.”

Sophia groaned, hiding her face. “Mom…”

Mrs. LaForteza grinned at you. “I know you’re used to Spider‑Manning your way into Sophia’s room, but just for tonight, let’s stick to this entrance, okay?”

The whole table burst into laughter, even Sophia, though she tried to hide it behind her hands.

You rubbed the back of your neck, cheeks burning. “Yeah… lesson learned.”

“Good,” Mrs. LaForteza teased. “Now, come on in before I change the locks on the windows.”

The tension in your chest eased as the laughter lingered. Somehow, her joke made everything feel a little less intimidating.

Dinner turned out better than you could’ve imagined. The table was filled with Filipino dishes, kare‑kare, fresh lumpia, and the kind of adobo that smelled so good it made my mouth water before the first bite.

“This is… incredible,” You said, after your first taste. “Sir, you might’ve just ruined restaurant food for me forever.”

Sophia’s dad chuckled, clearly pleased. “Glad you like it. Cooking’s my job, but it’s always more special at home.”

Sophia leaned in with a teasing smile. “y/n cooks too, you know. she's actually really good.”

Her dad raised an eyebrow at you, interest sparking. “Oh yeah? You like being in the kitchen?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I love cooking, nothing on this level, though.”

“Well,” he said with a grin, setting down his fork. “Want to come back to the kitchen with me after dinner? We chefs have to stick together.”

Sophia grinned. “Careful, Dad, you can steal her for the night, but I’m not letting you keep her.”

You laughed, a little nervous but genuinely excited. “I’d love to. It’d be an honor, honestly.”

Her dad’s smile widened. “Good. Let’s see if you’ve got the hands of a chef, or just the compliments of one.”

Sophia gave you a small wink across the table, and for the first time all night, your nerves felt like they were melting away.

After dinner, Sophia’s dad led you into the kitchen. The counters were spotless, everything neatly arranged like a pro‑level setup straight out of a cooking show.

“Alright,” he said, looking straight at you with a completely serious expression. “Before we start… what are your intentions with my daughter?”

You froze for half a second, then forced a grin. “My intentions with your daughter? Honestly, I just came to hang out with you, sir.”

He didn’t laugh, just kept staring.

You cleared my throat, your voice softening. “I’m kidding. The truth is… she means the world to me. I love her and I don't know why she chose me, but I know that I will do everything to make her happy, to see that smile every second is what I live for. And as long as she’ll have me, I’ll love her and cherish every second I get with her.”

For a moment, the kitchen was silent. Then his lips curved into the smallest smile, like he’d just heard the answer he was hoping for.

“Good,” he said finally, nodding once. “That’s the kind of answer I wanted to hear.”

And just like that, the tension melted as he slid a cutting board toward you. “Alright, chef, show me what you’ve got.”

"Just chop these onions for me.”

You nodded, gripping the knife naturally, and started dicing with quick, clean motions. Years of cooking at home kicked in without you even thinking about it, uniform cuts, no hesitation.

Out of the corner of you eye, you saw him pause, eyebrows lifting. “Well, well…” he murmured, a grin spreading across his face. “Look at that perfect cuts, fast, clean. You weren’t lying when you said you liked to cook.”

You chuckled nervously. “Guess I’ve spent too many nights trying new recipes.”

He laughed, clearly impressed. “Kid, you’ve got hands like a chef. If Sophia doesn’t keep you around, I might just have to hire you.”

From the doorway, Sophia giggled. “Told you she was good.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, but for the first time that night, standing in that kitchen, You didn’t feel out of place at all.

Sophia’s dad handed you another vegetable to chop, still grinning. “Alright, let’s see if those knife skills come with seasoning skills too. Grab that pan, we’re making sinigang.”

You nodded, slipping easily into rhythm beside him. The two of us worked in comfortable silence for a few moments, chopping, stirring, tasting.

“Not bad,” he said as you sprinkled in the tamarind mix without being told. “You pick things up quick. You sure you’re not secretly in culinary school?”

you laughed. “No, sir. Just a lot of cooking at home.”

Behind you, Sophia leaned against the doorway, watching with a soft smile. “I’ve never seen my dad let anyone touch his kitchen like that,” she teased.

Her dad shot her a look, pretending to be stern. “Hey, talent deserves a chance. Don’t let this one go, Sophia. She might just out cook me one day.”

After cleaning up in the kitchen, Sophia led me upstairs to her room. The soft glow of a desk lamp and the faint hum of music made the space feel warm and familiar like a small world just for the two of you.

You sank onto her bed, laughter still lingering from dinner.

"I never knew your dad could be this scary," you chuckled, shaking my head. "He was nice when I was six, but this… this is different."

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it might be because I said I might want to marry you...”

You paused, locking eyes with her, searching for even a hint of a joke. I breathed out, “Really?”

Sophia’s eyes softened. “Yes.”

Without thinking, You whispered, “I would marry you right now.”

She grinned, teasing, “Hold your horse there buck, I said might.”

You smirked, pulling her close and wrapping my arms around her. “Oh, you’re definitely gonna marry me. Not might just must”

She laughed softly into your chest, and for a moment, everything felt just right.

Meanwhile downstairs, “Of course it’s her,” Mrs. Laforteza said warmly, but with a hint of hesitation. “She’s known her since she was little… I never thought she’d actually want to marry someone so soon, though.”

Mr. LaForteza chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, maybe we’re thinking too early. But I have to admit, she sure knows how to make a good sinigang.”

She sighed, folding her hands. “That’s the thing, Sophia’s always been headstrong, and when she’s sure about something, she rushes in without thinking too much.”

Mr. LaForteza nodded, his tone more serious. “We want her to be happy, don’t get me wrong.And I trust her and that she will treat our little princess right, she is —respectful, talented, and kind.”

Mrs. LaForteza looked out the window for a moment, then back at her husband. “I just hope she’s not moving too fast… love is important, but there’s more to life than just feelings.”

He gave a small smile. “True. But if she treats her right, supports her, and makes her smile, that’s worth a lot.”

She returned the smile, though the worry lingered in her eyes. “For now, we trust her. But as parents, we’ll always be watching out for her.”

Upstairs, You reached out, intertwining my fingers with Sophia’s.

“We’ll figure it out together,” you whispered. "But I will marry you one day, that is a must"

She smiled, resting her head on my shoulder, and for the first time, "You better go down on both knees" She jokes, her laughter vibrating on your shoulder.

You felt completely at ease like maybe this was exactly where you were meant to be.

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

A year had passed since that night in the kitchen, since the nervous dinners and whispered promises. Tonight, the sun was setting low over the ocean, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.

Sophia and you walked barefoot along the shore, waves lapping gently at our feet. Your heart pounded, not from the cold, but from what was about to happen.

Stopping, You took a deep breath and turned to her, searching her eyes for the same warmth and love that had carried me through every moment since.

Slowly, You dropped down onto one knee, then brought your other knee down, pulling out a small velvet box from my pocket. Inside lay a diamond ring—one you had spent every spare dollar saving for over the past year.

Sophia face started tearing up, already knowing whats going to happen.

“Sophia,” you said, voice steady despite the nerves, “Every second with you has been a dream, You loved me at my worst and my best. Will you make we the happiest person ever and... Marry me?"

Her eyes filled with tears, her smile radiant against the fading light.

"You're such a good boy," she joked, laughing as tears streaked down her cheeks.

You laughed, grinning wide. "Is that a yes? I’m literally on both knees here."

She smirked playfully. "Just like I planned."

Then her expression softened. “Yes,” she whispered, “yes, of course.”

You slipped the ring onto her finger, and couldn’t help but shout out, screaming at the top of your lungs from pure happiness. Sophia smiled at you, her eyes shining brighter than the sunset around you.

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

THE END

AN* thanks for following this mini series, I hope you liked it !

[fannyrosie]

Hello! I was wondering, do you manage to wear all your main pieces every year? I was going through my wardrobe and realized I have quite a few dresses I didn’t wear at all last year/this year, but I still really love them and don’t want to sell them. How do you come up with enough occasions to dress up and leave the house? I work from home so I don’t get out of casual house clothes every day. (PS- I know your health hasn’t been the best lately so I don’t assume that you’re painting the town every night, more generally wondering how to get more wear out of a large wardrobe…)

I definitely do not wear all my pieces every year. I also work from home (but I force myself to go walk outside almost every day). Some of my pieces are over-the-top, less comfortable or can just be worn in certain weather that don't happen often, which makes them harder to wear. That doesn't mean I don't love them.

But here is something important to remember: It does NOT matter if you don't wear certain pieces every year. There's this whole ~declutter~ way of thinking going on, mainly because of fast-fashion and overconsumption, that guilt trips people into getting rid of things they don't often use, but that only applies to things you do not particularly care about. Some people get into a certain style, buy a ton of things, get bored of it and do a whole wardrobe turnover. Some people buy whatever is on trend/popular at the moment, but they don't necessarily love it.

My wardrobe is big, not because I buy a lot in a year or because I do "hauls", but because I've kept a lot of pieces over the 20 years I have been into lolita fashion (and other styles). Each piece is attached to memories, stories and people. Yes, I've sold/donated clothes over those years, sometimes ending up regretting it, sometimes not, but except if I end up at absolute rock bottom, I'll keep my wardrobe. I see it more as a wearable and practical collection, which makes me less bothered by the fact that I don't wear EVERYTHING every year. Some people have collections that are much less useful and they don't care, so why would I?

Anyway, I could talk about that for a while, so instead I'll give you some ways to wear your clothes more. Any excuse is good to wear your nice clothes: going on a walk, to the grocery, to the library, etc.; just dressing up to take pictures at home; dressing up without doing a whole outfit with hair/makeup/accessories (that's always the part that requires more energy) and not taking any pictures; wearing your more comfy items just to sit at home; rewear outfits, etc. I document less than 10% of what I wear.

[mvltisstuff]

Hi💕

Love your writing so much. If you like it, maybe we can have Buck being very protective of the reader who is a civilian. Maybe like she is in a building, and it got attacked. Maybe she gets hit on and super uncomfortable. Whatever you are okay with writing.

Thank you so much. You are so talented❤️❤️

own it - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

a/n: so cute, love love love this idea and i am running with it!! this might be a little messy so i apologize but i hope you like!!

buck will go to the ends of the earth if it means y/n wouldn’t be hurt in any way. if she was safe and happy, he was perfectly content. he’d do anything for her.

her body fits right up against him perfectly that it’s impossible for him not to protect her. he wants her glued to his side at all times. not because he doesn’t trust her, he doesn’t trust other people. he knows how much of a catch y/n is, and he’ll be damned if someone takes advantage of her vulnerability on his watch. when she’s around, buck immediately turns on his guard dog mode. y/n practically has him trained like a dog to remain at her side whenever she calls. but, buck wouldn’t change a thing. if there’s beautiful y/n next to him that he loves like air, he’s choosing to be right beside her. y/n’s perfect for buck in every way, and he’s not letting anyone take her from him.

at first, he thought it was just the natural instinct in him to protect people. his job requires it, so protection was nothing new to him. however, the urge to protect the woman who is fully capable became unbearable. she was at the front of his mind for everything he did.

if he heard about an accident on the freeway she takes to work, he’d find another route for her to take. if she mentioned someone creepy at her gym, he would pay the cancellation fee and pay for her to get a membership to a nicer gym. he’d go anywhere she didn’t want to go with her. a lot of people have asked y/n if his defense annoys her, and she says the same thing every time.

y/n would never complain about having the perfect man treat her like glass. he treats her like a princess, and shes the lucky charm. he protects her life his life depends on it because he couldn’t live without her.

after both of them get out of work, they finally can go out and spend time with each other. this is when buck’s the most protective, because no one will ever hurt her if he’s around.

at the bar on this night, y/n sits on a stool at the table that her boyfriends team sits at. buck lingers over her, occasionally wrapping his big arms around her. he scopes the bar the whole night, making sure no one looks like a threat.

“baby, im gonna go get another drink,” y/n turns to say in his ear over the live music in the room.

“i’ll come with you.”

“it’s okay, stay with your friends,” she places a gentle hand on his arm. “i’ll be quick.”

he watches her walk away up to the bar. he knows she’ll be fine, but he doesn’t want anyone to try anything.

y/n waits at the bar, tapping her fingers on the wood while waiting for her drink to be made. her rings clink against the hard surface and she ignores everyone else around her, especially the heavy-set man who can barely see over his baseball cap but still has his eyes drilling into the side of her head.

“good choice, strong, though.” he says, tilting the edge of his beer in a circle on the bar. “sure you don’t need someone to take care of you after all this liquor?”

“i’m a big girl,” y/n replies coldly, not giving the creep the satisfaction of eye contact. besides, someone will save her soon enough.

“oh, i bet you are, hon,” he winks and nudges his stool closer. in the perfect second, y/n senses a figure behind her. it never startles her, though. buck would never let something happen to her.

his strong arms come down to meet at y/n’s hands leaning on the bar. she sees the tattoos and is immediately feeling better about the situation. one of bucks thick hands swims down to her waist, pulling her against him as her back presses into his abs. “you okay?” he whispers into her ear.

she steps forward to look back at him and put a hand on his cheek. “you’re here, so yes.”

“i smelt this fool a mile away,” buck grins into her as he leans onto her again. “like what you see, big guy?” buck flexes his huge bicep in the man’s face, watching with an envious look. “yeah, gone all quiet now. typical.”

buck leans in to plant more gentle kisses by y/n’s ear and moves down her neck as she accepts the drink from the bartender. she thanks him, and turns with buck to walk away with his arm around her shoulders. bucks side accidentally hits the man in the stool, splashing beer all over his shirt.

post date night, y/n and buck walked into the liquor store just to pick up a bottle of wine. may as well continue the night when they get home, too. they walk into the store, just in and out so they can head home.

y/n crouches down and buck watches her scope through all the wines. “which one do you want?”

“pick whatever you want, baby,” he says with his arms crossed as he steps closer. he tries to ignore the young boy that just came in, but he can’t help but feel alerted by his presence. he doesn’t care what happens to him, but y/n will get out of here without a scratch. buck taps y/n to stand up once she finally has one in her hands. in an instant, just by the look on his face, she knows something’s up.

“what’s the matter?”

“nothing, i just want you to be careful of that dude over there.”

“what?”

“i don’t know, just a bad feeling.’’

y/n tries to shrug it off. at least she has her bodyguard on the clock. buck leaves y/n for a split second to go check their other options. she’s still in eyesight, so he feels okay. there’s an eerie silence in the store. no footsteps, no bottles clinking, no one’s talking. buck peers down one of the isles, see if he might be able to get an eye on this guy. when he does, there’s a gun being help up to the cashier in silence while he frantically moves around the registers. buck’s face drops, and he is immediately dragged back to y/n.

“sweetheart, c’mon.” he grabs her hand, pulling her to the back of the store as his eyes scan around them.

“what’s wrong?” she whispers, unable to read the scene around them. “buck, you’re freaking me out.”

buck fondles the handle on the bathroom door in the back of the store, he finds it to be the grace of god that it’s unlocked. he gently but firmly pulls y/n inside, locking the door behind them.

“that kid’s trying to rob the store, but i’ll get us out of here.”

y/n’s face drains of color, and she pulls in as much air into her lungs as she can before her breathing becomes rapid.

“hey, hey, look at me,” buck places both of his hands on her cheeks. “nothing is going to happen to you. you’re okay, baby, i promise, just breathe for me.”

y/n listens, knowing there’s nothing else she can do. buck pulls her against his chest, knowing he’s the closest thing to peace she can find right now. ‘i’m sorry, i knew we should have just went home but i insisted on the wine, and now were trapped in this bathroom-“

“no, shh, don’t be sorry. we’re gonna be just fine, trust me. you know how much i love you and wouldn’t let anything happen to you, right?”

she nods into his hand on her cheek, the other on her arm to help her steady herself. her eyes are wet with tears that haven’t fallen yet, and buck wipes away the ones that have slipped out with his thumb.

the pair waits surprisingly not a long time before they hear sirens. they never heard a gunshot, which is good. buck never wants y/n to see something like that. a knock comes through the thick bathroom door. “LAPD, anyone in here?”

buck unlocks the door, opening it slowly with y/n tucked under his arm. they are finally led outside to the fresh night air, and y/n can finally breathe. her hand lands on her chest as buck rubs a circle on her back. “the cops wanna talk to us, and then we can go home.”

“okay,” y/n says with a shaky voice.

“wait,” he grabs her before she can walk toward the group of police. “i love you more than anything. you are my entire world and i’m never letting anyone hurt you.”

“i know,” she pushes up on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck as he wraps his arms around her body. her soft lips connect with his, buck able to taste the slight salt on her lips. their kiss does nothing but prove to y/n how much buck really means, and how safe she really is when he’s around. ‘i love you, so much. i love you.”

[bloomzone]

2025 : #28 goal setting 101: the version that actually worked for me .

If you're someone who never really knew how to set goals , if you always forget about them, lose motivation fast, or give up halfway through… then this blog might actually be for you. Because I’ve achieved about 90% of my 2025 goals so faaaar so I figured it’s time to share the real recipe for goal setting the kind that actually works.

1 . you need to think about your goals by yourself.

You need to think about your goals by yourself. If you’re out here searching “how to set goals” on TikTok or watching YouTube videos where some random girly is like, “Here are goals you should set: exercise, skincare, journaling, go outside more.. to have the best year of ur life" stop right there.

Because if you keep doing that chasing the MOST aesthetic MOST overrated goals that everyone else is setting you’re not going to achieve them. Especially when the only reason you’re doing it is because someone online looked good doing it. You’ll find yourself like, “OMG yes I’ll start exercising because this girl in the video is so fit, so maybe if I do what she does, I’ll get there too.” But you won’t stick with it because it’s not your goal. A lot of people think they can just copy someone else’s dream and magically get the same results. But every time you fall off or miss a day, you’ll start spiraling: “I’m not like her.” “I’m failing.” “Maybe I’m just not good enough.” and that mindset It destroys everythin

So please if you want to actually grow, set your goals based on you. What do you need? What are you lacking? What do you want to become?Stop letting TikTok trends or Pinterest girlies tell you who to be. Like yes if you really have zero ideas, it’s okay to look around for inspiration. But don’t just copy-paste a list of goals from some stranger on the internet and expect it to work for your life.

And I’m not even gonna start on the toxic “be like wonyoung” culture. You don’t need to follow a 27-step skincare routine, eat ONE APPLE, and have perfect posture 24/7 to feel like you’re improving. U won’t become Wonyoung or any other celebrity and you’re not supposed to.

So set your own goals based on your own needs. not on what some influencer told you to do. not on what seems “productive” just because it’s trending.

Ask yourself:

﹙ ✿ ﹚ What do I actually want?

﹙ ✿ ﹚What do I need more of in my life?

﹙ ✿ ﹚What would help me feel proud?

2. Set ur goals in the MOST smart way

So when it comes to setting goals I discovered this method that honestly blew my mind I don't know if someone else did this before me, but I'm gonna claim it because it worked so incredibly well for me. So back in November 2024 I was struggling hard with sticking to my goals. I had all these ideas floating around wanting to exercise more, eat healthier, read books, study better, spend time reflecting , go out w friends more ... but it was just this chaotic mess in my head that never led ANYWHERE.

That's when I came up with what I call the "Arc Method." Instead of having random goals scattered everywhere i organized everything into seven clear categories: Arc of Studying, Arc of Reading, Arc of Solitude, Arc of Education, Arc of Aesthetic, Arc of Health, and Arc of Joy. It's like putting all your goals into organized containers instead of having them scattered all over the place (u can create other arcs if u want !) , and why this method absolutely destroys the traditional goal-setting approaches is cuz our brain stops getting overwhelmed because instead of juggling twenty random objectives, we will be managing seven clear categories. Each arc contains related micro-goals, so your mind can process them as organized systems rather than a mess . Plus you naturally maintain balance across all areas of your life instead of obsessing over one thing and neglecting everything else.

The real game-changer is that this forces you to dig deep into what YOU actually want. Not what some social media gal tells you to want, but your authentic desires. You're organizing your genuine aspirations in a way that makes them achievable.

You literally sit down and write detailed "I want" statements for each arc, and I mean really get into it. Like for exemple Arc of Health: "I want to start eating healthier, especially with my meals. I want to start cooking by myself instead of relying on unhealthy food because I know I've been treating my stomach badly, but this time I will make my own meal program and actually stick to it. I want to feel energized after eating instead of sluggish. I want to build a relationship with food that makes me feel good about myself." For Arc of Education: "I want to master this specific subject that's been challenging me. I want to study smarter not just longer hours that drain me. I want to understand concepts so deeply that I can explain them to others. I want to feel confident in my knowledge instead of constantly doubting myself."

You HAVE to write these down yourself in full paragraphs like this. Don't just think about them or write short bullet points. Actually pour your thoughts out on paper with all the details, emotions, and reasons behind each want. I know it sounds HARD but ur brain is maybe full u just need to grab a paper and a pen this is literally the secret sauce. When you physically write these extended "I want" statements, they stick in your mind in a completely different way than just thinking about goals. Your brain processes written words differently, and there's something about seeing your honest desires spelled out in your own words that makes them feel incredibly real and achievable. It's like you're having a conversation with yourself about what you truly want, and that conversation becomes the foundation for actually making it happen

Then you add one major goal at the top your ultimate objective that everything else supports. This creates a clear hierarchy where every smaller goal either helps your major goal or at least doesn't conflict with it. No more working against yourself with competing priorities !!

my 2025 program if u want to know how it look like .

3. have some healing goals

Before you even think about how to achieve your goals I want u to know that a lot of people focus on physical or academic goals get the clear skin, get the grades, start working out, eat healthy and those are great... But especially in your Arc of Joy hear me out u don’t need to ignore your emotional glow-up. Because when life hits you, and you’re tired, drained, or burned out, those emotional goals are the ones that actually save you.

Let me give you an example : One of my joy arc goals was to go out whenever I felt overwhelmed literally just grab my bag and walk, maybe get coffee, sit in a park, journal somewhere outside. It might sound normal but it helped me so much during spring semester, when I was too “GROUNDED.” I barely left my eyes out of my books and I was burning out. But then I remembered that simple goal I had written in my note app : “ I want to go outside when I'm feeling overwhelmed...” So I did and it helped me breathe again.

So keep your goals somewhere easy to reach your phone’s Note app , your Notion page, anywhere. Re-read them often. And include emotional goals as I said because staying grounded forever It’s not realistic you’re a human. Ur emotions matter too taking care of yourself is not a distraction from your goals it’s part of achieving them !

4. How to achieve ur goals

Achieving ur goals requires confronting an uncomfortable truth that most people refuse to acknowledge SUCCESS demands RELENTLESS, sustained effort that will test every fiber of your willpower. The reality is that your brain is biologically wired to seek comfort and avoid discomfort, which means every day you'll face internal resistance trying to pull you away from the hard work your goals demand. Your dopamine system craves instant gratification from social media scrolls and easy pleasures, while your prefrontal cortex, responsible for long-term planning and self-control, must constantly battle these impulses. Most people fail not because they lack talent or opportunity, but because they underestimate the psychological warfare required to override their brain's default settings.

The difference between achievers and dreamers lies in their relationship with discomfort. When you commit to ur major goal you're essentially declaring war on your comfort zone, and this war must be fought daily not just when you feel motivated or inspired. Motivation is a fleeting emotion it's definition "When you feel motivated, you can get stuff done. When you don't feel motivated, you can't get stuff done."so DISCIPLINE is a skill that must be developed through repetition even when every cell in your body screams for rest or distraction. THE truth is that if you're not consistently uncomfortable, you're not growing. Your goals should scare u enough to make you question your capabilities, because comfortable goals don't require transformation they merely require existing. you must continuously increase the difficulty and consistency of your efforts to create lasting change.

For a long time I thought people were just being harsh when they said you have to “grind” for your goals. Especially on social media everyone made it sound EXTREME. But after six months of locking in, working, and seeing results with my own hands I finally understood they were right. If you WANT ur major goal to be a REALITY you have to work for it. That’s the only way. u can’t just daydream about it, scroll through other people’s lives, and complain about how hard it is. If you keep slipping, if you're not ready to grind, then maybe you're not ready to achieve it. That sounds brutal ikr but it's the truth I learned the hard way.

So don't pick a goal you're not prepared to fight for. Because achieving it isn’t about writing it down on New Year or manifesting it once during a full moon. It’s about doing the work eeevery day. That means sacrificing distractions, showing up when you're tired, and not mistaking one focused workday for a ten-day burnout excuse. Yes, burnout will happen and when it does, take the rest you need. But don’t start using that rest to escape your responsibilities. Rest with the purpose of coming back stronger, not slipping into avoidance. NEVER QUIT AT UR BREAKING POINT

If you fall 100 times this year fine get up for the 101. Don’t sit there crying over the time you wasted or the progress you didn’t make. Forgive yourself stand up and swear to yourself that you’re going to get it done. You don’t need to feel ready u just need to stop waiting for the perfect moment and grind anyway.

Because you know what’s harder than grinding it's REGRET. Waking up one day and realizing you were capable of so much more, but you let comfort, fear, or other people’s opinions steal your future that’s real pain nooo youtube video will hand u ur wins . Don’t let your younger self down. Don’t let the version of you who dreamed big when no one believed in her fade. I believe in you 🍀🪄

@bloomzone

[beccabloo]

As the light of dawn broke the lingering cloak of night across the never-ending sky, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third saw the village of Berk stand proudly (if not also precariously) ahead.

“Alright bud, nearly home.” Hiccup gave Toothless an encouraging pat upon his neck, his own body thrumming with anticipation of their arrival. Toothless warbled in response, likely more than glad to rest and gobble down at least two baskets of fish before falling into a food coma once they landed. Hiccup was tempted to do the same, eventually.

“I don't think I've ever seen you this excited to see Berk,” Astrid remarked, stirring Hiccup from his thoughts, Stormfly gliding alongside Toothless as they headed homebound, “Not without a single detour or some catastrophe chasing you anyway.”

“Ha ha.” Hiccup rolled his eyes, his voice as dry as Astrid’s speciality ‘roast’. As much as he missed Dragon’s Edge, he did not miss the communal meals, “Very funny, Astrid. I almost fell off of Toothless laughing at your wit.”

It showed how far their friendship had come, for Hiccup to flinch only partly in jest when Astrid narrowed her eyes in what he had learned to be playful. Would wonders ever cease?

Determinedly looking elsewhere, Hiccup coughed, forcefully changing the subject, “So far, nothing seems to be on fire. Or flooded. Or torn apart. I am cautiously optimistic that the others haven’t caused any major damage, collateral or otherwise.”

Astrid groaned, and weirdly enough, Hiccup swore he felt Toothless sigh of all things beneath him. Rude. “Hiccup, don’t jinx us. I just want to go home, feed Stormfly and myself before collapsing in my own bed until at least noon.”

“Since when have you skipped morning drills?” He teased, “If Toothless doesn’t wake me up for a morning flight at the crack of dawn, it’s usually you at my door with an axe announcing combat training.”

Astrid huffed, and Hiccup could sense her eyeroll. “Yeah, well, usually we aren’t up all night trying to find some weird glowing mushrooms for Gothi. Mushrooms that I am sure could have waited till sunlight to be picked after we found them.”

Shifting a little out of guilt, Hiccup stammered out an excuse, hoping Astrid would buy it, “Gothi is our main healer, you never know if she’ll suddenly need the stuff for something important the moment we return. Plus, with our luck, some smaller species of dragon would appear and eat it all whilst we slept. Something like the Flightmare, except you know, hopefully smaller.”

Astrid, evidently, did not buy it.

“So, you’re telling me you thought about the possibility of finding a new dragon by accident, and that made you decide to go home early?”

Yeah, Hiccup wouldn’t have believed himself either.

Astrid stared at Hiccup, her eyebrows raised high, but mercifully dropped the subject. “Well, we'd better get back to Berk asap then, so you can go and see Gothi right away.”

With some encouragement to Stormfly, Astrid shot past them, the shadow of her dragon slowly appearing on the sea’s surface below as the sun rose behind them.

“Well, we can’t let ourselves be overtaken like that, bud, can we?” Hiccup asked Toothless with a grin. With a tired but determined warble, Hiccup got his answer. “Alright, Toothless, let’s get home.”

~~~

By the time their dragons landed, the night had all but gone, although their village remained quiet besides the squawk of stubborn, courageous (and stupid) seagulls. But with the arrival of dawn, soon the residents would awaken and begin their day. For some, it meant lighting the forge to start the day’s work, for others, the fire that would begin reheating the previous night’s dinner, or perhaps a fresh batch of porridge if you were lucky.

It was not quite that time yet, which meant they would need to scrounge for themselves or put up with their hunger until they woke up to have the leftovers later. 

Although tempted by the latter, more than once their dragons had taken it upon themselves to provide for their riders when they heard stomachs grumble, which was, as to be expected, raw fish (and only sometimes with a bite taken from it already).

Both Astrid and Hiccup had wordlessly chosen the former option

As Hiccup unclicked his prosthetic from the saddle’s stirrup and swung himself off of Toothless, he stumbled, legs numb from the prolonged flight and his back more than a little stiff. To his left, Astrid was already stretching to unloosen her limbs and muscles, and he had no doubt she’d be as fresh as a daisy after some food and a quick nap. Hiccup, meanwhile, would be lucky if he didn’t wake up with an even worse ache.

Hiccup unhooked his satchel from Toothless’ saddle, which contained the mushrooms they had spent more than one night searching for, all carefully separated into multiple containers, treated to keep the moisture as long as possible. They would have made it back to Berk even quicker if he hadn’t been worried they would spill out and make all of their work for nothing. Astrid wasn’t incorrect that he wanted to return as soon as possible, and having to go back to the swamp was the opposite of what he wanted. 

“Hey,” Astrid called out, attracting Hiccup’s drifting attention, and yet she wasn't looking at him. With a nod of her head, he followed her line of sight, and there, growing ever closer, was a figure he was intimately familiar with.

‘Jack, he was waiting for me?’

The Winter fae was a blur of mostly blue and white as he sprinted over the grassy knolls. The image was almost funny. Jack could fly, and yet in his excitement, he hurtled towards their location like an overly excited fawn. Hiccup’s chest warmed as little dragons fluttered in his stomach, his eagerness to be reunited shared. They were long past what should have been the ‘honeymoon’ stage, and yet he knew their mutual feelings hadn’t dwindled in the slightest.

“Think someone missed you?” Astrid asked with a grin as she unclipped her satchel from Stormfly’s saddle. Hiccup elected to ignore her. He knew his own grin was particularly dopey and love-sick, but he hadn’t really cared about others seeing him like that for months now. He was happy and in love, so sue him.

Very soon, the details of Jack’s features became much clearer as he closed in, and yet Hiccup began to feel a nervousness of another kind emerge.

Jack was not slowing down.

And Hiccup was still holding a satchel filled with mushrooms he and Astrid had spent several days finding to return, and he was also very close to a very steep drop.

In his panic, he didn’t think to carefully place it on the ground first or pass it over to Astrid, and could only find the brain function to cry out with wide eyes, “W-wait, Jack! I'm holding-!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hiccup made out a flash of blonde hair swooping in to snatch the bag as it fell before his arms were suddenly filled with a familiar weight and the scent of earth, fresh mint and crisp ozone. Automatically, for it was muscle memory by this point, he caught the thighs that clung around his waist, and felt bare feet briefly dig in to the back of his legs with an affectionate squeeze. Somehow, they were both still upright; Hiccup was getting better at this.

“Hic!”

Jack’s voice was filled with delight, and when Hiccup saw Astrid holding the satchel, he knew the fluttering feeling present in his stomach was still very much due to the man he held, and not the anxiety of potentially losing the purpose of their temporary separation. The knowledge did loosen the tension in his shoulders, though. 

And she was still smirking at him with that knowing look. Rude.

Hiccup ignored her, choosing to turn his gaze up to meet Jack’s and wryly responded, “Well, hello to you, too.”

He was answered with an even wider grin, showing the most pearly white teeth Hiccup (and Berk) had ever seen. And then a slyness crossed Jack’s features as he leered, “Fancy seeing you here, Haddock. Come here often?”

The answering snort came out without permission, and Jack’s smile grew even more. Hiccup squeezed the legs in his hands once, “Yeah, you could say something like that.”

Obviously feeling ignored, which just was not done, Toothless warbled, butting his head against Jack’s thigh, brushing against Hiccup’s hand as he did so, reminding Jack that he too had come back as well. With a coo that he would swear he never made when confronted, Jack leaned, reaching down to scratch behind Toothless’s ears. As Jack never made any motion to let go with his legs, Hiccup didn’t loosen his grip. “Aww, did the most badass reptile in the archipelago miss me?”

Filled with affection watching two of his most important existences interact, Hiccup immediately ratted out his dragonic best friend, “I’ve never seen a dragon sulk like Toothless did, when he realised you wouldn’t be there to make ice for him to crunch, or someone to throw around when he got bored.”

The offence on Toothless’s face was plain to see, and this time Jack buried his face into Hiccup’s left shoulder to muffle his laughter. Toothless stared flatly at them both before turning his back on them, a fantastic example of his earlier-mentioned sulking.

“Okay, I’ll take this as my queue to leave you two love birds alone, shall I?”

Both Hiccup’s and Jack’s faces flushed; Hiccup turning red whilst Jack’s crackled with fresh frost, his nose and ears turning just a little pink underneath it all.

Straightening up his posture (and Hiccup readjusting his grip to accommodate), Jack greeted Astrid as though he wasn’t clinging to his boyfriend like a particularly sticky weed, “Hello there, Astrid, glad to see you didn’t murder Hiccup for what would likely have been a very reasonable cause.”

Astrid snorted, adjusting the satchel to cross her shoulder before pulling out her braid from underneath the strap, “I don’t have to try when he just about does the job for me, wandering into swamps and nearly losing his leg and himself trying to retrieve it. It’s a wonder all the hunters, trappers, and bandits we faced before didn’t just let Hiccup get to it himself.”

The body in his arms trembled as Jack snickered, and Hiccup looked to the sky for patience. “Yes, thank you, Astrid, for that. Didn’t you say you wanted to eat and collapse? I don’t see that happening.”

With another roll of her eyes, Astrid led Stormfly towards the village, but not without a reminder of afternoon drills. Great.

A silence fell over the two lovers as Astrid disappeared from view, and Toothless moved to the side, grooming himself, now over his sulk fest. Hiccup admired how the rising sun to the side of them made Jack’s pale skin and snow white hair glow with a warmth that usually could only be expressed in the way his smile met his eyes. The brooch he had designed and made as a courting gift clasped shut the blue fur-lined hooded cloak that Hiccup had also hand-sewn for Jack. It wasn’t the first time he had seen his lover wear it, but it never failed to tickle his heart seeing Berk’s resident Winter spirit wear his gifts.

And of course, there, hanging down in front of Jack’s right ear, was a braid Hiccup personally wove, with a bead that stated to all his intentions. Hiccup wore a matching one in one of his own braids, and he could feel Jack’s slender fingers fiddle with it right then. If they were sitting down, Hiccup could have fallen asleep like that, with his lover’s fingers in his hair.

“So…” Hiccup started, reluctant to end the peace that settled between them, but hungry for more of Jack’s voice. It had only been a few days, but it still felt an age since they last talked just the two of them. “Should I expect the place to be overrun with chaos and Snotlout as the new Chief?”

Jack’s mouth quirked into a grin before forcefully turning down, eyebrows narrowed playfully, mock stern, “Why Hiccup, I am aghast-”

“Jack.”

“offended-”

Hiccup tightened his grip on Jack’s thighs as he waved a fist to further emphasise his words, the two only wobbling slightly, although the cliff edge was still too close for comfort. “Jack, stay still-”

“-and appalled, that you would think that!” Jack finished, his attempt to keep a straight face falling apart at Hiccup's flat stare. He laughed, and Hiccup couldn't stop his own lips from turning up into a smile in response. Jack's laugh was infectious like that, “Okay, okay, but I swear I behaved. Ruffnut and Tuffnut, on the other hand, I take no responsibility for them when their impulse control goes and leaves for some expedition.”

Hiccup sighed with just a little exaggeration at the news, “I told you, Gothi needed some ingredients that only grew in damp, humid conditions and since the merchants didn't have any in stock. It was faster if I went with Toothless.”

“And Stormfly?” Jack interjected, eyebrow rising in scepticism. 

Hiccup raised his own eyebrow in turn, “Well, I've been made aware that I need some kind of competent company with my history of being kidnapped. Astrid, meanwhile, has a reputation for keeping her axes sharp and instincts sharper.”

“And no one thought that a literal spirit of Winter that could fly and shoot ice would be of help too?” Oh, Jack was pouting. That was just plain unfair.

“Hey,” with just a soft vocal nudge, Jack’s eyes flickered back to meet Hiccup’s, and there they remained locked onto one another; It was hard not to pay attention to anything else like that. It was perhaps why their friends were so exasperated when in the same room as them, come to think. “I promise I didn't think we'd be gone that long, past escapades notwithstanding. Besides-”, Hiccup grinned, “you were having fun with the village kids, I couldn't force you away from that.”

A drop of silence, and then Jack groaned, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” Hiccup asked innocently. Jack, however, looked unconvinced.

“Stop doing that with your face!”

Hiccup couldn’t help the laugh of disbelief that escaped him then, “My face? What has my face ever done to you?”

“What hasn’t it done?” Jack grumbled and then snickered shortly thereafter when Hiccup’s cheeks flushed. With a sigh and a look of resigned acceptance, he continued, “You make it so hard to stay annoyed at you, pretend or not. It’s those big ol’ puppy eyes, it’s an unfair biological advantage.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind then.” Hiccup quipped and felt Jack’s bare feet thump the back of his thighs once again in response.

The quiet never bothered Hiccup, not between them. Some said pictures spoke louder than words anyway. The way Jack looked down at him, eyes turning half-lidded, the snowflakes hidden within his irises partially obscured but no less brilliant when they focused on him. And when Jack’s eyes flicked down and back up, well, nothing had to be said.

Hiccup’s eyelids fluttered close at the silent request, and he felt the pale fingers that cupped the back of his head tighten their grip in response. Cold breath tickled the skin of his face, although not unpleasantly; how could it when Hiccup’s face flushed hot as his heartbeat quickened? He could only hope that, despite not having slept, he wouldn’t somehow have morning breath.

And then, within the span of a breath, Hiccup felt a pair of cold yet soft lips press against the tip of his nose.

Laughter, soft, sweet, and so very warm, echoed across the area, and Hiccup opened his eyes to playfully glare up at his boyfriend. He also did his best to ignore the tickle that usually foretold a sneeze.

“Welcome back, Hiccup. Missed you”

Jack’s words were hushed, as though it was meant only for Hiccup, even as isolated as they were. Nevertheless, it did its job in making Hiccup feel particularly gooey with feelings, “Glad to be back.”

Jack was a winter spirit, capable of treading air as though he were a leaf in the wind. And yet despite this, Hiccup still loosened his grip slowly, letting his lover’s bare feet find the grass before letting go. His hands lingered, however, and Jack made no move to untangle himself from Hiccup's embrace either.

The sun continued to rise, and the brilliance of the golden glow continued to spread across Jack’s features, his blue eyes reflecting the radiance as though it were the sea that stood far below them both.

The longer that Hiccup stared, the more Jack’s cheeks began to glint softly, frost spreading across them and his nose once more until it reached his ears. Hiccup couldn't stop the growing smile on his face if he tried. Reluctantly, as his stomach would very soon begin to protest if he didn’t eat something soon (as would Toothless, no doubt), their loose embrace ended.

Now side by side, their hands brushed once, twice, before they tangled together instinctively; Hiccup rubbed his thumb across cool skin, and he felt Jack squeeze back in return. The smile they shared was equally silly. 

Toothless, alert, and no doubt hungry for his post-flight snack and breakfast, rose onto all fours and galloped over to them enthusiastically to lead the way back home.

“So…what should I be expecting then?” Hiccup asked nonchalantly as they began the short trek back.

Jack hummed, and Hiccup only felt the slightest bit of concern well up inside of him. Ultimately, whatever happened could wait until he ate something and took a six-hour nap (hopefully with Jack joining him). That was future-Hiccup's problem.

“The mead hall has a brand new skylight just recently installed, very thoughtfully, by the twins. Really brightens the place up. Fantastic way to tell the time from inside, although not great when it rains. Or snows. Or hails.”

“Oh, I am sure my dad was thrilled by their generosity.”

“He definitely had some words for them, that’s for sure. Which, on a totally unrelated note, want to grab something to go?”

“Gods yes.”

[ibrakeforrainbows]

reminder if you think mike should be the one to break up with el/think he should’ve broken up with her a long time ago:

for el, breaking up with mike is difficult and sad. for mike, breaking up with el is dangerous.

el is the main factor in preserving mike’s perceived heterosexuality. she’s his shield, his cover, his defense for any suspicion anyone might have about him being queer. basically, as i wrote about will saying here:

el keeps it contained.

unlike almost every other teenage boy in the show, he’s never seen expressing any interest in girls (talking about how attractive they are, having posters of girls on his wall, etc) which could easily be clocked as unusual… but he has a girlfriend! of course he can’t be gay, of course he’s interested in girls, he has a girlfriend!

if he and el break up he won’t have that excuse anymore. he’d have to somehow find another girl naive enough (as el was when they met) to believe he likes her, or with little enough self respect to ignore the fact that he doesn’t. and he would also have to somehow keep her around for a long time.

i’m not saying that mike tricked el into a relationship just to be his beard. i don’t think he had the forethought to plan that out at 12 years old. but i do think he was heavily influenced by dustin and lucas thinking he had a crush on her, and blindsided by the idea of being seen as a “normal” boy and the possibility of less bullying. el was the perfect girl to get into a relationship with: not socially adapted to the world (therefore not understanding romance) starving for genuine connection, especially with someone her age, and dependent on mike for food, shelter, and interaction. of course she formed an attachment to him. to be clear, el was not and is not stupid, but she was essentially new to society at that time. by s4 she has more experience with the world, which is why she knows there’s something wrong in her and mike’s relationship.

the GA itself is a good example of how effective el is at protecting his heterosexuality. to put it plainly, mike isn’t actually the best at hiding his queerness. no, seriously, he’s uninterested or disgusted when talking about girls (see: the faces he often makes), has posters of buff men in his room, is framed as the odd one out when it comes to lucas and dustin’s growing desire for girls, takes el’s hands off his face/keeps eyes open while kissing her. the GA doesn’t see any of this just because mike has a girlfriend. his shield is working on the audience—he can’t be gay, he has a girlfriend! there were no signs, plus he has a girlfriend!

guys. mike would look gayer than will if he weren’t dating el.

i don’t think i have to explain why mike would want to hide that he’s gay in a conservative 80s small town. i’ll just assume you understand that well enough, and assume you understand how dangerous it would be if people knew.

does mike care about el? absolutely, just not romantically. i even think most of this isn’t/wasn’t in his conscious mind, and he probably used to think he was into el. you can convince yourself of a lot of things through comphet. el deserves better than this, but the fear that’s motivating mike to stay with her is real.

all this to say, imo it’s unlikely that mike is gonna be the one to break up with el, or if he is, it’s pretty clear why he didn’t do it sooner. he would be risking so so much. in fact, if he does break up with her it’s an incredible act of bravery.