#but I’m still mourning my parents
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
jewishbarbies · 4 months ago
Text
of course, being a child, you believe your parents when they tell you things like the republicans aren’t racist and why wouldn’t you? dad has black friends and you don’t know what racism is or what it feels like. they tell you being gay is new and it’s a sin but we’re such good people that we don’t care as long they don’t act like they’re gay around us. and it’s easy to believe when your parents have such fun stories with openly gay friends and you don’t know what homophobia feels like.
then you grow up.
you’re allowed to see a bit more of the world and other republicans don’t look like mom and dad. other republicans are mad they can’t say the N word, hate the idea of a black president because to them black means incompetent, and they vote against gay marriage. they hate mexicans and say indigenous people should’ve fought harder and believe muslims are all terrorists. mom and dad never said that.
then you start to see your parents a little differently. you realize that your mom has such a visceral reaction to gay people on tv not because it’s a sin, but because they’re gay and she’s homophobic irregardless of your religion. you ask her and she says she wouldn’t like it even if god himself came down and said it was okay. your dad starts being more open with you about the things he texts his co workers because he think you’ll laugh, but every mean and crude joke is soaked in obvious racism. he makes comments a lot about black people being entitled when someone mentions equal rights and complains mexicans stole his job because he didn’t qualify for a job he wasn’t owed.
for once in your life you actually get to talk to people of color and the queer community and even get to know your own as a jew. and you don’t understand. you can’t understand why your parents are scared of them and why your mom hates who you are and your dad belittles people of your faith. nothing makes sense. who are these people? are these really the people that raised you? how could they lie to your face while also telling you the truth?
and it hurts. your bones ache and you can’t breathe and you just wanna go home, but you are home. you are home, they raised you, and this is your life now. you know now republicans are not good people and your parents are republicans. and if they knew who you were, they would hate you, too. you know it’ll feel better someday, you like knowing you’re a better person now. but your parents are dead and no one ever taught you how to dig a grave.
11 notes · View notes
thedeviljudges · 6 months ago
Text
how bad is it to say you hate your mother lmao
6 notes · View notes
jdah · 1 year ago
Text
For some reason I want Suho to experience so much suffering that it nearly breaks him
We already know that his path is half-paved since he’s born with innate power (inherited from father) and the fact he got companions along the way - So even though he goes through hardship, he’ll constantly have the support he needs
But ngl I kinda wanna see (or just imagine) Suho going through a challenge so difficult that absolutely no one could pull him out from (that even his own father can only watch helplessly as his son gets carried by the waves of misfortune
that his precious son’s fate is destined to be the greatest sacrifice)
,,,,,,
I remember the discussion I had with a mutual — How there’s a charm in giving so much angst to a character for that sweet sweet relief of comfort (angst w/ happy ending) and it stuck w/ me 😭
I know it might not happen with SL:R but I can’t help imagine Suho reaching his breaking point - sacrificing his all for the sake of his companions/family and the only relief is a simple kiss that speaks “It’s okay, you’ll be okay, we’re here for you now”
12 notes · View notes
himblebo · 1 year ago
Text
Tomorrow I’m going to keep organizing our family photos if it kills me and then I honestly think I can never look at them again for my own sanity
3 notes · View notes
whatafirefeelslike · 7 months ago
Text
life has been kicking my ass so bad, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and it’s getting harder to push through but it’s just got to get better It Has To
0 notes
fantasmadelaciudad · 1 year ago
Text
i think one of my biggest fears about dying isn’t actually dying, (although it is pretty scary to think about) it’s dying and then being remembered as someone i wasn’t.
1 note · View note
foldingfittedsheets · 1 year ago
Text
I’ve always been a pretty good liar. As an adult I’ve come to a moral place in which I don’t use that skill set unless it will explicitly benefit someone. But when I was a kid all bets were off.
I think tiny child me was doing their little autistic best but recognized that some situations would be best navigated by lying as telling the truth never netted positive results. Whether it was because my needs often went unmet or ignored, or because I didn’t see any reason not to lie if it would be more favorable, I’m not sure.
This is the story of my proudest lie. The best lie I ever did. A lie that looking back I still go, damn, I was eight.
Our story begins in second grade. I was eight. My school was having a book fair and I spent my small stipend on Gulliver’s Travels. No idea why. Lacking further funds I wandered the fair and came upon the greatest sight known to man. Frog erasers. They were so cute and I was extremely into animals of all kinds.
The whimsy. Who could have known they made erasers in such wonderful shapes? I mourned that I’d spent my money already, and played quietly with the little frogs in their bin. That’s when I was approached by a few other kids from my class.
I didn’t know most of them very well, but enough that it was civil when they asked me, “Are you going to buy those frogs?”
“I’d like to,” I admitted, “but I spent all my money.”
“Why don’t you steal them?”
“I thought about that, but I don’t have pockets.” Indeed, stealing had crossed my mind but it had been a brief temptation. I wasn’t even scandalized that the other girls suggested it.
“Caitlin has pockets,” the leader of the pack said. And indeed, Caitlin in her purple overalls did have pocket space for two frogs. So Caitlin and I became partners. My role in the escapade was just... wanting frogs and walking out with her. We stole two frogs, a yellow and a purple, and united by the misdeed we played together with them at recess despite not really being friendly prior.
After lunch I was called from class to the library. The principal herself was there waiting for me. She had a somber air, almost mournful that she needed to punish me. It was self evident to me that I was here for frog crimes. Caitlin had cracked and taken the fastest route to forgiveness- snitching on an accomplice. Despite the fact that my role was just: wanted frogs, I knew I was going to be in trouble.
Now, I could have told the truth. Pulled a Caitlin and ratted on the girl who told us to steal them. But clearly I’d still be in trouble for having gone along with the morally bereft plan. I was mad at Caitlin for telling but not enough to foist the onus back into her.
“Do you know why you’re here?” The principal asked kindly.
“Is it about the frogs?”
“Yes, Caitlin told us you stole the frogs.”
I quivered my lip and drew myself up indignantly. “I didn’t steal them!”
She blinked at my vehemence but since I looked near tears she carefully asked, “What happened?”
“I really wanted the frogs, but I didn’t have any money. So I asked the librarian if I could take them and bring the money tomorrow! But she was really busy and lots of people were talking to her, and she said yes! But maybe she was saying yes to someone else? And I thought it was to me but Caitlin didn’t, but I was going to bring money tomorrow!”
The principal. Was flummoxed. This was a situation in which I clearly thought I’d done no wrong, in which she couldn’t prove I had done anything wrong, and which the librarian would almost certainly not be able to weigh in. She regarded me not with suspicion but rather vaguely confused as to how to handle me.
I got off with a slight warning that I should pay for things before taking them, despite not having been the one to take things in the first place, and the frogs were confiscated.
I was vaguely worried they’d call my parents but years later when I admitted the story to my mom as an adult she laughed herself sick and said she’d never gotten a call.
4K notes · View notes
shibe · 2 years ago
Text
hate to say it but….i am really sad
0 notes
wonderjanga · 1 month ago
Note
*slides an idea under your door*
Captain Marvel accidentaly convincing people that he's a widowers
*runs away*
Captain Marvel is a widower. It makes sense. He wears a ring(ref to my Accessories post), he always gets sad on a certain day, and anytime romance is offered he immediately shies away from it. Now, the JL or civilians don’t know this but the ring thing is just a memento to his father, he just gets sad on that day cause it’s their death day, and he thinks romance is icky. But Billy’s not going to tell them any of that. Not because he doesn’t want to. No, he just doesn’t even know they think he’s a widower. Even if Billy did know though, after the amount of certain things he’s said, he doesn’t think he could convince him that isn’t a widower.
Marvel and Junior: *arguing*
Junior: “Yeah, well boo-hoo you’re motherless!”
Supes: *nearby, gasps because he thinks Junior just reminded his father of his dead mother*
Marvel: “Wha- You’re motherless too?!”
Supes: *double gasps because he thinks Marvel just confirmed his wife was dead because everyone thinks Junior is his kid*
He told everyone that the Widower Marvel theory was true and now confirmed.
or
On the anniversary of their parents’ deaths, Mary’s feeling a little upset.
Marvel: “Oh, I’m sorry Mary. I… know today is tough especially considering it’s the anniversary of that day.”
Mary: *tearing up slightly but trying to hide it*
Marvel: *kneels down looking like a proper father* “But, I want you to know that if you feel upset, you can always come to me. We can mourn together. That’s better than doing it alone, isn’t it?
Mary: *getting flashbacks from how their dad would also kneel down to comfort them which only makes her wanna cry more* “Yeah, okay.”
Wondy: *just happened to see this happening and thinks this is both simultaneously adorable and heartbreaking*
or
Junior and Marvel were in a rec room looking at a dress they’d placed on a table. They were arguing which one of them should wear it because they needed one of them needed to shapeshift into a girl for something stupid they planned to do later.
Marvel and Junior: *still arguing*
Flash: *walked in and sees the dress* “Who’s dress is that?”
Marvel: *startles and is trying to come up with an excuse for why a grown man and a somewhat little boy have a dress* “This uh…”
Junior: *wants to stir up some drama* “His wife. This dress belonged to his wife.”
Marvel: “Yeah, my wife- WAIT MY WHAT?”
Junior: “Me and Mary’s mom remember? The woman you married?” *does a little winky wink to convey that he wants him to go along with it*
Marvel: *gives him the most scandalized look*
Flash: *thinks the scandal is just him being upset that Junior is sharing something about their civilian lives* “Oh I see… uh my bad for intruding on your mourning…?”
Marvel and Junior: *in unison* “What?”
440 notes · View notes
Text
DPXDC prompt ~ Honor to Us All ~ Gotham as one true the most haunted city edition
~~~~~
Instead of a welcoming banner in front of a city was an old column, so familiar to a boy, with a warning inscription:
"To outsiders mad enough to attack Gotham: You will be forced to understand that dead soldiers will also go into battle. And having risen to protect, they will be ready to perish all again, So no one of the living would die near them."
Danny smiled with love. 'I’m home, Mother.' Ghost whispered into the void. And Gotham answered.
~~~~
Danny: My Lady, I brought you the crown of Pariah Dark. And The Ring of Rage. They’re gifts to honor the Gotham family. Lady Gotham: The greatest gift and honor is having you on my side, child.
~~~~~
Danny Fenton was born in Gotham and lived here until his parents decided to move. The city didn’t accept them.
'When I die, I want to be one of the Gotham Knights.' Little Danny with pride and eagerly reported to his parents after visiting the Battle Glory of Gotham Museum on a school trip. This evening, Danny learned that not all his plans should be told to his parents.
Danny know his parents are crazy about ghosts. and that all ghosts are "bad". But obviously, the ghosts they talk about, and his, or rather Gotham's, ghosts are completely different creatures. The spirits of the defenders are those who, even in the darkest of times, make the shadows of the Gotham a protection to the citizens.
But that knowledge is his little secret for now. Because if he starts arguing he’ll be punished and he won’t be able to run off to the roof where he’s arranged to meet Robin. Robin’s cool! He works with one of the 'still-living' knights. And he knows more about the city than anyone. Danny doesn’t want to offend his friend.
~~~~~
Mr Lancer doesn’t understand why the lecturer about ghosts, Constantine, after seeing Danny, said something about the bloody gothamites and their inability to stay underground. It wasn’t nice at all. Mr Lancer doesn’t blame Mr Fenton for smiling at the man a little aggressive and viciously. Poor boy probably didn’t know how to respond to his behavior. Danny moved to Amity Park a long time ago and did not stand out at all. So what was this man’s problem?
Danny only half dies because Lady Gotham blessed him when he was a child. So when Danny sees snow-white hair and glowing green eyes in the mirror, he is not frightened but surprised that the Lady protected him even though he is not living in Gotham now.
~~~~~
Danny knows gothamites don’t consider that Gotham is a part of the USA. Even their Metropolis neighbors are just pathetic cowards, unable to withstand the hardships of life. No, really. Why the hell would they be patriots of the country that thinks they’re its dirty secret? This opinion is shared by old ones and children, rich ones and residents of Crime Alley, heroes and villains.
Danny loves Gotham. And he likes local jokes about how if one of their supervillains ever took power enough to threaten the government, he would be obliged to release them from that citizenship. Otherwise, he would be shamed and ridiculed by the inhabitants.
Phantom is not a villain. But for Gotham? For their common purpose? He is ready to pretend to be.
~ A ghost can bring his city ~ Great honor in one way ~
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Gothamites remember that the child of mad scientists was the only person Boy Wonder was willing to call a friend. They remember how boys' laughter was heard from rooftops and from alleys on particularly dark nights. And they know whose restless spirit has returned to mourn the death of the second Robin.
The boy’s parents must be fools. Many outsiders are. They call their blessing a curse. People die in Gotham. And not all of them come back. Residents know that these ones are chosen by Lady Gotham herself.
The public enemy of Amity Park number 1? What nonsense. He is not theirs anything! In Gotham they will accept the Phantom as a guard, as a silent shadow, as a villain or a hero. In any kind. Because he belongs here. He should be part of their dance between life and death. He should be amidst dark alleys and acid rains, gliding between fear and laughter in the air.
Even local villains experience strange yearning. Like something’s wrong. Like a piece of a puzzle that’s lost. Therefore, the local abandoned observatory is empty, and none of them is in a hurry to call it their territory. Because it will be in demand, it will be loved and needed. It’s only a matter of time.
Let the spirit of Gotham guide you home, child. Dead gothamite is still gothamite. Which means there will always be a place for you.
~~~~~
When Danny first enters his favorite cafe in his Phantom form and with a wound on his leg, he doesn’t expect a cleaning lady to yell at him immediately for the blood on the floor. With a mop in his hands and with already bandaged leg, Danny feels as if all his worries had gone. They are not afraid of him. Of course. No one in Gotham would avoid him because of glowing eyes and sharp teeth. And that’s nice.
The waitress throws a tray of food on a table next to him: Welcome dinner for the wandering son of the alley. Red Hood said it's your usual order. He’ll be waiting for you on the gargoyle. You should know which one.
~~~~
If parents listened to his childhood stories about good ghosts, they would know that the Phantom is not special. He is not an anomaly of ghost nature and not a mistake. He is one of many who always were and will be defenders of the city. Danny stands in front of the costume that he admired years ago. He's ready to take another shift at work. The remains of his colleagues can rest quietly this night. Lady will wake them only when in dire need.
4K notes · View notes
nervoushottee · 7 months ago
Text
never like this | eddie munson x fem!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Summary: your house never feels like home, but Eddie does.
Note: idk what’s happening but I’m on a roll guys and I’m not going to jinx it. Enjoy some cute fluff domestic bliss and love with Eddie!! MWAH
*listened to Rachel Chinouriri- So My Darling on REPEAT while writing this*
**not edited**
Tumblr media
The morning was still early.
The simple sounds of the mourning dove’s call and Eddie’s snoring filled your ears as you slowly woke. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you feel the gentle grip of Eddie’s hand against your waist from your sudden movements. He’s still asleep, his body just subconsciously making sure you were still there in his bed. Not already putting your clothes back on to go home or head to work.
Your smile softly at the thought. Kissing the closet patch of his skin that you could find. Lips meeting the ink covered skin of his arm.
The sun peeking through the tapestry covered window. Slowly but surely starting to warm the trailer from the cool night air. It never felt like this. You could see small specks of dust dancing around in the rays of sun. You hands itching to stretch out and touch as if it was something physical. Your heart felt warm and you felt safe.
You feel Eddie move from behind you. You know this isn’t a small little shift in his body from sleeping. He was awake.
“You snore in your sleep.” you whisper.
“Shut up.” he grumbles against the back of your shoulder.
You snort, turning around to fully face him. His hair was all over the place and messy. His eyes squinty from just waking up and the yellow sunlight peeking into his room. Despite the sleepiness in his eyes and the annoyance in his voice from your words. He smiled at you.
A soft sleepy smile that made his eyes nearly close from how low they were in the first place.
You feel his hand that was on your waist glide up beneath his shirt you wore to sleep the night before and against your back. His hand bigger and warmer than yours as he affectionately rubs your back up and down. Melting your heart even more than it already was this morning.
“It’s never like this.” you mutter out
“Hm?”
“Back home. It never feels like this.” You tell him quietly almost as if you spoke any louder Wayne would hear you all the way at his work desk.
And of the things you liked the most about Eddie; Is how attentive he is. It doesn’t matter what it was, but Eddie never not paid attention to something (unless he was doing it on purpose). He read people very easily. Picked up on nonverbal cues and even when you said things that had a bigger meaning. This was one of those times.
Eddie knew what you were talking about. He didn’t have to ask you to elaborate or confused on what you even meant.
Your family was well off. Like, really well off. Your parents were friends with Steve's parents. Your house being three doors down from his, he’s practically like a brother to you. Living in a three story house that came with a basement bar and an outdoor pool. A chef that would come once every two weeks to cook you food if your parents were out of town for too long. Enough money that you could probably buy out Family Video if you wanted. You would think that it would feel perfect. That there's was nothing else you could want or ever need. And it was true, you had enough. That house had everything you would need to last a year without your parents if need be. But it wasn’t a home.
This was home.
Waking up in Eddie’s bed in the morning. Or getting up in the middle of the night to go use the restroom and seeing Wayne in the dimly lit kitchen when you were out. Quietly sipping on cups of hot coffee and whispering stories about the shaggy haired boy down the hall. (Wayne could only sneak and drink coffee. Ever since Eddie found out that the doctor suggested Wayne cut out caffeine for his heart. Eddie has been very strict about it.)
Home was walking over to Max’s trailer for her to help you teach her how to skateboard as Eddie work on his van. It was sitting on the trailer steps side by side, Leaning into Eddie’s shirt stained with car grease as you share an icecream from the icecream truck. Home was crying in the shower as Eddie held you whenever you thought about nights you wished you would forget.
This was home.
Despite not elaborating on your words. You could feel the understanding in Eddie’s eyes. You could see the warm hints of pink grow on his cheeks and just a bit down his neck. His smile turns more soft and serene as he continues to watch you fidget with the bedsheet.
He knows you feel nervous, to say this out loud and in front of him. He knew you didn’t want to put anything on this yet, and he would never push you. But to hear those words come out of your mouth made him feel like he would never need the formalities. To never have the “What are we?” talk. As long as it felt like this. As long as you kept looking at him with such adoration in your eyes. He would honestly die happy.
“So. Is it me or is it just my bitchin’ trailer?” he mumbles. His voice is low and groggy, filled with sleep as his smile grows into a smirk.
You scoff out at laugh and roll your eyes. Turning away so your back is against his chest. The original position you were in before you woke up. You grab his hand, place it beneath your shirt and against your chest. Eddie can feel your heart beating slow and steady. A calm pace that makes his own heart flutter at the peace you feel within his presence.
What makes him nearly say the three words that would probably ruin it all is when he feels you place your hand on top of his. His heart melts as he hears you let out a deep sigh. A known indication to him that you are relaxed and more than likely will go back to sleep if you're comfortable enough.
Instead, he simply kisses your clothed shoulder. Once, twice, three times. Before letting his head fall back into the pillow and closing his eyes.
Yeah, his life didn’t feel like this either.
Not without you here with him.
584 notes · View notes
chososcamgirl · 26 days ago
Text
(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: pride & ego
masterlist
cw: crude humour, swearing, suggestive
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
backstage!
• panda lives at taco bell truther. put that on my gravestone.
• FUCK HOZIER FUCK HOZIER FUCK FUCK FUCK (sorry ree)
• some of these tweets are just from my spam account story this is so self indulgent oops
• yeah so timeskip 2/3 weeks since THE fight. it’s been a lot. a lot of crying (on both ynmegumi’s behalf’s) a lot of fighting. a lot of yearning etc etc you get the gist
• alexa is actually the name of my fake account i made back in 2021 to stalk my ex situationship & then love bomb him. #womaninmendominatedfields
• i still regularly use it like daily too
• panda downloaded xiaohongshu and people started calling him “sister” now he cant stop saying it around the house
• they have a sister jar now
• that one friend who likes attention 😂😂😂 (rest in peace mitch… 🪦💔🪦)
• yuji thought everybody was mad at him because the whole house has been quiet for the past 2 weeks
• it was because megumi was in mourning.
• thank you babaganoush ree for the idea
• yn keeps unblocking & blocking megumi just to see what he has messaged her from the past several days… Tea? 🍵
• omg me cameo!!!!!! 🤯🤯🤯🤯 i’m so famous only took me 23 chapters to do!!!! can you tell my relationship with my parents is rocky rn.
• ok tmi .
a/n: hey yall…. so a LOT happened in the span over a month a bit i see. happy birthday megumi!!! happy birthday gojo!!! merry christmas!!! happy birthday toji!! happy new year!!! i’ve been busy as fuck and don’t want to put out stuff i’m not proud of. but anyways here’s the long awaited new chapter!! hope yall liked it. a little fast paced i think. hope u guys still think i’m funny… some reeferences dabbled in here & there. can you tell who i’ve been spending my holidays with… i’ve been having an #identitycrisis. LOVE AND BLESSINGS!
taglist: @shokosbunny @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @burnishingbagels @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @standcom @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @ichcocat @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @kalulakunundrum @lovefromberry @beepbopzlorp @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @starantulas @1l-ynn @sluttkuna @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm @syxoki
*if i can’t tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!
373 notes · View notes
destinedfordiapers · 6 days ago
Text
No One Mourns The Wicked
Tumblr media
This story is set in the Your Change of Plans universe. So read that first. Or don’t. Either way.
I’ll be honest. When Claire’s parents first told me they were sending her to the Little’s Program™️, I tried my best to stop them.
In my defense, Claire was beautiful and who wants to date a girl in diapers?
I mean, sure, she was stuck-up, shallow, and superficial. And yeah, she thought she was the Queen Bee wearing designer clothes and ruthlessly controlling our friend group.
She was a mean girl. Think Regina George. That kind of girl.
But now that I see her, stripped from her fancy, expensive clothes and attitude wearing that adorable diaper—I can’t help but agree it’s for the best.
“Awww, Clairebear! Don’t be shy!!! It’s just me!”
As you can see, Claire hid her face in her stuffies, too embarrassed to respond.
“Claire, honey,” her mom says, “Ryan came all this way to see you. We don’t ignore our guests, do we?”
A few weeks ago, Claire would’ve bit her mom’s head off for talking to her like that.
But now look at her.
Her mom turns to me, smiling. “She might need a few minutes to warm up to you. She’s still adjusting to her new life.”
Claire digs her face further into her stuffies, whimpering.
“It’s okay, I’m sure it’s a big transition for her. I mean, she did go from Prada to Pampers! Gucci to Gerber! Cartier to cribs! But she’s just so cute in that diaper!”
“Well she does have the best diapers on the market! Only the best for Claire,” her mom says, “Plus she’s been much better behaved since she got back. Sure, she still throws tantrums—all Littles do!—but now they’re about not wanting her poopy diaper changed instead of throwing a fit because we got her the wrong Hermes bag!”
“Now that is something I gotta see! Clairebear throwing a tantrum in a poopy diaper?! How cute is that?”
More whimpers from Claire.
“Well, you’re in luck! She’s past due for her afternoon boom boom. She usually goes during her nap but not today. Should be any minute!”
She pats Claire’s diaper playfully.
“It’s just so crazy,” I say astonished, “Claire poops her diapers now.”
“Yep, the Littles Center recommended the full package to fix her attitude after meeting Claire. Complete unpotty-training, inability to orgasm, and strict reliance on the Littles Center’s special baby formula. She can’t eat any adult food without getting an icky tummy!”
“Well, judging by the fact I haven’t heard Claire talk back at all, I’d say it’s working!”
“Like a charm! She did have a meltdown after we gave her fancy clothes to her cousins, but Littles don’t need fancy clothes, do they Claire?”
“M-maawmmmyyyyy,” Claire lisp’s adorably.
“Sorry, honey, but you need onesies and diapers! And I almost forgot, Claire also got the Babble Package™️, so she sounds just like a toddler! How cute is that?”
“I na a tawdwa!!” Claire shrieks.
It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Of course you’re not,” I coo, “You’re our Clairebear!”
Claire’s mom smiles, “Well, why don’t I leave you two alone so you can catch up. Let me know if she makes a poopy!”
Claire moans again.
For the first time since her regression, I’m alone with Claire.
It’s strange, seeing her there in her diaper, completely docile. Nothing like the bossy, sexy woman she used to be.
I sit on the bed next to her, rubbing her shoulder. “Hey, Clairebear.”
She lifts her head from her stuffies. “H-hi Wyan.” Hearing herself she hides her head again.
Doing my best not to laugh, I push forward. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetie. Not with me. You know I love you. Even if things are different.”
Hearing the “I love you,” Claire immediately turns around. “P-pwomith?”
“Yes, Claire, I promise.”
For the first time since I got there, Claire smiled and sat up against her pillows.
“Is this your stuffy?”
“Mhm! It’s Wy-Wy Dog!” she says excitedly, showing me her stuffed dog.
“Awww, did you name him after me?”
“Yeah!” she says, blushing a bit.
“Well I think he’s the cutest little stuffy in the whole world!”
Her smile fades slightly. “Don wan stuffies, wan you!”
I sigh. I knew it would come to this eventually. I wasn’t lying, I did love her. But I can’t date a Little. I need a woman, not a pamper packer.
“Clairebear, I love you, I really do. But you’re…you’re a Little now. It’s not appropriate for you to be in an adult relationship anymore.”
“Buh, buh!” she starts, stomping her hands and feet, “Na fawr!!! I you guwlfwien!!!”
As I look into her eyes, I no longer see the sophisticated, sexy woman she used to be. Whatever she used to be, whatever fun we used to have, a distant memory.
“Sorry, little one. I need a woman—an adult—and you’re not that anymore. You’re not even potty trained, it’s just not meant to be. Maybe you’ll find a nice guy at daycare!”
I knew I went too far right away. The tantrum started right away.
“NOOOOO!” she shouted, kicking her feet more than ever! Na a baby! Na na na!”
The kicking of her feet caused an immediate reaction. Her screaming suddenly stopped as her eyes grew wide.
“What’s wrong, honey?” I ask before a grunt answers my question.
A loud, bubbly toot trumpets out of her diaper, leaving no ambiguity of what’s happening. Her eyes furrow in concentration at the task at hand.
Her diaper expands rapidly as she grunts. Her eyes still unfocused as she works to fill her diaper.
All I can do is watch as the woman I once revered poops her diaper in front of me, no different from an actual toddler.
Well, I guess she basically is a toddler now.
After a few bubbly toots, her grunting stops. Though the smell immediately attacks my nose, barely mitigated by the baby powder in her diaper.
“Did someone just make a poopoo?” I ask in a babyish voice. I couldn’t help myself. It was instinctual.
It’s just how you talk to pamper packers.
“No poopies!” she shrieks, legs kicking again. Her diaper swaying dangerously.
“Are you sure about that, little one?”
“I didn’! You did!” she squeals, trying to kick me.
“Excuse me, Claire? This is not how a Little should behave! You do not fib about your diaper and you definitely do not try to kick adults!”
“Don care! Na baby!!”
“If you keep acting like this you’re gonna learn what happens to misbehaving Littles. I’ll give you one more chance before you end up on my lap.”
I almost felt bad. The last thing I did was want to cause Claire to throw a tantrum. But here we are.
“You na my mawmy! You dum baby too!” she retorted, still trying to kick me.
“No, but I am,” her mom says walking in, “I could hear your tantrum all the way down the hall! Were you trying to kick Ryan?”
Claire’s eyes grew wide. “I-I-I b-but!!”
“We do not kick our babysitters, do you understand me?” her mom said in that deeply maternal voice you hear when you’re in trouble.
In a flash, Claire’s mom is sitting on the bed, pulling her kicking and screaming Little on her lap.
Claire’s diaper is already browning, bulging under the weight of its contents.
She turns to me and says over Claire’s whining, “I’m sorry, Ryan. I did warn you about her poopy diaper tantrums! I’ll take care of this one, are you still on to babysit her Friday night?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
“Great, you go on, I’ll see you then. I have to teach this little one some manners.”
As I walk out, I hear SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
I may have lost my girlfriend, but I can’t argue this isn’t for the best.
265 notes · View notes
beckyninja · 1 month ago
Text
Cleanse
Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader
Warnings: Sexual content, MDNI
Description: In the baths, you contemplate both your present and future with Titus. Little do you know, unfriendly eyes are watching.
I'll say this once, if you're a fan of Leandros, this story arc may not be for you. 😈
(To read the rest of the fics in this series, check out my Masterlist.)
“You’re sure this is allowed?” 
You saw no one else in the vaulted chamber, yet still felt the need to whisper. Part of you felt like a misbehaving child. The rest of you shivered with barely disguised glee.
“Of course it is!” Vesta rolled her eyes. “I told you, my unc- I mean, Lord Callistus specifically gave me permission.”
“But he didn’t give me permission.”
“Worry wart.” Your friend giggled. “Just look at this place!”
You did. High ceilings adorned with blue and gold mosaics soared above you. Columns wider than the reach of your arms lined the walls. Every polished marble surface gleamed in the flickering candlelight.
But the thing that truly made you catch your breath was the great pool of steaming water stretching from one end of the room to the other. 
On your homeworld, you’d played in mountain streams. Since becoming a serf, you’d learned of lakes and oceans. But this was by far the most still water you’d ever seen in one place. The steam curling from its rippling surface moistened your skin and filled your lungs.
“What if one of the Marines comes in?”
Vesta was already laying out her bucket of supplies: soap, brushes, and washing cloths. She shook her head.
“Those that aren’t sleeping are preparing for our arrival at Demerium. Unc- Lord Callistus told me so. You, yourself, told me your Lord Titus was in strategy meetings with his squad.” She shot you a wry look. “I’m only glad you finally seem to have a free moment. I’ve barely seen you since we left Avarax!” 
You felt heat rush to your face and turned away, pretending to examine the carvings on a nearby pillar.
“De-Demetrian!”
“Yes. Cry my name.”
“Deme- ah!”
“Good girl. You can take more, can you not?”
“I-I….”
“Please, Little Healer. I need you.” 
Demetrian had been insatiable the last few days, pulling (or throwing) you into bed at every opportunity. Only a frustrated vox call from his squadmates finally dragged him from your side. You remembered the mournful look in his eyes as he left you. 
Warm liquid hit you in the back of the head, soaking your thin robe. You gasped and turned to find Vesta holding the dripping bucket. She giggled.
“Are you going to stare at that pillar all night? Or are you- eek!”
You cupped a handful of water and flung it back at your friend. She squealed and darted away. You forced yourself to relax.
“You go first, Vesta. I’ll watch in case any of the cleaning serfs try to come in.”
“Ah, good idea.” She slipped off her clothes and settled into the water with a sigh.
You tensed when she sank under. “Vesta!”
She surged up again, shaking her wet curls out of her eyes. “What are you worrying about now?”
“How deep is it?”
“It’s a bath for Astartes, how deep do you think it is?” With another giggle she pushed away from the wall and paddled farther into the pool.
You cocked your head to one side as you watched. “I didn’t know you could swim.”
“I learned when I was a little girl on Macragge. At my family’s seaside estate.”
“Your family had an estate?” 
“Mmmhmm.” She dove under again, reappearing in another part of the pool.
Nobility?! How in the Emperor’s Name…?
Vesta caught your eye and grinned, paddling back to the side. “You should see the look on your face!” The grin faded. “Fine. Fine. Hand me the soap and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
***
“...and so, after the plague took my parents and siblings, the inheritance came down to me, or an older cousin. I was little, so I don’t remember much. But apparently the arguments were fierce. Finally, my cousin decided to bring in the only other living member of our House to mediate.”
You sat at the edge of the pool, feet in the steaming water, as you watched Vesta rub the soap through her hair. 
“You don’t mean…?”
The medica nodded. “Lord Callistus’ portrait had hung in our grand hall for longer than I can remember. Father used to hold me up so I could see, telling me the story of how his great grandmother’s older brother had become an Ultramarine, bringing honor to our family. But, of course, he’d never met the man. None of us had.”
Vesta paused, eyes going distant. “Uncle tells me I looked like a scared rabbit when he first saw me. All alone and small and helpless. I reminded him of his little sister.” She smiled. “Anyway, my cousin had the stronger claim, so the estate went to him. And I went with Uncle Callistus.”
You looked at your friend with a clinical eye. Unscarred. Well-fed. With a lightness of manner lacking in many of the other serfs you’d encountered.
“He treats you well.”
“More like a daughter, or well, a niece, than a serf.” She nodded. “Oh, he’s a bit gruff and exacting. Not one to allow his medicae to slack off, that’s for sure!” She laughed. “But he’s kind for all that.”
She leaned back, rinsing the soap from her hair. “I’ve told him about you.”
You sat upright. “You have?”
“Mmmhmm. He says a serf with prior medical knowledge is wasted attending to just one Marine.”
A cold knot of dread formed in the pit of your stomach. “I’m content where I am, Vesta.”
“I know. You’ve told me how wonderful a lord Titus is. Over and over again.” She smirked.
You felt your face heating again, wondering just how effusive you’d been with your praise. 
Did she suspect…? No. No, surely not.
Vesta continued, her face going serious. “But, well, we’re about to go into battle. And I’ve heard what can happen to personal serfs left all alone.”
The cold knot hardened into a ball of ice. You remembered cowering in Demetrian’s locked quarters when you first arrived. You remembered the terror, the despair, of thinking he’d died.
You hadn’t cared what would happen to you.
“Have you,” your voice rasped, “have you heard anything about why we’re going to Demerium?”
Vesta folded her arms on the edge of the pool. A rare frown creased her face.
The words kept coming. “Surely it isn’t so bad. Not worse than Tyranids. And Deme- Lord Titus has conquered the vile insects before.”
Barely.
Your mind flashed to the reason for his conversion to Primaris. The new scars, ragged and red. The haggard look in his eye when he returned from each battle. The way he clung to you these past few days.
Vesta remained silent for a long while. “Usually I can discern something, just from what the Apothecaries are doing. The tools and medicines they prepare. But this time…?” She shook her head. “Not even Uncle has said anything. But it’s going to be bad, my friend, I can tell.”
“The Emperor protects.” You whispered.
“The Emperor protects.” Vesta heaved herself up out of the pool and reached for a towel. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sure Lord Titus will be fine!”
You saw straight through her false cheer.
She noticed, and came to stand next to you, wrapping a damp arm about your shoulders. “I just want you to know if, Emperor forbid, the worst should happen, you’ll have a place in the Apothecarion. I swear it!”
Leaning into her, you tried to smile. “You’re a true friend, Vesta.”
For once, she seemed at a loss for words, hugging you tight. Then, a look of alarm came over her freckled features.
“Throne damn it! I lost all sense of time!” She began frantically pulling on her underclothes and robe. “I promised Uncle I’d be back within two hours to finish the requisition reports!”
A real smile crept across your face at your friend’s antics. 
She flung her bathing supplies into their bucket. “He’ll tan my hide if I turn in late paperwork…again. Well, not really. But I’d rather not be on the receiving end of one of his lectures!” She hesitated, looking toward you.
You waved her away. “Go on. I’ll be fine. Like you said, no one should come in at this time of night. And I just wanted to wash my hair, anyway.”
“If you’re sure. Thanks!” She skidded out of the chamber.
Like the sun going behind a cloud, your brief mirth faded. Vesta’s words echoed in your mind. Old fears reared their ugly heads.
You bent and splashed some of the warm water on your face. “I can’t think like this. I can’t.”
The steaming pool called your name, promising a brief moment of comfort. 
You carefully removed your robe and underclothes. At least with Vesta gone, you no longer had to hide your winces. The flesh between your legs still ached. And when you bent over the water and saw your reflection….
“Throne of Terra….”
Bruises dotted your skin. Your neck, your breasts, your thighs. Many in the shape of large hands.
You gingerly touched the teeth marks in your shoulder. “How in the Warp would I have explained this to you, Vesta?”
Demetrian had never been so rough with you before. You should be annoyed, frightened, even.
Instead….
You ran your hands over each mark, remembering his touch, the rasp of calluses against your skin. When you reached your breasts, you remembered the heat of his mouth. Your nipples hardened beneath your fingers.
“Oh Throne….”
Desire pulsed in your core.
You tried to ignore it as you slipped into the pool. But the enveloping touch of the warm water drew a sharp gasp from your lips. After a year of cold showers and hurried sponge baths, it felt divine.
As your body relaxed, your mind wandered.
Blue eyes. Looking at you with a wonder-filled intensity. Like you provided something he could not believe he had and could not live without. He could steal your breath with a glance.
A strong body. Massive and scarred and so much more than any baseline man. Those arms had torn xenos in two with little effort. You were helpless in their embrace. 
And that voice….
“Little Healer.”
Emperor forgive you, you loved it all. You loved him.
A moan burst from your lips as your hand ventured between your legs, sheer need overriding any lingering soreness.
I shouldn’t be doing this. Especially not here!
But you couldn’t control your fingers, or the memories that raced through your mind. His hands. His tongue. The great weight of him above you. The burning stretch of his length within you.
What if he doesn’t return from this battle? What if these memories are all I will ever have?
You worked yourself faster. Pleasure rising…rising…rising….
Until it crested.
“Demetrian!”
***
Eyes watched the serf girl from the far corner of the room, shrouded in shadow. She hadn’t noticed his entrance. Too lost in her shameful indulgence.
The eyes glinted with outrage. 
“Demetrian!”
Lips curled into a snarl. He recognized this girl. He’d seen her sneaking away from what he now realized was a clandestine liaison with the disgraced Capt- Lieutenant. He cursed himself for his mental slip.
Not a Captain! No longer deserving of that rank, if he ever was to begin with.
His fists clenched. A soft splash returned his attention to the girl.
She climbed out of the water and paused on her knees. He saw the tremble in her limbs. He saw the water drip off her flushed skin, off the pointed tips of her bare, full breasts. 
He saw the bruises, the bite marks. Outrage swelled within him once more.
He could destroy the Lieutenant with this. What the Inquisition had failed to do, he could finally accomplish.
Corruption! Heresy!
Yet he didn’t move as the girl stood, drying herself. His eyes remained locked on her unmarred skin. Her rounded curves. 
Over and over again he replayed her impassioned cry. His outrage changed, tainted by a new, bitter emotion.
Why Titus? What right did Titus have to…this? To her?
As the girl dressed, a mad impulse came into his head. He imagined himself charging across the baths and tearing away the girl’s clothes. He imagined pinning her to the wall and looking…touching….  
He felt himself thickening. Panicked by the unfamiliar sensation, he reached down and grasped his member. 
The jolt of pleasure ripped a guttural snarl from his throat.
The girl froze. He saw her head jerk back and forth, yet knew her weak baseline eyes could not pierce the darkened corners.
He watched her gather her things and flee like a frightened prey animal.
Did that make him the predator? 
No! The guilty often flee from those who would save their souls.  
As he continued running his hand along his stiffened shaft, he found he enjoyed that idea. 
So, Titus thought he deserved pleasure. A fallen soul dared to reach for the blessings reserved for the righteous.
Leandros would cleanse him of such filthy perversions. In time, he would cleanse you both.
@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan
@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ
@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen
@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover
@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan
@justanothermemestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova
@ailujsenutna @emiemiemiii @astrohymn @synfiction @soul-of-leya
@n0cturn4 @mgrm99 @seirensou @zamzmak @elita1
As always, comment if you'd like to be added to the Taglist.
198 notes · View notes
demonic0angel · 2 months ago
Note
(ok, hear me out.)
Bruce looks around the dinner table and realizes, jasons dating Jazz, Cass is dating Danny, Tim is dating Ellie, and Stephanie is dating Sam. A tiny paranoid voice in his head says that Team Phantom is taking his family.
ok maybe he just needs some sleep.
But what if this is a plan of taking his family?
(I’m hearing you out >:) not sure if I understood it tho :/)
The moment Bruce left the dinner table, everyone paused, as if waiting to see if he’d come back. Then Jazz started another debate with Jason and the conversation resumed. Everyone chatted as they ate and then helped Alfred clean up, who shooed them away from the kitchen when they finished bringing him the plates and utensils.
Dick stretched with a low hum. He received a kiss from Dan for his troubles, and he laughed as he remarked, “Wow, dinner was even better than usual!”
Tim hummed. “It’s because these guys are here.”
“Well, we still have the rest of the night for ourselves, right? Wanna go to the arcade?” Dani asked, tugging at his and Kon’s hands. “We can go to my apartment later.”
“You mean, my apartment,” Jazz said in amusement.
“Same thing!” Dani laughed. Tim and Kon agreed and off they went, with Kon and Dani flying into the night with Tim in their arms.
Dan looked at Dick. “Shall we go home?”
Dick shook his head. “I want to go get some groceries first.” He turned to Damian and asked, “Want to come with, Dami?”
Damian looked at Dan, who just blinked, before Damian nodded. They went off together.
Sam said, “C’mon, Steph, we can’t let them have fun without us, right? Let’s go to the arcade too, or we can go look at the mall.” Stephanie happily hugged Sam’s arm and they also left the manor.
Jazz kissed Jason’s cheek and said, “Let’s go back to your apartment, okay?”
Jason perked up and then he wrapped an arm around her waist before calling out teasingly, “You kids be safe! Don’t add to the population, don’t subtract to the population, don’t do anything dangerous!”
“Tell that to yourself!” Danny snapped. When they also left, Cass and Danny were the only ones left in the manor. She was staring at him silently, dark eyes trained on him. “What is it?” He asked her.
“… you know something.”
Danny smiled. “Know what?”
She stared at him, then shook her head softly. Danny brought her closer to himself, reaching out to hold her gently, rubbing his cheek against her hair.
“We would never hurt you or your siblings. You know that, right?” He asked, and she nodded slowly.
Yes. They would not hurt her or her siblings. It was only Bruce who would be left behind, still stuck in his old ways of mourning, unable to see the hopeful future or the love between them and the Phantoms.
For a moment, Cassandra just mourned for the way things used to be. Then Danny swept her away and everything was soon forgotten.
(Or what if… the Phantoms felt like Bruce wasn’t a great parent and decided to “save” the others on their own.)
245 notes · View notes
pandapetals · 2 months ago
Text
Unexpected Visit
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
It's your first Christmas with Logan as a couple (not married yet) but someone unexpected shows up.
professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, some fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair, mentions of death, angst, trauma, christmas mentioned, parent issues
a/n: I wrote this to go with the holiday special i’m going to post because i know alot of people struggle around the holiday season (myself included, not me trauma dumping in this).
read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here
divider credit: @enchanthings
Tumblr media
As a kid, you’d always heard that the holidays were supposed to be magical—a time filled with warmth, laughter, and gifts under the tree. But growing up in a family that could barely keep food on the table, magic was a luxury you quickly learned to live without. Reality had come crashing down on you at a young age, stripping away any illusions of the "holiday spirit."
Coming to Xavier’s offered you a fresh start and a chance to build a new and hopeful life. You’d thrown yourself into your role as the bubbly, witty English professor, always armed with a quick quip or a smile that could disarm even the grumpiest students. And for the most part, it worked. Everyone believed the cheerful façade—everyone except Logan.
Even before you started dating, Logan seemed to see through the mask you wore. He’d often watch you with that quiet, penetrating gaze like he was peeling back each layer you’d put up to hide the parts of yourself you didn’t want anyone to see. He never pushed or pried, but something in his eyes made you feel like he knew.
When you finally became a couple, that unspoken understanding between you deepened. But you still hadn’t told him the whole story of your past or the truth of what the holidays dredged up inside you. And so, as Christmas approached, you kept your walls up, pretending everything was fine, even though this would be your first Christmas without your dad.
A few days before Christmas, the mansion was buzzing with excitement as everyone packed and prepared to head home. Logan assumed you’d be leaving, too, and he figured you’d join your mother to mourn together. He’d never pushed you to talk about your family, but he knew enough to sense the fractured relationship with your mom.
Yet, as the days ticked by, you hadn’t mentioned any plans. He noticed your room was untouched, no suitcases packed or tickets booked. So, that evening, he found himself leaning against your bedroom door, watching you lace up your shoes with a distant look on your face.
“I thought you’d be packing by now,” he said, his voice low and casual, though his eyes held a flicker of concern.
You looked up, momentarily surprised by his presence, but quickly covered it with a smirk. “Packing for what? You finally planned a romantic getaway for us, tough guy?” you teased, trying to deflect with humor, as usual.
But Logan didn’t smile. His face softened, his arms crossing over his chest as he stepped into the room. “Sweetheart… I thought we talked about not pretending with each other.”
Your smirk faded, replaced by a look of resignation. For a moment, you looked down, fiddling with the laces on your shoes. “I’m not pretending,” you said softly, your voice lacking its usual bravado. “I just… I don’t want to go home for Christmas. There’s nothing to go home to.”
Logan’s brows knitted together, his voice gentle as he stepped closer. “You still have your mom—”
“Logan, stop.” The words came out sharper than you intended, and you stood up, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively. “I don’t… I don’t want to deal with her, okay? You met her at the hospital—she wasn’t exactly the nicest woman in the world.” Your voice wavered, the wall you’d tried so hard to keep up beginning to crumble. “You know my relationship with them—my parents was complicated.”
Tears started slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them, the weight of the year—of loss and complicated grief—finally surfacing. You tried to turn away, but Logan was already there, closing the distance between you in a few strides. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. His hands were steady, his touch warm and grounding as one hand cradled the back of your head, the other wrapping protectively around your waist.
He didn’t try to shush you or tell you it would be okay. Instead, he just held you, letting you fall apart in his arms. His thumb stroked the back of your neck gently, grounding you as he whispered, “It’s alright, darlin’. You don’t have to put on a brave face with me.”
You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself finally break down in a way you hadn’t let yourself do since your father passed. “I wanted so badly to be okay,” you choked out. “To just… move forward. But I don’t know how to do this, Logan. Holidays are supposed to be about family, but what do you do when… when you don’t have one anymore?”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes filled with a mix of empathy and fierce protectiveness. “You’ve got family right here,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “You don’t need to go anywhere if you don’t want to. Stay here—with me.”
His words settled over you, a quiet promise that you weren’t alone, that you had someone who would stand by you, even when you didn’t know how to hold yourself together. The walls you’d put up felt paper-thin, and for once, you didn’t try to rebuild them. Instead, you leaned into him, letting the warmth of his presence melt away the loneliness that had been eating at you.
“Are you sure?” you whispered, looking up at him, your voice barely holding back the vulnerability in your heart. “You’d really want to spend Christmas with me? Even if it means cheesy movies and too much hot cocoa?”
Logan’s gaze softened, a gentle, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. He lifted his hand, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice rough but steady, “there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Besides…” He paused, a hint of a smirk appearing as he looked at you with that familiar, affectionate glint in his eyes. “I think we both deserve a damn celebration this year. Don’t you?”
A soft, shaky laugh slipped from your lips, the sound mingling with the quiet stillness around you. You clutched him a little tighter, pressing yourself against the solid warmth of his chest, letting the safety he offered melt away the lingering ache. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like—Christmas with Logan, a cozy fire, the two of you wrapped in blankets, sharing simple moments that felt like home.
You looked up at him, noticing the faint lines around his eyes and the way his gaze held something deeper and tender he didn’t share with just anyone. Logan, who had spent so many years keeping people at arm’s length, was here, with you, willing to make this season something special. You knew the holidays hadn’t ever meant much to him; the closest he’d come to family was the X-Men, but there was always that quiet yearning, that sense of longing in his eyes you could recognize as your own.
A mischievous smile crept onto your face as you tilted your head, running a finger along his jaw. “You know… for a grumpy, tough guy, you’re pretty soft.”
He chuckled, the sound low and genuine, vibrating through you as he wrapped his arms more securely around your waist. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and lingering there, his breath warm against your skin. “Only for you,” he murmured, his voice so soft it almost blended into the quiet around you as if the words were a secret meant just for you.
𓂃
The mansion felt eerily quiet, the sort of silence that settles in when everyone else has left and you're finally alone. The last of the students and teachers had headed off for their Christmas plans, leaving only you and Logan behind. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel the odd comfort in that—knowing that neither of you had a family to go home to, that somehow, you’d ended up here together. It almost felt like fate, like you’d been meant to find each other.
As Logan wandered back from the foyer, having just waved goodbye to Xavier, he looked at you sprawled across the couch, a playful smirk on his face. “Looks like it’s just you and me, sweetheart. What’s first on your holiday agenda?”
You grinned, half-sitting up. “Well, I doubt you’re up for decorating cookies or watching Christmas movies…” But before you could finish, Logan crossed the room in a few strides and scooped you up effortlessly.
“It’s not exactly the first thing on my mind,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.
You laughed, giving him a light swat on the back as he threw you over his shoulder, carrying you with ease. “Logan, you’re acting like a teenager who finally got the house to himself.”
He grinned, undeterred, “Well, isn’t that what’s happening?”
He was halfway to the stairs, clearly intending to carry you all the way up, when the sudden chime of the doorbell echoed through the empty mansion, stopping him in his tracks.
You twisted around, trying to look over his shoulder. “Expecting someone?”
Logan set you back on your feet, frowning as he glanced toward the door. “Not that I know of,” he muttered, his expression already shifting to that familiar look of cautious alertness. He moved toward the foyer, and you followed close behind, almost colliding into his back when he stopped abruptly just a foot away from the door.
You noticed him take a deep breath, his nose twitching slightly as he caught a scent through the door. His expression shifted, the guarded edge softening just a bit. He turned back to you, his gaze gentle but wary.
“It’s… your mother,” he said quietly.
Your stomach dropped. “My—” The word caught in your throat as a wave of complicated emotions washed over you. You hadn’t seen her since your father’s funeral, and even then, the conversation had been brief, tense, and peppered with her usual backhanded comments.
Logan placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, searching your face. “You okay?”
You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting her to show up here.”
With a nod, Logan opened the door, and there she stood, wrapped in a heavy coat, her expression a mixture of displeasure and discomfort as she took in the mansion’s grand foyer.
“Well,” she said, her gaze sweeping over you with a critical eye before landing on Logan, her brow raising slightly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you decided to stay here rather than come home.”
You forced a smile, though it felt brittle. “Nice to see you too, Mom.”
She glanced around the mansion, her lips pursed in that familiar way that meant she was about to say something judgmental. “This place is… large. Lavish. I imagine it must feel like a vacation for you.” Her tone dripped with the kind of passive-aggressive disapproval you’d grown up with, a reminder of every time she’d scolded you for wanting more than what you had.
Logan shifted beside you, his gaze hardening just a fraction as he observed the exchange. “Can we help you with somethin’?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with a protective undertone.
Your mother’s eyes flicked to him, a hint of surprise crossing her face. “You must be Logan. You know, I always thought my daughter would end up with someone… different.”
Logan’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground, giving her a steady, unflinching look. “Guess life doesn’t always turn out the way we expect,” he replied coolly, his arm subtly sliding around your waist, a quiet but unmistakable show of support.
You took a breath, steeling yourself. “Why are you here, Mom? I thought you knew I wasn’t coming home this year.”
She let out a heavy sigh, crossing her arms. “I came because I thought maybe you’d change your mind. It’s Christmas, after all. Family should be together.” Her gaze softened, but there was a flicker of resentment there, hidden just beneath the surface. “Though I see you’ve found… other company.”
“Mom, please,” you murmured, feeling Logan’s fingers gently squeeze your hip, grounding you. “I didn’t come home because it didn’t feel right. You know that things between us have been… complicated.” The words were careful, and a bit restrained, but you could feel the weight of the unsaid things pressing against your chest.
She scoffed lightly, waving her hand as if brushing off your feelings. “Complicated? You act like you were the only one who had it rough, but I was there too, you know. I did what I could.”
You swallowed, fighting the bitterness rising in your throat. “Did you? Because most of what I remember is you pretending everything was fine while I had to deal with… with everything else.” Your voice trembled slightly, but you steadied yourself, Logan’s presence beside you giving you strength.
There was a beat of silence, heavy and uncomfortable. Your mother looked away, a flash of guilt crossing her face, though she quickly masked it with a defensive huff. “I didn’t come here to argue,” she said tightly, her gaze darting between you and Logan. “I thought maybe you’d appreciate being with your real family for the holidays.”
Logan’s arm tightened around you protectively, his voice low but firm. “She is with her family,” he said, each word deliberate and unyielding.
Your mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line as if weighing her next words carefully. Before she could respond, you gently placed a hand on Logan’s chest, signaling for him to let you handle it. He gave you a quiet nod, stepping back but lingering just out of sight. 
You took a breath, focusing on her. “Mom, I know you tried… in your own way. I don’t blame you for everything, and I know it wasn’t easy back then.” Your voice softened, a hint of vulnerability slipping through. “But this… this is where I want to be. With the people who make me feel safe, who understand me. Logan is a part of my life, and he’s not going anywhere.”
For a moment, something flickered in her gaze—regret, maybe, or the faintest trace of understanding. She looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her purse as she took a shallow breath, pulling her mask back up. “Well,” she said finally, her voice cool but wavering. “Then I suppose this place has changed you.”
You felt a pang in your chest, a mixture of sadness and relief. “I’m still the same—”
“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. But her expression softened, and for the first time in years, you caught a glimpse of something real beneath her hardened exterior. “No, you aren’t. And that’s… that’s a good thing,” she admitted, her tone almost reluctant, but honest. “You seem… stronger. Happier. I can see that this place, being a teacher… it suits you.”
A soft, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips, the weight of years of complex emotions between you and your mother settling in your chest. “I am happy, Mom. I know this isn’t the life you imagined for me, but it’s what I want.”
She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, but the tension in her posture told you that accepting this wasn’t easy for her. The silence between you was heavy, lingering like words unsaid, regrets unspoken. You could feel the moment slipping away, but before it did, you took a chance, your voice soft and tentative.
“Would you… would you like to stay for dinner?” you asked, the invitation hanging in the air like a fragile hope. “Logan and I, we were just about to cook something together.”
Your mother’s expression tightened, her gaze flicking to the mansion’s grand interior, then back to you. She shook her head, her lips pressing into a faint, strained smile. “No, I don’t think so. I have a long drive back,” she replied, her tone polite but distant. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
You swallowed the disappointment, forcing a small nod. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
Just then, Logan stepped back into the doorway, a touch of nervousness in his expression, though he masked it well. He extended his hand toward her, attempting to make a good impression, the slight unease in his eyes showing how much he cared about this moment—for your sake, if nothing else.
“It was see you again, ma’am,” he said, his voice gruff but genuine. “Your daughter… well, she’s one hell of a woman. Just thought you should know.”
Your mother glanced at his outstretched hand, hesitating for a split second before giving it a quick, almost dismissive shake. She offered him a tight-lipped smile, but there was no warmth behind it. “Yes, well,” she replied, her tone clipped. “You two… take care of each other.”
Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his expression polite, not pushing for more. You could tell he was trying, in his own way, to bridge a gap that had been there long before he’d come into your life. But your mother’s gaze had already drifted past him, her focus elsewhere.
You watched as she adjusted her purse on her shoulder, giving you a final nod. “Goodbye,” she murmured, her voice softer, almost reluctant, but the wall between you both was firmly back in place.
“Goodbye, Mom,” you replied, feeling a pang of longing that you knew would remain unanswered.
When the door clicked shut behind her, the silence settled thick around you, the weight of unspoken words and lingering disappointment pressing down on your chest. You barely noticed Logan stepping closer until you felt his hand on your back, a gentle, grounding touch that anchored you in the moment.
“You okay?” he murmured, his voice soft, searching your face for any sign of the hurt you might be hiding.
You nodded, though your eyes stung with unshed tears. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll be fine,” you whispered, managing a shaky smile. “It’s just… complicated. It always has been.”
Logan wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his chin resting on your head. “You don’t have to explain, darlin’,” he murmured, a comforting rumble against your hair. “I get it. And for what it’s worth, I’m here. I’m always here.”
You let out a soft, shaky breath, pressing your face into his chest, absorbing the warmth and strength he offered. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling the weight begin to lift if only a little.
As he held you, Logan pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair. “She’s a fool if she can’t see how incredible you are,” he murmured, his tone laced with a quiet intensity. “But lucky for me, she’s leavin’ you in good hands.”
You laughed softly, a mix of relief and affection as you looked up at him, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I’m pretty lucky too, you know.”
Logan’s lips curved into a gentle smile, his thumb tracing your cheek in a tender gesture. “Guess that means we get our quiet Christmas after all,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes.
“Yeah,” you replied, feeling the weight of the past begin to ease, replaced by a warmth that only Logan seemed to bring. “Just you and me, tough guy.”
239 notes · View notes