#thankfully that’s not what we ended up doing

[peppermintquartz]

stuck in an elevator

Someone with a sick sense of humor must be writing my life, because a benevolent God sure as hell would never plan this, Tommy thinks in his bitchiest mental tone. Then he snorts. As if anyone would be interested enough to write a single paragraph about him.

The other occupant of the elevator pointedly does not look at him. Evan Buck keeps his tone so neutral, it's almost robotic. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I mean, of all the places in Los Angeles to visit on a day off, we end up at LACMA together. And now we're stuck in the same elevator. What are the odds?" The ludicrously serendipitous nature of this encounter is keeping Tommy from other, less-pleasant thoughts, namely being trapped in a space without a view of the outside world. His pulse is starting to race.

They tried calling 911, but the signal in the elevator was poor. Thankfully the emergency intercom did connect to the museum's operations office, who has contacted emergency services.

"I should've taken the stairs," Tommy grumbles. His skin itches with the need to feel fresh air.

"With that boot on your ankle? Then you're dumber than I thought you were." Evan Buck finally glances over, his blue eyes scanning him from head to toe. "How did you injure yourself anyway?"

"Tripped when I was getting out of the bird," Tommy replies honestly.

Evan Buck scoffs and shakes his head, but his expression softens. "You doing okay otherwise?"

There are so many ways Tommy can answer. He can pretend he is perfectly okay. Somewhat okay. He can claim that he misses Evan Buck, but he wants to be friends, just friends. He can be flippant. Make it funny, keep things superficial.

But this is Evan asking him.

"I miss you like a heartbeat" is what comes out instead. And it's true - Tommy feels like an automaton, moving through time, his routines carrying him along from dawn till dusk.

Entire days going by without a single text from Evan Buck feel empty and pointless. The bedsheets need to be laundered but Tommy doesn't want to lose the final traces of the last time they slept in the same bed. There are books Evan Buck brought over to read when Tommy wants to watch a movie.

And now they are stuck together, in an enclosed metal box, and Tommy is trying not to think about that while also trying not to think about how much he wants to kiss Evan. So he vacillates between a bone-deep phobia and a bone-deep yearning.

"I'm sorry. That was too heavy to lay on you like that." His fingers are clammy where his palms are on the mirrored wall. Licking his lips, he says, "But I don't want to lie to you. Not about anything. But I'm good otherwise, Evan."

"I'm not." Evan inhales deeply and blows out his breath. "I'm... I'm baking every time I think about texting you or calling you. The loft smells like a goddamn bakery. And still, still I can't forget the way you smell, the way you sound, the way you fucking taste. I want - I want so badly - to turn back time, figure out what I said wrong that made you run from me. Maybe I wanna be mad at you. I don't know. But I'm not good, Tommy. I'm not gonna be good for a long time."

"I'm sorry," Tommy begins, but Evan cuts him off.

"I don't want you to be sorry," he snaps, and to Tommy's shame, his eyes well up with tears. "I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I want... I want us, together. That's what I want. I don't wanna be good, I don't want you to be sorry, I want us to be happy together, that's all I fucking want!"

The silence that falls between them is thick as concrete.

His hands and feet are cold now, and he thinks he is a little dizzy. Gulping down a breath, Tommy says, "I shouldn't have run. It was... I was afraid. That... that you'd see me and everything I'm not."

This is when Evan sighs and turns to face him. "I should've chased after you. I was afraid too. I moved too fast, I know now. But you running away and ghosting me after was a dick move."

"I guess we both have a lot to work through." Tommy manages a tight smile. He is starting to feel lightheaded, and his breathing is picking up pace despite his best efforts to stay calm and distract himself with Evan's presence. His hands are clammy and he tries to wipe them dry on his jeans. "Evan?"

"Tommy?"

"How long before 911 arrives?" Tommy's mouth is dry. His vision sparks and he is valiantly trying to hold on to his composure, but he feels like he's boiling in his dark blue henley; he needs air, he needs the sky, he needs space to flee-

"Tommy!" Evan is right next to him, keeping him from collapsing and hurting himself. His touch grounds Tommy in the present moment, and his face this close blocks out the sight of the metal coffin they are stuck in. "They'll be here soon, okay? It's all good, they'll be here soon. Breathe for me, come on, inhale , two, three, four; hold, two. three, four..."

Evan talks him through the breathing exercises, holding him up and against himself, all the way even after the elevator lurches back to life and delivers them to the next floor safely.

After he's helped out of the elevator, Tommy wretches and vomits all over the floor, some of the sick getting on Evan's nice shoes.

"Sorry," says Tommy, eyes tearing from the force of the nausea, his big frame trembling.

"They're just shoes," says Evan, soothing a hand along his spine. To the attending paramedic, he says, "He has mild claustrophobia. Not usually a problem, but we were in there a while."

Tommy follows the paramedic - Jefferson - to a bench, accepting a quick look-over. To his surprise, Evan stays with him. Jefferson doesn't see anything wrong other than shock and leaves them with a blanket when another call comes in, about some old man and a broken hip.

Tommy finally recovers after about twenty minutes. He smiles wryly at Evan. "Sorry. You don't have to stick around, there's a lot to see in LACMA."

"Tough luck chasing me off," says Evan. There's a determined set to his jaw.

"Evan, I mean, Buck, surely you have other places to go."

"First of all, I hate hearing you call me Buck. Second of all, I'm not going anywhere. I know exactly what I want, and I'm pretty sure I know what you want."

"Yeah? What do I want?"

"To be my forever," says Evan. He looks Tommy in the eye. "And I know enough about myself and relationships, a-and love, to say that I want you to be my forever too. So. Hah. I'm sticking around. Sucks to be you."

Tommy huffs out an amused and exasperated breath. "Still a brat."

"Yeah? Well, you can either put up with me, or you can do something about it." But there's no hiding the curl of his lips.

[pathologicalreid]

first snow | s.r.

in which you and Spencer experience the first snow in your new apartment together

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff. the kind that rots your teeth. content warnings: snow? ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ word count: 954 a/n: so! not margovember! but i've been saving this one for a special occasion (my first snow came!!!!!) and i hope you enjoy it!!!!

“Why are we doing this now?” You asked, cocking your head at your boyfriend after you finished hauling a stack of books off of the shelves.

He was sitting on the floor, dozens of stacks of books surrounding him, so each step you took was precarious. Spencer’s self-appointed job was to sort through the books, but you weren’t getting rid of any of them. No. He’d decided to reorganize them, influenced by an influx of new language books, according to the Dewey decimal system—a phrase you hadn’t heard since grade school.

You hoisted another stack of books from the shelves, thankfully built into the walls, and set them on the ground. “We can never move out of this apartment,” you told him, flipping through an early edition Proust, likely from his mom’s collection.

That got his attention, “Why not?” His legs were crisscrossed beneath him, his hair freshly washed, and glasses perched on his face. Spencer’s flannel pajama pants were likely warmer than your cotton ones, but you felt as though your hoodie had an advantage over his crewneck.

Gesturing your hands out to the piles of books, you raised your eyebrows, “We’d have to move all of the books again.” The two of you had moved into the apartment near the beginning of the summer, right before Spencer started his training at the Academy, and the heat had ended up being more than you bargained for.

Spencer smiled fondly at you, “I like this apartment,” he reminded you, turning his attention back to his philosophy books, “It suits us.”

Looking around, you had also fallen in love with the apartment rather quickly, and you didn’t have much room to complain, knowing that Spencer had sacrificed having a short commute so you could be close to work. The two of you moved in together after you finished school in Pasadena, and he wrapped up classes at MIT, closing the distance and starting the rest of your lives together.

The two of you repainted together, abandoning the miserable taupe that had been on the walls in favor of a dark green; you worked together to make it home, even if you were here more often than him.

Stepping over a teetering pile of novels, you held your arms out for balance as you tried to get to the kitchen, yelping when your foot caught on a book, sending you falling to the ground. You groaned as the corner of a book dug into your side; the blow softened by the cotton of your sweatshirt as you rolled off of the collapsed stack.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked as you rolled over to a safe area. His hand settled on your side, stopping you from rolling onto your back.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you nodded, “Yeah.” You frowned at the books that were left in your wake, “Oh, Spence. Your books,” you sighed, sticking out your bottom lip sadly.

He shook his head, “They’re just books, lovely.” Despite his reassurance, you caught his brown eyes flickering over the fallen novels. At a glance, it didn’t seem like any damage was incurred, but Spencer held his books to a very high standard. You knew he’d be checking them over as soon as you turned your head.

Sitting all the way up, you giggled softly at the way his concern split between you and the books; you thought about pressing your lips to his, but something moving outside the window caught your eye instead.

You squinted out the window, trying to ascertain what was going on, when your mouth gaped in surprise, “Spencer!” You scrambled to your feet, trying to drag your boyfriend to his, “Come on!”

His brows pinched in confusion. He looked around the living room, trying to find what had gotten you so excited, but you were already shoving your fuzzy sock-covered feet into your sneakers. Spencer had no choice but to follow.

Not even minding that you’d folded over the heels of your shoes, you were shuffling down the stairs and making your way to the street. Spencer lagged behind you, and you had already thrown your arms out in excitement by the time he made it outside. “It’s snowing,” You said giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet and spinning on the pavement.

Spencer grabbed one of your hands, stopping you from moving while he draped your jacket over your shoulders, having been too driven to get to the snowflakes to think about staying warm. His eyes were filled with love, leaving no room for judgment.

Sticking your tongue in an attempt to catch a snowflake, you didn’t even care that you were acting like a child. You’d never lived anywhere that got real snow like this before, “Oh, I love snow.”

“Your scarf is in tatters,” Spencer observed, holding the threadbare fabric at arm’s length.

You shrugged, breathing in and letting the cold air nip at your nose, “I haven’t had any use for it. It’s been in storage for ages,” you reminded him, closing your eyes and basking in the snow.

Instead of placing the hole-ridden scarf around your neck, Spencer loops his purple one over your shoulders. “I’ll have to knit you a new one. They’re predicting above-average snowfall this winter.”

Beaming at Spencer, you held out your hand for him to take, and he pulled you closer to him so your back was flush with his chest, the two of you watching the flurries as the lamplight refracted off the tiny ice crystals. “Happy first snow, Spencer Reid,” you told him, leaning your head back on his shoulder so the two of you could share a kiss.

He hummed affectionately, “Happy first snow, my love.”

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ 35

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,090ish

Summary: You and Logan fight to save Mariko.

Warnings: wounds, fighting, near death experiences

Notes: I have loved all the reactions I've received! Please keep them coming. They all mean so much to me! This is the last chapter before we start on the two different endings! Ending 1 will come out before ending 2. Also, before the ending 1 starts coming out, I'm going to post the one-shot for this series about their everyday lives from the ten year gap.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

You gasped as you woke up naked on the medical bed you had died on. Looking around, you could tell that you were alone. Meaning that Logan had followed through with going to save Mariko, which was what you had asked of him. You were honestly surprised that you had risen from the dead again, but you couldn't waste any more time. You needed to get to Logan.

You quickly found some clothes to wear and the location of Yashida’s birthplace. Thankfully, rich people always had a few cars lying around, and you were off. Racing to get to Logan before he did anything incredibly stupid.

~~~

Logan’s anger was fueling him forward. He needed to rescue Mariko and finish off Dr. Green. He needed to get his revenge for you. When Logan arrived at the town, he was met with Harada, waiting in the streets for him. Logan could sense that there were others nearby, hiding in the shadows.

“I see you’ve come to fight,” Harada stated, coming towards Logan. “It’s pointless. You’re outnumbered. The Black Clan has protected the House of Yashida for 700 years.”

The Black Clan began emerging from the shadows, from the alleys and the rooftops.

“Is that all the men you brought?” Logan challenged. “I’m going to get to Mariko.”

“We are grateful for your protection of Mariko. But there is one more sacrifice you must make for her family.”

“Go fuck yourself, pretty boy.”

Harada yelled, and the fighting began. It didn’t take long for the other Black Clan members to jump down and join, with more continuing to appear on the rooftops. Hard ordered them to begin firing arrows as Logan started to run through the streets. Logan got halfway through town before the arrows began to have heavy wires attached. Logan grunted as he tried to continue on despite the resistance of the wires. He groaned as a poisoned arrow hit the middle of his back. His vision began to blur, but Logan continued to move forward. The Black Clan continued to shoot wired arrows into his back until Logan collapsed face-first into the snow.

~~~

You followed the tracks of a fight in the snow once you reached the town. Your heart clenched at the sight of the clear marks of someone being dragged. You knew it had to be Logan. You continued to follow the tracks, slipping into the large house on the hill. With your powers fully restored, it was easy to take down the Black Clan members in your way. Eventually, you reached the center of the building, revealing to be a large, open lab spanning the whole building. 

Glancing down, you saw Logan locked up in some machine that kept his hands facing outward. You could see him moving slightly and groaning like he was waking up. With a sudden tug, you could see Logan trying to free himself. Slowly and quietly, you began to sneak down.

“Stand back," Dr. Green ordered the nearby Black Clan members as she waltzed up. “There is no need.”

“Where’s Mariko?” Logan demanded. “Where is she?”

“Are you pinning for someone who is not your wife? For shame. Where is your wife anyway?” Logan simply growled. “Did she not make it? Too weak?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Dr. Green smirked before looking away at the giant samurai nearby. “Impressive, no? He is made of adamantium, just like you.” Logan continued to try to break free. “Oh, Logan, you know what, I get it. You’re frustrated.” 

She pressed some buttons, moving the machine that Logan was stuck in forward. The machine pulled his arms forward, away from his body. Logan kept heaving breaths as the machine kept him still, drilling into him and inflicting pain.

“I know Mariko is here,” Logan panted. “I want to see her.”

"You want answers,” Dr. Green stated.

“Yes, I want answers!”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could say more, but I was hired in part for my discretion.” Dr. Green leaned forward, up against the machine, taunting Logan. 

“I’m sure you were."

“That and a certain talent for combining biochemistry and metaphysics. High-grade toxins are my specialty. It helps to be genetically immune to every poison known to man, as I am. And immune to the toxin of man himself… as I am.”

“I’ll tell you what, you twisted mutant bitch, why don’t you open these bracelets, and we'll see who’s made of what?” Logan released his claws. Almost as soon as he did, the machine clamped down further around his fists, preventing his claws from retracting.

“The claws,” Dr. Green smiled. "Now we can begin. The suppressant bug you found inside of you and your wife was mine. You took it out on your own. I didn’t see that coming. Did you take your wife's out, too? Is that why she’s not here?”

“You don’t deserve to talk about her!”

“You are strong. You have courage. Real courage. But that won’t help much now.”

The giant metal samurai ripped itself free from the wires it was connected to. It stomped over to Logan, going around him, before stopping in front. You arrived on the same floor they were on in time to see the giant samurai pull a huge sword out and line it up with Logan’s claws. Your eyes widened as you noticed the sword heat up as it lifted. You rushed over and threw yourself between Logan and the samurai.

“Stop!” You shouted. 

The samurai lost its concentration, hitting the back of the machine Logan was in, throwing you, Logan, and Dr. Green around while the samurai fell back. Logan grunted as he landed on his knees.

“Y/N!” He yelled.

You looked up and over at him, shooting him a smile. “Hey, handsome,” you breathed out. “Miss me?”

Logan opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, he noticed the samurai getting back up. Slamming the leftover wrist clamp against the stairs, it came clattering off. He ran over to you and grabbed your hand, tugging you up harshly to stumble against his chest. His lips quickly captured yours for a brief kiss.

“You gotta stop doing that, sweetheart,” he whispered. 

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow, honey,” you replied with a smirk.

He smirked back. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” The samurai stomping closer caused Logan to start to drag you in the opposite direction. “Run! Go!”

You and Logan ran side-by-side. You noticed Dr. Green rushing to cut you off. You threw your hands out, launching her over the railing and down a few floors in a ball of flames. Harada and Mariko rushed out of a room a few floors up.

“Go!” Logan urged, waving them off. “Run!”

The two of you began running down the stairs. The giant samurai jumped down to the level you had reached. Logan let out a roar as he flung himself at the samurai, causing himself and the samurai to fall down a few levels.

“Logan!” You screamed, looking over the railing to see him squaring up with the samurai. 

You spun around and tried to take the stairs two at a time to get to Logan. You could hear him groaning, straining to keep the samurai’s sword still as he used his claws as a shield. You reached the floor in time to see the samurai pull out a second sword that was quickly heating up. Using the railing, you launched yourself onto the back of the samurai and took hold of the heated sword with one of your hands. You focused on heating the sword up further, causing it to begin to lose its shape. It dropped the melting sword and reached back. It grabbed you and threw you over the railing.

“Y/N!” Logan roared.

You cried out in pain as you harshly landed a few floors down. You could hear Logan and the samurai fighting for a few moments before you heard a thud close by. Logan was quickly kneeling beside you, checking you over.

“Are you okay?” He asked, eyes still frantically searching you over. He carefully helped you sit up.

“Honestly, I’m ready to go home,” you responded.

He let out a hearty chuckle. “Me, too, darling.”

The samurai dropped down onto the level the two of you were on. Logan pulled you up and dragged you over to the electrical boxes. Using his claws, he ruined the boxes, turning off most of the lights in the building. You and Logan quietly hid behind nearby posts as the samurai searched for the two of you. The samurai passed the two of you, allowing Logan to jump on its back and retrieve another sword it had. 

“Y/N!” Logan shouted. 

He tossed you the sword, and you caught it. Holding it with both hands, you began to heat it up. The samurai spun around, kicking Logan down, allowing you to cut the head off the samurai. Logan launched himself at the samurai again, forcing him and the metal monster down to the bottom floor. The samurai slammed against the wall, breaking a hole into it that Logan was launched through.

“Logan!” You yelled.

You ran down the flights of stairs as Logan climbed back into the building. You dropped to your knees in front of him, the two of you quickly wrapping your arms around each other. In a blink of an eye, the samurai grabbed your ankles and tore you from Logan’s grasp.

“No!” Logan shouted, hands barely brushing against your arms as you’re torn out of reach.

The samurai spun you around and grasped onto your hands. The metal clamped against your wrists, and three drills from each of the metal hands appeared and began drilling into your fists, right into your bones. You screamed out in pain.

“Let her go!” Logan demanded.

The middle of the samurai opened up to reveal Yashida.

“Logan-san,” he greeted. “Don't look so shocked. With you at my side, I survived Nagasaki. Surely, I could survive this.” You let out another scream as the drills pushed further into you. “It’s alright. It won’t take long.”

“What are you doing to her?!” Logan didn't know what move to make without hurting you.

“Dr. Green and I have been waiting. It’s only this armor that's kept me alive. We built it to make me strong so I can take what you would not give. And transfer your unwanted healing to my body. It’s only by mere coincidence that your wife could also provide what you would not give. My legacy must be preserved. Your mistake was to believe that a life without end can have no meaning. It is the only life that can.”

Logan was watching as the life slowly drained from your body. You were growing older while Yashida was growing younger. He couldn’t get his eyes to look away from you. He couldn’t force himself to move.

“Logan!” Yukio shouted, throwing one of the large swords in his direction.

Logan caught it, gripping it with both hands, causing it to heat up. He stood up and, with a shout, threw the sword into Yashida’s head. The metal hands retracted the drills and let you go. Logan caught you before you could collapse onto the ground. Yashida stumbled back, gasping for breath, before falling out of the building to his death.

“Sweetheart,” Logan shook you, trying to get you to gain consciousness. “Wake up… I really can’t handle this again… I need you to wake up.” Yukio slowly came over, watching the scene. “Come on, honey.” 

The only hope Logan had was the fact that you were still breathing. You had to wake up. Yukio placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“We need to get her some medical attention,” Yukio said.

Logan nodded, hoisting you further up into his arms before standing up. Yukio led the way out, where Mariko and Harada were waiting safely.

“Logan! Y/N!” Mariko exclaimed, rushing towards Logan. “Oh my gosh!” Mariko looked you over, immediately seeing your increase in age. “We need to get her to a hospital.”

“No,” Logan pulled you closer. “Too dangerous.”

“Logan, I have my grandfather’s business under my control. I have resources. The two of you have helped me so much. Please let me return the favor.”

“Mariko can help,” Harada agreed.

Logan scoffed. “Not really caring for your word right now, bub,” he muttered.

“Trust me,” Mariko pressed. “I won’t let any happen to either of you anymore.”

~~~

Logan snarled at anyone who tried to pry you from his arms the moment Mariko had the group escorted to a private wing of a nearby hospital. Yukio and Mariko had to work together to coax him into setting you on the bed. He insisted on staying near you the entire time. 

The doctor Mariko had called in specialized in mutants, giving Logan hope and making him even more cautious. Logan’s eyes created a rotation going from your rising chest, your face, to the monitors and back. He wanted to know everything and not miss a second of anything. He stood on the edge of every room you were brought into, like a constant guarding shadow. Mariko and Yukio took turns trying to get Logan to rest, but he couldn’t leave you.

It took a few hours for the doctor to get any results from the tests they had run. The doctor informed the group that you were slowly healing and de-aging. They said that you’d be fine in a day or two and would most likely sleep the entire time. The doctor encouraged the group to keep you there until you woke up, and Logan reluctantly agreed. 

“There's one other thing,” the doctor added, after updating the group. “I talked to Dr. McCoy on the phone, and he informed me of the incident that happened ten years ago when Y/N returned from the dead like a Phoenix.”

“What about it?” Logan asked. 

“Was that the only time?”

“No. She did it about a day ago.”

“That would explain what we saw in the blood we took.”

Logan took a protective step closer. “What did you see, doc?”

“Mr. Howlett, your wife is a powerful mutant, but when she rises from the dead like that, it sucks away at some of her abilities. The tests we ran and compared to previous tests that Dr. McCoy had run, show that her mutation is slowly decaying.”

“Are you saying that she’s dying?”

“Not exactly. She could still live another hundred years as long as she is careful. The more she rises from the dead, the faster her mutation will decay, meaning the faster—“

“She’ll die… Can she use the other parts of her mutant?”

“Of course. But I would be wary of bringing her into any more life-threatening situations. I have sent our findings to Dr. McCoy for his records, and so that he can keep track of Y/N himself.”

Logan clenched his jaw as he stared at you, processing the information. Mariko stepped forward and placed a hand on Logan’s back.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Mariko said.

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “I’ll be around if there’s anything you need.” 

The doctor left as Logan walked over to your bedside. You were slowly returning to the woman he knew. But, even if you hadn’t, Logan would have loved you anyway.

“I need to take her home,” Logan murmured.

“I’ll have the plane ready for as soon as she wakes,” Mariko said.

“No,” Logan shook his head. “I need to get her home now.”

“Logan—“

“I appreciate what you’ve done. But it’s my duty to take care of her and the best way I can manage that is at home.”

“If you’re sure.” Logan nodded, causing Mariko to sigh. “I’ll go make the calls.”

Mariko left to go to as she said. Logan gently took your hand and lifted it up, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“We’re going home, sweetheart,” Logan whispered. “And we’ll never leave again.”

~~~

You needed to move, but you were trapped. The familiar weight of Logan’s arms around your waist was comforting, with his head resting on your shoulder. But you felt like you hadn’t moved in days; your muscles were stiff. As you slowly opened your eyes, you quickly realized that you were no longer in Japan. You were home. Logan’s head was on your shoulder, with his arms around you, keeping you against his bare chest. You lifted your arm and began scratching Logan’s arm. He groaned as he began to wake.

“Sweetheart?” He mumbled into your neck.

“It’s me,” you whispered.

Logan’s head lifted to fully look at you as his arms tightened around you. “You have to stop worrying me… I can’t take anymore.”

“I'm sorry. I’ll try hard not to.” Logan leaned down and kissed you softly. “When did we get home?”

“Last night. The doctor cleared you, and I wanted you home.”

You reached up and cupped Logan’s cheek. You could tell that the concern was still lingering. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I know, darling.” Logan grabbed your wrist and turned his head to kiss the palm of his hand. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Logan then explained what the doctor had found out about your ability to rise from the dead. You could feel Logan trembling as he spoke, like he was finally letting all his concerns out. Once he was finished, you pulled him to lay on top of you. Logan was careful not to fully put his whole weight on you but appreciated you holding him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you quietly promised Logan.

“No more danger,” Logan muttered. “No more missions.” He pulled back enough to allow your eyes to meet. “I need you safe. I need you here.”

“I won’t promise that unless you can promise the same thing… I can't lose you either.”

“I’m not the one with the habit of dying.”

“I promise I don't try to.”

“I know, sweetheart… Alright, no missions. No danger. For either of us.” He leaned down and gave you a brief kiss. “I never asked, how are you feeling?”

You smiled up at him. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll let you know if it changes, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I do have one thing, though.”

“Anything.”

“Can we stay in bed all day?”

Logan gave a hardy laugh as he wrapped you in his arms and rolled over so you were on top of him. “Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”

Ending 1 next chapter >

Ending 2 next chapter >

[screaminglygay]

Hop on.

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: when your brother’s bike breaks down, you turn to natasha´s shop for help, what starts as a simple repair leads to a whirlwind of teasing banter. sometimes, fixing a bike can lead to mending more than just machinery.

warnings: bike accident, but nothing horrible, then just FLUFF!!, mild teasing, brother being an ass hehe

word count: 8.9k

an: i wrote this a while ago, but i still really like this one a lot, so i hope you´ll do too:) also yes, i don´t know anything about bikes:D

"What can I help you with?" The receptionist asks, but noticing you´re worried look right away.

"Um… my brother, he- had an accident," you mumble out to her.

"Can you tell me your name, miss?" She looks down at her computer.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)," you show her your ID.

The lady gives you the ID back, makes a few clicks and looks back at you, "he is in the room number seven."

You basically sprint there, slamming the door open, thankfully your brother was the only person in there. But the sight of him made you confused, he was sitting on the bed, smiling as usual, just few bruises on his face and a bandage oh his leg.

"Hey, sis," he makes the peace sign, while your heartbeat is going milions per seconds.

"Hey, sis?! Hey, sis?! What the hell?!" You walk up to him and smack him.

"Ouch! What was that for?" He scratches his head.

"What was- are you kidding me?" You pull out your phone, "25 minutes ago, I got this message from your friend: 'hey, don´t freak out, but your brother is going to the hospital, bike accident.' I rush here, committing like thirty-seven crimes…and you´re here smiling and saying 'hey, sis?!'"

"Oh… Kevin´s idiot," he shakes his head.

"No, you are! What the hell happened?!" You move your hands around.

"Can you just chill for a second? Jeez." He stratches, "We were riding, normally, but then one of the cars cut me off and I slipped. I´m fine, but bike was pretty fucked up." As he tells you the story of what´ve happened, you scan his face, obivously you´re glad he is okay, but deep down you´re angry that he still rides that thing.

"Are you sure you´re okay? You look down on his leg.

"Yeah, nothing that didn´t happened before. But uh… I need ride back home." He shifts in his position, even when he tries to mask it, he is still in some visible pain.

"I figured. Stay here, I´ll get someone…"

After two hours he is finally let out of the hospital, you help him into the passenger seat, careful not to jar his injured leg. As you close the door, you mutter, “I swear, one day that bike is going to be the death of you.”

He rolls his eyes as you start the car. “You worry too much. It’s not like I haven’t crashed before.”

“Yeah, and you’re still riding that death trap.” You grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary. “Why do you even keep that thing? It’s not like you can ride it anytime soon.”

He winces as he shifts in his seat, not meeting your gaze. “I just… I need it fixed, okay? I’ll be careful next time. Can you help me with that… pleaseee?

You let out a sigh. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up worse. Fine, I’ll take care of it, but you’re not driving that bike again until I’m sure it won’t fall apart under you.”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he says, softer than before, like he knows you mean well even when you’re pissed. He’s quiet for a moment, then adds, “You know, there’s a mechanic not far from here, Red Guardian.”

You nod, making a mental note. “I’ll check it out. But you, mister, are on bed rest.”

"Aren´t you three years younger than me?"

You glance at him, "and yet I´m the smarter one, so bed it is."

“Whatever you say, mom.”

...

Two days later you finally arrive at Red Guardin, a place that looks far more organized than you expected for a bike shop. The sign is simple, but the place has a charm, just like you’d heard. You park your car and walk inside, the smell of oil and metal hitting you as you step through the door.

A woman with fiery red braided hair is leaning over a motorcycle, hands deep in the engine. She doesn’t look up as she says, “Be with you in a sec.”

You clear your throat, trying not to be too obvious as you check her out. “Uh, take your time.”

She straightens up, wiping her hands on a rag before turning to face you. Her green eyes meet yours, and she gives you a small, confident smirk. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here about my brother’s bike,” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Your brother? The guy who got cut off and ended up in the hospital?” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head. “Yeah, I heard about him. Of what I´ve heard that bike’s a mess, but there is nothing I can´t fix.”

You blink, a little taken aback. “You already know about it?”

“Word travels fast in this town,” Natasha replies, that teasing smile still on her lips. “Plus, your brother’s been in here before. He’s not exactly subtle.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course. He didn’t tell me that part.”

“So, where’s the patient?” Natasha smiles as she takes some gloves.

You fumble with your words for a moment, feeling a little awkward. “Uh, it’s in my car. Or, well, in the truck bed."

You lead her outside to where you´re parked. Natasha walks around it, examining the damage with a critical eye. She’s quiet for a moment, then looks over at you. “Well, the frame’s a little bent, and the engine’s definitely seen better days. But it’s not totaled. I can fix this.”

You nod, relieved. “Thank God. I had no idea what to do. I mean, I know a bike has wheels, an engine, and all that, but that’s where my knowledge ends.”

Natasha gives you a teasing smile. “Good thing you came to the right place. I’ll need to take it inside and get a closer look. Mind helping me unload it?”

You quickly agree, and the two of you start unstrapping the bike. Natasha shows you where to hold it and how to carefully lower it down. As you work together, she starts explaining what she’s looking for.

“See this here?” she says, pointing to a section of the frame. “It’s bent, but not too badly. I’ll have to realign it, though. And this,” she taps the engine, “will need a rebuild. Your brother’s lucky it didn’t crack.”

You listen intently, trying to follow along even though most of what she’s saying goes over your head. Natasha notices your blank expression and laughs softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. By the time I’m done, it’ll be good as new.”

You can’t help but smile at how confident she is. “Thanks," you look down for a name tag, but there isn´t one,

"It´s Natasha," she smiles.

You nod, "Natasha, I really appreciate it. My brother would lose his mind if he thought he couldn’t ride again.”

She gives you a quick wink. “No problem. I’m used to fixing things, especially when they mean a lot to someone.”

There’s a warmth in her voice that makes your heart skip a beat. You swallow nervously, trying to focus on the bike and not the way Natasha is looking at you with that confident, playful smirk.

You´re glad that you found the right place.

…

As you pull up to your house, the sun already dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the yard. As you step inside, your brother is lounging on the couch, leg propped up on a stack of pillows, flipping through channels on the TV. He looks up as you walk in, his eyes narrowing in concern.

“Well?” he asks, cutting straight to the point. “Is it fixable? Am I ever going to ride again?”

You set your bag down and kick off your shoes, feeling the day’s tension start to melt away. “Natasha said it’s fixable, but it’ll take some time. The frame’s bent, and the engine needs a rebuild. But she’s confident she can get it back in shape.” You repeat what she told you earlier.

He visibly relaxes, “Natasha is fixing it? Good. I was worried it’d be a total loss."

“Yeah, well, you got lucky,” you say, crossing your arms as you lean against the doorway. “You’re not exactly gentle on that thing.”

He scoffs. “It’s a bike, not a porcelain doll. It’s meant to be ridden hard.”

You roll your eyes. “And that’s why you’re here, with a busted leg, instead of out riding. You should really be more careful.”

He shoots you a teasing grin. “You sound like mom agan.”

“Someone has to, since you clearly don’t listen at all.”

He chuckles, then winces as he adjusts his leg. “Okay, okay, point taken. But when it will be ready?”

Your expression softening. “Natasha said she’ll have it back to you in no time. She knows what she’s doing. It’ll be like new—maybe even better.”

He sighs, relief washing over his features. “Great-" you cut him off.

"You´ll take it easy when you get back on the road. No more stunts, no more pushing your luck. You got off easy this time, but next time you might not be so lucky.”

He rolls his eyes but nods. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be careful.”

“I mean it!” you say, your tone firm but caring. “I don’t want to get another call like that.”

His teasing expression fades, and he nods more seriously. “I know. I’ll be careful. Promise.”

You give him a small smile, reaching over to mess up his hair. “Good. Now, get some rest."

"I will, but can you promise you will check on the bike, when you can?" He gives you the best innocent look he possibly can.

"I will check it out tomorrow after work." You nod.

“Thanks, sis. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you reply, “and don’t forget it.”

As you walk away, you hear him mutter, “I won’t!”

…

The next day, you find yourself back at the shop, unable to shake the feeling of curiosity or maybe it’s something else entirely, that pulls you there. The familiar scent of motor oil and metal greets you as you step inside. Natasha is already hard at work, leaning over a bike with her back to you, her hands moving expertly as she adjusts something under the engine. You can´t help, but stare. Her toned hands are someting you can definetly look at forever.

She glances up as you approach, a smirk playing on her lips when she sees you basically drooling. “Back again? You know, most people don’t check in this often. Are you here to make sure I’m actually working?”

You snap back out of your thoughts, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that. My brother’s just obsessed with that bike. He’s convinced it needs constant check-ups or it’ll fall apart. Honestly, he probably cares about it more than is healthy.”

Natasha straightens up, wiping her hands on a rag as she walks over to you, a teasing glint in her eye. “Sounds like a lot of work, keeping up with all those concerns. You know, I could make it easier for you…”

“Oh?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “And how exactly would you do that?”

She leans casually against the counter, that familiar smirk tugging at her lips. “I could give you my number. That way, you can check in on the bike whenever you or your brother want. Get updates straight from the source.”

You laugh, feeling a little flustered by how smooth she is. “Right, for the bike.”

“Of course, for the bike,” Natasha says, her voice dripping with playful innocence, though the mischievous sparkle in her eyes tells you she’s enjoying this. She pulls her phone from her pocket, handing it to you. “Here, you can add your number.”

You take her phone, typing in your contact details, and then you pause. Instead of handing it back, you grin and ring yourself right away.

Natasha chuckles, clearly impressed. She takes her phone back and glances at the screen. Her expression shifts into one of amused surprise when she sees what you’ve entered. “Finally, I get to know your name. Pleasure to meet you officially, (Y/N).”

You feel your cheeks warm slightly as she says your name, her voice low and smooth.

She grins, leaning in just a bit closer, her voice dropping to a softer tone. “Well, I like to take my time with the important things. So tell you brother it will take some time, just to make sure his bike is ready for his awful riding."

You swallow, trying not to get too flustered under her gaze. “I´ll tell him that." You nod.

With one last shared look, you turn to leave, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. As you step out of the shop, your phone buzzes. You glance down to see a new text from Natasha: “Just in case you need another excuse to visit. See you soon, (Y/N).”

You can’t help but smile as you tuck your phone back into your pocket, already looking forward to the next visit.

...

Over the next few days, you find yourself returning to the shop more often than you’d care to admit. At first, it’s just to check on the bike, of course, but then you don´t even care to hide, that there is one more, bigger reason to come into the shop.

One afternoon, she catches you watching her as she tightens a bolt on the engine. “You know, you’re here enough that I should put you to work.”

You laugh. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She gives you her usual smirk. “I could show you. How about a crash course in motorcycle basics?” Before you can protest, she’s grabbing a helmet off the wall and tossing it to you. “Here, put this on.”

“Wait, what? I don’t even know how to ride.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, her voice low and teasing. “I’ll take care of you.”

"I- won´t this get you into a trouble?" You frown a bit.

"My dad owns the shop, I think I´ll be fine." You feel your cheeks heat up as you put on the helmet. Natasha swings a leg over the bike, patting the seat behind her. “Hop on.”

You hesitate for just a moment before climbing on, wrapping your arms around her waist. She revs the engine, the sound vibrating through you as she takes off, the wind whipping past your face. She’s almost intoxicating at everything she does.

When she finally stops back in the parking lot next to the shop, your heart is racing for more reasons than one. Natasha turns to look at you over her shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Not bad for a first ride, huh?”

You can’t help but smile. “Not bad at all.”

Natasha swings her leg over the bike, smoothly dismounting and turning to face you. Ugh the stupid smirk on her pretty face. “You handled yourself pretty well back there. I think you’ve got some natural talent.” She helps you take off the helmet.

You laugh, still feeling the rush of the wind and the hum of the engine. “I was just trying not to fall off. But I’ll take the compliment.”

She steps closer, close enough that you can feel her parfume mixed with oil from the repairs. “You know, riding isn’t just about holding on. It’s about trust. Trusting the bike, trusting yourself… and maybe trusting the person in front of you.”

Your breath catches slightly at her words, and you realize she’s no longer just talking about riding. You meet her eyes, and there’s a tension between you, a pull that’s hard to ignore. “I guess I did trust you back there.”

Natasha’s smirk widens, and she tilts her head, studying you with a gaze that feels like it’s seeing right through you. “Good. I like that.”

You try to steady your breathing, but it’s difficult with her standing so close. “Do you do this with all your clients?”

She chuckles, a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “I don’t take just anyone for a ride, (Y/N). Consider yourself special.”

The way she says your name makes your heart skip a beat. There’s a moment of a silence between you, making you aware of how close she is, how her eyes seem to linger on yours, searching for something.

Natasha’s gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and your breath hitches. “You know,” she says softly, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “there’s a lot more I could show you. If you’re interested.”

Your pulse quickens, a mix of nerves and anticipation coursing through you. The air between you feels charged, every second stretching out as you weigh her words. You know she’s definetly not just talking about bikes anymore, and the realization sends a thrill through you.

“I think I’m interested,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha’s smile deepens, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “Good.” She steps even closer, her presence almost overwhelming now. “Because I don’t do half-measures, (Y/N). If you’re in, you’re all in.”

You feel a nervous flutter in your stomach, but it’s not enough to hold you back. “I think I can handle that.”

Her eyes darken slightly, her voice taking on a more serious note. “Are you sure? Because once we start, I don’t plan on stopping.”

The intensity of her words makes your heart race, but you don’t back down. Instead, you meet her gaze head-on, the challenge in her eyes only spurring you on. “I’m sure, Natasha.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the tension between you almost unbearable. Then, as if making a decision, Natasha leans in, her hand brushing lightly against your arm. The touch is brief but electric, sending a jolt through you.

“Glad to hear it,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your skin

Before you can respond, Natasha finally pulls back, though the look in her eyes tells you that this is far from over. She glances at the bike, then back at you, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You should head home. I wouldn’t want to keep you out too late… this time.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding. “Right. I should… probably get going.”

“Probably,” she agrees, though there’s a teasing edge to her voice that makes it clear she wouldn’t mind if you stayed longer.

As you walk back to your car, Natasha watches you with that same unreadable expression, like she’s already planning the next move. You reach your car door, pausing to glance back at her. “So… I’ll come check on the bike tomorrow same time?”

Natasha crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe of the shop, her smile turning into something almost predatory. “I´m counting on it, (Y/N).”

You give her a small smile in return, feeling that same mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside you. As you start the car and pull away, you can’t help but glance at her going inside the shop once more.

The cool night air feels refreshing on your flushed cheeks as you step out of the car going back home, the smile on your face almost impossible to hide. As you approach the front door, you take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. But the excitement from the evening is still buzzing inside you, making it hard to calm the butterflies in your stomach.

When you walk inside, your brother is sprawled out on the couch again, a half-empty bag of chips beside him and a game paused on the TV. He looks up as you close the door behind you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “You’re home late,” he remarks, his voice dripping with curiosity. “What’s got you all smiley?”

You pause, trying to wipe the grin off your face, but it’s no use. “Oh, nothing,” you say, attempting nonchalance as you shrug out of your jacket and hang it up. “Just, you know… checking on your bike.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your casual tone. “Uh-huh. And since when does checking on my bike make you look like you just won the lottery?”

You shoot him a look, but it’s playful, and he knows it. “Since today, apparently.”

He narrows his eyes at you, sitting up a bit straighter. “Okay, spill. What happened?”

You hesitate for a moment, debating how much to tell him. But then you decide it’s harmless enough. “Well… I rode it, you know a test ride I assume.”

He blinks, clearly not expecting that. “Wait, what? You rode my bike? The same bike you’ve always refused to even sit on?”

You nod, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. Natasha let me try it out.”

His expression shifts, realization dawning as a smirk spreads across his face. “Natasha, huh? So, you finally decided to take the plunge… because she asked?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the blush that creeps up your neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, sure it’s not,” he says, leaning back with a smug grin. “You always said no to me, no matter how many times I tried to get you on that bike. But one pretty redhead asks, and suddenly you’re Evel Knievel.”

You try to play it cool, but you can’t help the smile that slips out. “Well, she made a good case. And besides, you know how scared I am.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, so scared until Natasha Romanoff turns on the charm. I see how it is.”

You grab a throw pillow and toss it at him, but he catches it easily, still grinning. “Shut up.”

He throws the pillow back, missing you by an inch. “Hey, no judgment here. I’m just saying, I knew something was up when you walked in all smiley. I didn’t expect it to be this, though.”

You shake your head, trying to suppress your own laughter. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yep,” he says proudly, then adds with a wink, “So, when’s the next ‘check-up’ on my bike?”

You roll your eyes again, but you can’t help the small smile that lingers on your lips. “Goodnight, dork,” you say, turning to head toward your room.

“Goodnight, bike thief,” he calls after you, his voice filled with playful teasing.

As you close your bedroom door behind you, you lean against it for a moment, your smile growing even wider. Just as you’re about to lay in bed and snuggle with your blanket, your phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a notification.

You reach over and grab it, your heart skipping a beat when you see who the message is from.

Natasha: Hope you didn’t get into trouble for coming home so late. Wouldn’t want to get you grounded ;)

You can’t help but smile at the playful tone in her text.

You quickly type out a reply: No, just had to endure a bit of teasing. My brother thinks he’s hilarious.

You hit send, still smiling as you stare at your phone, waiting to see if she’ll reply. It doesn’t take long before your phone buzzes again.

Natasha: Sounds like he’s got a good sense of humor. He’s probably just jealous you rode his bike.

Your smile widens as you think about her words, and the memory of the ride flashes in your mind. The wind, the speed, the way Natasha’s laughter had echoed in the air, it had been more fun than you ever expected. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as you type your response.

You type out: Maybe. But I think it was more because of the company than the ride.

There’s a pause, and for a moment, you wonder if you were too forward. But then your phone buzzes again, and Natasha’s reply makes your heart flutter.

Natasha: I was hoping you’d say that. Maybe next time, we can make the ride even more interesting.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your giddy excitement in check. There’s something intoxicating about the way she flirts, the way she effortlessly mixes teasing with sincerity. You decide to match her energy, your fingers dancing across the screen as you craft your response.

You: I’m all for interesting;)

A few seconds pass before her next message arrives.

Natasha: Challenge accepted, (Y/N). Sweet dreams.

You grin at the screen, feeling a warm, fuzzy sensation spread through your chest.

You: Goodnight, Natasha.

You set your phone down and curl up under the covers, still smiling as you think about her last text. The excitement from the evening lingers as you drift off to sleep. Whatever happens next, you’re ready for it.

…

A couple of days have passed since you lastly check up on the bike, some work got stuck up and you weren´t able to see Natasha as much as you´d like. Thanfuly the texting between you and Natasha has only gotten more frequent, filled with light-hearted banter, playful teasing, and the occasional flirty remark.

Then, one evening, just as you’re settling down after dinner, your phone buzzes with a new message. You pick it up, your heart doing that now familiar little flip when you see Natasha’s name on the screen.

Natasha: So, I was thinking… how about we do something that doesn’t involve bikes this weekend?

You blink at the screen, your pulse quickening. It’s not exactly a date invitation, but it’s close enough that your mind immediately starts racing.

You: What do you have in mind?

Her reply comes almost instantly.

Natasha: I know a nice spot for dinner. How does Friday sound?

Your stomach flips with excitement. This is definitely a date. You type back before you can overthink it.

You: Friday sounds perfect.

Natasha: Great. I’ll pick you up at 7.

You stare at the screen, a grin spreading across your face. A date. With Natasha. Suddenly, Friday can’t come fast enough.

…

When Friday finally arrives, you’re a bundle of nerves and excitement. By late afternoon, you’re standing in front of your closet, pulling out outfits and discarding them almost as quickly. Nothing seems right - too casual, too dressy, not “you” enough. You groan in frustration, tossing yet another dress onto the bed.

“Uh… what’s going on in here?” your brother’s voice cuts through your frantic search, and you turn to see him leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"Shouldn´t you be in bed?" You look at his leg.

He shakes his head, "what´s all of this?" Your brother nods towards the mess in your room.

“Nothing,” you mutter, but your flushed cheeks and the mess of clothes around you betray the truth.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he says, hopping into the room and picking up a discarded top. “Who are you getting all dressed up for?”

You hesitate, then sigh, realizing there’s no use hiding it. “Natasha invited me to dinner. She’s picking me up in an hour.”

His eyes widen in surprise, then narrow as a grin spreads across his face. “Natasha? Oooo (Y/N) has a date, (Y/N) has a date!"

You nod, biting your lip as you rifle through your clothes again. “Yeah. So, I need to find something that says ‘date,’ but not ‘trying too hard.’”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this. “Wow, you must really like her if you’re this worked up.”

You huff, grabbing a simple but flattering top that you haven’t worn in a while. “Maybe I do. But it’s just… I don’t know, I want it to be perfect, you know?”

He watches you for a moment, then his teasing demeanor softens. “You’ll look great, no matter what you wear. Just be yourself, and she’ll be into it.”

You pause, then smile gratefully at him. “Thanks.”

"But don´t wear that," he points at the top you´re holding, "take the black shirt over there." He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, but to be honest you´re really glad, that you have your brother there, to ease your nerves. When you look in the mirror, you feel a little more confident. You can do this.

Right on time, there´s a buzz from your phone. You grab your purse, take a deep breath, and head downstairs. Your brother, ever the nosy one, is already at the window, peeking through the curtains. “Your ride’s here,” he says, smirking. “And I gotta say, she cleans up nice.”

You roll your eyes at him but feel your pulse quicken as you reach the door. Sure enough, when you step outside, Natasha is waiting for you, leaning casually against a car. But tonight, she’s swapped out her usual work clothes for something a little more polished - dark jeans, a fitted leather jacket over a crisp shirt, and boots that complete the look. The sight of her takes your breath away.

“Wow,” you manage to say as you walk up to her. “It’s nice to see you in something other than grease-stained coveralls.”

Natasha grins, her eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. “You look pretty well yourself. But don’t get too used to this, I’m usually more comfortable getting my hands dirty.”

You chuckle, feeling the tension ease a bit. “I like both looks.”

She steps closer, her gaze warm as it meets yours. “Good to know. Ready for dinner?”

“Definitely,” you reply nervously.

As she opens the passenger door for you, she suddenly glances over your shoulder and smirks. “Looks like we have an audience.”

You glance back to see your brother peeking out from behind the curtains, grinning like an idiot. He gives you a thumbs up, then waves cheekily at Natasha, who waves back with a teasing smile.

“Sorry about him,” you say, feeling your cheeks heat up as you climb into the car. “He’s… enthusiastic.”

Natasha just laughs as she slides into the driver’s seat. “He’s alright. At least he approves.”

“Yeah, well, he’s probably just happy I’m not yelling at him for riding that bike,” you reply with a grin.

As Natasha starts the car and pulls away from the house, she glances over at you, her voice taking on a playful tone. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure this date is worth the teasing you’re going to get when you get home.”

You meet her gaze, feeling the spark between you light up again. “I’m sure it will be.”

Natasha drives you to a cozy restaurant that you’ve never been to before. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t try too hard but still manages to be effortlessly charming. She leads you to a table by the window, where the view of the city lights adds a romantic touch to the evening. After you’re both seated, Natasha gives the server a nod, clearly a regular here, and within moments, two glasses of wine are placed in front of you.

“Do you come here often?” you ask, taking a sip.

“Every now and then,” Natasha replies with a shrug. “It’s one of those hidden gems. Not too crowded, good food, great wine. Figured it’d be a good spot to… get to know each other better.”

You smile, appreciating her thoughtfulness. “It’s perfect. And I agree, it’s definitely got a vibe.”

Natasha leans back in her chair, her gaze settling on you. “So, what else should I know about you, besides the fact that you’re fiercely protective of your brother and apparently a quick learner when it comes to riding bikes?”

You laugh, feeling a little more at ease. “Well, I don’t usually make a habit of riding bikes. That was… a first for me.”

Her eyes glint with amusement. “I’m honored to be your first, then.”

You feel a blush creep up your neck but decide to match her playful tone. “What about you? I know you’re amazing with bikes, but what else is there to know about Natasha Romanoff?”

She takes a sip of her wine, her expression thoughtful. “Well, I wasn’t always a mechanic. I’ve had a few different jobs over the years, but I’ve always liked working with my hands. There’s something satisfying about taking something broken and making it whole again.”

“Did you grow up around bikes?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Sort of,” she says, a small smile playing on her lips, "my father worked on bikes since I can remeber, but I learned a lot on my own, picked up skills along the way and after some years I was kinda stuck with it in his shop."

You nod, sensing there’s more to her story than she’s letting on, but you don’t push. “I get that. I’ve never been big into them, but I can see the appeal. The way you talked about them, showed me around your shop… it made me see them differently.”

Natasha’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the teasing edge in her eyes fades. “Less scary? I’m glad I could share that with you. I don’t usually open up about that stuff with just anyone.”

You nod, feeling comfortable and curious about discovering who Natasha really is, beyond the confident, flirty exterior.

“So,” Natasha says, breaking the silence with a smirk, “I have to ask… what made you say yes to this? I mean, I know I’m irresistible, but still…”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re definitely confident, I’ll give you that. But honestly? It’s because you’re… different. Not what I expected, in a good way.”

Her smirk softens into a genuine smile. “I’m glad to hear that. I was hoping I didn’t scare you off with the whole ‘let’s ride a bike together’ thing.”

“Not at all,” you say, meeting her gaze. “In fact, I think that’s what intrigued me the most. You challenge me, in a way that’s exciting. And I like that.”

Natasha holds your gaze, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away. “Good,” she says quietly. “Because I like it too.”

As the evening progresses, with ordered food, the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about your lives, your families, your dreams - sharing stories that are both funny and revealing. Natasha opens up about her past, hinting at the difficulties she faced growing up, while you share some of your own challenges. There’s a comfort in the way you can both be honest with each other, even if not every detail is fully revealed.

At one point, the conversation turns to your brother, and Natasha leans in, clearly curious. “So, what’s the deal with you and your brother? You two seem pretty close.”

You smile fondly. “We are. He’s a pain sometimes, but he’s my best friend. We’ve been through a lot together, and he’s always had my back.”

Natasha nods, her expression softening. “Sounds like you’ve got a good thing going. Not everyone’s lucky enough to have that kind of bond.”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m grateful for him. And it looks like he likes you, so."

Natasha grins, the playful spark returning to her eyes. 'Well, that’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side, though I think a 50% voucher to the shop might earn me some bonus points with him.

You laugh, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Don´t worry, you’re in his good books. You ride a bike and you know everything about it, plus the voucher sounds amazing. Trust me, I´m the one who is on thin line here. He’s already convinced I’ve got a crush on you anyways, so…” You talk faster than you think.

Natasha arches an eyebrow, leaning closer. “And do you?”

You hesitate, but only for a second. “Maybe I do.”

Her smile widens, a mixture of satisfaction and warmth. “I´ll take a maybe." You take another sip of wine, your heart racing in the best way possible.

Eventually, the dinner plates are cleared, and the conversation winds down. Natasha pays the bill, despite your protests, and then you’re back in the car, driving through the quiet streets. The tension that filled the air earlier has softened into something more comfortable, more familiar.

When she pulls up to your house, she turns to you with that mischievous smile that makes your pulse quicken. “So, did I live up to your expectations?”

You smile back, unbuckling your seatbelt. “More than that.”

She chuckles, clearly pleased. “Glad to hear it. I’ll see you soon?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Definitely. And I´m paying next time!”

"I don´t think you will, but it´s cute that you´re figting for it." Natasha chuckles.

Before you can overthink it, you lean in and kiss her cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin. When you pull back, her eyes are sparkling, and there’s a pleased smile on her lips.

“Goodnight, Natasha,” you say softly, stepping out of the car. Even though the inside of your brain is just a big mess and your body is full of butterlfies that are buzzing through your body.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” she replies, watching every step of yours. You walk up to your front door, you glance back and see your brother peeking through the window again, grinning like a fool. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you give him a little wave before stepping inside. As soon as you close the front door your brother is standing in the hallway, arms crossed, with a grin that can only be described as infuriatingly smug.

“So…” he starts, drawing out the word with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How was it?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool as you kick off your shoes. “How was what?”

He snorts, clearly not buying your act. “The date. You know, the one you spent an hour agonizing over an outfit for? The one with the gorgeous redhead who just dropped you off?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you maintain a casual tone. “It was fine. We had dinner, talked… no big deal.”

“Oh, sure,” he says, nodding along in exaggerated agreement. “No big deal at all. That’s why you’ve got that goofy smile plastered on your face.”

You try to suppress your grin, but it’s no use. “Okay, fine. It was… great. Happy?”

“Very,” he says with a smirk. “But I need details. What did you guys talk about? Did she kiss you? Are you two going on another date?”

You laugh, shaking your head at his barrage of questions. “Slow down, detective. We just had a nice dinner and got to know each other better. And yes, we’re definitely going to see each other again.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No kiss, though?”

You pause, remembering the kiss you gave Natasha on the cheek before you got out of the car. “I´m not gonna discuss that with you."

“So that´s a yes. Ha! I knew it!” He points at you triumphantly. “So you like her. Like, really like her.”

“Okay, okay, yes, I do,” you finally admit, exasperated but still smiling. “But you don’t have to make a big deal out of it.”

“Oh, but it is a big deal,” he says, leaning against the wall with a grin.

“You’ve never looked this happy after a date. I’m telling you, this Natasha is something special.”

You bite your lip, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah… she really is.”

He watches you for a moment, his teasing grin softening into something more sincere. “I’m glad, you know. You deserve someone who makes you smile like that.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his unexpected seriousness. “Thanks, that means a lot.”

“Don’t get too mushy on me now,” he teases, but there’s warmth in his eyes. “Just… if she hurts you, I’ll break her bike.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I think she’d rather face anything else than that.”

“Damn right,” he says with a chuckle. “But seriously, I’m happy for you, sis. Just remember, I still expect you to help me with my bike.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, waving him off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

“Sure, go dream about your redhead,” he calls after you as you head up the stairs.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you think about Natasha.

…

It’s early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you arrive at Natasha’s shop. The garage door is partially open, you push it up and step inside, where you find Natasha already at work on a different bike. She’s focused, her hands busy, but when she sees you, her expression brightens instantly.

“Hey, didn’t expect you so early,” she says, wiping her hands on a rag before tossing it aside as always. There’s a faint grease stain on her cheek, adding to her usual rugged charm.

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “I figured I’d take you up on your offer. Plus, I wanted to see how the bike’s coming along, of course.”

Natasha grins, nodding toward your brother’s bike. “Your brother’s baby is coming together nicely. A few more tweaks, and it’ll be as good as new.”

You walk over to examine the bike, but your attention keeps drifting back to Natasha. The shop is quieter than usual. As Natasha finishes up what she’s doing, you lean against the workbench, watching her with a mix of admiration and something deeper. She catches your gaze and raises an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

You bite your lip, then decide to be bold. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that ride we took… and how you said you don’t take just anyone out.”

She steps closer, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What about it?”

You smile, heart pounding. “I was wondering if that’s still true.”

Natasha chuckles, the sound low and warm, as she moves closer still. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were special, (Y/N). But what’s really on your mind?”

There’s a pause, a moment where you´re trying to calm your thoughts. You look up at her, realizing how close she’s standing, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of oil.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you say quietly, “I think you know.”

For a split second, Natasha’s confident facade wavers, replaced by something more vulnerable. But then she smirks, closing the distance between you with a deliberate slowness that sends a thrill through you. “You sure about this?” she asks softly, her voice a low murmur that makes your breath catch.

You nod, eyes locked on hers. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

And with that, Natasha leans in, her lips brushing yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It’s gentle at first, testing the waters, but the moment your lips meet, it’s like a spark ignites. The kiss deepens, turning into something more intense, filled with all the unspoken tension and longing that’s been building between you this whole time.

Natasha lingers close, her forehead resting gently against yours, a smile playing on her lips. But then she pulls back just slightly, glancing down at her hands still resting on your waist. “I should stop before I get grease on you,” she murmurs, her voice teasing but with a hint of genuine concern.

You glance down at her hands, noticing the faint smudges of oil and grease, and can’t help but laugh softly. “A little grease never hurt anyone,” you reply, feeling warm all over, both from the kiss and from the way she’s looking at you.

Natasha chuckles, giving you a playful grin. “True, but I don’t want to mess up your clothes. You look too good for that.”

You roll your eyes affectionately, feeling a flutter in your chest at the compliment. “So do you, grease and all.”

She smiles wider, the expression softening into something tender as she gently brushes a thumb along your jaw, careful not to smudge any grease. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Is that a good thing?” you tease, leaning into her touch

“Definitely a good thing,” she replies, her voice low and warm. There’s a comfortable silence, where the weight of the moment sinks in. But Natasha, being who she is, breaks it with a playful grin. “So, does this mean I get to take you on another ride?”

You laugh, leaning up to kiss her cheek. “As long as we make some more stops like this one.”

She chuckles, pulling you in for another quick kiss, this one softer, sweeter. “Deal.”

Just as you’re savoring the warmth of the moment, the shop bell jingles, signaling the arrival of a customer. Natasha glances over her shoulder, then back at you with a smirk. “Looks like I’ve got work to do.”

Before she steps away, she gives your waist a quick, playful squeeze, leaning in close to murmur, “I’ll be with you in a second, (Y/N). Don’t go anywhere.” Her tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying softness that makes your heart flutter.

With one last lingering look, she turns to greet the customer, her demeanor shifting effortlessly into professional mode. The customer, a man who looks like he’s in his mid-40s, nods at Natasha, holding a small bike that clearly needs some work. “Morning. Got a bit of a problem with my kid’s bike here.”

“No problem,” Natasha says, flashing him that easy smile. “Let me take a look.”

As she moves to inspect the bike, you can’t help but notice how her muscles flex with every movement, her toned arms and back on full display as she lifts the bike onto the workbench. She handles the machine with practiced ease, her focus entirely on diagnosing the issue. You watch, a little mesmerized by the way she works—effortless, strong, and undeniably attractive.

It’s only when Natasha finishes up with the customer that you realize you’ve been staring the entire time. She thanks the man and sees him off, then turns back to you, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Catching the look on your face, she strides over, a teasing grin spreading across her lips. “Need me to grab you a rag for that drool?” she asks, leaning against the workbench with her arms crossed, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

You feel your cheeks flush with heat, but you manage to keep your composure. “I wasn’t drooling,” you protest, though the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

Natasha steps closer, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Sure you weren’t.” She reaches out to gently tap your chin with her finger, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “But just in case, I’ll keep a rag handy for next time.”

You laugh, swatting her hand away lightly. "Ha ha ha, funny."

Natasha grins, clearly pleased with herself. “What can I say? I’m good at observing poeple.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face doesn’t fade. “You’re also good at being a tease.”

“Guilty as charged,” she admits, her gaze never leaving yours. There’s a moment where the teasing drops, replaced by something softer, more sincere. “But seriously, I like seeing you here.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sudden shift in her tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice quieter now, more intimate. “Makes my day a little better.”

You frown playfully, "just a little better?"

She makes your chest tighten in the best way, "maybe a lot more than a little actually." Before you can respond, Natasha leans in, her breath warm against your cheek as she says, “You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I might have to kiss you again.”

Your breath catches, and you look up at her, eyes wide. “Is that a threat?”

“More like a promise,” she whispers back, her lips curving into a slow smile.

You feel a rush of warmth flood through you, and without thinking, you close the gap, pressing your lips to hers in a kiss that’s tender, sweet. Natasha responds immediately, pulling you closer, her hands firm on your waist.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless, and Natasha’s smile is brighter than ever. “Now that’s how you shut me up,” she jokes, her voice still soft, tinged with affection.

You laugh, feeling light, like you’re floating. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out to see a message from your brother: “Hey, need a hand with something. SOS!" You can’t help the small sigh that escapes you, your excitement tempered by responsibility.

Natasha notices the change in your expression and raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

You nod, a little reluctantly. “Yeah, just my brother. He needs help with something. Guess I should head out.”

She offers a soft smile, understanding but with a hint of disappointment in her eyes. “Duty calls, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say with a small laugh. “Sorry to bail on you.”

“No worries,” she replies, her voice warm and reassuring. “Family first.” Natasha gives you one last quick kiss, her hands squeezing your waist, before stepping back. “Take care of your brother. I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” you say softly, and with one last shared glance, you head out of the shop, already missing her presence.

When you get home, you find your brother lounging on the couch, his leg propped up with a couple of pillows. He grins when he sees you, clearly not in any dire situation.

“Sorry for interrupting your fun time with the redhead,” he teases, his tone light and playful, “but I really could use some help with this stupid remote.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Really? I rushed home for this?”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” he says with a chuckle, holding up his hands in mock defense. “You’re the one who insisted on being so overprotective.”

“I-” you say, grabbing the remote and throwing it at him. He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “So I assume I ruined something nice, huh? Sounds like things are getting serious with Mrs. Redhead.”

You feel a blush creep up your neck, but you just shrug. “And you ruined it.”

He laughs, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh please, don´t tell me this is the last time you´re seeing her.”

It´s not, he knows it´s not. You do too. Everyone knows it is not.

“Now behave yourself, or I’ll leave you stranded next time.”

"Are you really just going to see her again?" He raises his eyebrows.

"No, I´m going to buy us some dinner, since you ate everything we had here!" He can´t help but chuckle a bit at your words.

…

It’s been a few days since your brother started walking without much pain, and he’s eager to visit Natasha’s shop to finally see his bike. You agree to take him, sensing that he’s also curious about the woman you’ve been spending so much time with.

When you arrive at the shop, Natasha greets you both with a warm smile. “Look who’s finally back on his feet,” she says, nodding at your brother.

“Yeah, feels good to walk again,” he replies, trying to sound casual, though you can tell he’s excited. “And to finally check on my bike.”

“Come on, I’ll show you what I did,” Natasha says, leading him to the back where the bike is stored. As they walk, you hang back slightly, watching them interact.

As they approach the bike, your brother takes in the sight of it, clearly impressed. “Wow, it looks brand new.”

Natasha grins. “Took some work, but it’s as good as ever. You’ll be back on the road in no time.”

He looks over at you for a moment, then back at Natasha, his expression turning a bit more serious. “Listen, Natasha, I like you. You seem like a good person, and it’s obvious my sister likes you too. But, I still have to do this.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, curious. “Do what?”

“The talk,” he says, crossing his arms. “If you hurt her, I will come and get you.”

There’s a brief pause as Natasha considers his words, then she glances down at his still slightly injured leg and smirks. “Sure you will,” she says with just the right amount of sarcasm.

Your brother chuckles, appreciating the banter. “Okay, fair point. But seriously, she’s my little sister. I’ve gotta look out for her.”

Natasha’s playful expression softens, and she nods. “I get it. And for what it’s worth, I care about her a lot. I’d never hurt her.”

Your brother studies her for a moment, then finally gives a nod of approval. “Good. Because I’d hate to have to hobble after you.” You laugh, stepping forward to join them. “You two done with your little standoff?”

Natasha chuckles, “I think we’ve come to an understanding.”

Your brother nods, "sooo when can I take my bike back home?"

"You can take it today if you´d like," this sentence makes you groan.

"Hell yeah!" Your brother states.

"Oh my god-" you exhale deeply.

"I´ll get it for you," Natasha smirks at you and goes to the back for the bike.

He winks at you, completely unfazed by your glare. “You should thank me for falling off the bike. Seems like it led to something good.”

Natasha chuckles softly as she overhear the conversation, clearly enjoying this. You resist the urge to smack your brother’s arm. “Don’t push your luck.”

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “You’re welcome, sis. I guess we are even now.”

Hehe thank you for reading!

[sunnie-angel]

Sunnieeee babyyy what do we think about femjay and marriage? Yay or nay? Does she even want to get married? Is she wife-ing you up or is she waiting for you to pop the question? Elopement or ceremony? WHERE does she take you for your honeymoon 😼

ooooh so i've been sitting on this ask for a bit (mostly because i start thinking about fem!jay in a tux and my brain stops working) but i love this question so much.

the question, of course, depends on when you ask her. at 15, it's an emphatic no. she hates the way that the question gets asked by the upper crust busybodies because she knows it's always with some strange faceless man in mind waiting for her at the altar. never mind that jay's never shown interest in a boy but her best friend, the assumption is there and she hates it.

at 21, fresh out of the pit and off a revenge streak, she'd laugh in your face (and riddle you with bullets, depending on who's doing the asking). she's the big bad red hood, you think she's gonna settle down? think she'd hand over her empire for a little ring and a bit of paper? fat chance. marriage didn't save her mother from a husband that was never around. talia's still pinning her hopes on a one day maybe. jay's got plans and none of those include marriage. who'd want her anyway?

you ask her when she's 23 and happily in love for the first time, well that's a different story. she's still got her hangups - the past doesn't let go so easily - but she wants to know why you want this. you start with the practical, legal reasons first. you're a vigilante and yeah you might get most of your medical treatment from secret facilities but i want to be allowed in the room for all the times you end up in the hospital. i might be under the hood's extra legal protections but there's a comfort in being legally tied to you too. then you move on to the emotional ones. i want to bring our families together to celebrate us. i want to stand up in front of the world and declare that i'm yours and you're mine. and well, it's everything that jay didn't know she wanted. answers the greedy, grasping parts of her hindbrain at the thought of publicly branding herself as yours and whoops suddenly the apartment is full of wedding planning materials. spring you said?

you asked, but she proposes. applies all her tactical knowledge to planning the perfect, meaningful proposal. she enlists the help of all of her many siblings, and thankfully it all goes to plan. she still manages to surprise you, jolts you into happy tears when she gets down on one knee and pulls out two matching rings.

the engagement goes off without a hitch, but the wedding? that very quickly spirals out of control. everyone has an opinion and your head's spinning with tablescape designs and flower arrangements and jay wants to help but she's worried about being just another opinion shouting in your ear. so jay calls in some favours from clark to borrow a photographer and gets you to clear the rest of your weekend. she takes you shopping with bruce's credit card, a fun little white cocktail dress she has you wear out of the store and into the courthouse. the two of you get married right there, with only the courthouse judge and two random witnesses you kidnap from the corridors. it's done! you two are married, and it's like this great weight is lifted from both of you. Mrs. and Mrs. Todd. The ceremony, the great tentpole party, that's for everyone else but this bit is just for the two of you.

your public ceremony is the event of Gotham society's year. even the daily globe over in metropolis prints a feature on it. but jay doesn't care because her wife - her wife! - is holding her hand and kissing her to the cheers of both of their families.

(tbh i don't think the honeymoon location matters so much because she is not letting you leave the bed for three days straight after 🤭)

[raayllum]

for snake boi callum week day 1, icarus / the key of aaravos

The food at the Starscraper is a kind of grey mush that tastes a lot better than it looks, thankfully, once Kosmo and Astrid guide them to a table in the communal mess hall the first night they're there. Callum supposes that if everyone's wearing their blindfolds all the time, emphasis would be placed on making food taste rather than look good.

And talking, of course.

Kosmo is less curious about the outside world, Astrid carefully considering her questions before she asks them, but he and Rayla take turns describing the warm fuzziness of adoraburrs or the seedy, salt-sick docks of Scumport. Rayla shifts the conversation to the Moon Nexus before they can ask questions about the residents of said pirate city, and then she shares a tale about a Moonshadow erased by their own primal, horrific and ghostly, and—

"Ah," Kosmo hums. "Not unlike our own Warning Story."

Rayla leans back in her chair. "Skywings' focus on their breath, typically, since they don't always have wings. But there are variants where it's—"

"Warning Stories?" Callum questions.

"Oh." She touches his arm and he tries not to feel like she's setting him on fire, even if every little touch is both oh so distracting and comforting these days. "All elves have them," she explains with a little shrug and a slightly apologetic smile. "Stories about going too far with primal magic. Do humans have anything like that?"

"Not... really?" He thought there were tales from Del Bar about people who went too far into the mountains chasing game, or into the bogs of Evenere. There was a Katolis story about a new husband who opened up the forbidden door in his older husband's mansion. But nothing that seemed that applicable. Nothing about dark magic.

"Primal magic is beautiful," Astrid chimes in. "It is sacred, and can be helpful. But a tool like any other, sharpened too keenly, will break and shatter."

"What's your warning story, then?"

Kosmo's lips twitch. "An elf with wings flies too far and their feathers are stripped away. They plummet to their death."

"Feathers?" he asks. "Not the spider silk-wings?"

The siblings share a tiny smile. "There are no wings that can last forever. Eventually, our mortal fatigue—our mortal-ness—catches up with us, and we fall."

"It's a children's tale," Astrid adds. "About the inevitability of death, too. The pointlessness in trying to cheat it. We have our time on this earth, and eventually it ends, and we became stardust once more."

His throat feels tight. "That's a nice thought, though," Callum manages. "That we're all the same kind of stardust." He takes Rayla's hand underneath the table and squeezes.

She squeezes back. "Poetic, this one," she says with a very fond smile and eyeroll.

(When Callum falls towards the tundra, he does not think of the warning story. All he sees is stars—all he sees is her.

When he kneels before Aaravos, cube in hand and Rayla's rasping breath returning to her chest behind him, he thinks the story should make an amendment—sometimes there are things worth falling for.)

[igglemouse]

Monday feels like the perfect day to make pancakes, banana pancakes, to be more specific! Then again, isn't every day perfect for pancakes? There's something about them, maybe it's the scent of them that fills the kitchen with a warmth only associated with morning, maybe its how soft they are and how, coupled with syrup, they just melt and fit perfectly on your tongue and aaaahhh...This new house with its spacious kitchen has brought a spark back into my cooking!

As usual, Pascal makes it over to the table for breakfast, a tradition at this point, but today there is something different. It's his clothing, he's all dressed up, buttoned up, crisp pants, no sweat. Did he miss his morning workout? Is he sick? Injured? I won't press, maybe he's finally realized he pushes himself too hard, no, I have something else on my mind.

"I was thinking about our last convo," I start hesitantly, ignoring the temptation of my pancakes for a moment. "It might be a sooner rather than later kind of thing." I'm surprised to say it because the thought of having another baby feels overwhelming. I mean, my Watcher, it's a lot to go though. Does it get better the second time? Am I really ready to submit my body through that again?

"Oh, Frida," he says just before taking another bite of his pancake. "I see that look in your eyes," he teases.

"What?!"

"That look!" he teases again, a grin growing on his face. "All you have to do is ask!" Oh, that's what he means. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks already.

"Pascal, I'm serious!" I shoot back because I am! This is a serious subject! "I just mean...if Flora is to have a little brother or sister, shouldn't they be close in age?" That's better for them, right? Allows them to bond a little better, I would think but I think by now Pascal is thinking more about the practice of making babies than the end result of it.

"Mmmhmm, they should..." See?

"Look! Ugh, nevermind!" I huff, giving up and waving away the now corrupted conversation we were having. "Do you even like your pancakes? You've barely touched them," I add, trying my best to steer it away from him and his morning wood.

"Oh, yeah," ugh, that grin is back on his face, I can't help but giggle. "No condoms moving forward then, right?"

"Pascal!" I blurt out with my fork clanking against the plate.

Alright alright, I wouldn't admit it at the table but I'll admit it to you now. I'd like another. Maybe just one more! My little Flora can't be an only child, she seems to enjoy attention a little too much but isn't that just all babies? They need so much love! Still, two feels right.

But for now, the rain is going to keep me inside which gives me a perfect chance at just sitting down and working on my socials. This is what I do now. Promote my social media, push my videos, and just try to grow my audience little by little. My first video does alright, nothing amazing or viral but a solid debut. It gives me enough hope to continue and to maybe think that there might be a future here for me with this. At least I won't have to worry about some old man trying to ruin my business.

And yes, I do spend some time working out because, I can't help but worry about my weight. I know I shouldn't, it's completely normal to add weight after creating a complete human being, but the thoughts creep into my head anyway. I just worry about Pascal out there playing a road game in some faraway city and at some night club before a pair of boobs gets put into his face and...yeah, let's end that thought right there. I want to look my best, not just for him, but for me too!

But maybe I've pushed myself too hard today because now I've broken out in a rash! Red little splotches all over my arms and legs and just everywhere! Not a good look. I don't imagine this is attractive but thankfully there's medicine for it.

By the way, I called Anthony. Or at least I tried. I'm not sure why but I felt like he should at least know. He'll never meet her, that I'm sure of, but I don't know, I feel like my grandparents, my mama, you know, people I've never known, would tell me that I should. It's fair for him to know. Just to know. It feels like if I don't tell him it'll be something I'll feel slightly guilty about for the rest of my life. If what Candela said is true, he saved my life, whether he meant to or not, so he should know that I'm doing well.

But the joke was on me, he wasn't available. A guard or someone, don't know, answers instead and asked if I wanted to pass along a message and in that moment I froze. I told him never mind and he told me times in which Anthony had phone privileges if I wanted to call back. I don't think I will now. The moment has passed. Maybe its just fate that he'll know.

Back to happier things, like making dinner for my new familia or at least trying to. Pascal made it a little harder because he walks right into my kitchen in nothing but his swim trunks which is incredibly distracting. I pause mid chop just to stare, wondering what he was up to and then figuring this is probably the continuation of our conversation from this morning. He's trying to tempt me! I can't help but chuckle because its both cute and endearing.

"Mi querido, what are you wearing?" I challenge, rising an eyebrow as he turns to face me which only makes it worse because I've always been a fan of his body and suddenly I'm reminded why I did fall for him. His goofy charm and his smile!

"My swimwear!" he announces with pride. "We do have a little pool and I wanted to check it out!"

"Must you walk around in it?"

"I think you should walk around in yours a little more!" He fires back with the cheesiest wink I've ever seen in my life, it brings a reluctant smile to my own face.

"I-I don't know! I'm still a little hefty, I might not even fit my old stuff. Maybe a one piece or something like-"

"I'd love you all in one piece!"

Ah well...well, we will eat dinner first and maybe we'll see about that later.

But unfortunately, after our dinner, little Flora had her own demands which naturally comes before my own desires. So, instead of spending some intimate time with Pascal I was called to feed her and change her diaper and just play with her and let her know that she is loved! Just the things a mama must do!

But while Frida was attending to the needs of little Florencia, Pascal was attending to his. Every day his Social Bunny account would light up with interest, messages from a variety of different women, all thirsty for his attention. They knew he wasn't single and knew he was a father, but for some, that made him all the more enticing.

Usually, Pascal ignored them, thinking of them more as annoyances and distractions, but one in particular stood out to him. Sofia Prats, a model and aspiring actress located in Del Sol Valley. She was a striking beauty with dark hair that seemed to contrast perfectly with pearlescent skin and a full smile that sat perfectly before observant eyes. She carried herself with a bold kind of confidence, a woman who was used to getting her way. She had sent him a few messages, wondering if they could meet. Pascal didn't answer, not yet at least, but he did spend some time scrolling through her Simstagram feed and enjoying her pictures...

Frida Varela - Next Episode 9.3

[blueberri-blu]

Learning You...

Mikey ♡

[Bayverse] Slowly getting to know Mikey ♡

Leo ♡⁠˖ Donnie ♡⁠˖ Raph♡⁠˖

Meeting Him:

You met through April, her thinking you two would hit it off

(and knows Mikey wants more friends)

He immediately starts flirting with you

You just start giggling, realizing it's just his personality

You both have been joined at the hip since then

I'm sorry this is so short but I feel like with Mikey you wouldn't take long to become friends!

Befriending him

You and Mikey have competitions to see who can eat the most pizza

Or beat the other in a video game

But you just giggle it off as Mikey being mikey

Or skate better

AKA, Competitions all around

Very friendly, giggly, joking Competitions

You'll have long movie marathons, with Mikey and you making fun of the movies (we all know he can't sit still for long)

He is constantly flirting with you "Angel cakes, baby, sweetcheeks, Babycakes" you name it

But you just giggle it off as Mikey being Mikey

Eventually you both are trying out pick up lines on each other

This always ends in huge laughing fits that are so loud even Even can hear them

Honestly? Y'all are just like those elementary school best friends on the playground

"I'd die for you, you're my bff"

"omg so would I!! You're MY bff"

You'll start inviting Mikey over so you two can get some time off, show him around your apartment/house

If you have any, and I mean ANY pets, he is in love immediately

You two will watch TV shows for hours

If y'all end up watching Euphoria, he'll say "wow your highschool must've had drama novela style"

You'll have to explain to him that no, most high schoolers aren't doing hard drugs in the bathroom, and that yes, maybe a few hook up in the school bathrooms

All in all, you and Mikey hit it off right away and have a friendship even the mane six from my little pony would be jealous of

First Date

Your first date takes... awhile to be honest

With Mikey always flirting with you, you can't tell the difference between joking, and Mikey trying to ask you out

Mikey goes to April for advice

She tells him that, it's not really special when he talks like that to everyone

So, Mikey thinks of a plan

Influenced a little bit by Leo

He brings you a box of pizza to your place

And when you open it, it's a heart pizza, and in the box in sharpie is written "will you be my only love?" With Classic by MKTO playing in the background

You two stay the night at your place, playing video games, watching TV shows (you show him reality TV and he is hooked.)

At the end of the night, Mikey is confident and leans in for a kiss

If you kiss him back, after he'll be breakdancing a "victory dance" in your living room

If you pull away and say you don't kiss on the first date

Hell immediately start planning your second, third, fourth date and, if you let him, your wedding

Dating

Mikey is very touchy

He loves PDA and physical affection in general

If you do too, you can't keep your hands off of eachother

His brothers, don't appreciate it

If you don't like PDA or physical affection as much (in public) he will have a pillow to hold and cuddle with while he holds your hand

He doesn't care if he has to wait for you to be comfy for physical affection

In his words "my sexy Angel cakes, no need to rush, imma have you forever, right?"

Omg he is so sweet

His brothers are kind of happy he has you now tho, you entertain almost all of his ideas, and Mikey never feels stupid or dumb around you

You even encourage him to try some of his (non dangerous) ideas, just so you two can see what happens

I can totally see Mikey teaching you to ride on a skateboard

Thankfully his "powerful lou jitsu ninja skills" as he puts it, give him the reflexes to always catch you

If you don't get the hang of it, that's ok!

Mikey loves it when you and him share his skateboard,

His two favorite things, you and skateboarding (all that's missing is pizza)

You'll go to skateparks that are either closed down

Or just closed at night with no one there at night

You bring a calming presence to his chaos

Always encouraging him to try things, but within safe limits

Mikey brings out an adventurous side of you tho

He loves cuddling you, big spoon or little spoon, you on top, him on top, he doesn't care!

Dating Mikey means pizza, skating, adventure, movies and gaming

[half-dead-writer]

hello I am in fact not dead I've been sick and lacking the motivation to write but hopefully I'll get into the groove again, I got so many requests I'm itching to get done but no strength to do it at all grrrr at first I tried to write a drabble but it just wasn't coming out right so I settled for the short headcanons - as a bonus you can see what I wrote for it below

Kim Pine with a shy and nervous S/O

character: Kim Pine (Scott Pilgrim Takes Off) words: 261 reader: gender neutral warnings: none

𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 + 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 / 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔱𝔱 𝔓𝔦𝔩𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔪 𝔗𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔒𝔣𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

she thinks your nervousness is cute, to an extent

Kim isn't nervous or shy herself, but she can understand where your worries come from

if you're visibly stressed during a social gathering, she won't make a fuss out of it, instead taking you somewhere where you can cool off

Kim having the patience of a saint plays a big role in your relationship

even if you ask her a lot of times whether you done something wrong (whether it's an issue in your relationship or during an event where you're stressed about something you did during interacting with others) she'll always calmly reassure you and chase away your worries

that doesn't mean she won't be blunt about it, though

she will point out whatever you did right (or wrong) in her usual flat fashion

she doesn't mind re-explaining to you her logical reasons, as much as your anxiety makes you doubt her words

at the end of the day, she loves you, even if your confidence is lacking at times

if your love language isn't as open and not easily perceived, little gestures like holding her hand, staying close, no matter how small it may be - she sees it and appreciates you

the type to come up to the McDonald's counter and ask for extra fries they forgot to pack into your happy meal when you're too shy to ask for them yourself

will argue for/defend you if you need it, but also makes an effort to slowly make you come out of your shell, one step at a time

Seeing the look of pure passion on the drummer's face was enough to keep you occupied throughout the whole session of the band playing. You didn't wanna be a creep, of course, so you kept your staring at a minimum. You couldn't deny Kim held you tight in her grasp, though. She just seemed so cool. Somehow, her sarcastic remarks did not push you away, even if they poked holes in your already weak confidence.

Since you started working at No-Account Video, you made it your goal to get to know her better. Learning Kim was in a band was your best chance at showing your eagerness, as awkward as it was from your side. Your attempts at being social at work usually fizzled out after a few minutes, right after you used all of your small-talk dialogue options. Interacting with people didn't come easy to you, but you had to learn somehow, right? Thankfully, Kim accepted your request of seeing her playing live. Perhaps she took pity on you, seeing how hard it was for you to even utter the question.

The girl lowered her drumsticks, wiping the gathered sweat on her forehead. She grabbed the leftover soda from the nearby table, taking a sip. Briefly acknowledging your presence, she glanced your way.

"So? Do you think we suck?" Stephen asked, furrowing his brows with anxiety and hope, trying to gauge your reaction before you could even respond. He assumed the worst, per usual.

"I think- I think that was awesome." You hoped your smile, even if a bit shy, conveyed your excitement clearly.

"You don't have to be nice just because you don't wanna hurt Stephen's feelings." Kim commented with her usual flat tone, not bothering to sugarcoat her words. She knew they most likely sucked.

"No, no, I- I really think you're cool. Um, all of you." You clarified quickly, obviously overthinking your simple words.

"That's a relief." Her tone was ambiguous, most likely sarcastic, but somehow you managed to pinpoint a bit of sincerity in her words. Perhaps she did care at least a little bit of the opinion of her co-worker.

[animefreak1145]

Lightning in a Bottle(Adler x Bell!Reader)(Oneshot)

Word Count: 2k Summary: A one in a million chance. Impossible.

But Bell always was a chance, weren't you? Just like Adler always was confident in his odds. Warnings: Mature Rating/Graphic Violence, Dark Themes, Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Toxic Relationship, Trauma, Female!Reader Bell, Adler x Bell, Crack Treated Seriously, Solovetsky Ending. A/N: Don't treat this fic seriously. You might get dissapointed. This is literally crack at the start which turns serious. Me and @makeyourpeacenow were just fooling around and she inspired me to write this thing out as we chatted. Less tumblr meme format and RPG style and more actual story. She added a paragraph in here that I kept.

The afternoon sun did nothing for the chill that hung in the air, the crispness only adding into the classic Russian cold. The waves hitting against the cliff side in the distance where you’re sure they were doing the same on the cliff they were on, as the flowers and long grass moving with the cool breeze.

It was beautiful.

Beautifully tainted as your hand made quick work of releasing from your holster just as Adler did, both pulling the trigger and the sound of twin guns breaking the calm atmosphere. Broken just as Adler did to you, your heart torn and anger boarding in your veins still hot from the betrayal.

Clang!

The sound rung in your ears more than the bullet being released from the gun, a brief spark in the air. A violent flash that went in the next blink before a bullet ricocheted to the rock to your left while the other dug deep into the ground by the flowers that were just innocently moving along—petals torn from the speed of the bullet. 

Your eyes were wide, mouth parted as you stared at the area where the bullet hit the rock, your grip on your pistol a tad loose although still up and ready. Adler in your peripherals sharing his own silent disbelief at what just occurred, gun still raised as well but head facing towards the torn flowers.

The air of heavy silence broke when you finally blinked your shock away, jerking your head towards Adler who continued to stare down at the bullets with a pressed frown.

“You just tried to kill me!” You accuse, gun gesturing wildly at the bullets on the ground while also motioning towards him.

Adler finally lifted his eyes, throwing you a blank stare. “That makes two of us,” he said blandly. He gave you a gave you a once over before stupefyingly deciding you were no threat for he took a cigarette out of his tactical vest and lighting it while managing to keep a grip on his pistol. You could only stare in bafflement as he took a lazy drag,  giving a subtle nod of his head towards you. The one you always were desperate for before. “Say…you’ve been a good team mate, Bell. Take this as a sign. Second chance.”

“Are you…are you seriously not gonna talk about this?!” Your voice pitched higher at the end, completely bewildered.

Adler’s nonchalance was not something that bothered you before. You were actually thankfully for it and even a hint amused by it when he told Hudson he would be taking you and only you to Lubyanka. You remember his cool praise about you towards Hudson, how it created a warmth in your cheeks and feeling light momentarily before Hudson went off in a huff. Adler giving you directly words of comfort, speaking of Hudson not liking things in his control.

Adler was just mocking you. You were in the palm of his hand all along, accepting treats from said hand with casual pats to the head.

You feel like you might hurl. Or cry.

“Hm?” Adler took a hefty drag, his gaze not leaving your form. It made you shift your legs, swallowing dryly. "Something on your mind, soldier?"

His words dripped with smoke, going purposely in your direction and hurrying it along by blowing the rest.

Your jaw tightened, glaring. You waved the smoke away before moving forward, Adler tensing but not making any move as you just snatched his cigarette from his silver tongued mouth and throwing it over the cliff. Adler turning his head with only a quick press of the lips to show his displeasure at your waste. As if he didn’t prompt you to feel your wrath in the first place. It only made your blood boil further.

“You just tried to kill me and now you’re what? ‘Giving me a second chance?’ You can’t be this crazy! Cause you have to know, this—“ You wave your pistoled arm around the area with the bullets back and forth from your chest to his, even poking him with the barrel of your gun. “—is crazy!”

You knew he had some issues. Your “shared” past and all, you saw things from his past maybe you shouldn’t have. He cut off a piece of his mind, forcing the piece to fit into yours with brute force—all blood and brain matter and pokes of needles. Your fault for thinking you were special knowing him so well and intimately, knowing his way of thinking and plans before he even finished the sentence. Your mind clicking away at the possible scenarios he would suggest before zooming into one and stating it out loud. He always paused when you did that, assessing you before there it was—the reward, the ghost of a smirk before nodding at you with the words “Exactly my line of thinking.” or “A bit of a mind reader, are we, Bell?” or “And that’s why you’re my protege. Good job, Bell.”

It’s not fair, you want to cry out, clenching your grip around the pistol still to his chest yet your fingers off the trigger. Your throat feeling tight as you gazed up at the man who only rose a brow at you. It’s not fair! 

“So you want me to kill you?” Adler moved your pistol hand away, you letting him as you looked down with a defeated scowl. Your hold on your pistol obsolete. Your eyes tightened at that fact. You notice Adler kept his own pistol loose by his side. All it would take is one quick movement and you’ll be dead. Truly this time. Luck can’t save you like this. You’re closer to the cliff’s edge, maybe your body will fall into the waters below. Forever separate from him. Your stomach coiled back at the image. “What is it, Bell? What do you actually want?”

You can’t say. It gets stuck in your throat. 

You can’t say and you hate you still have it. This wretched feelings. Even after a deadly shot towards your chest. Even after his gall and apathetic nature to what just occurred(despite him still calling you soldier. “You’re still one of us.” Even now when you tried to kill him yourself, ignoring your own hypocrisy.) Your chest still bleeds only for one. You think only ever one.

It’ll only be the one because you’ve been ruined. Forever. Your trust dismantled for another yet still hopelessly, despairingly wishing to actually think you might have a chance. Even after this.

With him. You’ve been ruined for others. And the worst thing is, you’re actually fine if he is the one that’ll keep ruining you. This vicious cycle. You shot at him yes. But he had the gall to save you in Trabzon and make you think you’re close and something more. Not quite lovers. Not quite friends. Something in between.

He had the gall to make you feel this, your loyalties switched at the flip of a coin—you’re the tails he’s the head.

A coin. He had the gall to make you his other half. The tails. And he tried to kill you. And now he’s saving you. Because of…chance?

Take it, begrudgingly. Argue the matter, even if it's a nonsensical position. Argue because you want to argue—because you need to yell. Even if your feelings on it are oxymoronic. How can you hate him so much, yet refuse to part from him. Your stomach churned at the mere thought of your dead corpse even being away from his live one.

Fate? Bullets together? Is that what this is? Is he saving you to stick by him or to throw away and be by yourself? You don’t think you could be without him. Too tied together. You know his deepest secrets from Vietnam and he knows your mind. You’ve played in each other’s mind palaces, hands digging and blood spilling and bones crunching, napalm strikes on bodies—you’re tied.

You stay silent too long, biting at the inside of your lips before forcing yourself to look up at him meaningfully—eyes meeting for you can see them behind his shades at this distance, the sun helping you. Adler tilting his head and something passes over his gaze but you lower your head again and scoff, putting your pistol back in its holster begrudgingly.

“You’re stuck with me, then. Hope this is worth it.”

You notice the exhaustion set in his soul, the weight he bears. He carries it, alone, and you have no pity to offer.

You feel his weighted gaze just like you sense his exhaustion, putting his own pistol carefully away. Cautious if you will change your mind and decide to tear out his neck like he tore at your heart. You don’t.

Tied, your mind repeats. For better or for worse.

Like a twisted marriage.

You don’t look until your eyes widen when you feel the familiar touch of a hand on your head.

“Come on, kid. You know we’re stuck with each other. You’ve always been a slippery little thing,” his hand shifts and it’s on your cheek, feeling the leather as your eyes take in the quirk of his scarred mouth. What you always hunger for—the uptick to suggest a smile  “But not with me. I have you, Bell. I have you.”

You’re so easy.

You fall so prettily for him. 

You hate it. You love him.

You hate that too.

So it’s no surprise you let out a breathy sigh when he thumbs your lips and say an “Okay.”

He’s like a snake wrangler, you've got venom; you bare your teeth but you'll never bite—never him.

Always for others. He just has to point. He can be America’s Monster. 

But you? You can be Adler’s Dog.

You can accept that. You can accept the little touches and mindful quips of philosophy and books—even if you burn more at his touch then the danger close you experienced a mere half an hour ago—you can live with it. You can.

That’s your mantra in your head. Even as you stare up at him longingly, adoringly—a little lost yet accepting of whatever he says and does as he seems to look into you—that’s what you keep thinking.

You’re fine with this.

Be the tool. You can be that again for him. Willingly this time. He doesn’t have to love you like you do him. He doesn’t.

Even if you know him as equal or better than Sims. Even if you know the man behind the Vietnam soldier—behind the brave face. Behind the mask he’s made(the mask wasn’t supposed to be for you). Even with knowing where his mind goes and tracks, you’re satisfied with this.

You have to be. After all, nothing was personal. Those conversations outside the safehouse, the roof, the elevator of Lubyanka( “I need Bell”), defense against Hudson, the camera—

You don’t expect—

A tilt of the chin with firm fingers and a touch to the lips. You can feel his face on yours.

Your pupils are blown and your hands are still just as your mind has stopped. He didn’t seem to mind, a tease of your mouth and that’s all it takes for you open for him. Ready. Just a touch. A hint.

That’s all you need. Adler always gets what he wants. You’ll give it to him. 

You grab at him, the back of his neck and feel that hair underneath his beanie. Uncaring if it falls to the floor. You’re embarrassed at the pitiful sound you made when he pulled away. Only to silence when he taps his forehead to yours, hands on your waist with a comforting squeeze.

You can see his eyes. That electric blue.

“I have you, Bell,” he repeats, his breath tickling your face with that light smirk that unmakes you.

You blink. You assess, even with cheeks hot. 

You hold back the cheek splitting smile for a more mild hopeful one.

“Okay,” you breathe.

▞

▚ 

▚

A/N: Adler knows how to manipulate Bell perfectly well. Poor Bell. She knows how easy she is too. They're both satisfied where they're at. Sucks.

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121 @pyxis-stellae @makeyourpeacenow @obsessedgremlin

You have to tell me if you want me to tag you for each update or else I won't know. Or if you wish to be removed.

[wheel-of-fics]

Fanfiction Author Interview Game

Thank you for the tag, @kotaka-kun! I'm trying to get back into writing and am forcing myself to get in a better fic-writer mindset.

How many works do you have on AO3?

14 (but more on FFN, from the olden times)

What's your total AO3 word count?

209.294 (442,145 on FFN)

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Unsung

Out of the Woods

Old Haunts

Turnabout

Restoration

(If we're considering legacy FFN stuff, By Starlight would fall just after Unsung, and The Ivory Tower would probably be on the list, but since it's forever unfinished I like to pretend it doesn't exist.)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Usually! Although they sometimes fall through the cracks. I am really, really appreciative of comments and try to respond earnestly, but I feel like my replies start to sound like a broken record and it's awkward.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

IIIII don't know. Maybe Burn? I almost always turn angst into a happy ending by the end of the story. It's self-preservation.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

See previous answer—can't pick one!

Do you write crossovers?

I have not attempted to yet!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I've received several passive-aggressive comments and seen some not-nice things said about my work elsewhere, but I'm not sure I've gotten any straight-up hate comments, thankfully.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do; it's usually a part of a story and not the sole reason for it (though I have done that, too).

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of...

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, Unsung and maybe something else (?) (it's been a while) has been translated into Chinese.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I think I would drive a co-author insane.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Uhhhh I can't pick, actually...I'll come back to this later (I won't)

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Red Death Riding JUST KIDDING but it does feel like that sometimes. Still, we persevere.

What are your writing strengths?

Ughghgh I don't know. I’ve been told I'm good at pacing, and that balance between like inner thoughts and external goings-on. (There is a better way to say that, but I'm tired.) Um...I think I'm pretty good at sentence flow? And...punctuating correctly? I sure hope I'm decent at character development. And I like to think I bring original ideas to the table.

What are your writing weaknesses?

The ideation of it all (though this hasn't always been the case—it's a work in progress), and honestly just getting words on the page. It's so hard to turn off the editor brain I use for work, and I feel like I'm always editing myself before, during, and after every sentence. I also wish I could delve deeper into the thoughts and reactions of characters who aren't like me.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Not a huge fan. It can be OK if done well, but it often takes me out of the narrative.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I have enough trouble focusing on my current fic/fandom as it is! Don't make me think about other things!

What's your favorite fic you've written?

I honestly don’t have one. I see each fic as a stepping stone in the course of my writing journey—a challenge that I issued to myself and completed—and I'm usually looking forward to the next challenge instead of back.

I haven't been around much lately and don't know who all has done this! I'll try tagging @musicalhell @les-gnossiennes-fantomatiques @emotionalmotionsicknessxx and @rienerose (but please feel free to ignore!).

[maxisanangrywell]

Hello friend, I think I might have mis-said some of what I meant.

Firstly, I did vote for Kamala. I sincerely wanted her to win, and for a few weeks thought she would. Then I started seeing more and more Leftists argue and bicker like they always do. Then, my hope vanished. Most Leftists who have a platform, aren't in High stakes areas where these things will hit hard and fast. Thankfully, my state grazed by the skin of our teeth as we elected Jeff Jackson as General Attorney and didn't get Mark Robinson at a governor.

Overall, I'm not saying we should tolerate hate or anything of that nature. But, we cannot deny all the data that shows the reality of the situation that men are choosing Trump because they feel more welcomed on the Right than the Left.

There's a way to grow a community where everyone feels loved and accepted, but not tolerate hate. I put a link to a man that does it very well in my comments but I'll put it here, along with two white men who have talked about their experiences with the Alt-Right/Neo-Nazi movement in America and how they escaped. Their stories of escaping are more similar than you think.

Most of my Ideology, is fueled by reports from WW2, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and most notibly Daryl Davis. A black man who has attended hundreds of KKK gatherings, and actually is responsible for turning many of those hateful racists into people who are now speaking out against hatred.

Now, I'm not saying everyone should do this. Everyone deserves to have their own assumptions and do what they wish, but I've seen his work in action. I've done what he's done. It's tiring, and it's a long process. But here's the thing.

The right is an echo chamber of ideas. There is no getting out unless you meet someone that challenges your views and expectations of the people you hate.

If we simply cut everyone off at the slightest hint of arrogance, there would be no people in the world to talk to number one, but two, these people would proceed to get even further into the pipeline and even more violent.

I was lucky enough that my viewpoints were challenged early. My brother not so much. My friend? Even less so. Did we crawl ourselves out of that hole because someone challenged our views on how the people we hated really act? Yes. That's what dragged us out. I used to hate queer people, and hide my own queerness. Now, I freely express it. All because of one selfless act.

We get so wrapped up in not wanting to interact with other people, that we forget they are people. No one deserves to hate other people just as those people don't deserve to be hated. It's exhausting and tiring on all ends of the spectrum, even more for the victim in this situation since they are receiving the violence.

My point being, we can't keep closing people off and just expecting them to get better. If you have an infection, and know you have an infection, why would you wait to see the doctor? You'd get started on the treatment right away. We need to treat these people as if they have an addiction, because these people are sick. Their minds are being fed propaganda at an alarming rate, and it's programming them into thinking and acting a certain way.

Now, absolutely punch the nazis. But tend their wound afterwards. Have conversations with them. One selfless act always inspires another, no matter who they are.

"Leftist" Rant

I'm lowkey so tired of calling myself a leftist. Every time I talk to another person, a man, woman or nonbinary person, trans, cisgender, queer BIPOC or Indigenous, there's ALWAYS someone taking the hit for something, somewhere.

I'm a firm believer in human rights. I believe humans shouldn't be controlled by a governing body but citizens should control it. I believe in fighting today a better tomorrow. But goddamn am I so tired of hearing how every time there's something good, it comes at the cost of the blood of another.

No, not all men are bad. Not all white people are bad. No one group of people is evil, and we shouldn't be demonizing any groups of people for any reason. White people need to recognize privilege, but everyone is taught to be wary of other people because of the circumstances of our forefathers or our own personal experiences.

It comes back to the, why can't we just be fucking people? What is so hard about opening your heart to other people's struggles, learning from them and loving them even if they hate you in return? Why do we care about the color of people's skin, or their sexual/gender orientation? Why can't we celebrate life, and celebrate love no matter the form it takes? It's so aggravating. No one should have to feel uncomfortable for who they are or choose to be. I'm so tired of leftists pushing white men out for being white men. I'm so tired of leftists pushing out black people for being black, and indigenous people for being indigenous. The movement isn't supposed to be about specific people, it's supposed to be about the betterment of ALL people.

The betterment of HUMANITY. We're all fucking human. It's aggravating when people try to gauge how human you are about how many minority points you can score. I've seen the ugliest of people, I'm watching a genocide unfold before my eyes. A climate crisis that threatens to kill us all.

But what I'm hearing is the sounds of drums, because everyone either wants to use it for their own gain, or have different ways of wanting to fix it.

Maybe it's because I'm young, I'm only 21. But god, am I fucking sick and tired of hearing people fight and argue. Most of us are on the same fucking side, and can't we get along? It's the only way we are going to survive. Bridging these gaps and healing the generational trauma. But you can't heal trauma if you're constantly taking it out on everyone around you and giving them trauma. I don't know. But I do know most of the men that voted for Trump in my life, did it because they felt pushed out of the movement. They felt demonized by the Harris and leftist voters. If we focused on being intersectional, on inclusion for EVERYONE, no one would feel left out or unwanted. Shouldn't that be our fucking goal in the first place? Healing ourselves and the climate, living alongside each other in blissful harmony? Isn't that what we all want and crave? To never look over our shoulders, just be able to grow and thrive with no laws about tradition or who we are or love?

I don't know about you, but I like the sound of it.

[dragonanon]

I can’t believe this latest event in Obey Me/Obey Me Nightbringer has us out here trying to find a magic sport ball some pussy.

[berryblu-soda]

Anyways update i just didnt bother to post earlier:

fr God is good and the whole car crash my parents got into last week was so incredibly mild in terms of injuries!!!! worst was a bruised knee im pretty sure

ALSO-

*taps mic* HUG YOUR FREAKING LOVED ONES OR SO HELP ME!!!!!!!

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

Today was the last DND session for a three-year campaign and I am big sad :(

One of the players brought whiskey for a last toast, which was very kind of them. I had never had whiskey before. Turns out I do not like whiskey. Unsurprising.

It tastes like slightly nicer hand sanitizer.

[kingdomoftyto]

...BIG FEELS AND BIG PLOT DEVELOPMENTS AT THE END OF THAT BOOK, HUH