#but I’m still mourning my parents

[jewishbarbies]

of course, being a child, you believe your parents when they tell you things like the republicans aren’t racist and why wouldn’t you? dad has black friends and you don’t know what racism is or what it feels like. they tell you being gay is new and it’s a sin but we’re such good people that we don’t care as long they don’t act like they’re gay around us. and it’s easy to believe when your parents have such fun stories with openly gay friends and you don’t know what homophobia feels like.

then you grow up.

you’re allowed to see a bit more of the world and other republicans don’t look like mom and dad. other republicans are mad they can’t say the N word, hate the idea of a black president because to them black means incompetent, and they vote against gay marriage. they hate mexicans and say indigenous people should’ve fought harder and believe muslims are all terrorists. mom and dad never said that.

then you start to see your parents a little differently. you realize that your mom has such a visceral reaction to gay people on tv not because it’s a sin, but because they’re gay and she’s homophobic irregardless of your religion. you ask her and she says she wouldn’t like it even if god himself came down and said it was okay. your dad starts being more open with you about the things he texts his co workers because he think you’ll laugh, but every mean and crude joke is soaked in obvious racism. he makes comments a lot about black people being entitled when someone mentions equal rights and complains mexicans stole his job because he didn’t qualify for a job he wasn’t owed.

for once in your life you actually get to talk to people of color and the queer community and even get to know your own as a jew. and you don’t understand. you can’t understand why your parents are scared of them and why your mom hates who you are and your dad belittles people of your faith. nothing makes sense. who are these people? are these really the people that raised you? how could they lie to your face while also telling you the truth?

and it hurts. your bones ache and you can’t breathe and you just wanna go home, but you are home. you are home, they raised you, and this is your life now. you know now republicans are not good people and your parents are republicans. and if they knew who you were, they would hate you, too. you know it’ll feel better someday, you like knowing you’re a better person now. but your parents are dead and no one ever taught you how to dig a grave.

[thedeviljudges]

how bad is it to say you hate your mother lmao

[jdah]

For some reason I want Suho to experience so much suffering that it nearly breaks him

We already know that his path is half-paved since he’s born with innate power (inherited from father) and the fact he got companions along the way - So even though he goes through hardship, he’ll constantly have the support he needs

But ngl I kinda wanna see (or just imagine) Suho going through a challenge so difficult that absolutely no one could pull him out from (that even his own father can only watch helplessly as his son gets carried by the waves of misfortune

that his precious son’s fate is destined to be the greatest sacrifice)

,,,,,,

I remember the discussion I had with a mutual — How there’s a charm in giving so much angst to a character for that sweet sweet relief of comfort (angst w/ happy ending) and it stuck w/ me 😭

I know it might not happen with SL:R but I can’t help imagine Suho reaching his breaking point - sacrificing his all for the sake of his companions/family and the only relief is a simple kiss that speaks “It’s okay, you’ll be okay, we’re here for you now”

[himblebo]

Tomorrow I’m going to keep organizing our family photos if it kills me and then I honestly think I can never look at them again for my own sanity

[sillaygoofball]

Normalize making pmvs based off days you’ve had two years ago

[whatafirefeelslike]

life has been kicking my ass so bad, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and it’s getting harder to push through but it’s just got to get better It Has To

[spacelesscowboy]

i think one of my biggest fears about dying isn’t actually dying, (although it is pretty scary to think about) it’s dying and then being remembered as someone i wasn’t.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’ve always been a pretty good liar. As an adult I’ve come to a moral place in which I don’t use that skill set unless it will explicitly benefit someone. But when I was a kid all bets were off.

I think tiny child me was doing their little autistic best but recognized that some situations would be best navigated by lying as telling the truth never netted positive results. Whether it was because my needs often went unmet or ignored, or because I didn’t see any reason not to lie if it would be more favorable, I’m not sure.

This is the story of my proudest lie. The best lie I ever did. A lie that looking back I still go, damn, I was eight.

Our story begins in second grade. I was eight. My school was having a book fair and I spent my small stipend on Gulliver’s Travels. No idea why. Lacking further funds I wandered the fair and came upon the greatest sight known to man. Frog erasers. They were so cute and I was extremely into animals of all kinds.

The whimsy. Who could have known they made erasers in such wonderful shapes? I mourned that I’d spent my money already, and played quietly with the little frogs in their bin. That’s when I was approached by a few other kids from my class.

I didn’t know most of them very well, but enough that it was civil when they asked me, “Are you going to buy those frogs?”

“I’d like to,” I admitted, “but I spent all my money.”

“Why don’t you steal them?”

“I thought about that, but I don’t have pockets.” Indeed, stealing had crossed my mind but it had been a brief temptation. I wasn’t even scandalized that the other girls suggested it.

“Caitlin has pockets,” the leader of the pack said. And indeed, Caitlin in her purple overalls did have pocket space for two frogs. So Caitlin and I became partners. My role in the escapade was just... wanting frogs and walking out with her. We stole two frogs, a yellow and a purple, and united by the misdeed we played together with them at recess despite not really being friendly prior.

After lunch I was called from class to the library. The principal herself was there waiting for me. She had a somber air, almost mournful that she needed to punish me. It was self evident to me that I was here for frog crimes. Caitlin had cracked and taken the fastest route to forgiveness- snitching on an accomplice. Despite the fact that my role was just: wanted frogs, I knew I was going to be in trouble.

Now, I could have told the truth. Pulled a Caitlin and ratted on the girl who told us to steal them. But clearly I’d still be in trouble for having gone along with the morally bereft plan. I was mad at Caitlin for telling but not enough to foist the onus back into her.

“Do you know why you’re here?” The principal asked kindly.

“Is it about the frogs?”

“Yes, Caitlin told us you stole the frogs.”

I quivered my lip and drew myself up indignantly. “I didn’t steal them!”

She blinked at my vehemence but since I looked near tears she carefully asked, “What happened?”

“I really wanted the frogs, but I didn’t have any money. So I asked the librarian if I could take them and bring the money tomorrow! But she was really busy and lots of people were talking to her, and she said yes! But maybe she was saying yes to someone else? And I thought it was to me but Caitlin didn’t, but I was going to bring money tomorrow!”

The principal. Was flummoxed. This was a situation in which I clearly thought I’d done no wrong, in which she couldn’t prove I had done anything wrong, and which the librarian would almost certainly not be able to weigh in. She regarded me not with suspicion but rather vaguely confused as to how to handle me.

I got off with a slight warning that I should pay for things before taking them, despite not having been the one to take things in the first place, and the frogs were confiscated.

I was vaguely worried they’d call my parents but years later when I admitted the story to my mom as an adult she laughed herself sick and said she’d never gotten a call.

[shibe]

hate to say it but….i am really sad

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt ~ Honor to Us All ~ Gotham as one true the most haunted city edition

~~~~~

Instead of a welcoming banner in front of a city was an old column, so familiar to a boy, with a warning inscription:

"To outsiders mad enough to attack Gotham: You will be forced to understand that dead soldiers will also go into battle. And having risen to protect, they will be ready to perish all again, So no one of the living would die near them."

Danny smiled with love. 'I’m home, Mother.' Ghost whispered into the void. And Gotham answered.

~~~~

Danny: My Lady, I brought you the crown of Pariah Dark. And The Ring of Rage. They’re gifts to honor the Gotham family. Lady Gotham: The greatest gift and honor is having you on my side, child.

~~~~~

Danny Fenton was born in Gotham and lived here until his parents decided to move. The city didn’t accept them.

'When I die, I want to be one of the Gotham Knights.' Little Danny with pride and eagerly reported to his parents after visiting the Battle Glory of Gotham Museum on a school trip. This evening, Danny learned that not all his plans should be told to his parents.

Danny know his parents are crazy about ghosts. and that all ghosts are "bad". But obviously, the ghosts they talk about, and his, or rather Gotham's, ghosts are completely different creatures. The spirits of the defenders are those who, even in the darkest of times, make the shadows of the Gotham a protection to the citizens.

But that knowledge is his little secret for now. Because if he starts arguing he’ll be punished and he won’t be able to run off to the roof where he’s arranged to meet Robin. Robin’s cool! He works with one of the 'still-living' knights. And he knows more about the city than anyone. Danny doesn’t want to offend his friend.

~~~~~

Mr Lancer doesn’t understand why the lecturer about ghosts, Constantine, after seeing Danny, said something about the bloody gothamites and their inability to stay underground. It wasn’t nice at all. Mr Lancer doesn’t blame Mr Fenton for smiling at the man a little aggressive and viciously. Poor boy probably didn’t know how to respond to his behavior. Danny moved to Amity Park a long time ago and did not stand out at all. So what was this man’s problem?

Danny only half dies because Lady Gotham blessed him when he was a child. So when Danny sees snow-white hair and glowing green eyes in the mirror, he is not frightened but surprised that the Lady protected him even though he is not living in Gotham now.

~~~~~

Danny knows gothamites don’t consider that Gotham is a part of the USA. Even their Metropolis neighbors are just pathetic cowards, unable to withstand the hardships of life. No, really. Why the hell would they be patriots of the country that thinks they’re its dirty secret? This opinion is shared by old ones and children, rich ones and residents of Crime Alley, heroes and villains.

Danny loves Gotham. And he likes local jokes about how if one of their supervillains ever took power enough to threaten the government, he would be obliged to release them from that citizenship. Otherwise, he would be shamed and ridiculed by the inhabitants.

Phantom is not a villain. But for Gotham? For their common purpose? He is ready to pretend to be.

~ A ghost can bring his city ~ Great honor in one way ~

Gothamites remember that the child of mad scientists was the only person Boy Wonder was willing to call a friend. They remember how boys' laughter was heard from rooftops and from alleys on particularly dark nights. And they know whose restless spirit has returned to mourn the death of the second Robin.

The boy’s parents must be fools. Many outsiders are. They call their blessing a curse. People die in Gotham. And not all of them come back. Residents know that these ones are chosen by Lady Gotham herself.

The public enemy of Amity Park number 1? What nonsense. He is not theirs anything! In Gotham they will accept the Phantom as a guard, as a silent shadow, as a villain or a hero. In any kind. Because he belongs here. He should be part of their dance between life and death. He should be amidst dark alleys and acid rains, gliding between fear and laughter in the air.

Even local villains experience strange yearning. Like something’s wrong. Like a piece of a puzzle that’s lost. Therefore, the local abandoned observatory is empty, and none of them is in a hurry to call it their territory. Because it will be in demand, it will be loved and needed. It’s only a matter of time.

Let the spirit of Gotham guide you home, child. Dead gothamite is still gothamite. Which means there will always be a place for you.

~~~~~

When Danny first enters his favorite cafe in his Phantom form and with a wound on his leg, he doesn’t expect a cleaning lady to yell at him immediately for the blood on the floor. With a mop in his hands and with already bandaged leg, Danny feels as if all his worries had gone. They are not afraid of him. Of course. No one in Gotham would avoid him because of glowing eyes and sharp teeth. And that’s nice.

The waitress throws a tray of food on a table next to him: Welcome dinner for the wandering son of the alley. Red Hood said it's your usual order. He’ll be waiting for you on the gargoyle. You should know which one.

~~~~

If parents listened to his childhood stories about good ghosts, they would know that the Phantom is not special. He is not an anomaly of ghost nature and not a mistake. He is one of many who always were and will be defenders of the city. Danny stands in front of the costume that he admired years ago. He's ready to take another shift at work. The remains of his colleagues can rest quietly this night. Lady will wake them only when in dire need.

[nervoushottee]

never like this | eddie munson x fem!reader

Summary: your house never feels like home, but Eddie does.

Note: idk what’s happening but I’m on a roll guys and I’m not going to jinx it. Enjoy some cute fluff domestic bliss and love with Eddie!! MWAH

*listened to Rachel Chinouriri- So My Darling on REPEAT while writing this*

**not edited**

The morning was still early.

The simple sounds of the mourning dove’s call and Eddie’s snoring filled your ears as you slowly woke. As you rub the sleep from your eyes, you feel the gentle grip of Eddie’s hand against your waist from your sudden movements. He’s still asleep, his body just subconsciously making sure you were still there in his bed. Not already putting your clothes back on to go home or head to work.

Your smile softly at the thought. Kissing the closet patch of his skin that you could find. Lips meeting the ink covered skin of his arm.

The sun peeking through the tapestry covered window. Slowly but surely starting to warm the trailer from the cool night air. It never felt like this. You could see small specks of dust dancing around in the rays of sun. You hands itching to stretch out and touch as if it was something physical. Your heart felt warm and you felt safe.

You feel Eddie move from behind you. You know this isn’t a small little shift in his body from sleeping. He was awake.

“You snore in your sleep.” you whisper.

“Shut up.” he grumbles against the back of your shoulder.

You snort, turning around to fully face him. His hair was all over the place and messy. His eyes squinty from just waking up and the yellow sunlight peeking into his room. Despite the sleepiness in his eyes and the annoyance in his voice from your words. He smiled at you.

A soft sleepy smile that made his eyes nearly close from how low they were in the first place.

You feel his hand that was on your waist glide up beneath his shirt you wore to sleep the night before and against your back. His hand bigger and warmer than yours as he affectionately rubs your back up and down. Melting your heart even more than it already was this morning.

“It’s never like this.” you mutter out

“Hm?”

“Back home. It never feels like this.” You tell him quietly almost as if you spoke any louder Wayne would hear you all the way at his work desk.

And of the things you liked the most about Eddie; Is how attentive he is. It doesn’t matter what it was, but Eddie never not paid attention to something (unless he was doing it on purpose). He read people very easily. Picked up on nonverbal cues and even when you said things that had a bigger meaning. This was one of those times.

Eddie knew what you were talking about. He didn’t have to ask you to elaborate or confused on what you even meant.

Your family was well off. Like, really well off. Your parents were friends with Steve's parents. Your house being three doors down from his, he’s practically like a brother to you. Living in a three story house that came with a basement bar and an outdoor pool. A chef that would come once every two weeks to cook you food if your parents were out of town for too long. Enough money that you could probably buy out Family Video if you wanted. You would think that it would feel perfect. That there's was nothing else you could want or ever need. And it was true, you had enough. That house had everything you would need to last a year without your parents if need be. But it wasn’t a home.

This was home.

Waking up in Eddie’s bed in the morning. Or getting up in the middle of the night to go use the restroom and seeing Wayne in the dimly lit kitchen when you were out. Quietly sipping on cups of hot coffee and whispering stories about the shaggy haired boy down the hall. (Wayne could only sneak and drink coffee. Ever since Eddie found out that the doctor suggested Wayne cut out caffeine for his heart. Eddie has been very strict about it.)

Home was walking over to Max’s trailer for her to help you teach her how to skateboard as Eddie work on his van. It was sitting on the trailer steps side by side, Leaning into Eddie’s shirt stained with car grease as you share an icecream from the icecream truck. Home was crying in the shower as Eddie held you whenever you thought about nights you wished you would forget.

This was home.

Despite not elaborating on your words. You could feel the understanding in Eddie’s eyes. You could see the warm hints of pink grow on his cheeks and just a bit down his neck. His smile turns more soft and serene as he continues to watch you fidget with the bedsheet.

He knows you feel nervous, to say this out loud and in front of him. He knew you didn’t want to put anything on this yet, and he would never push you. But to hear those words come out of your mouth made him feel like he would never need the formalities. To never have the “What are we?” talk. As long as it felt like this. As long as you kept looking at him with such adoration in your eyes. He would honestly die happy.

“So. Is it me or is it just my bitchin’ trailer?” he mumbles. His voice is low and groggy, filled with sleep as his smile grows into a smirk.

You scoff out at laugh and roll your eyes. Turning away so your back is against his chest. The original position you were in before you woke up. You grab his hand, place it beneath your shirt and against your chest. Eddie can feel your heart beating slow and steady. A calm pace that makes his own heart flutter at the peace you feel within his presence.

What makes him nearly say the three words that would probably ruin it all is when he feels you place your hand on top of his. His heart melts as he hears you let out a deep sigh. A known indication to him that you are relaxed and more than likely will go back to sleep if you're comfortable enough.

Instead, he simply kisses your clothed shoulder. Once, twice, three times. Before letting his head fall back into the pillow and closing his eyes.

Yeah, his life didn’t feel like this either.

Not without you here with him.

[wonderjanga]

*slides an idea under your door*

Captain Marvel accidentaly convincing people that he's a widowers

*runs away*

Captain Marvel is a widower. It makes sense. He wears a ring(ref to my Accessories post), he always gets sad on a certain day, and anytime romance is offered he immediately shies away from it. Now, the JL or civilians don’t know this but the ring thing is just a memento to his father, he just gets sad on that day cause it’s their death day, and he thinks romance is icky. But Billy’s not going to tell them any of that. Not because he doesn’t want to. No, he just doesn’t even know they think he’s a widower. Even if Billy did know though, after the amount of certain things he’s said, he doesn’t think he could convince him that isn’t a widower.

Marvel and Junior: *arguing*

Junior: “Yeah, well boo-hoo you’re motherless!”

Supes: *nearby, gasps because he thinks Junior just reminded his father of his dead mother*

Marvel: “Wha- You’re motherless too?!”

Supes: *double gasps because he thinks Marvel just confirmed his wife was dead because everyone thinks Junior is his kid*

He told everyone that the Widower Marvel theory was true and now confirmed.

or

On the anniversary of their parents’ deaths, Mary’s feeling a little upset.

Marvel: “Oh, I’m sorry Mary. I… know today is tough especially considering it’s the anniversary of that day.”

Mary: *tearing up slightly but trying to hide it*

Marvel: *kneels down looking like a proper father* “But, I want you to know that if you feel upset, you can always come to me. We can mourn together. That’s better than doing it alone, isn’t it?

Mary: *getting flashbacks from how their dad would also kneel down to comfort them which only makes her wanna cry more* “Yeah, okay.”

Wondy: *just happened to see this happening and thinks this is both simultaneously adorable and heartbreaking*

or

Junior and Marvel were in a rec room looking at a dress they’d placed on a table. They were arguing which one of them should wear it because they needed one of them needed to shapeshift into a girl for something stupid they planned to do later.

Marvel and Junior: *still arguing*

Flash: *walked in and sees the dress* “Who’s dress is that?”

Marvel: *startles and is trying to come up with an excuse for why a grown man and a somewhat little boy have a dress* “This uh…”

Junior: *wants to stir up some drama* “His wife. This dress belonged to his wife.”

Marvel: “Yeah, my wife- WAIT MY WHAT?”

Junior: “Me and Mary’s mom remember? The woman you married?” *does a little winky wink to convey that he wants him to go along with it*

Marvel: *gives him the most scandalized look*

Flash: *thinks the scandal is just him being upset that Junior is sharing something about their civilian lives* “Oh I see… uh my bad for intruding on your mourning…?”

Marvel and Junior: *in unison* “What?”

[yuumei-art]

Every Chinese New Year I wonder if it's a time of celebration or time of mourning. Some years I'm able to be happy and grow nostalgic about the past, about the country I was born in, about the place where half of my family still reside. Other years I just want to forget. 

I'm an adult now, but when I think of my homeland, I feel like a lost child again. I can't help but wonder what life would have been like had my mother not left for America, had my parents not split apart, had mother and father not replace me with their new families. 

I want the memories to burn, but year after year I still can't let go.

[demonic0angel]

(ok, hear me out.)

Bruce looks around the dinner table and realizes, jasons dating Jazz, Cass is dating Danny, Tim is dating Ellie, and Stephanie is dating Sam. A tiny paranoid voice in his head says that Team Phantom is taking his family.

ok maybe he just needs some sleep.

But what if this is a plan of taking his family?

(I’m hearing you out >:) not sure if I understood it tho :/)

The moment Bruce left the dinner table, everyone paused, as if waiting to see if he’d come back. Then Jazz started another debate with Jason and the conversation resumed. Everyone chatted as they ate and then helped Alfred clean up, who shooed them away from the kitchen when they finished bringing him the plates and utensils.

Dick stretched with a low hum. He received a kiss from Dan for his troubles, and he laughed as he remarked, “Wow, dinner was even better than usual!”

Tim hummed. “It’s because these guys are here.”

“Well, we still have the rest of the night for ourselves, right? Wanna go to the arcade?” Dani asked, tugging at his and Kon’s hands. “We can go to my apartment later.”

“You mean, my apartment,” Jazz said in amusement.

“Same thing!” Dani laughed. Tim and Kon agreed and off they went, with Kon and Dani flying into the night with Tim in their arms.

Dan looked at Dick. “Shall we go home?”

Dick shook his head. “I want to go get some groceries first.” He turned to Damian and asked, “Want to come with, Dami?”

Damian looked at Dan, who just blinked, before Damian nodded. They went off together.

Sam said, “C’mon, Steph, we can’t let them have fun without us, right? Let’s go to the arcade too, or we can go look at the mall.” Stephanie happily hugged Sam’s arm and they also left the manor.

Jazz kissed Jason’s cheek and said, “Let’s go back to your apartment, okay?”

Jason perked up and then he wrapped an arm around her waist before calling out teasingly, “You kids be safe! Don’t add to the population, don’t subtract to the population, don’t do anything dangerous!”

“Tell that to yourself!” Danny snapped. When they also left, Cass and Danny were the only ones left in the manor. She was staring at him silently, dark eyes trained on him. “What is it?” He asked her.

“… you know something.”

Danny smiled. “Know what?”

She stared at him, then shook her head softly. Danny brought her closer to himself, reaching out to hold her gently, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

“We would never hurt you or your siblings. You know that, right?” He asked, and she nodded slowly.

Yes. They would not hurt her or her siblings. It was only Bruce who would be left behind, still stuck in his old ways of mourning, unable to see the hopeful future or the love between them and the Phantoms.

For a moment, Cassandra just mourned for the way things used to be. Then Danny swept her away and everything was soon forgotten.

(Or what if… the Phantoms felt like Bruce wasn’t a great parent and decided to “save” the others on their own.)

[pandapetals]

Unexpected Visit

It's your first Christmas with Logan as a couple (not married yet) but someone unexpected shows up.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, some fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair, mentions of death, angst, trauma, christmas mentioned, parent issues

a/n: I wrote this to go with the holiday special i’m going to post because i know alot of people struggle around the holiday season (myself included, not me trauma dumping in this).

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

As a kid, you’d always heard that the holidays were supposed to be magical—a time filled with warmth, laughter, and gifts under the tree. But growing up in a family that could barely keep food on the table, magic was a luxury you quickly learned to live without. Reality had come crashing down on you at a young age, stripping away any illusions of the "holiday spirit."

Coming to Xavier’s offered you a fresh start and a chance to build a new and hopeful life. You’d thrown yourself into your role as the bubbly, witty English professor, always armed with a quick quip or a smile that could disarm even the grumpiest students. And for the most part, it worked. Everyone believed the cheerful façade—everyone except Logan.

Even before you started dating, Logan seemed to see through the mask you wore. He’d often watch you with that quiet, penetrating gaze like he was peeling back each layer you’d put up to hide the parts of yourself you didn’t want anyone to see. He never pushed or pried, but something in his eyes made you feel like he knew.

When you finally became a couple, that unspoken understanding between you deepened. But you still hadn’t told him the whole story of your past or the truth of what the holidays dredged up inside you. And so, as Christmas approached, you kept your walls up, pretending everything was fine, even though this would be your first Christmas without your dad.

A few days before Christmas, the mansion was buzzing with excitement as everyone packed and prepared to head home. Logan assumed you’d be leaving, too, and he figured you’d join your mother to mourn together. He’d never pushed you to talk about your family, but he knew enough to sense the fractured relationship with your mom.

Yet, as the days ticked by, you hadn’t mentioned any plans. He noticed your room was untouched, no suitcases packed or tickets booked. So, that evening, he found himself leaning against your bedroom door, watching you lace up your shoes with a distant look on your face.

“I thought you’d be packing by now,” he said, his voice low and casual, though his eyes held a flicker of concern.

You looked up, momentarily surprised by his presence, but quickly covered it with a smirk. “Packing for what? You finally planned a romantic getaway for us, tough guy?” you teased, trying to deflect with humor, as usual.

But Logan didn’t smile. His face softened, his arms crossing over his chest as he stepped into the room. “Sweetheart… I thought we talked about not pretending with each other.”

Your smirk faded, replaced by a look of resignation. For a moment, you looked down, fiddling with the laces on your shoes. “I’m not pretending,” you said softly, your voice lacking its usual bravado. “I just… I don’t want to go home for Christmas. There’s nothing to go home to.”

Logan’s brows knitted together, his voice gentle as he stepped closer. “You still have your mom—”

“Logan, stop.” The words came out sharper than you intended, and you stood up, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively. “I don’t… I don’t want to deal with her, okay? You met her at the hospital—she wasn’t exactly the nicest woman in the world.” Your voice wavered, the wall you’d tried so hard to keep up beginning to crumble. “You know my relationship with them—my parents was complicated.”

Tears started slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them, the weight of the year—of loss and complicated grief—finally surfacing. You tried to turn away, but Logan was already there, closing the distance between you in a few strides. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. His hands were steady, his touch warm and grounding as one hand cradled the back of your head, the other wrapping protectively around your waist.

He didn’t try to shush you or tell you it would be okay. Instead, he just held you, letting you fall apart in his arms. His thumb stroked the back of your neck gently, grounding you as he whispered, “It’s alright, darlin’. You don’t have to put on a brave face with me.”

You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself finally break down in a way you hadn’t let yourself do since your father passed. “I wanted so badly to be okay,” you choked out. “To just… move forward. But I don’t know how to do this, Logan. Holidays are supposed to be about family, but what do you do when… when you don’t have one anymore?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes filled with a mix of empathy and fierce protectiveness. “You’ve got family right here,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “You don’t need to go anywhere if you don’t want to. Stay here—with me.”

His words settled over you, a quiet promise that you weren’t alone, that you had someone who would stand by you, even when you didn’t know how to hold yourself together. The walls you’d put up felt paper-thin, and for once, you didn’t try to rebuild them. Instead, you leaned into him, letting the warmth of his presence melt away the loneliness that had been eating at you.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, looking up at him, your voice barely holding back the vulnerability in your heart. “You’d really want to spend Christmas with me? Even if it means cheesy movies and too much hot cocoa?”

Logan’s gaze softened, a gentle, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. He lifted his hand, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice rough but steady, “there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Besides…” He paused, a hint of a smirk appearing as he looked at you with that familiar, affectionate glint in his eyes. “I think we both deserve a damn celebration this year. Don’t you?”

A soft, shaky laugh slipped from your lips, the sound mingling with the quiet stillness around you. You clutched him a little tighter, pressing yourself against the solid warmth of his chest, letting the safety he offered melt away the lingering ache. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like—Christmas with Logan, a cozy fire, the two of you wrapped in blankets, sharing simple moments that felt like home.

You looked up at him, noticing the faint lines around his eyes and the way his gaze held something deeper and tender he didn’t share with just anyone. Logan, who had spent so many years keeping people at arm’s length, was here, with you, willing to make this season something special. You knew the holidays hadn’t ever meant much to him; the closest he’d come to family was the X-Men, but there was always that quiet yearning, that sense of longing in his eyes you could recognize as your own.

A mischievous smile crept onto your face as you tilted your head, running a finger along his jaw. “You know… for a grumpy, tough guy, you’re pretty soft.”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine, vibrating through you as he wrapped his arms more securely around your waist. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and lingering there, his breath warm against your skin. “Only for you,” he murmured, his voice so soft it almost blended into the quiet around you as if the words were a secret meant just for you.

𓂃

The mansion felt eerily quiet, the sort of silence that settles in when everyone else has left and you're finally alone. The last of the students and teachers had headed off for their Christmas plans, leaving only you and Logan behind. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to feel the odd comfort in that—knowing that neither of you had a family to go home to, that somehow, you’d ended up here together. It almost felt like fate, like you’d been meant to find each other.

As Logan wandered back from the foyer, having just waved goodbye to Xavier, he looked at you sprawled across the couch, a playful smirk on his face. “Looks like it’s just you and me, sweetheart. What’s first on your holiday agenda?”

You grinned, half-sitting up. “Well, I doubt you’re up for decorating cookies or watching Christmas movies…” But before you could finish, Logan crossed the room in a few strides and scooped you up effortlessly.

“It’s not exactly the first thing on my mind,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You laughed, giving him a light swat on the back as he threw you over his shoulder, carrying you with ease. “Logan, you’re acting like a teenager who finally got the house to himself.”

He grinned, undeterred, “Well, isn’t that what’s happening?”

He was halfway to the stairs, clearly intending to carry you all the way up, when the sudden chime of the doorbell echoed through the empty mansion, stopping him in his tracks.

You twisted around, trying to look over his shoulder. “Expecting someone?”

Logan set you back on your feet, frowning as he glanced toward the door. “Not that I know of,” he muttered, his expression already shifting to that familiar look of cautious alertness. He moved toward the foyer, and you followed close behind, almost colliding into his back when he stopped abruptly just a foot away from the door.

You noticed him take a deep breath, his nose twitching slightly as he caught a scent through the door. His expression shifted, the guarded edge softening just a bit. He turned back to you, his gaze gentle but wary.

“It’s… your mother,” he said quietly.

Your stomach dropped. “My—” The word caught in your throat as a wave of complicated emotions washed over you. You hadn’t seen her since your father’s funeral, and even then, the conversation had been brief, tense, and peppered with her usual backhanded comments.

Logan placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, searching your face. “You okay?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting her to show up here.”

With a nod, Logan opened the door, and there she stood, wrapped in a heavy coat, her expression a mixture of displeasure and discomfort as she took in the mansion’s grand foyer.

“Well,” she said, her gaze sweeping over you with a critical eye before landing on Logan, her brow raising slightly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you decided to stay here rather than come home.”

You forced a smile, though it felt brittle. “Nice to see you too, Mom.”

She glanced around the mansion, her lips pursed in that familiar way that meant she was about to say something judgmental. “This place is… large. Lavish. I imagine it must feel like a vacation for you.” Her tone dripped with the kind of passive-aggressive disapproval you’d grown up with, a reminder of every time she’d scolded you for wanting more than what you had.

Logan shifted beside you, his gaze hardening just a fraction as he observed the exchange. “Can we help you with somethin’?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with a protective undertone.

Your mother’s eyes flicked to him, a hint of surprise crossing her face. “You must be Logan. You know, I always thought my daughter would end up with someone… different.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground, giving her a steady, unflinching look. “Guess life doesn’t always turn out the way we expect,” he replied coolly, his arm subtly sliding around your waist, a quiet but unmistakable show of support.

You took a breath, steeling yourself. “Why are you here, Mom? I thought you knew I wasn’t coming home this year.”

She let out a heavy sigh, crossing her arms. “I came because I thought maybe you’d change your mind. It’s Christmas, after all. Family should be together.” Her gaze softened, but there was a flicker of resentment there, hidden just beneath the surface. “Though I see you’ve found… other company.”

“Mom, please,” you murmured, feeling Logan’s fingers gently squeeze your hip, grounding you. “I didn’t come home because it didn’t feel right. You know that things between us have been… complicated.” The words were careful, and a bit restrained, but you could feel the weight of the unsaid things pressing against your chest.

She scoffed lightly, waving her hand as if brushing off your feelings. “Complicated? You act like you were the only one who had it rough, but I was there too, you know. I did what I could.”

You swallowed, fighting the bitterness rising in your throat. “Did you? Because most of what I remember is you pretending everything was fine while I had to deal with… with everything else.” Your voice trembled slightly, but you steadied yourself, Logan’s presence beside you giving you strength.

There was a beat of silence, heavy and uncomfortable. Your mother looked away, a flash of guilt crossing her face, though she quickly masked it with a defensive huff. “I didn’t come here to argue,” she said tightly, her gaze darting between you and Logan. “I thought maybe you’d appreciate being with your real family for the holidays.”

Logan’s arm tightened around you protectively, his voice low but firm. “She is with her family,” he said, each word deliberate and unyielding.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line as if weighing her next words carefully. Before she could respond, you gently placed a hand on Logan’s chest, signaling for him to let you handle it. He gave you a quiet nod, stepping back but lingering just out of sight. 

You took a breath, focusing on her. “Mom, I know you tried… in your own way. I don’t blame you for everything, and I know it wasn’t easy back then.” Your voice softened, a hint of vulnerability slipping through. “But this… this is where I want to be. With the people who make me feel safe, who understand me. Logan is a part of my life, and he’s not going anywhere.”

For a moment, something flickered in her gaze—regret, maybe, or the faintest trace of understanding. She looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her purse as she took a shallow breath, pulling her mask back up. “Well,” she said finally, her voice cool but wavering. “Then I suppose this place has changed you.”

You felt a pang in your chest, a mixture of sadness and relief. “I’m still the same—”

“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. But her expression softened, and for the first time in years, you caught a glimpse of something real beneath her hardened exterior. “No, you aren’t. And that’s… that’s a good thing,” she admitted, her tone almost reluctant, but honest. “You seem… stronger. Happier. I can see that this place, being a teacher… it suits you.”

A soft, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips, the weight of years of complex emotions between you and your mother settling in your chest. “I am happy, Mom. I know this isn’t the life you imagined for me, but it’s what I want.”

She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, but the tension in her posture told you that accepting this wasn’t easy for her. The silence between you was heavy, lingering like words unsaid, regrets unspoken. You could feel the moment slipping away, but before it did, you took a chance, your voice soft and tentative.

“Would you… would you like to stay for dinner?” you asked, the invitation hanging in the air like a fragile hope. “Logan and I, we were just about to cook something together.”

Your mother’s expression tightened, her gaze flicking to the mansion’s grand interior, then back to you. She shook her head, her lips pressing into a faint, strained smile. “No, I don’t think so. I have a long drive back,” she replied, her tone polite but distant. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

You swallowed the disappointment, forcing a small nod. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Just then, Logan stepped back into the doorway, a touch of nervousness in his expression, though he masked it well. He extended his hand toward her, attempting to make a good impression, the slight unease in his eyes showing how much he cared about this moment—for your sake, if nothing else.

“It was see you again, ma’am,” he said, his voice gruff but genuine. “Your daughter… well, she’s one hell of a woman. Just thought you should know.”

Your mother glanced at his outstretched hand, hesitating for a split second before giving it a quick, almost dismissive shake. She offered him a tight-lipped smile, but there was no warmth behind it. “Yes, well,” she replied, her tone clipped. “You two… take care of each other.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his expression polite, not pushing for more. You could tell he was trying, in his own way, to bridge a gap that had been there long before he’d come into your life. But your mother’s gaze had already drifted past him, her focus elsewhere.

You watched as she adjusted her purse on her shoulder, giving you a final nod. “Goodbye,” she murmured, her voice softer, almost reluctant, but the wall between you both was firmly back in place.

“Goodbye, Mom,” you replied, feeling a pang of longing that you knew would remain unanswered.

When the door clicked shut behind her, the silence settled thick around you, the weight of unspoken words and lingering disappointment pressing down on your chest. You barely noticed Logan stepping closer until you felt his hand on your back, a gentle, grounding touch that anchored you in the moment.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice soft, searching your face for any sign of the hurt you might be hiding.

You nodded, though your eyes stung with unshed tears. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll be fine,” you whispered, managing a shaky smile. “It’s just… complicated. It always has been.”

Logan wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his chin resting on your head. “You don’t have to explain, darlin’,” he murmured, a comforting rumble against your hair. “I get it. And for what it’s worth, I’m here. I’m always here.”

You let out a soft, shaky breath, pressing your face into his chest, absorbing the warmth and strength he offered. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling the weight begin to lift if only a little.

As he held you, Logan pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair. “She’s a fool if she can’t see how incredible you are,” he murmured, his tone laced with a quiet intensity. “But lucky for me, she’s leavin’ you in good hands.”

You laughed softly, a mix of relief and affection as you looked up at him, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I’m pretty lucky too, you know.”

Logan’s lips curved into a gentle smile, his thumb tracing your cheek in a tender gesture. “Guess that means we get our quiet Christmas after all,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you replied, feeling the weight of the past begin to ease, replaced by a warmth that only Logan seemed to bring. “Just you and me, tough guy.”

[urhoneycombwitch]

sweet.

Steve x reader smut, 1.3k

foreword: u know that scene from Euphoria where Elliot makes out with Jules’ hand as if it was her pussy… anyways Steve Harrington take it away!!! 🎤 (dedicated to 🦊 anon thank u for your wisdom)

___

Sure, the drinking and the dancing is a good way to pass the time, but you’re partial to the end-of-night rituals you and Steve have settled into over the years. Your personal afterparty usually involves a shitty romcom, occasionally some weed, and always snacks both sweet and salty to soak up the alcohol.

Steve’s parents are out of town again, so the two of you are down in the basement den, passing a joint between fingers sticky with candy film.

From all your years of reading Steve’s body language you can tell he’s pretty high- feet planted on the ground but head lolling against the back of the couch, hands lax at his sides. There’s a dopey grin on his face- practically primed for a shitty joke or annoying comment- and you let the smoke out with a huff, asking on the exhale, “What?”

“You owe me five bucks.” Steve presses the side of his head into the couch, looking at you with red-rimmed eyes, still smiling.

You scoff, leaning in to pass the joint back and swiping a handful of gummy bears from the coffee table while you’re at it. “Since fucking when?”

“Since I bought this from Eddie.” Steve waves the weed for emphasis before taking another hit, smoke curling from his nostrils. “You’re matching me in pace, princess. This joint was ten bucks- ergo, you owe me five.”

You cackle despite yourself- “Ergo? You’ve been watching too many Perry Mason reruns.” You know Steve’s not actually gonna make you pay for the weed, he’s just trying to rile you up, and the fact that it’s not working is getting under his skin.

He shrugs a shoulder, just shy of pouting. “Point still stands.”

“Well, you shoulda let me buy from him. Eddie always gives me discounts. On account of these.” Here, you straighten your spine and gesture to your chest- after all the night’s activity, your boobs are practically spilling out of your bra and t-shirt combo, skin glowing in the muted TV’s light.

Steve blinks, clears his throat, and busies himself by ashing the joint into a spare candy wrapper. “Uh huh. Right. I’ll be sure to remember your tits the next time I’m talking to Munson.”

“At least someone will be thinking of them.” You mean it as a joke, but your voice is a bit too mournful to be taken lightly.

“Ah, and you’ve been picking such winners, recently,” Steve intones, dryly. The pillow launched at his head in your poor attempt to hit him is easily batted away. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’ve been going out with total losers. Aaron Conroy? Jamie Porter? Wouldn’t trust either of those guys to find their own dicks. Let alone your whole… business.”

Steve’s aborted gesture to the general area of your jeans makes you guffaw. “Oh, and you’re the reigning expert on girls’ business?”

“Sure am. King Steve, after all.” Said king juts an overeager thumb into his chest, winces, then gives his hand a little shake.

“Mmhm.” You slide across the couch cushions to take the joint again, knee knocking into Steve’s. “I’m pretty good at it too, y’know.”

Steve stares with wide eyes as you suck smoke into your lungs, blinking owlishly before stuttering- “You- you’re saying you’re pretty good at eating pu- at eating girls out?”

Another cackle looses from your chest along with the smoke, you can’t help it- Steve looks so properly shocked. “No, Steve, obviously I meant sucking dick. Not that I’d be opposed, per se, to a girl’s… business.”

The word drips in irony and Steve scrubs a hand down his face in irritation as you settle against the couch next to him, brushing shoulders as you continue. “Just aren’t enough girls in Hawkins to go for. Who are both out and not my friends,” you amend, before Robin can be dragged into the conversation against her will.

“You wouldn’t go down on a friend?” Steve fidgets a strip of paper Clark Bar wrapper between his fingers, crinkling quietly while he waits for your answer.

The weed has settled in your system now, a haze in your veins as you stub the roach out and leave it on the coffee table. You settle back into the couch, suddenly aware of every point of contact- thigh to thigh, arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder with Steve, who’s seemingly paused his breathing.

“Uhm. Yeah. I’d sleep with a friend,” you say, staring at your lap, empty hands twisting around themselves.

The tension of the moment swells, you can feel it in your chest, even as Steve draws in a breath to muse, “Wonder who’s better at it.”

“Eating girls out?” You look at him to confirm, feeling a pang when you see the lock of chestnut hair that’s flopped from its place to rest against his forehead. “I mean… probably you. Seeing as you’ve got the most experience.”

Steve smiles, lazily, tipping his head in acknowledgement, then says, “I could teach you. If you wanted.”

If Steve feels the way you stiffen in response to his words he doesn’t point it out, instead tossing the wrapper aside in favor of taking your hand into his. “Only if you wanted, though.”

You start nodding before the words can come; a shaky “Okay,” and Steve’s wrapping two warm palms around your right hand, manipulating your fingers into making a fist.

“I like to start with kissing,” he says, voice low, gaze fixed on your combined hands. “Y’know. To work her up, get her wet.”

It’s not even technically dirty talk, but the pitch of Steve’s words make your thighs clench involuntarily, seeking friction. Steve brings your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the base of your thumb, and your breath hitches.

“And then I… usually…” Steve trails off, and you can see the gears turning in his head at how best to teach. Apparently, he pegs you for a hands-on learner, because instead of words, he dips down to lick a stripe up the flat of your thumb.

Your mouth falls open as Steve licks deftly into the crease made by your thumb and index finger, curling the point of his tongue near the base again, your clit throbbing in response as if he was actually between your legs.

Steve makes out with your hand for what feels like hours, all sense of time warped by the heady weed. His mouth is warm and wet, saliva dripping through to your palm as he holds you in place despite your squirming.

What’s really turning you on is how into this Steve appears to be- his eyes are closed as if to savor the moment, brow pinched with pleasure, little noises from the back of his throat sending vibrations down your arm.

You fight the urge to sink your free hand into those silky brown locks; instead, your nails bite into soft skin as you clench a fist at your side, willing the subtle movement of your hips with each stroke of Steve’s tongue to stay subtle.

There’s an obscene squelching noise filling the otherwise quiet basement, and this seems to spur Steve on, suckling at your sensitive skin, heat coursing through your body as you gasp out, “Steve…”

He pulls off your hand with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting you both, his mouth a glistening half-moon in the low light before he swipes the back of his hand across it. “So. Yeah. Something like that. You taste good, by the way. Sweet.”

You fight with the hinge of your lower jaw to put it back in its place, breathing heavily as you wipe your slick-coated hand against the leg of your jeans. It leaves a wet patch- likely not the only one, if the heartbeat between your legs is any indication. “Probably the gummy bears.”

“Uh huh. You think you’re any better?” Steve’s got that easy grin back on his face, cheeks rosy, lips flushed with color, too.

A quick glance down confirms that he’s hard as a rock, sizeable outline of his cock visible through the denim, betraying the bravado in his stance.

Oh, you’re gonna wreck him.

With an easy grin of your own, you reach for Steve’s hand. “Dunno. Wanna find out?”