#cotton lunch bag

[coolindianjutebags-blog]

[c0rpsedemon]

at my aunt (mother's half sister)'s house and all her Other nieces and nephews are here (through her other half siblings) and they are Trashing The Place . it genuinely looks like a crime scene in here

[urbancreative]

Gift our sustainable and zero waste lunch set to a loved one or get one for your self! This Zero Waste Set comes with a Set of 2 Medium Madhu Wrap Beeswax Food Wraps, 1 Medium Bento bag,  1 Travel Cutlery Wrap and 1 Napkin in organic Kala cotton.

[giannaln4]

Lucky Bracelet

lando norris x fem reader

summary: Making friendship bracelets was one of your favourite things to keep you entertained during race weeks, and you just had to make a special one for your boyfriend.  (1.5k words)

warnings: fluff, established relationship, a couple sexual innuendos

a/n: guys look at me! two posts in one week? crazy. i'm honestly trying to clean up my inbox since i still have a few requests from before my break 😭 so if you sent one, i'm getting there, i promise! now, this is a little bit cheesy and there are a few weird time skips so I apologise for that, but i really hope you like it! pls let me know what you think 🫶🏻

check out the original request here!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

Being constantly surrounded by hundreds of people and the double amount of cameras was not something you liked, but it’s something you had to put up with given the amount of attention your boyfriend got; it was something you have learnt to deal with. Not that you were fully used to it now, but at least it didn’t make you as anxious as it used to when you first started dating.

At least now you found something that helped you get your mind off the intense atmosphere that surrounded you during race weeks: making friendship bracelets. You made a few when you went to see Taylor Swift in concert late last year, and it stuck with you since then.

You travelled with all the materials you needed: colourful beads and cotton threads, tape, scissors — the whole deal. It wasn’t like you made an insane amount of bracelets every time you accompanied Lando to a race, but if you were bored or overwhelmed, you knew you had something to do.

Today was one of those days; Lando was specially busy today, and given your shy and quiet personality, you didn’t know that many people around, so you decided to lock yourself in Lando’s drivers room and get to it, carefully picking the letters and colours you would use.

Lando hated to leave you alone. He was aware of the many things he had to do, but he didn’t expect them to take that long, so as soon as he got a little bit of free time to catch lunch, he went looking for you. 

“Hey,” he greeted one of the mechanics. 

“Hi mate, how is it going?”

“All good, thanks. It’s a bit hot outside but still nice.”

“And yet, you are wearing a hoodie.” He teased him.

Lando let out a laugh, well aware of his reputation. "Well, I still have to keep it in style, don’t I?”

“You do, we know.”

“Anyway, have you seen Y/N?” 

“She must be in your room. I haven’t seen her since the two of you got here this morning.”

He smiled, knowing exactly what you were up to if you hadn’t left the small space all day. “Thanks.”

Lando made his way to his room, carefully knocking on the door before coming in. He didn’t want to scare you and make you drop all your beads, which has happened more times than he would like to admit.

“Come in,” he heard you yell from inside.

He opened the door and gave you the sweetest smile you have ever seen. “Hey, I’m back.”

“Hey, what took you so long?” You dropped everything you were doing to direct your attention at him. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know we would have to be there all morning, but I’m back for lunch.”

“It’s okay, and thank God, I’m starving.” You took a piece of tape to hold your bracelet in place and started to get up.

“What are you making here?” He asked you as he got closer to the small table, analysing what you had on display as the bright-coloured beads caught his eye.

“No, it’s a surprise.” You responded, quickly hiding your unfinished creation with your hands. 

“A surprise you say?” He came behind you to wrap his arms around you, softly kissing your head. 

You melted into his embrace and hummed in response, using one of your bags to hide it instead so you could hug your boyfriend back. “You can’t see it until you win this race.”

“Mhm, I see. What if I don’t win? When do I get to see it?” He questioned, not wanting to jinx his weekend, but he was still curious. 

“The next race you win.” You said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Got it. In that case, I’m gonna have to win this race.” He grabbed your hips to turn you around, kissing you on the lips once you were facing him.

You went to eat your lunch together as you normally did, enjoying each other’s company as you talked about anything you could come up with. Before you knew it, he had to go back to his duties, and even though you tried hard to act normal about being left alone so he wouldn’t feel guilty, he still noticed. He knew you better than you knew yourself, anyway.

“You can come with me if you want, that way you don’t have to be alone.”

“No, it’s okay. I know there are millions of people and cameras when you do these things."

He couldn’t help but feel guilty; he knew you were there to support him, so he hated to be apart from you when you did. “I’m sorry, love. I know you don’t feel comfortable when there are a lot of people around. You know you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, you could always stay home.”

“If you don’t want me to come, just say that,” you joked.

“No, it’s not that,” Lando replied immediately. “I do want you here, I always do, but I hate that you feel like you have to hide.”

“Lan, I’m not hiding. Sure, I do prefer to stay inside, but it’s not because I want to hide from the world. Besides, that’s why I always bring something to entertain myself with. I’ll be fine, I promise,” you reassure him.

“Okay,” he nods, smiling at you. “But if you want to go back to the hotel, that’s okay.”

The rest of the weekend went on a lot quicker, even though he was just as busy. Qualifying and race days were a lot less boring since you got to see the cars from the garage, enjoying the full wag experience. 

As the race went on, you couldn’t help but feel anxious and excited at the same time. Lando started from pole (which made you assure him the night before he would get to see the bracelet after the race), but you still had the need to crack your fingers every once in a while. There were only a few laps left, and he had led the entire race so far, and with the gap becoming bigger, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

Once he finally crossed that finish line with a 21-second margin, everyone in the garage cheered and jumped, celebrating Lando’s achievement. A lot of people gathered outside to see him get off the car and celebrate his third win himself, shouting his name and patting him in the helmet to congratulate him.

When it was time for the podium, you decided to go get the finished bracelet you kept in your purse and held it close to your heart, feeling extremely proud of Lando for the amazing race he just had. You couldn't stop the few tears that left your eyes; it made you so happy to see him accomplish his dreams. 

The whole thing was finally over, and you waited for him right there so you could finally express how proud of him you were. 

“Congrats, baby,” you said, hugging him as if you hadn’t seen him in months. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you.” Lando couldn’t erase the big smile off his face as he hugged you back. 

“That’s a cool trophy you got back there.”

“Yeah, I don’t really care about that.” He said, puling away and looking down at you. 

“You don’t?” You asked confused.

“No, I’m still waiting for my real reward.”

“Oh… we can go back to the hotel-”

“No!” He interrupted you, laughing loudly at the fact that your mind went there. “I mean my bracelet, didn’t you say I would get it if I won this race? Well, I did, and now I’m claiming it.”

You laughed, your cheeks burning a bit from embarrassment. “Right, uh- it’s not that great compared to your trophy.”

“I’m sure it’s better than any trophy I could ever get.”

Man, he really knew how to be the sweetest boyfriend in the entire world. You pulled the bracelet out of your pocket, hiding it in your fist before dropping it in his hands. 

The colours were the first thing that caught his attention. Fluoro green and black beads. He inspected these first, until he got to the little letters that read ‘MY WINNER’. He almost couldn’t contain his tears; he was so endeared by you and how much you supported his passion.

“I love it,” he whispered, lifting you up and kissing you emotionally before putting you back down and sliding the bracelet in his wrist, admiring the way it looked there. “Thank you.”

“See? I told you you would get to see it today.”

“It must be a lucky bracelet, then. I’m never taking it off.”

You giggled at this, loving how Lando reacted to the bracelet you made with much love, but you still thought he was just messing with you. “You must be tired.” You teased him.

“Mhm. Now, about my other reward-”

“Oh my God.” You rolled your eyes as you let out a loud laugh, holding his hand as you made your way to the car.

[after-witch]

The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You wake up in a room you’ve never been in to the sight of a man you’ve never met.

Word count: 3500ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, degradation, drugging

Memory and time and the world itself are fuzzy, gray things as you wake up. Before the abrupt, awful, heavy awakening, there was nothing--just a dull blackness where you did not exist. 

Yet there’s a dim sense as the world returns to you, as your heavy eyes struggle to open, that you are, indeed, alive. 

Alive and a person, you remember that, too. Alive and a person and... somewhere. You must exist somewhere, that is a basic tenant of existence, isn’t it? But as your eyes finally open and the world above you is stark white, too bright, you can’t quite remember where somewhere is.

Underneath your head, there is a body. That, too, feels heavy. So you flex it, or at least you try. Your fingers feel like fuzzy sticks but perhaps they are moving when you try to curl your hands. The fuzziness extends all the way through your body, like you’ve rolled around in pins and needles and have yet to shake them off.

Breathing--you’re breathing, too. That is a sign that you are alive, that you have returned to the world. Even if your mouth feels dry and sticky, and there is an awful taste in it. You open and close and it almost hurts; there’s a vaguely wet smacking sound, and the awful taste is amplified by the trace spit that registers against your tongue.

Your head hurts. Your neck, too--specifically one point. There’s an instinctive desire to reach for that point, and your arms obey, feeling like heavy lead, until your hand slaps against it. Why does it hurt like that? 

It’s a small point of pain, like someone had stuck a needle into your--

And there. There. It all comes flooding back to you. Your name, your life, your world, the moments before it all went dark. 

You worked the day it all went dark. It was an ordinary day of work, a bit stressful, with moments of reprieve. Your lunch had been soup and rice and a treat: blue raspberry soda from the vending machine. After work, you went grocery shopping--you needed something for dinner--and returned home to your apartment. You remember the sound of the key turning in the door, the surprise that there was a light on in your kitchen--hadn’t you turned it off that morning?--and then… and then…

The pain, in your neck. That small point. An awful prickling, like being stung by a bee. Only there was no time to swat it away, and you fell into darkness, the bags of groceries hitting the floor before you did.

That was… however long ago. How long had the world been gone? A few hours? A day? Days?

With the returned sense of self, your body seems to want to catch up with your mind, and the sense of buzzing heaviness fades away enough for you to push yourself up onto your elbows. The material underneath you is soft: a bed, a mattress, with plain white cotton sheets.

You’re in a bed. In a bed, in a room with plain white walls. There is sparse furniture: two wooden dressers, a table, two chairs. There looks to be a folding door--a closet?--and two more doors, besides. 

Are you in a hospital? Did you pass out, and some kindly neighbor heard the thunk-thunk-thunk of your body and bags falling to the ground, then called for emergency services? It would explain the sparse room, although there’s no IV in your arm, no machines monitoring your heart rate. 

It would explain, too, what you’re wearing.

You’re not wearing the clothes you fell down in. Instead, you’re wearing a cotton nightgown, made from a thick but relatively soft material. There is lace on the collar, which is strange (but not impossible, your mind reminds you) for a hospital. Still. It makes sense. You pry away a thin comforter with still fuzzy hands and see that your shoes are gone; your feet are clad in only soft white socks. That, too, makes sense. You wouldn’t be put in a hospital bed with work shoes. That would be silly, and silly things did not belong in hospitals--which must be where you are.

Even though there are no IVs hooked into your arm, and no machines monitoring your heart and blood pressure and many more things, besides. Even though this appears to be some private suite, and you were sure that no hospital would put someone who fainted into a fancy room like this. You weren’t wealthy or notable, just a nobody who lived in a mediocre apartment and had a mediocre job and--

The door opens, and a doctor walks in. Or he must be a doctor, because who else would walk in wearing a tailored black suit and a face mask, if you had woken up in a hospital? Which must be where you were--despite all the confusion, and the strange details, and the fact that you had neither the wealth or status to be in a private room like this.

He stops when he sees that you’re sitting up. He must be surprised to see you awake, or perhaps he’s looking you over for signs of continued injury, because the way he stares is a bit unnerving.

You want to ask where you are, and what happened, and if anyone called your emergency contact. But your head still feels heavy, a little cottony, and all that comes out is--

“Um.” The word comes out all dry and croaked, and you’re suddenly aware of your dry, parched throat.

“I’ll get you water,” the mystery doctor says. He has dark hair and his voice is low, almost neutral. Well, it would be, wouldn’t it? Doctors probably had to practice speaking like that; like nothing was wrong, even if you’d clearly had some awful medical episode that required some sort of specialized care with a private room.

He steps away from the door he entered--locks it, too, and isn’t that strange?--and walks to the only other door in your suite. When it opens, you realize it’s a bathroom. Just as white and sterile-looking as the main area. There’s a squeak of a tap being turned on, and a rush of water, and before long he walks up to you.

Your heavy hands move forward to take the glass, but he takes one look at the trembling and tsks.

“I’ll hold it,” he says. The thought makes your stomach squirm but, he would know best, wouldn’t he? 

So you don’t protest when he raises the glass lid to your lips, and tips it back so you can take a drink. He doesn’t hold it there for long. Just long enough for your throat to feel soothed and damped. Then the glass goes away, and he sets it down on the nearby table before grabbing a chair and placing it near the bed.

He sits.

You stare.

Shouldn’t he be taking your vitals, or something? The thought comes softly. He’s not like any doctor you’ve ever seen. And this is not like any hospital room you’ve ever been in; even a private suite should have… something, right? An IV bag trailing into your arm, a heart rate monitor in case something went wrong. 

The sense of wrongness hangs in the air as he begins to speak.

“I’m glad you’re awake. I had to guess at your body weight, so I wasn’t sure if I had the correct dosage.”

Your brain feels heavy as you ask--

“The correct dosage…” Dosage, of what? “You mean, medicine?”

He blinks impassively at you. Then there are wrinkles around his eyes, like he might be smiling. 

“The sedative.”

The sedative? The sedative--

Memories come back slow, unwillingly, like dragging your feet through heavy gray slush in the winter. 

When you opened your apartment door, the kitchen light was on. The kitchen light was on and when you turned, there was something; no, not something. Someone. A man with no mouth--a mask--and cold eyes and there was a glint of silver before it plunged right into your neck.

This wasn’t a hospital.

The man in front of you wasn’t a doctor.

If you had been hooked up to a heart monitor, it would have no doubt gone haywire in the next moments, as you forced your leaden body to shove back against the wall, your trembling legs getting stuck on the cotton sheets of the bed. There was nowhere to go; the bed was pushed up against the wall and he blocked the only exit.

“You--you--” The words come out stuttered and tingling, like they aren’t even coming out of your mouth. “You kidnapped me.”

He eyes your sudden skittering with nothing more than a moment of raised eyebrows.

“I acquired you,” he corrects, as if that was a correction to be made at all. “To keep you safe. To keep you away from the filth.”

His words barely register as your breathing speeds up. You’ve been kidnapped. Kidnapped and redressed and taken to some bizarre room by someone who was clearly out of his mind. So you do the only thing you can think to do in an awful situation like this: you bargain.

“Please,” you say, and the dryness in your throat comes back and makes your words crack. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. If--if it’s money you want, I don’t have much, but I can--”

He raises a gloved hand.

“Please, this has nothing to do with money. I won’t be letting you go.”

You shake your head, like that matters. 

“Who are you?” You ask, not sure if you really want to know.

The lines around his eyes crinkle again.

“Chisaki Kai. That’s what you may call me, anyway.” He sighs, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. “Very few have the privilege of doing that, you know.”

You’d rather have your freedom than this thing he calls a privilege, but you don’t have the wordpower to voice that particular thought. 

Your fingers cling to the only thing they can: the cotton sheets underneath you. Tighter and tighter, until they almost feel like they’ll cramp up.

“Why did you bring me here?” There are tears in your eyes now, and you can see his gaze begin to follow them as they trickle down your cheeks.

“To protect you,” is all he offers, before slapping his thighs and standing up. “Now, it’s time to get up.”

A million awful scenarios rush through your head at once, leaving you feeling sick. What is he going to do to you? Is he going to hurt you? Kill you? Are you just one in a long line of people he’s brought to this room, all drugged and hazy, before he kills them and does who knows what with the bodies?

You shake your head.

He tsks from behind the mask. There are no crinkles around his eyes, now.

“Get up,” he orders. Softly, yes, but there’s a finality and firmness to his tone that makes your wobbly legs push towards the end of the bed as if you were an automaton. 

“Why?” You squeak out. If he’s going to kill you, will he tell you, first?

He turns around and repositions the chair so that it’s back at the table, and pulls out the second. His hands hover around you as he guides you on jelly-like legs to sit down. 

“It’s time for breakfast.” A simple answer, like you had met him on the street and asked the time. Like he didn’t just admit to drugging you and kidnapping you. 

“I’m not hungry,” comes the automatic answer. You’re not. Your stomach feels empty, but it’s wrenched; from fear and stress and gallons of adrenaline.

“You will eat breakfast,” he says, just as automatically. “You will eat everything on your plate, as well. I’ve calculated out the perfect nutrition for your needs.” There’s a bit of a smile to his voice, even though it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

The wooziness in your body, the fresh horror creeping from your skull down to your toes, keeps you rooted to the chair while he briefly leaves. When he returns, he’s carrying a tray--it reminds you of a hospital tray, despite everything--with a modest amount of bland, healthy looking food on it.

Your stomach turns.

--

The rest of your day comes in awful little vignettes, all blurry black around the edges, only becoming clearer when he explains the rules to you. It’s an awful form of clarity.

He doesn’t call them “the rules,” but that’s what they’re meant to be, certainly. He lays them out so simply, almost sickly sweet. Like you’ve been brought to some boarding school and are getting shown the ropes.

The thought of ropes makes you feel sick. But he hasn’t tied you up, and that’s some small relief.

Or it would be, if it weren’t for the rest of those black-rimmed vignettes that fill up your day. 

When he picks out an outfit--a simple dress, a pair of clean underwear, and soft socks--and turns around, telling you to get changed. He won’t look, as long as you behave; as long as you don’t make a fuss.

When he shows you the dresser, the closet, the bathroom, the empty shelves. Tells you that if you behave, you’ll get rewarded; with books and paper and pencils. That the better you are, the happier you’ll be here, he says. Like you had any control over the situation at all.

When he makes you eat lunch and tells you to chew your food more slowly, more thoroughly. It helps with digestion, he says. You’ll get an upset stomach otherwise. As if you aren’t fighting the urge to gag with every bite you take--as if the reason you’re feeling queasy isn’t sitting in front of you with a mask on his face.

When you tell him, teary eyed, that you want to go home and burst into sobs but he merely waits until your hiccuping shoulders have ceased to move and tells you: “This is your home now. I’ll take care of you. Crying is only going to work you into hysterics.” 

When you refuse to eat dinner--your first act of rebellion, such as it is--and he simply sighs, leans back, and tells you that if you refuse to eat, you will go to the clinic and be fed through an IV.

“Would you like that?” Honey drips bitterly from each word.

You would, in fact, not like that. 

The spoon trembles when you lift it, but the soup goes inside your mouth, all the same.

--

“But why do you have to watch me?” The words come out dry and scratched. If you were home, you would brew yourself a cup of tea and drizzle in a modest amount of honey for good measure. You, however, are far from home.

“It’s my job to look after you.” Even if he wasn’t wearing the mask, you’d have no idea what he looks like right now, because you can only manage to stare at the tiles on the bathroom floor. Below you are your bare feet, feeling shakier than ever; above, your cheeks are burning so hot it almost hurts. 

“You don’t have to… I’ve always--what I mean is--I can do this myself,” is what you manage, fists clenching at the soft fabric of your dress. It felt flimsy enough all day--how much flimsier, then, if you were to pull it over your head and let him see you bared? 

“I’m sure you think that.” There’s something like a smile in his voice, and it’s a smile you hope to never see. “But the reason you’re here is that you can't take care of yourself. Now,” he says, with an air of finality. “Remove your clothing and step into the tub.”

There’s no room for argument. No room for pleading, no room to change his mind. There’s only one thing that you can do to end the situation, and that's to do exactly what he wants: take off your dress, your underwear, even your white padded socks, and sit in the clear water while he stares at your naked body. 

“I’ll turn around while you get undressed.”

It’s a wonder that you don’t burst out laughing. 

Instead, you fight back tears and look up, staring at the still back of the man who has turned your world into a frizzy, confusing mess in a matter of 24 hours. 

Despite the warmth of the water steaming up the room, you shiver. Your heart might as well be in your ears, for how well you can hear it pounding. That haziness from the morning returns, a sort of numbness as your fingers clench the fabric of the dress and you pull up, up, up, slipping it over your head and dropping it on the floor. 

The underwear takes longer to remove. So long that you worry he’ll turn around, and that’s what finally has you yanking the fabric down, has you stepping out of them and then--like an automaton cranked too tightly--rushing to step into the tub.

Water splashes around you as you settle, pulling your knees up to cover what you can.

He turns around and, of all things, kneels next to the tub. If he touches you--if he reaches for the sponge and tries to wash you--you think you’ll scream.

But his hands stay where they are, resting on his knee.

You look at his hands, and not his face. There’s nothing you want to see less than his eyes right now.

“Most people don’t know how to bathe properly,” he tells you, as if instructing you on something of high importance. And it probably is, to him. You can sense the beginning of some long speech, a list of things you must do in the bath, just as he gave you a list of things you must do when dressing, when eating, when everything.

“I know how to wash myself,” you mumble, feeling hot around the ears.

He doesn’t bother acknowledging you, and a further rush of shame flushes through your chest and threatens to jump out and migrate to the wobbling knees pressed against it. 

Instead, he points--you follow his hands, still unable to look anywhere else--to a line of cloths and brushes hanging from hooks on the wall of the tub. 

“They’re color-coded,” he offers, almost cheery. “Pink is for the initial scrubbing, to slough away the initial dirt and dead skin. Blue is for cleansing with antibacterial soap. Purple is for rinsing.” His fingers tap the brushes. “The same for the brushes, for your back.”

There’s a moment where you think he might actually grab the cloth and wash you, but thankfully, his hands return to their former position. 

A moment more--two or three, at least--and he clears his throat.

“Start with your legs. Most people do not scrub their legs well enough, and it leads to an excess amount of dead skin.” There’s a bit of distaste in his voice at the mention of dead skin. Your thoughts go to the gloves on his hands, the mask, the insistence on making sure you get clean enough in this tub of his.

You grab the pink cloth. Dip it in the hot water, and start scrubbing at your knee.

He clears his throat again, and your stomach drops.

“Put your legs down. Scrub under the water, so the dead skin doesn’t accumulate on the cloth.” 

No. No. No-no-no-no-no. It’s what you want to say, a simple word, a clear word.

But the word is stuck in your mouth, and you’re left with nothing to do but let your knee slide down, one, then the other.

He can see you. He can see you.

The thought makes the held-up tears finally come, bubbling out like soap. Something childish in you glances at him, then, hoping for pity--for disturbance, for him to wonder if perhaps he’s doing the right thing.

But the only thing you see in his eyes is a flash of impatience.

“If you take too long,” he says, over your sniffles, “the water will not be hot enough to disinfect. We’ll have to start over, at that point.” Start over and--would he want to take over, fed up with your clear incompetence? 

And so you get back to work, the colored-coded cloth scraping at your skin, and you can only hope you’re doing it well enough to avoid dragging out the bath any longer than possible.

“Don’t forget behind your knees,” he murmurs. Despite not looking at him, you can feel his eyes on you. Watching. Assessing. 

And that’s what he does: assess. Because the comments don’t stop, even as you move on to cleansing and rinsing and everything else he’s ordering you to do.

Wash this. Scrub that. Do it gently, do it harder. Use this soap and only one pump--don’t wash your hair like that, it causes breakage--let me test the water to make sure it’s hot enough. 

--

That night, on clean sheets, in a clean nightgown, with a clean body, you cry yourself to sleep. 

And in the morning, when you wake up, you’re still here.

And Overhaul still comes in through the door, breakfast tray in hand, a smile hidden behind his mask.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Oh my god post-prison spencer and sunshine!reader is my new favorite 🥹

Can I request how spencer would react if something goes wrong in one of their cases and reader is held hostage/taken? I imagine she would be shaken ofc and spencer would comfort her after

canon level violence, reader has dislocated her shoulder and was concussed while also trying to fight off the feelings that are rapidly developing for spencer, and spencer doesn't give a fuck about her fighting their attraction

“Unlock the door, Y/n.” Spencer’s outside your door, he has been for the last couple of days. You’d been injured in the field, a concussion and a dislocated shoulder that had come from the unsub taking you during what would’ve been his take down. 

You’d been dispatched from the hospital last week after being less than attractive to the doctor who wanted to keep you there for longer. 

You’d answered texts and calls from your co-workers, but you’d been ignoring Spencer. 

“Go away Spencer, you’re supposed to be in Nebraska.” you were consulting on a case the team is currently on, so he can’t lie. 

He doesn’t try to, like you’d suspected, “I asked Emily to stay behind, you aren’t doing well.” 

You sigh on the other side of the door, relenting because you know that he won’t leave. 

“How can I help you?” You’re a little less than polite, but Spencer doesn’t seem to care. He knows what it’s like to be sidelined from the team due to injury and be upset about it. 

“Well first, you can let me in, I may look strong but these arms were not made to hold more than five bags at a time.” he’s as tender as he always is and it softens you. 

Stepping aside, you let Spencer in. Your apartment is clean, you’ve been surviving off delivery breakfasts and take out lunches, you can’t raise your hand high, so cooking is a no. 

You’re not worried about your attire, you’re in a green tank top with ’save the planet’ embroidered in cursive with a sick earth just beneath it, and a pair of cotton shorts that hit just above your knee- the heat in the city was driving you crazy and you also didn’t have the energy to try for more clothes- certainly not without upsetting your shoulder some more.

If Spencer is surprised by your outfit, he says nothing. You’re hardly surprised by his, a purple shirt tucked neatly into his dress pants and smart shoes; you’re not sure how he’s managed a perfect outfit in this heat.

Spencer sets the bags down and begins the task of taking out all the things inside- he pulls out packages of various nuts, passion fruit juices and a mountain of those clear, plastic bowls filled with fruit. 

“You didn’t have to buy pre-cut fruit; I know it’s more expensive that way.” You say to him, finding a bit of trouble pushing yourself into the chair you have at your kitchen island. 

Spencer sets down the plastic bags and moves around the countertop to help you, “I cut them myself, they didn’t have the ones you like in the grocery store.” 

You’re stunned silent, the bowls are full of watermelon, cantaloupes, orange quarters, mangoes, grapes and pineapple. All your favourites cut exactly the way you liked. Spencer must’ve spent around a hundred dollars just getting the fruit alone, maybe even more if the number of grapes is anything to go off of. 

“Spencer, you didn't have to.” He shrugs, his eyes searching your face. 

“How’s your head? Have you been feeling dizzy or having double vision?” It’s not easy to lie to Spencer, doubly so when he’s standing before you and staring at you so intensely. 

“The dizziness comes and goes, mostly when I’m in the shower.” You say honestly, and Spencer frowns. 

“You could’ve told me,” you blow a raspberry and pull the bowl full of mangoes towards you. 

“You would’ve made me go back to the hospital; I don’t like the smell of them.” you chew on a piece of mango while Spencer carries on assessing you. 

He notes that the mottling on your shoulder has gone down significantly, now it’s just purple and a little blue. Your eyes don’t appear unfocused, and Spencer is glad for it. “I wouldn’t have.”

“So, what’s your verdict, Doc?” you ask, shutting the lid on the mangoes before you burn through the entire container. 

“You’re not concussed, I think your dizziness in the shower is from you moving your shoulder too much and agitating it.” Spencer presses a light fingertip into the bruised skin and you hiss, batting his hand away making him laugh. 

You hum, “So what? I just never shower again? In the middle of this heatwave? I’d rather die.”  

“I forget how dramatic you can be.” Spencer shakes his head, “Or, you could’ve called me, or Penelope and either one of us could’ve given you a sponge bath.” 

You make your eyebrows dance, “You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you Spence?” He rolls his eyes, tugging on the braid your hair is in. 

“How’d you do that?” he asks, helping you off the chair and leading you into your kitchen. 

Your face is red hot, “I bribed my neighbour’s kid to do it for pumpkin bread the minute my arm is out the sling.” 

Of course you did, you might be sunshine incarnate, but Spencer knows everyone has a spot they don’t want others to see- this is yours. You don’t want anyone in your team viewing you as incapable or in need when they should see you as capable and able to do every facet of your job. 

“I can help you make the bread tonight if you want something to do when the case is over.” 

You tilt your head, watching Spencer look around your cupboards for a glass. “Top left cabinet,” you say and he nods, smiling when he finds a glass covered in stickered ladybugs. 

Spencer fills it almost to the top with passion fruit juice and passes it to you. 

“Are you staying the night, Spencer Reid?” you take a sip and sigh in delight, it’s been a while since you’ve had passion fruit juice, you’re not entirely sure how Spencer knew it was your favourite. 

“If you let me, it isn’t good for you to be by yourself and the more you strain your shoulder, the longer it’ll take for you to get back in the field.”

An impish smile tugs at your lips, your eyes gleaming with a mischievousness Spencer hardly thought you possessed, “So what you’re saying is, you miss me desperately and will sacrifice your hatred of germs and touching other people just to ensure I’m back in Quantico at your earliest convenience?” 

A call from Penelope cuts through the fat of your question, making you laugh when Spencer rushes to answer it and slides you a mock glare that you know is just for show. 

“Yeah, Penelope, what have you got? Y/n and I are here,” well, there’s no escaping his presence now. You find you don’t mind it quite so much, your beginning aims of not falling for him is shredding more and more as the months go on.

[nouearth]

blue current.

clark kent x male reader headcanons.

warnings: fluff, co-workers at the daily planet, maws!clark, soft!clark, intern!reader.

a/n: it's been a hot minute since i've written anything! i feel so bad because i've been swamped with school, so hopefully this will hold you guys over until i post my next fic! it's not much, but i've been feeling fluffy as of recent, and clark is the perfect candidate, HAHA. idk, i've been feeing low-key creatively stuck for writing, so hopefully this well get me out of the slump!

—clark was smitten from the moment he first laid eyes on you.

—it had only been the fourth month into his internship, but it was no secret that the higher-ups, and even his colleagues, have been impressed by clark's rapid growth.

—it was enough to ensure their trust in clark to train the new intern as the lead journalist had taken a month off for vacation. while he had his doubts if he would do a good job, clark always loved challenging himself.

—his mother had always reminded him: one who feared failure will never achieve greatness.

—sure, you weren't being mentored by the best journalist in the city. though, you had to admit that you felt defeated since miss lane was the only reason why you chose the daily planet over other internships.

—but bitterness turned to throat-drying, cheek-flushing, and hand-flexing sweetness when you came in your first day and met the man who would be training you.

—for clark, it was the drowsiness in your gaze that suddenly brightened when he met your eyes. if he could have seen his own face, clark would reckon that his eyes lit up the same way yours did upon meeting you for the first time.

—he's so... handsome. maybe training him wouldn't be so bad after all...

—his blue eyes sucked you in like heavy ocean current, but instead of fighting back the pull like any sane person would, you allowed him to drown you in the gorgeous wash his gaze doted on you with.

—god, are you toying with me right now? have you finally come around to my reckless behavior back in high school? i knew you always would!

—it began with a handshake. when clark's large hand cupped into yours, a current of sparks flickered from the bone of your knuckles to his own, and you both released with a gasp.

—"sorry! it must be my vest or something—has a lot of... cotton, i think—" clark assured with a laugh, but cursed his lame excuse in between breaths.

—"no, you're fine! i guess your sweater vest knew i was half-asleep, huh?" you laughed with him, and almost as if it was choreographed, you reached back to rub at your nape when he does, and the discomfort left the collective laughter in a fleeting dance.

—"well, lucky for you, our first stop is the break room! i'll show you how to make a poor man's mocha if you get sick of the coffee here!"

—from then on, you two had quickly become close friends.

—where clark would teach you more hacks to spice up an ordinary roast of coffee, you would return the favor by surprising him on random days with lunch that you prepared the night before.

—on nights where you were too tired to function, you simply settled for sandwiches and prepared an extra meal for clark.

—whether he claimed he forgot his lunch, or was too busy to even take a glance at his lunchbox; eating lunch had become a rarity for him.

—unless it was with you.

—even before opening the brown paper bag, clark knew it was going to be delicious.

—you always remembered what ingredients he liked and disliked since the first time you had lunch with him.

—clark smiled to himself as he ate the meal you didn't have to prepare for him in big bites.

—and then laughed when you watched in amazement and mirrored him like a parrot with messy bites.

—somehow, the thought of cared for was more filling than the actual meal.

—in moments where clark suddenly felt guilt for liking you as more than a friend, he sat silently, staring blankly ahead, with the tissue crumpled in his hands.

—and you sat beside him on the bench, compelled by his silence, while the birds watched from their home of oak and birch.

—it had been happening more frequently: clark's sudden mood shift. no matter how much he tried to deny it, how much he attempted to pacify your silent worries with his handsome smile, it was clear that something was bothering him.

—at first, you tried to break him with a joke.

—"geez, was my sandwich that bad?! i guess i shouldn't have used that expired mustard..."

—you've studied clark enough to anticipate a half-hearted chuckle from him; weak, but still had the intention to please. to masquerade his thoughts.

—instead, the birds chirped in his absence, and your frown only deepened as clark maintained a fixed gaze to the pavement.

—"clark?" you nudged him once on the arm, and he immediately dropped his head in between his legs with a heavy sigh.

—"what's wrong?"

—"there'ssomethingigottatellyou..." he muttered into the crook of his elbow, and your brows knitted together in worry, despite your amusement at the fact that he was behaving similarly to a puppy throwing a tantrum.

—"huh? didn't quite catch that when your mouth is full of linen." you gently nudged him once more to vacant the space between his legs, then another with a gentler squeeze to his arm when he doesn't.

—"clark, come on. talk to me." you squeezed harder to the sound of his groans. "people are staring—"

—then another squeeze.

—"there's something..."

—and another.

—"i gotta tell you..."

—and before you could alert him once more, clark returned the pressure into your own palm when he suddenly took your hand into his, and held it as if it was a pirate's lost treasure.

—the warmth of your skin compelled him to sit back up, but he refused to look at you. instead, he gazed every perimeter that didn't involve your eyes.

—the birds again, the sky, the trees, anything to drown out the sight of potential rejection.

—but how you wished he would turn to you right now, because you smiled. wide enough to sting the apple of your cheeks, and as much as you wanted to yell out his name for him to do so, you wanted to let clark do it for himself.

—to take upon the challenge of potentially meeting failure or success.

—heat crept onto his cheeks as he stared at a couple who were charmed by chubby ducks floating on the nearby lake. for a brief moment, he could see you two walking hand-in-hand, while the other free hand threw feed at the eager ducks.

—he was lost in his imagination. a blink turned into a dream, and a dream turned into a desperate paradise.

—it wasn't until the trail of your hand that looped your fingers into his, tightly sharing the warmth of anxiousness with a sticky clamp, that clark opened his eyes again and finally turned to you.

—wet eyes and shaking blues, they told a story that you didn't need to read into.

—silence filled the space between the two of you, then groaned in annoyance when you scooted closer until your knee was pressed to clark's. you folded his hand into yours, still clutching onto him tightly, and laid the joined affection on your lap.

—"i like you too, smallville." your thumb ran several laps over his knuckles to calm the tremors clark had possessed.

—he watched, open-mouthed as if he was about to respond, but the shock trapped the remainder of his words within his throat.

—you lounged back and squinted at the radiance of the sun, the brights of the sky.

—"(m/n)..."

—the sunlight faded into the background as the beauty of your best friend came into frame once again. he absorbed all the color and light of the world until your focus was on him.

—"i really like you."

—the sigh on his lips told a different tale compared to the previous exhales. it curled his lips upwards and finally pacified the shakes that had been bothering clark for months.

—when he pressed his palm back into yours, folding his fingers over your own, you braced for impact as you felt the electrical current from the first day you met him return in stronger pulses. it nipped at your skin, then at clark's, in its desperate escape.

—but clark held tighter, as did you, until the shockwaves melted in his skin, into his veins, then into his blood, and became one with the victorious cheer of his heart.

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like! feedback is also much appreciated!

[erwinsvow]

i’m definitely projecting BUT i genuinely feel like shy!reader would have wavy hair and be so insecure about it (even tho it’s so pretty) so it’s always straightened but i just know if rafe saw it he’d fall even deeper in love with the girl!

oh 100%. lets project together angel why not. if you dont have wavy hair pls look away im sorry. but i do have wavy hair that i straighten all the time so ! you sent this to the right bitch

your hair, though you've been told so many times was pretty either way, is usually straightened several times a week, if not daily. it's easy to fall into the trap of preferring it sleek and shiny than the waves that were pretty for the first day, frizzy the next, and somehow constantly clashing with the outfit you selected for the day.

you thought straight hair was easier, looked better, went with everything. even if it wasn't true, you had bought into it for long enough, your blowdryer and flat iron your two best friends.

the first time rafe met you, your hair had been straight. it was that way on your first date, as well as your second and third, as well as every sleepover at tannyhill or early morning drive to watch the sunrise at the beach. he'd never seen your hair any other way, not realizing there was, in fact, another way for it to be seen, until today.

you and rafe had spent the first hour of the morning rolling around in his bed at tannyhill, working up a sweat, which then was washed off in the shower together. rafe gets out first, listening to his phone ring repeatedly in the distance. you finish up, washing your hair and turning the water to the hottest setting now that rafe wasn't there to complain.

when you walk back to rafe's room, he's on the bed, still on the phone. you try to dry yourself off and get dressed without giving him too much of a show, settling for one of rafe's old frat shirts and using another shirt of his to start drying your hair. he looks at confused, but you don't say anything, knowing he's still on the phone. you need at least a minute to explain cotton t-shirts and scrunching to him.

rafe finally hangs up the call with barry while you rummage through your overnight bag, realizing your flat iron and blow dryer were left behind on your bathroom counter, a result of finishing up your hair for your date yesterday.

"is sarah home?" you ask, looking up at rafe.

"don't think so. and didn't i give you a towel? why's my shirt on your head right now?"

"i forgot my hair stuff at home."

"oh," he says, walking back to his dresser and returning with something in his hand. "here." he hands you a hairbrush.

"what am i supposed to do with this?"

"you said you needed hair stuff. uh, you're welcome."

"i have a brush, rafe. i meant my dryer and my iron. do you think sarah would be mad if i used hers? is that weird, though?"

he didn't think it was that serious, but you look more upset by the second.

"what'd you need that shit for? we're not going anywhere until lunch. it'll dry by then." you stand up, taking the hair out of his shirt and trying to salvage whatever waves remained.

"i wanted to wear it straight for the club, though. my outfit, it looks better with straight hair-"

"huh?"

"and i didn't even detangle or use that conditioner, it's all at home. ugh." you keep scrunching, going to the mirror and taking a look. rafe follows behind you, eyebrows knitted in confusion while he takes a piece of curly hair between his fingers. it's pretty, the way it falls around your face and certain pieces are curlier than others. you look pretty like this, though he's sure you look pretty any which way.

"how come i didn't know your hair's like this?"

"um, i like it flat. do i have to go to the club like this?"

"i like it. s'pretty. c'mon, leave it."

you turn to face your boyfriend. like everyone else, he's just saying it to be nice.

"will you take me home to grab my stuff? please?"

"if you really want it, kid, but i think you should leave it," rafe says, bringing his hand up to your hair, stroking the pieces by your face, twirling a wave around his finger. "c'mon, for me?"

you hesitate, looking up at your boyfriend.

"but i wanna look nice for the club."

"the fuck are you talkin' about? you always look nice."

"but it's not as nice. it's messy. i like it-" rafe interrupts you, bringing his hand to your jaw the way he always does, squeezing tight but not too tight.

"stop. it looks nice. stop overthinkin' it. got it?" you nod. "s'nice. you should wear it like this more often."

"sure. whatever you say."

"that's right."

[shemybitchhh]

𝕀 𝔾𝕠𝕥 𝕐𝕠𝕦☆

HEADCANONS of you taking care of injured Ellie.

<<Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader>>

☆Ellie, who the first time you two would talk, she would have a rather serious wound on her side. You, being the daughter of one of Jackson's doctors, were always interested in medicine and learned quickly from your father. "What happened?" You asked her, worried as you saw her clutching the side of her muscle shirt that had a huge red stain on it. "Nothing, mind your business." She told you coldly but you stopped her by grabbing her shoulder. "Aren't you going to go to the infirmary?" You asked and Ellie turned her head to look at you angrily. "You don't care what I do." You bit your lip, still worried. "If you don't let some nurse take care of you, at least let me do it."

☆Ellie, who from that day on would notice your presence in every place she went, and when she didn't see you she would look for you until she found you, without knowing why she needed to keep you in her sights.

☆Ellie, who would find you one day treating the wound of a little boy who was crying because of a scrape on his knee. "Shhh, easy little one. Everything's okay." You assured him as you gently disinfected the wound with a cotton ball. "That's it. You're very brave." You told him, making the boy smile a little. Ellie felt her heart warm when she saw that scene.

☆Ellie, who wouldn't know how to start a conversation with you so she would pretend to get hurt just to have an excuse.

☆Ellie, who would start asking you anything no matter how stupid it was just to hear your voice. "So, do you swab the wound with alcohol before bandaging it?" "What's worse, a knife or gun wound?" "Can I drink booze after antibiotics?"

☆Ellie, who would look for supplies during her patrols to surprise you. "Where did you get these?" You asked, looking in surprise at the empty blood bags and clean gauze she had gotten. "They were inside an ambulance a short distance from our checkpoint. Nothing out of the ordinary." She said downplaying it, when in reality she had entered an abandoned hospital full of clickers and runners completly alone, just to get them for you.

☆Ellie, who would invite you over to her room for the first time and you would end up reading her comics together.

☆Ellie, who would ask you what your favorite band is and a few days later a CD of it would appear on your doorstep. She would never take credit for it, although it wouldn't be too difficult to guess.

☆Ellie, who would invite you to have lunch with her in the dining room, after seeing that you were too shy to sit next to anyone besides your dad.

☆Ellie, who would stare into your eyes while you told her the plot of your favorite book. She wasn't listening to a single word that came out of your mouth. Her mind was lost in the vibrant and full of life color of your gems.

☆Ellie, who would tell you her stupid jokes just to hear your laugh.

☆Ellie, who would ask you to teach her first aid so she could take care of herself. Although she would never apply the theory since she preferred to go with you and have you take care of her.

☆Ellie, who would arrive from a patrol almost fainting from the number of infected she had to kill, and you would run up to her so that she could lean against you. "Shhh, easy, I got you." You whispered to her before she passed out.

☆Ellie, who would wake up exalted on the stretcher in the infirmary and the first person she would look for would be you. She would see that it was your father standing next to her, taking her pulse, and she would instantly be embarrassed. "I'll tell her you're awake and to come see you." Your father said with a kind smile, without Ellie having to say anything.

☆Ellie, who would accept your hug without second's hesitation after you ran in to check on her.

☆Ellie, who would start spending some nights at your house, listening to music, talking about irrelevant topics to pass the time, and sometimes even cooking with you.

☆Ellie, who would stare at your lips while you chewed the chocolate she had brought you as a gift. "Want some?" You asked, extending your hand with a generous piece.

☆Ellie, who would act without thinking and would pull you towards her by your outstretched wrist and kiss you, tasting your chocolate-flavored lips.

☆Ellie, who couldn't stop telling you how beautiful you are, loving how you looked away with an involuntary blush.

☆Ellie, who would promise to take care of you from everything, just like you took care of her when she got hurt on her patrols.

☆Ellie, who would hug you from behind with her folded hands after you disinfected her knuckles for the thousandth time, and would fall asleep smelling your scent and pressing you against her.

☆Ellie, who would let you know how important you are to her. "I got you, love."

[rainydayathogwarts]

this is my first time requesting something from anyone so, sorry if i dont make sense

but would you be willing to do something about sirius taking care of his sick girlfriend

no worries, it makes total sense! also can i just say i am very honoured to be the first person you request from 0.5k+ wc (a cutesie little blurb) - fluff!! no warnings

A knock on your door has you digging your head further into your pillow, eyes shutting tightly to block out the light peeking through the curtains of your four-poster bed. The knocks fail to subside, continuing so vigorously that you know there’s only one possible person on the other side of that door. “Come in!” You manage to croak out, pulling the covers back up to your chin. You hear the door opening and closing softly, and you shimmy onto your back just in time to see Sirius’s head poking through the red curtains of your bed. 

“Oh darling.” He opens the curtain wider and sits down on the mattress next to you, a hand reaching to push some hair out of your face. “Heard from Lily you weren’t well in transfigurations. McGonagall didn’t know whether to believe her or not.” You scoff at his words but it comes out sounding like a snort, your blocked nose stripping you from any charm in front of your boyfriend. “‘S that why Madam Pomfrey came to check on me?” You barely see Sirius’s grin forming through your squinted eyes, but it still manages to bring a small smile to your face, especially as he goofily says “Probably.” with a loose shrug of his shoulders. 

Slinging his book bag over his laps from where it previously rested on the floor, he begins saying “I didn’t think you’d have had anything to eat so I brought you some stuff.” He pulls out a barely creased paper lunch bag, immediately telling you he’d gone to the kitchens before visiting you. “‘S got some orange slices and pastries. I also brought you tea.” Sirius says, placing the bag on your bedside table to go digging into his own one again, looking for the tea. You fish out a hand from under the covers, sniffling slightly as you go to place it on Sirius’s thigh. Your touch has Sirius immediately glancing up at you worriedly. “What?” “Thank you sweetheart.” The pet name brings a pink flush to Sirius’s cheeks, and he places his hand over yours, bringing it up to his lips so he can give you a soft kiss. 

“Pomfrey excused me from classes for tomorrow too.” You tell him, watching closely as his eyebrows furrow. Letting go of his hand, you cup his jaw instead, rubbing your thumb on his cheek. “What? Can’t go another day without me?” You only mean to tease him, but the stubborn shake of his head has you huffing in adoration. It’s almost as if you can see the moment Sirius decided to lay with you, eyes widening when he shuffles down the bed to lay down next to you. “Sirius no! You’ll get sick.” You insist, but your body defies you, moving to make more space for him on the bed as his strong arms wrap around you. With a single kiss to your forehead, he’s made up your mind, hands finding warmth underneath the cotton of his shirt. 

It’s no surprise the next day when McGonagall looks up to find not one, but two seats empty in her classroom. “Has anyone seen Mr. Black?” She asks, her gaze pointed at one table in particular. “He’s sick, Professor.” Sound out the voices of James and Remus, shooting each other amused glances. 

Professor McGonagall has the decency to turn her back to her students before muttering “Of course he is.” Under her breath.

[fandom-whores-world]

Remarkable 3

Batfam x Neglected! Reader

Prologue , Part 2

Hey guys! I’m back! After seeing how popular this series became I knew I had to shift my focus to it! I hope you guys enjoy Part 3

You woke up the next morning, and everything went the way it usually did. Alfred knocked on your door to announce breakfast, Tim walked right past by you in the hall, and the rest of your siblings made plans you would never be invited to. You finished up breakfast quickly, thanked Alfred for the delicious food, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and then were on your way.

Instead of taking the limo to school with Tim and Damian, you preferred the less stressful option of riding your bike to Gotham Academy. You hadn’t really cared much about going to school with Tim, but now that Damian was about to enroll as a freshman a part of you wished you had gone to school in Metropolis. Damian was a difficult person to deal with on the best of days. His status as Bruce Wayne’s only legitimate son gave him more than a big ego, but the truth was you really just didn’t want another Wayne to have to compete with. At least if you had gone to school in Metropolis you would have been closer to your best friend Kara.

Kara and you had become fast friends when you first moved into the manor. She would tag along with her cousin, Clark Kent, who had a close relationship with your father despite living in a different city and having very different occupations. According to Kara since you were the same age it was a sign you two were meant to be best friends. While you didn’t really believe in things like “signs” you were glad to have Kara in your life. She was kind, funny, strong, but most importantly she saw you. It didn’t matter to her that you weren’t a prodigy like your brothers. She loved you for you, and that meant the world.

You sighed before chaining up your bike outside of the school. ‘What’s done is done’ you thought as you approached the large marble building of your school. Even if you didn’t like going to school with Damian, there wasn’t anything to be done about it. After his elementary school graduation Damian would be attending Gotham Academy whether you liked it or not.

As you entered the school building you noticed a large group of students crowded around the announcement board. You tried to catch a glimpse of what they were looking at, but there were too many people in the way. Eventually you found your friend Olive in the crowd and asked her what was happening.

“You haven’t heard (y/n)?” She pulled you to the side of the crowd where there was a small gap just wide enough to see the poster that had caught everyone’s attention.

“Your father is coming to give a speech about running a successful corporation”

You whipped your head around in shock. Olive continued talking, but all you heard was static. Your mouth felt like cotton, your ears started ringing. You were about to start spiraling, but before you could you felt a hand clamp down on your shoulder. You turned around and saw Olive looking at you with worry.

“Are you okay, (y/n)? Maybe you should sit down? Come on, just a few classes before lunch with Kyle and I”

She guided you away from the crowd and the board so that you could calm down.

“Homeroom is about to start (y/n). Why don’t we head to class?”

You nodded mutely, but your mind was still on your father. You may not fight for his attention anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t affect you. You knew that as soon as the event was over everyone would be swarming you and Tim for info about your father. While Tim may not like being pestered with questions at least he wouldn’t have to reopen all those wounds of neglect you would.

Eventually you reached your homeroom. Olive started waving at her boyfriend, Kyle and pulled the two of you over to where he sat. Kyle smiled warmly at the two of you before gesturing to the seats around him.

“Don’t leave a poor boy alone guys”

Olive laughed before putting her bag down and sitting next to him. The three of you were desk mates with Kyle sitting closest to the window, Olive in the middle, and you in the aisle. Seeing that they were waiting for you to join them you shook your head free of the negative thoughts that filled your head, and took a seat.

Eventually the three of you settled into light conversation over one thing or another, and before you knew it the class had started. You were grateful to have Biology as your homeroom since it is one of your best subjects. When you first moved to Gotham you had wanted to be a Doctor like the men and women who took care of your mother before she passed. While you didn’t want to be a Doctor anymore, you were still reaping the rewards of study from your childhood dream.

The class came to an end, and after that the rest of the day went by in a haze. By the time you realized it you were on your way back to the Biology Lab for second homeroom. You had left your book bag open by accident, and a girl pushed by you knocking all of your school supplies out in the process. She threw out a half hearted apology and a tight smile before rushing by. You decided not to let it bother you. There were very few students in the hallway, but the hall was very narrow which made it difficult for you to pick up your things without getting in someone’s way.

Eventually you decided to just wait for your classmates to leave the hall before grabbing your things. When you were almost finished picking up everything you heard some footsteps approaching the hallway. You looked up and saw the Dean of Gotham Academy turn into the hallway while talking to your father’s party guest, Harvey Dent. You were surprised to see him again so quickly after the party. While you were lost in thought the Dean became aware of your presence, and moved to introduce you to him. However, before she could Harvey stepped forward and held out his hand,

“Ms. Wayne, it’s a pleasure to see you again after the gala”

You laughed awkwardly while getting off the floor before accepting his hand and giving it a shake.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Mr. Dent”

The Dean noticed your familiarity with Harvey Dent and started going on and on about your accomplishments at the school.

‘She’s probably looking for a donation’ you thought wryly.

The whole time Dent nodded his head and listened with rapt attention. Eventually the two started to wrap up their conversation. Once again Dent turned to you, and started to chat

“I don’t want to seem pushy, but it really would be nice to have you work with me. Have you given my offer any more thought?”

You bit your lip and fidgeted awkwardly before finding some inner courage and saying

“I want to take you up on it please!”

Dent gave you a million dollar smile, shook your hand, and said

“That’s the spirit, kid. Glad to have you on board as my newest intern! You start Saturday at 9:00 a.m. Don’t be late!”

[coolindianjutebags-blog]

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[daenysx]

hi love ! i know you did one kind of similar to this so don't worry about it if you don't want to do this request but could you maybe do something with a reader who wakes up annoyed with just james? like she doesn't even cry until later but she's just annoyed? i feel like he'd be so good at giving you space but still letting u know he was there for u :) once again no pressure at all lovie !

hi, angel, thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy <3333

james potter x fem!reader

your head feels like it's full of cotton when you first open your eyes.

you don't like waking up feeling useless, like every bone of your body is ready to give up the second you leave your bed. funny thing with bad mornings is that you never know when you'll have them. they just come and ruin your day until it's at least the afternoon.

sitting on bed, you reach for your phone to get it from your nightstand. there's a piece of paper under the phone. you open it.

leaving for the training, angel, i'll be home before noon ♡

james likes drawing hearts around his name when he leaves a note for you. you smile a little no matter how terrible your head feels. it's almost half past 11. you force yourself to leave the bed.

the shower may help. you try so hard to shake off the anger you feel. summer mornings are not so easy to get through without a cold shower, you also like washing your hair and leaving it wet on your bare shoulders. you don't take long, after 10 minutes you go back to your room to get dressed in plain shorts and a small tank top.

you don't feel like eating or drinking a huge iced coffee which is basically your favorite every morning. waiting for james is better, you sit on the couch, watch water drops fall on your skin from your hair.

james opens the door silently, thinking you must be sleeping. you like calling him when you wake up when he's not home, it has become an easy habit. instead he sees you spread your legs on couch, you look exhausted, he doesn't know why. you look at him with widened eyes, no energy, no spark.

he takes off his shoes, leaves the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. he comes to your side, sitting on couch with a hand on your leg. "morning, angel." he says, kissing the side of your head. "slept well?"

you shrug. "not really." you tell him. his brows come together.

"are you tired?" he asks, rubbing his hand on your leg affectionately.

"a little." you say. you'd tell him what's wrong with you if you'd know it yourself. "how was training?"

"same as every time." he answers. "there are two new guys, i think coach wants them in the team."

"that's nice." you say silently. james's eyes have a pinch of worry in them.

"is everything alright, sweetheart?" he asks, gently. "can i get you anything? have you eaten breakfast?"

you don't know the answer of the first question. nothing's wrong actually. you feel like you can throw a tantrum for no reason, you also feel like you have no energy for it. you don't wanna ruin james's day, he was happy in training and he came home to an upset you. it doesn't feel fair. you wanna bury yourself to your pillow and scream until your lungs hurt.

"i just-" you start, not knowing the rest of the sentence. "i don't know, jamie, i just feel off today. please don't worry, i'm sure i'll feel better in a few hours."

it's hard for james to see you like this. like you have no will to do anything. you look like you can't even lift your finger, your eyes lack their usual spark. he doesn't push it, though. you'll come around when you're ready. his hand lingers on your leg.

"it's okay." he says. "i'll prepare something for lunch. come to me when you feel like eating, okay? or for coffee. for anything, i'll be there."

you nod. he leaves after giving you a perfect kiss on your forehead.

you can hear the sound of plates and forks from kitchen, james washes a few things, he cooks something simple for himself. he thinks of making you a plate of your favorite breakfast but he knows you won't eat it unless you want to. he's not gonna force you into eating or drinking something, a bad morning is a bad morning. he eats in the kitchen to give you some space. he cleans up the dishes, talks to remus on the phone with a silent voice, replies some texts as he drinks a cup of tea.

you rub your eyes with your fingers. your anger has been washed away by something different, kinda like an exhaustion, something that makes walking hard and talking harder. you manage to go to the kitchen. james looks at you with a soft pair of eyes.

"can you-" you start, tears clog your throat but you don't mean to cry over nothing. "can we cuddle, please?"

james stands up from his chair. "baby." he says, cooing. "of course we can. anything you want." he hugs you in the middle of the kitchen.

"i don't know what's wrong with me." you say. you hate how desperate you sound.

"nothing's wrong with you." james says. "it's okay to have a bad day."

"i don't want to feel like this, jamie." you tell him. "i feel annoyed for no reason and my head keeps pounding, and- i hate it."

"angel." he cups your cheeks to dry your tears. "look at me."

he patiently rubs two gentle thumbs on your tears.

"let me make you something to eat. you can have a painkiller after that, okay? and maybe a cup of coffee. and then we can cuddle all day in bed. you just gotta eat something first."

he makes you a toast after you agree. it's quick and delicious, you eat as much as you can with a glass of cold water. james kisses your head as he takes your plate. you decide you don't need a painkiller. you feel better after eating anyway, and even though you don't really like it, crying helped.

james takes you to bed. he opens the window for some fresh air before joining you.

"better?" he asks. you nod, settling down on bed next to him. he holds you closer, you put your head on his chest to listen his heartbeat.

james doesn't talk until you say something. it's not that he doesn't want to or that he doesn't have anything to talk about, he just feels a tenderness in the air. you don't close your eyes, not sleeping at all, just breathing softly against his chest.

he feels so affectionate towards you, it's like his heart will explode. it makes him more protective, more attentive, more anything to keep you safe and happy. he rubs a big hand on your back until your tight muscles feel a bit relaxed. you get closer to put your head on the crook of his neck.

"i'm okay." you say suddenly. "i'm sorry for worrying you."

"i'm not worried." james lies. you know. "i know you'll be okay."

he knows but it's not the same as seeing you okay, seeing you happy and content in his arms. you are in your head more when it's summer, the weight of not having as many routines as winter is a bit heavy on you some days. james rubs your arm, you wrap it around his waist. your hair smells amazing, he buries his nose against the scent and breathes deeply.

you think it's still nice, having time to spend on bed with james with the summer breeze on your legs. he falls asleep shortly after your generous neck kisses, he must be tired from the early training. you draw shapes on his skin, admire his pretty face. your love for james runs deeper than any kind of anger you could have, he has your heart in his hands and he takes good care of it.

you don't fall asleep, only watch his chest as he breathes, his curled lips and blushed cheeks from the warmth of the nap he's taking. you smile genuinely for the first time that day. a coffee doesn't sound so bad now. james likes waking up to the fresh coffee scent anyway.

[urbancreative]

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[shaunamilfman]

Being Lottie Matthews Controversially Young Girlfriend

Adult Timeline Headcanons

nsfw mention

you and lottie definitely have a meet-cute moment at the farmers market. love at first sight fr she's trying to get you to move in the wellness center within the month. “but y/n if you live in the dorms again you'd be here all the time anyways. Just move in 😁. it's cheaper that way.”

coming home after a long day to see Lottie laying in bed and just burying your face in her cleavage. She's surprised the first time you do it, nearly dropping her book and tries to catch you thinking you've fallen, but she's gotten so used to it now that she doesn't even react. she sets her book down gently on the nightstand and runs her hands soothingly through your hair. 

she has absolutely no shame about dating you despite the large age difference. she's hyping you up to her cult wellness center members talking about how good you're doing in college and shit. “yeah 😁 she really aced that exam she was worried about 😁😁”. she got one of those stickers like “my girlfriend goes to x college”. 

she def packs you lunch and stuff to take with you. lottie can't cook for shit but she can make a mean sandwich. you're like “i only have one class today.” and she's still shoving snacks into your bag lmao. 

im convinced lottie is a bit of a technophobe so she's consulting your ass on everything. you get woken up in the middle of your nap to go turn the wellness center computer off and on again. you spend 20 minutes trying to talk her through sending an email before you give up and type it yourself while she dictates. she looks particularly smug after that one, so you think she may have gotten one over on you. she's so genuine most of the time that you're never quite sure. 

Lottie's a lot older than you but I really don't think she'd have all that much sexual experience given her circumstances. if she had slept with others before you it wouldn't have been that all that many. lottie would definitely be aware that she'd be expected to have more experience and is a little hesitant about telling you that she doesn't. point is I mostly just think she'd be very shy and blushy the first few times you had sex. 

going along with it once when someone assumes you’re her daughter to try to playfully embarrass her. she just shrugs and makes a note in the back of her mind to kiss you in front of them at some point. some poor cult member walks in on you like two fingers deep in your ‘mom’ and is so traumatized by the ordeal. Lottie's all smiles the whole time. she fr giggled a bit when they left she's so devious. 

Lottie mentions movies she liked as a kid and you're off-handedly like “oh I don't think I was alive when that came out.” and she just full on winces. she spirals a bit over it every time she's so dramatic. 

Lottie's constantly trying to initiate sex wearing like beautiful and intricate lingerie all the time while you're wearing whatever random shit you happened to have on like "please warn a girl omg". Lottie's ass is still like 😍😍. she does not care in the slightest what your wearing lmao it's on site.

Lottie wears silk pajamas with like robes and shit to sleep. they've got her initials monogrammed on the pocket and she buys you matching ones in your favorite colors. she wouldn't be upset if you didn't wear them but she always looks so excited when you do. she also has like a ridiculously expensive sheet set on her bed. it's soft as hell though you've got to give her that. all that and your little cotton blanket you bring for when she inevitably steals all of the bigger blanket from you in her sleep. 

Lottie for sure tries to pay for all of your things. you try to pay for them yourself but she always seems to know. she pops out of nowhere with her debit card just as you're checking out like 😁. Lottie's not paying for your things expecting sexual favors out of it but she'd absolutely receive them. dropping to your knees in front of her after she pays for your textbooks??

she has no idea how much things cost. she's def like “how much could a banana cost? $10?”

the reading glasses stay on during sex. she's so embarrassed the first time you see her with them on but gets over it very quickly when you immediately jump her bones. 

Lottie buys you a shit ton of clothes. they're all styles you like, but you can't help but notice they're all heliotrope. you're just like 🙄 whenever she gifts you a new shirt. 

grinning ear to ear whenever you introduce your milf girlfriend to your friends. you're so smug about it that it honestly makes lottie a little shy. she def really likes it though she's just always so blushy when you compliment her in any way.

she calls you so many pet names. it's all honey, baby, sweetie, princess, etc with Lottie. going feral over the idea of lottie calling you love. 

Lottie's so physically clingy. she just loves laying on top of you with her head against your chest so she can hear your heartbeat. she loves when you play with her hair. she chases your hand with her head like a dog if you try to stop lmao.

you'll catch her just staring at you all the time she has no shame

[hellfirenacht]

Dress Code

Summary: It's too damn hot to be wearing your Hellfire Club shirt, unfortunately the rest of the club disagrees. One Shot. Reader x Eddie if you squint

Tags: @ali-r3n @crocworkships @maxstecc

Summer in Hawkins wasn’t usually terribly hot, at least it wasn’t as bad as it could be when inside. You had hoped that school would have given you some relief from the heat, but to your dismay (and to the dismay of many other students at the school, there were certain classrooms that were now without a/c, and of course your classes coincided with a fair bit of them. Great. 

It was Friday, and on Fridays you were required to be in uniform. That was hardly ever a problem, Eddie wasn’t terribly picky. As long as you were wearing the Hellfire Club shirt he was happy, or at least wouldn’t say anything. But today the cotton fabric irritated your skin, and only served to add more insulation to your already uncomfortably hot body with its longer sleeves. 

By the time lunch rolled around, you had given up the shirt, stuffing it in your bag and changing into a lighter weight t-shirt you kept in your locker for emergency situations.You grabbed your lunch and made your way over to the usual table where your club would sit, taking a seat across from Gareth who’s eyes flicked to your shirt and then to your face. There was a smirk on his smug little mouth that made you roll your eyes. 

“Not a word, Emmerson.” you grumbled, picking at your food. Maybe if you stayed at the end of the table away from Eddie, he wouldn’t notice your betrayal of the club. Not that you were afraid of Eddie, but he could admittedly make you, perhaps, just a little nervous at times. And that totally did not have anything to do with the attraction you felt for him. Totally not. 

“I give it three minutes before he notices.” Gareth replied as Zack and Jeff made it to the table. Zack sat next to you, while Jeff took his usual seat next to Gareth. It wouldn’t be long before Eddie showed up now, taking his place at the end of the table. 

“You’re out of uniform.” Jeff said, looking over at you. “And you look like shit.” 

“Shut up, Jeff.” 

You wished you had a jacket or something to throw on, but that would also defeat the point of now wearing your Hellfire shirt. It was too damn hot and you have no idea how the others were able to wear theirs without burning up. You’d felt like shit all day, and even looking at your lunch was making you lose your appetite. 

A thump at the end of the table made you jump as Eddie dropped his lunchbox. You leaned back a little bit to gauge his mood. There was a frown on his face and his brows were furrowed as he opened his lunch. Shit. He looked pissed today, and Gareth had a shit eating grin as he glanced at you. 

“Don’t” you mouthed to him and shook your head. He simply shrugged, already knowing that you were gonna be caught. This was such bullshit, you were getting all worked up and worried about getting in trouble for a club that the school liked to pretend didn’t even exist! 

You felt for the guy, most of his classes were a moot point, and he really only needed to pass three more to graduate in May, and Ms. O’Donnell’s science class was known for being one of the hardest teachers in school. Eddie swore up and down that Principal Higgins put him in her class on purpose to flunk him and make him drop out. You suspected that he was right. 

“You okay, Eddie?” Jeff asked while you angled your body behind Zack so that it was less noticeable what you were wearing.

“Ms. O’Donnell has it out for me, I swear.” Eddie grumbled. “I swear, she’s a drill sergeant with all these damn pop quizzes she keeps springing on us.”

“You should get a tutor.” Zack suggested as Dustin and Mike showed up and dropped their trays on the other side of you. You met Mike’s gaze and his eyes went wide and he immediately looked away. Jesus, these freshmen were so dramatic. No one looked up to Eddie more than Mike and Dustin, the kids loved him. It was cute. Sometimes. 

Dustin had the good sense to just give you a normal greeting, knowing better than to point out what was already known to everyone in Hellfire except for Eddie. Actually, the tension for this was starting to build up as Eddie ranted about how he’s tried tutors but no one would give him the time of day anyway. 

If you were better at science, you’d offer but you already know that you and Eddie would be at each other's throats trying to figure out whatever O’Donnell was teaching. You already butt heads enough during Hellfire. 

You kept quiet as Eddie ranted for a few more minutes. You pulled a book out of your bag, pretending to read as your lunch went untouched. There was the beginning of a headache starting to make itself known, and you were heavily considering skipping gym next period. Normally you’d ask if you could crash in Eddie’s van for an hour in cases like this but you had a feeling that you’d have to either go to the nurse's office or find another place to hide this time. 

If this was a better day, you might have been able to keep your head down and avoid Eddie’s attention, ironically being the opposite of what you would have considered to be a good day. But it was not a good day, because it was a million degrees out, the a/c was busted in all your classes, you felt tired and gross, and Gareth just loved to stir the pot. 

“Hey Zack, can you throw this away for me?” he asked, handing over his empty soda can to the man beside you. If looks could kill, he’d be a pile of ash and dust as Zack got up to toss the garbage into the nearest trash can. 

You wished that you could shrink and disappear into the chair, but no such luck. It was at this time that Eddie finally noticed you, and you watched as his neutral expression of greeting shifted to one of annoyance. Usually, you found his expressiveness funny and endearing, but not this time. The energy of the table immediately shifted as all eyes were on you and Eddie. 

Shit. 

“Where’s your shirt?” Eddie asked, his large brown eyes boring into you. He was already in a pissy mood, and normally you’d stop yourself from pushing his buttons, but the pounding in your head was growing more insistent. 

“In my bag.” you replied in the same short tone as him. The rest of the club didn’t move, except for Zack who went back to his seat, looking around and wondering what happened. 

“You’re supposed to be wearing it. It’s Friday.” Eddie leaned over to look at you and Zack leaned back, not wanting to be the wall between you two. 

“I’ll wear it at Hellfire, Eddie. It’s fine.” you sighed, not wanting to fight about this right now. 

“Everyone else is wearing theirs, why aren’t you?” He wasn’t going to let this go. He flunked a pop quiz and had to feel some form of control. It was written all over him. 

“Because, Edward, it is a million degrees out and I feel like I’m melting.” Your eyes narrowed. 

“Yeah, but the rest of us still managed to wear ours!” Eddie looked super annoyed now, the frown lines on his face accentuated by the comically deep frown he was wearing. He hated being called anything other than ‘Eddie’, ‘Eds’, or ‘oh great and powerful DM’. You liked to use the last one when you were about to do something stupid in the campaign. 

“Eddie’s right, you know. We’re all wearing our shirts.” Gareth smirked and you almost threw your uneaten sandwich at him. 

“Well, you see, I was worried that if I wore mine all day I’d end up at club smelling like you and I didn’t want to suffocate everyone while playing.” you snapped. From beside you, Dustin snorted and Eddie gave you a warning look. 

“You know the rules, you agreed to them when you joined us.” Eddie reminded you. 

“Edwin it’s 90 degrees outside and most of my classes don’t have a/c!” you looked at him, feeling more exhausted by the minute. “If I put my shirt on, I’ll die of heat stroke before 7th period.”

He might have caved, he really might have if you hadn’t called him that. Eddie wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but as the leader of Hellfire he had to maintain some sort of order to keep his “little sheepies” safe. One of the perks of Hellfire was the protection that came with it. It didn’t stop all the bullies, but at least most of them would avoid messing with you all too much because they were convinced Eddie might snap one day. 

But you called him Edwin, and were challenging him, and you were fighting with Gareth again, and he already flunked another pop quiz. 

The two of you locked eyes, holding each other's gaze intently. The pounding in your head only grew worse, but you didn’t feel like backing down. This was so stupid, it was just a shirt! Yeah, this club was important to you, it was important to everyone here. So why did you have to-

“Can you just put your shirt on?” Mike finally said, and you and Eddie looked at the freshman, and he rubbed his face. “The a/c’s working in here, you’ll be fine.”

You honestly started to feel like you could cry from the stress of being ganged up on like this. 

“Yeah, but I’m so hot she might still get pit stains” Gareth jabbed with a smirk and you made a disgusted face. 

“Fine.” you finally grumbled and pulled the crumpled shirt out of your bag. You gave it a shake and threw it over your head like a scarf, not pulling it on all the way and leaving your arms out. “Happy?” you shot at Eddie. 

He wasn’t, you didn’t think anyone was happy with this honestly. But you were still burning up, everyone was staring at you like you were a kid throwing a tantrum, and as much as you loved Eddie, you were pissed that he didn’t even hear you out. 

But he was done arguing and leaned back in his chair. At least now he’d leave you alone about the stupid shirt. You leaned back in your chair as well, grabbing your book and tried to read for the rest of lunch. You couldn’t focus though, finding yourself reading the same lines over and over again while your head ached. If today had been different you’d be able to ask Eddie if he had anything that would help, but no such luck. 

“Are you gonna eat that?” Jeff asked, pointing to your lunch. When you shook your head and pushed your lunch box towards the center of the table, everyone reached out to lay claim to your forgotten lunch. 

You could feel Eddie’s eyes on you, and you angled your body away from him. By now, you were starting to heavily consider finding a sub for the game and going home to just sleep. You found yourself with your forehead resting against the cool wood of the table until the end of lunch when the bell rang, and you decided to just head towards the nurse. You only bothered saying bye to Dustin and Zack, who had been the only ones to mind their own business. 

You missed how Eddie’s expression had softened when you left the cafeteria.

It took the nurse all of three minutes to declare that you were running a high fever and that this wasn’t just a headache caused by the lack of a/c. Well, that explained a lot. Being old enough, the nurse said that you were free to go home and get some rest. Looks like you’d be missing Hellfire after all, and you wouldn’t even be able to tell them why you couldn’t show up. Maybe that would piss Eddie off so much he’d go full sadistic DM. 

Maybe he’d even kill off Gareth the Great. 

No, you’d never actually be that lucky. 

You slumped your way back to your locker, haphazardly grabbing books that you think you might have homework for and shoving them in your bag. The weight of your backpack only added to the exhaustion and fatigue that was quickly gaining up on you. You always got sick like this; perfectly fine until you weren’t. 

As you made your way to the parking lot to your car, the heat of the day was at its peak, beating down on you. You groaned and made your way to the car, throwing your bag in the back seat. 

“Running away?” Came a voice from behind you, and you didn’t even fully register it until there was a shadow behind you. You slowly turned around to see Eddie looking down at you with his head tilted. 

“Eddie?” your voice was quiet and exhausted. You’d already used the last of your energy of the day fighting with him and you didn’t have it in you for another round. 

“Jesus, what happened to you?” he reached out and pressed a hand to your forehead. You couldn’t help but lean forward at the touch, somehow his hands felt like ice in this heat and it felt good. 

“Overheated ‘cause I had to wear a dumb shirt.” you grumbled, and his hand dropped. You looked up at him, and he looked as though he’d been slapped, Guilt washed over his features and it was a little bit satisfying. “Kidding. Nurse said I have the plague and to go home before I infect the school. Says she’s never seen anything like it, and it’s probably a new virus that’ll probably kill me by the end of the weekend.”

Eddie always looked cute when his head tilted in exasperation. “Are you good to get home?” he asked. 

You gave a shrug. “Not like I have a choice. Also, why are you out here? You should be in class, Edmond.”

He ignored the name, knowing that this wasn’t a hill to die on today. “I’m skipping.” he said simply. “It’s just class presentations, and I wasn’t in the mood. I won’t be missed.”

“I’d miss you.”

Oh, you hadn’t meant to say that out loud with your actual mouth. That was supposed to be an inside thought. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, neither of you sure what to say. 

Eddie’s laugh broke the silence, “You’d be the first to care if I was at class or not.” he said.

“Yeah well, at least when you’re around I have someone to talk to.” You relaxed a bit, rubbing your face. 

There was another moment of silence and Eddie reached out towards you. You stared blankly, wondering what the hell he was doing before he pulled the Hellfire shirt off your shoulders. 

“I was a douche.” Eddie finally said, looking at you. “I was pissed and I took it out on you. I should have dropped it. I’m sorry.”

You hadn’t expected an apology from him. At least, you hadn’t expected one so soon. 

“The a/c’s out in the B wing.” you said as Eddie handed you back your shirt. 

“Yeah, I could smell it all the way from the library.” he gave you a half smile. He was fidgeting, moving from one foot to the other. He never could stay still, even if his life depended on it. 

“Smelled like Gareth in second period.” you laughed. 

Eddie’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and grabbed the back of your head, rocking it back and forth for a moment before dropping at your shoulder again. 

“Let’s get you home.” he said. “I’m not letting you drive like this. You’re gonna get yourself killed if you pass out behind the wheel.”

“I think my driving is still marginally safer than yours.” you laughed, leaning against him. “Seriously, how did you even get a license?” 

“Trade secret.” He led you to his van and you hopped in the passenger side and buckled up. You left your books in your own car but at this point you didn’t give a shit. 

“You’ll need to take me to school on Monday if I’m leaving my car.” you slumped into the seat. “Assuming I don’t die to death.”

“You can still talk, so you still have hit points. You’ll live.”

In a nicer fantasy, this would be a pleasant and relaxing drive home. Eddie would effortlessly get you home safe, while you dozed in the passenger seat, and he'd and carry you inside and lay you in bed. But this was not your day dreams, and Eddie will always be Eddie. He drove like a maniac down the street to avoid any teacher or truant officers from telling you to not leave school grounds, even though you two were legally adults. You were jostled around as he took sharp turns and your headache returned with full force at the loud music he was playing. You normally didn’t mind his heavy mental mixes but Jesus, he was not reading the room right now. By the time he pulled up to your place, you assumed it was a miracle that you were still alive. 

“You ran that last stop sign.” you said.

“It’s only illegal if you get caught.” he smiled wide at you. 

“Okay, well I’m going to contemplate my own mortality.” you snorted, opening the door, but his hand gently grasped onto your arm. 

“Are we good?” he asked, and you slowly nodded. “Yeah. I- we’re good. I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“Good. Good.” Eddie nodded. “Well, feel better okay? I need to go not-be-missed in seventh period.”

You turned and leaned over, hugging him close. “Give my germs to Mike and Gareth.” you whisper just as he wrapped his arms around you. 

“Jesus Christ. If you get everyone sick I’m taking away every magic item you have.” Eddie groaned and you responded by kissing his face, feeling the faint prickly stubble on his jaw. “Hey!”

You turned back and opened the door again, flipping him off as you walked towards your door. You turned to look at him before you stepped inside, seeing him laugh and shake his head. He flipped you off too before tearing off back down the street to get back to school. 

A week later, you would arrive in the cafeteria again where the boys all had their shirts lazily thrown over their heads, only resting on their shoulders.  

--

Part 2