#i tried to pick ones people are less likely to have heard of so like... not brandon sanderson for example

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

begging anyone for Vi x reader x Ellie

ANYTHING.

PUH LUH EASE

WUH LUH WUH

i’ve got you bestie you just might wanna have that therapist on speed dial, okay? soz… 🫣

death doesn’t discriminate

Vi x reader x Ellie

Summary: you were never jackson’s best fighter, you never had to be. you were of course taught the basics of self defense, and if you ever were being attacked and it was between you or them it had to be you… every single time. you just never expected to ever have to put those skills to use… unfortunately though whenever patrol goes awry and you encountered a group of bandits you had to, making your very first kill. obviously after the event you’re left traumatized, and its up to your girlfriends to pull you from the aftermath.

Contains/TW: takes place in the tlou-verse with arcane crossover characters because obviously, innocent and super sheltered reader, i’ve seen the discourse but i AM making it to where ellie CAN pick the reader up (because fuck you that’s why! 💜), told in 1st person, polyamory, set in jackson post-joel death HOWEVER obviously ellie didn’t decide to hunt down ms. girl again. mentions of murder, blood, and just gore in general and HEAVY implications of suicidal ideation. ((this is not meant to romanticize suicide in any way, i’m writing from my own personal experiences. if you or someone you know is struggling please get help. you are loved 💜)) Heavily based off of the song listed below including its lyrics that are obviously not my own creation but def wish they were 💔

WC: 2.2k

You think at some point you would grow used to death, it was always leering. Either a subtle shadow hanging by the back door or growing to overtake the whole compound. In some cases it was merciful, swiftly ending your pain through broken pleas or just pure exhaustion. But in other cases, and the ones I found to be most common, it was known to be rather violent.

I was surprised I even remembered what to do whenever the time came. A dreaded audition it felt like as I slowly trailed Ellie’s gaze to the switchblade in my back pocket, the cold press of a gun against my temple. I don’t think I even processed what had happened until I was backing away, staring at the dead body before me and the still warm blood now coating my hands. My breathing came out in startled gasps, shrieking in traumatized fear the moment I felt her arms wrapping around me from behind.

“It’s me, baby, it’s just me.” She whispered, taking me into her soothing arms even though I tried like hell to fight her off at first leaving streaks of blood in the shape of my hands against her shirt. She only held my trembling body to her chest as I tried to hold back the sobs.

‘You made one kill. Everyone here has at least made one kill. It shouldn’t affect you this much. You’ve lived your whole life letting other people do the dirty work for you, you should be able to make one kill. One measly little kill of a man who would’ve killed you had you not acted so fast.’ I guess I was the only one left who didn’t think the world was that black and white though.

~

I felt catatonic as we made our way back to Jackson, Ellie’s arms holding most of my weight. I half wanted her to leave me there, leave me there to bleed and be ravaged by whatever found me first. She never would though, even if it did mean she’d have less deadweight.

Vi never was a fan of the two of us going out on patrol without her. She always considered herself our guard dog, even over Ellie who could no doubt hold her own at this point. Many nights we still spent dozing off against her while she whispered to us that we were ‘her girls.’

“Vi, emergency.” I heard Ellie speak, my head a dull weight against her chest as she carried me through the front door.

“This is the last time the two of you go on patrol without me, I mean it this time, Els.” I heard her seething as her heavy boots nearly shook the whole house. “Is she hurt? Are you hurt? What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine but she… she had to-” Ellie held the words back, not wanting to speak them in front of me as I felt my body being placed on one of the old ratty recliners. Dead eyes staring forward, like every ounce of light had been winked out a long time ago.

Vi’s own soft blue eyes drifted downwards to the dry blood coating my still shaking hands, the quickest moment of understanding filling her expression. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” She murmured, the sentiment enough to bring forth a cascade of tears that I had been holding back until we were safely concealed in the walls again. “You did good though, doll, I need you to know that. You did amazing. Remember what we said, if it’s them or you it has to be you every single damn time.”

I sniffled through the ugly sobs with a shake of my head, I disagreed though I suppose I would always disagree. “She should’ve left me out there.” I finally spoke again after I had what felt like the inability to.

Quickly and without hesitation I could feel Ellie’s hand wrapping around my chin, gentle but firm as she turned my head to face her. “No, you aren’t allowed to say things like that.”

“Why not?” I shook my hand, eyes stinging and burning with tears as I watched her kneel in front of me with what looked like a wet washcloth.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” She didn’t answer me, carefully dabbing at my bloodied hands to wash all of the evidence away. Even though part of me wanted it to stay, tattoo the remnants of blood on my hands until I remembered who I was.

“Tell me why you shouldn’t have left me.” My voice shook as I repeated the question. Push until they finally said the truth. Push until they finally agreed to throw me to the wolves. Push and push and push… “I’ve been nothing but deadweight since I got here.”

“No.” Vi almost growled next, wrapping her own larger hand around my chin this time while I only stared back in defiance. “You are not deadweight, you are valuable and needed and- and we need you alive! I need you alive!”

“Darling, you don’t have to be a fighter to be important.” Ellie spoke next, much gentler than Vi had but still stern nonetheless.

It was hard to find a purpose to live in the apocalypse, I wasn’t sure where everyone found one. I knew Ellie had always had some terrible sense of self importance with the immunity. I guess over the years she had tried her hardest to transfer that to me. Some days it worked. Some days were good, amazing even. Gentle and soft days where I could dream about a world before the infection. A world I’m not sure I or Ellie ever remembered. Some days though, days like today, being reminded of that thought really changed things.

Vi had always been an ‘alive out of spite’ kind of person. Then one day Ellie and I rolled up into Jackson and turned her world upside down and shifted things for the better… that’s how she would tell it at least. She was slightly older, tougher, rough around the edges, but deep down I think she was secretly just lonely. She took us underneath her wing just as quickly as we arrived, all too happy to open her doors for us and things grew and built from there. But no amount of love or care I was given from the two was enough to cover up the fact, if I went outside of the walls something disastrous always managed to happen.

I was just simply deadweight. A bad luck charm if you will. These things never ended well.

“Baby, you’ve just had a bad day.” Vi shook her head as she took my own into her calloused hands. “That’s all it is, my love. We’re in the times of survival now, it’s kill or be killed and… I’m not losing either of you.”

I choked on another pathetic sob, hating myself more and more for every single one. Nevertheless though Vi pulled me into her, muffling the sounds of my cries into her shirt. Traumatized and shaking cries that I rarely actually allowed myself the luxury of, so whenever they came, they came all at once.

~

I fell asleep early that night. Vi running Ellie and I a bath to wash all of the dirt and grime from the disasterous patrol from our bodies. At some point I lost the strength to cry, but I felt like I had lost the strength to do most things. At some point over my sleeping body I had heard Ellie whispering to Vi though, to hide all of the guns, knives, switchblades, anything that could ever be used as a weapon. A mental patient in the middle of the apocalypse. Oh the irony.

“You think she would actually do something to herself?” Vi whispered in her hushed tone while Ellie gnawed anxiously at her already chipped nails.

“Yeah, I do.” She answered with a shuddering breath. “This is worse than Seattle and I- I already thought I was gonna lose her then- Vi, I’m not taking anymore chances.”

“Hey, listen, we’ll take care of her, okay? We’ve got her. We always do.”

“I hope so.” I could hear the rustling of clothes, no doubt an embrace she probably needed. An embrace they probably both needed. And I hated that I was the one who brought them there.

A moment passed and I had nearly managed to doze off again somehow in in the midst of it all just before I could feel the bed slightly dipping behind me. “Just me, you’re safe.” Ellie warned, waiting on my already exhausted muscles to relax before she slid her arms around me from behind. “I need to talk to you, okay?” She whispered against the back of my neck, my heavy eyelids fluttering open for a brief moment. “It’s okay, you can close your eyes. And you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to just… just listen, okay?”

Her fingers gently stroked soothing lines along with arms, the sensation only making my eyelids want to droop even further. “I’ve always had a- a really strong urge to protect you, Vi and I both have. A-And I think you know that. So if you wouldn’t have killed that man I wouldn’t have hesitated. He doomed himself. The moment he laid a goddamn finger on you he doomed himself. And Vi would’ve done the same thing and I think you know that too. Hell, he wouldn’t have even gotten the chance to if Vi was there.” Her fingers slid through my own, a soft yet possessive grasp.

“I know you think I gave up looking for Abby because you were reckless a-and you got hurt and you ruined things. And you were reckless, and you did get hurt but… you didn’t ruin things. You- You just changed things, for the better.” Her lips brushed against my neck, an innocent gesture though had me tilting my head to grant her more access all the same. “You saved me, baby.” She muttered, burrowing her face right into the crook of my neck as she pulled my back in closer to her chest. “I- I could’ve spent my whole life hunting that girl down, because- T-Tommy did ask me to, you know?” Her voice cracked, the feeling of small tears dripping onto my skin, a very simple way to get them to spring up into my own eyes all over again. Just whenever I thought I had been all cried out.

“You- You actually told him no?” My bottom lip quivered as I slowly twisted around to face her, just to feel her own calloused hand against my face. “But I thought you- you promised-“

“It’s not going to bring him back, love.” She shook her head, glancing downwards as if in mild shame. “But whenever you went after me in Seattle and- you got hurt…” she brushed her fingers along the jagged scar slashed into my arm that she was more or less cradling. “I know you were knocked out and you don’t remember a lot of it but… i-it really scared the fuck out of me, y-you know? Like I could lose you. I-I could really honestly lose you and… nothing is worth that, baby. Not a single thing is worth that.”

Tears swam in my eyes as she pressed her lips to the wet streaks that stained them. “You’re an angel, my love. An angel on this absolute fucked up planet and I-I pity every single person that doesn’t get to know you like Vi and I do, you know?” She briefly disconnected her hand from my face to brush away her own tears only to let it snake through my hair as she tugged me back into her chest. “You’re innocent, and you’re kind and you didn’t let any of this take it away and- I hope you never do, honestly.” I felt her chest sinking as she took in a heavy breath and held me to her almost for dear life. Like she was afraid I’d slip away the moment I let go. “No amount of self-sought fury will bring that back… I’ve tried. S-So please, I know it’s hard to find a purpose in this life but… please baby, please stay with me. With us.”

I curled up to her side, resting a heavy head right against where I could feel her heart thumping so softly. The other side of the bed dipped and while I might have flashed back to that moment briefly Ellie’s arms wrapped around me so protectively were enough to pull me back down to earth. At least for a moment.

“My girls.” Vi’s voice followed next, her arm nearly long enough to stretch over the both of us as she brought us close to her with ease. I felt my back pressing against her muscular chest as she settled down next to us, taking her usual trusty spot closest to the door as always.

It was hard to promise survival during the end of the world, even safe within the walls of a community. But for that night I at least promised I wouldn’t do it on my own accord. Someday, somewhere, something would kill me, but it wouldn’t be at my own hand.

No amount of self-sought fury will bring back the glory of innocence.

Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

[rosetintedkaleidoscope]

best books i read in 2023:

- comfort me with apples by catherynne valente. fantasy/horror. this is a creepy, dystopian, fairy tale kind of story. some biblical references. the creepiness builds up slowly through strange little details.

- quest for a maid by frances mary hendry. children's historical fiction / fantasy. 13th century scotland & norway. read as a child, completely forgot, then found in a used bookstore this year. it absolutely lives up to my memories: rich with details, from the foods to the clothes to the activities to all the little things you don't really notice that create a sense of another time & place. the loving attention to detail is a big part of why i like this book so much. also excellent characterization.

- nisa: the life and words of a !kung woman by marjorie shostak. nonfiction. okay, if you're following me you've probably heard of this because of @etirabys, whose posts inspired me to read it, but i had to include it anyway. based on interviews with a hunter-gatherer woman, it tells about her life and worldview. moving and immensely fascinating

- making babies: the science of pregnancy by david bainbridge. nonfiction. also immensely fascinating. my ideal kind of science book: readable yet detailed and in-depth, and full of strange facts. strong contender for the coolest nonfiction book i've ever read

- the ladies of grace adieu and other stories by susanna clarke. fantasy. wonderful eerie fairy stories

- we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson. classic, horror. sinister and evocative. one thing i really like is that the characters are likeable and often happy despite the weirdness and the horror. it's optimistic and tragic at the same time, and gives you things to think about even after you're done reading

- murderbot series by martha wells. science fiction. it has an interesting plot and setting and all that, but the main appeal is the character and charm of the protagonist, a robot who hacks itself to gain freedom. all it wants to do with that freedom is watch tv, but dangerous stuff keeps getting in the way

[wileys-russo]

Alexia - family backyard BBQ - “I’m going to marry you”

ring first II a.putellas

"-how you say it?" alexia frowned, sat on the counter watching you cook as you turned around with a smile. "marry me chicken." you repeated for the third time, the catalan woman mumbling it under her breath but not looking any less confused.

"por qué? you marry the chicken?" the midfielder questioned with an adorable look on her face making you laugh. "when you eat it, you will understand." you promised her with a grin, swatting away her foot with a playful glare as it poked at your ass.

"are you going to do anything to help? or just sit there and ask me questions?" you raised an eyebrow, moving the chicken to the side so you could focus on the sauce.

"princesa you told me you did not want help to cook!" your girlfriend scoffed causing you to roll your eyes fondly.

"you could go and change the sheets on the bed over, so they are done when we get back tonight." you suggested, turning back around and feeling her hazel eyes roaming over you from behind.

"lo siento, no entiendo inglés." alexia sighed with a shake of her head as you paused, narrowing your eyes at her over your shoulder. "lo siento, no más sexo." you shrugged, grinning to yourself at the way the blonde scrambled to jump down from the counter.

"alexia!" you laughed as her arms looped around your waist, peppering kisses all over your face and mumbling apologies. "go and make the bed!" you ordered, pushing into her and nudging her away, her hand grabbing your chin and pecking your lips twice as you hummed.

"te amo." alexia stated as again you only hummed, turning back to the stove as the catalan frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "te amo!" she repeated louder this time assuming you hadn't heard.

"sorry, no spanish." you glanced at her with an apologetic pout, squealing at the way her hand connected with your ass with a huff. "i love you. go be useful!" you pushed at her shoulders, the footballer grumbling her annoyances but going to do as you'd asked.

"ah! no." you smacked your girlfriends hand as you were covering the chicken with foil, everything else packed and ready to go as the two of you were about to head off to her mami's house for a family bbq.

"que? mi amor, one taste." alexia tried again, knuckles rapped with the handle of the ladel you were using to get the last of the sauce into the container as she gasped.

"at dinner? you can have as much as you want." you promised, kissing away her protests as the taller girl melted, as always she was wrapped around your little finger.

"is alba meeting us there or did you say you would pick her up?" you questioned, alexia's head a little woozy as you pulled away, the blonde nodding wordlessly as you grinned, patting her cheek lightly with a wink.

"close your mouth putellas, you'll catch flies."

there was a collectively loud cheer as the pair of you walked out into the backyard, already having been greeted by a handful of alexia's tia's and her mami eli who were in the kitchen getting everything ready.

despite the fact you'd been broken apart to continue with the greetings you were acutely aware of your girlfriends eyes on you as you made your way around the yard, hugged and kissed by her relatives who took you in as one of their own, your own family still based in england but they adored alexia just as much as hers cared for you.

and sure enough just like a magnet the moment she was free again she was drawn to your side, an arm settling comfortably over your shoulder as you leaned into her, the pair of you taking a seat and joining in with conversation.

it was about an hour later that the food was ready and your eyes almost bugged out of your head at the sheer amount of it, easily enough for a small army despite the fact there couldn't have been more than fifteen or so people present.

"i told you to bring the eh...how you say? tupperware?" alexia mumbled in your ear, accented english making you laugh and smack her chest with a grin. "sí, but when does your mami not already send us home with a doggy bag?" you quipped, watching her eyebrows furrow together as alba handed the pair of you a plate each.

"dog? que? why would mami give us a dog?" your girlfriend questioned as you bit your lip to stop from teasing her, knowing that as much as her english was better than your spanish, there were still some idioms that flew over her head.

you settled for an amused smile, merely pecking her lips and chuckling as her younger sister made a gagging noise in front of you, alexia's hand shooting out to smack the back of her head as they started to bicker.

that all fell silent as eli popped up out of nowhere, a stern glare and they were already focused on food again, alexia dishing up for the pair of you as you swooned at the small gesture, kissing her cheek in thanks as you both took a seat at the table.

"marry me chicken." alexia pointed to the dish on her plate as you nodded, a slight blush on your cheeks as praise was tossed at you all across the table from her family who'd already started to eat, a laugh leaving your lips as you promised eli you'd show her how you made it.

"good?" you asked as alexia took a bite, pausing for a moment to chew and swallow as you traced circles against her thigh under the table, awaiting her response.

"i am going to marry you." was all the midfielder said, grabbing your face in her hands and pressing a kiss to your lips causing cheers and whistles to errupt as your neck flushed bright red, grinning as your girlfriend began to shovel food into her mouth.

"ring first my love." you teased quietly in her ear, squeezing her knee and tapping your finger with a sly smile, attention captured by her cousin across from you who asked a question, missing the way alexia stared at you adoringly.

little did you know, the ring was already sorted, and true to her word alexia was going to marry you, and nothing else made her heart soar more than the thought of soon getting to call you her wife.

[mattsstarlet]

fully introducing…dealer!matt and goodgirl!reader

in which…your friend brings you along to a trap house party, where you meet the dealer himself.

warnings: mentions of drugs, alcohol, and suggestive content. no smut.

note: my first ever prompt is here! i’m not the best writer so i really do hope u enjoy.

your heart thumped the same rhythm as the loud bass blasting off the walls. as you walked into the trap house, the more you saw, the tighter your hand gripped your friend.

it was much wilder than you had ever imagined, or maybe it was because parties weren’t your thing. you’d rather be cooped up in your cozy bed with your nose stuck in some romance book. 

the lights are down low, and a small disco ball flashes colors, matching the pace of whatever rap song is playing. you scrunch your nose as you smell a whiff of weed and alcohol lingering in the air. 

 a bunch of rowdy boys huddle up over a table, playing some sort of game involving alcohol, though it looks like they’ve done a lot of drinking and less playing. as you walk in further, each corner is busy with horny couples sticking their tongues down each other's throats.

your friend looks back at you, tightening her hold as you two make your way past a busy crowd. she’s only been here a few times, but she’s already familiar with the layout, having some sort of relationship with a guy who lives here. 

squeezing past the sweaty bodies, your friend pulls you towards the direction of a couch. one of the guys sitting there raises his head, a small grin appearing on his face.

“what’s up, baby?” he lifts himself off the couch and snakes his arm around her waist. “y’made it.” 

“hi,” her voice soft and gentle. she motions to you with a wave, signaling you to get closer. “chris, this is my friend and roommate.”

he nods, “s’nice to meet you. heard a lot about you actually,” he smirks. 

chris goes on, joking about how much of a yapper your friend is. you on your end, block out their conversation, distracted by the items on the coffee table. 

teeny tiny bags of colored pills lay on the flat surface, as well as lines of white powder and expired credit cards. in the middle, cold bottles of high-quality alcohol sit next to an ashtray with stones of a certain green plant and cut-up brown paper. 

a tattooed arm brings you back to focus when it reaches over, picking up a pre-rolled joint and a lighter. your eyes shift towards the owner, chewing on your bottom lip as you take in the mysterious man.

the first thing you noticed was his stubble, and how well it defined his sharp jaw. the messy hair look makes it seem like it was made for him. it just fell perfectly into place around his sculptured face. 

“y’starin’ mad hard, sweetheart.” his low, husky voice snapped you out of your daze. “y’tryna buy or… jus’ like whatcha see?” a slight smirk appeared as he finally pulled his gaze from the joint to your wide eyes. he glances at your pouty lips, licking his own before meeting your gaze once again. 

you shake your head; the thought of trying pills or weed alone makes your skin crawl. it’s no secret that you’ve at least tried alcohol, but then again, it was just a tiny sip.

“oh, no thank you... I—I don’t do that,” you say nervously.

he chuckles lowly, “of course you don’t…” he mutters. he looks around, noticing chris had taken off with your friend to most likely fool around in his bedroom.

matt takes in your nervous state; he shouldn’t care if you'll be fine on your own or not. the drugs in his system have already been fucking with his head, but the thought of a pretty innocent girl being all on her own didn’t sit right with him—or maybe he was already making you his… and matt hates when people take what’s his.

“sit. lemme keep you some company, yeah? you...your uh friend dipped. can’t have a quiet little angel all by herself in a place like this.”

you clear your throat as you slowly make your way next to him. being this close to him makes your head foggy; he’s intimidating, and the scent of his spicy cologne mixed with a hint of weed doesn’t help either. he’s got this…thing that creates an unfamiliar warm fuzzy feeling in your core. 

you play with the hem of your skirt as you sit inches away from him, rubbing your slick thighs together. the action doesn’t go unnoticed by matt, his imagination running wild, wanting to throw you over his shoulder and into his bed. his cock hard as a rock just imagining your pouty face as he eats your sweet cunt out. 

matt runs a hand through his brown hair, trying to shake off the dirty things he wants to do to you. he places his rough, clasped hand on your knee. it’s light and gentle, yet it doesn't help the growing fire in your tummy.

“easy, sweetheart… i'm gonna be honest, angel,” he rubs your thigh in an up-and-down motion, going as high as where the end of your skirt touches his fingertips.

 “that thing you’re doin’… ‘s’makin’ me think some things… naughty things.” 

you stop the action immediately, your skin filling up with goosebumps as his hand moves to your inner thigh, not that close where you need him but close enough that matt could feel the heat. glancing at him with those big eyes, you mutter a little ‘sorry.’ 

matt squeezes your thigh, his mind too caught up in the way you’re nervously biting on your bottom lip, “relax, babydoll. jus’ sit back and be a good girl, yeah? i got you, angel.” 

he smirks slyly when you nod again. swallowing thickly, you relax your shoulders and sit back. matt’s hand moves higher, up your soft skin when your skirt rises. “there we go, gooood girl,” he praises, his smirk growing wider. he leans in, his hot breath fanning your ear, “y'know...i think we’re gonna get along jus’ well, angel.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

interact under this post to be notified when i upload posts like this!

a/n: been in my drafts for so long, i can’t keep hiding there. also feel free to send me some inbox’s about these two!

TAGS: @mbbsgf

[kirislovelygf]

new haircut (sevika x fem! reader)

contents: you and sevika are married, takes place between acts 1-2 (season 2), you give sevika a haircut, found family trope with jinx & isha :(( fun family time :D

wrd count: 1.3k

⍣ ೋ

things have been crazy in the lanes for the past new months. i haven’t seen this many enforcers on our streets since.. actually i've never see this many.

ever since those noxians came and paid topside a visit, that kiraman girl had been on a serious power trip.

she became some kind of dictator down here and now she’s got her men flooding the streets. beating on people, putting up weord propoganda all over the city, arresting good men and women..

all in search for jinx. they're promising bullshit to anyone who turns over jinx to theauthorities but no one down here is dumb enough to do that.

sevika’s been trying to rally the undercity together for some kind of uprising but i’ve been helping jinx keep a low profile.

she’s never been good a laying low.

we’ve mostly spent these days playing in the hideout, taking naps all day, stuff like that. it’s more fun with her new little friend isha.

i’m not sure where she came from, but sevika told me she just.. fell from the sky basically. and just followed jinx around from then on.

the three of us were hanging out one night. i was playing around with my makeup on isha, who’s been begging me to use it on her.

“not too much, she’s still little.” jinx said as she was fixing a new gadget of hers at her desk.

“where you think she’s going? out to party? have some drinks? it’s just for fun.” i chuckled, raising my brush to isha’s eyes.

“close your eyes, sweetie.” i instructed. she did so with a cheeky smile. i smiled at her giddy fingers tapping the metal floor in excitement.

“we’re gonna do some glittery pink… it’ll look super pretty.” i told her.

as i continued, i heard the stomping of boots toward us.

i look over at sevika, home from another day of work.

“hi, vika.” i smiled.

“we doin’ makeovers?” she said jokingly as she walked over.

“yeah, she’s been crying for one for days.” i said. isha whines and hits my knee, making me laugh.

i look up at sevika staring at herself in the cracked mirror. she’s looking at the sides of her head and feeling the back of her head.

“what? realizing you woke up uglier than yesterday? i bet if your ask, she’ll give you your own makeover.” jinx giggled.

sevika stayed quiet before looking over at me.

“you think you can help me with something?” she asks.

“what is it?” i asked, looking for some lip gloss for isha.

“i’m not loving my hair.. it’s hard to tie it up with one arm.”

“what? i love your hair, vika. and i don’t mind doin’ it for you, i’ve said so already.” i said to her.

she chuckled. “it’s not just that. i’d like it better shorter.” she says, glancing at herself again.

jinx looks up and gasps. “can i cut it?”

“no.”

“you want it cut! you just said-“

“not by you.” she grumbled. jinx scoffs.

“i’m great tdoing hair. you think i sleep in these? every night..” she says, holding up one of her blue braids.

"and? you haven't cut your hair since you were a kid. that's literally baby hair-" sevika argued.

“it’s okay, i’ll help.. but i still think you should leave it as is.” i sighed.

“thanks. cause there’s no way i’m letting her near my head with scissors.” she said.

“no haircut is gonna make you look less like a grumpy troll under a bridge... just sayin.” jinx said before putting her goggles back on.

“hey. that’s my wife.” i snapped.

jinx mocks me before going back to fixing her gadget.

i put a bit of gloss in isha before i told her she was done and she jumped up to look at herself.

sevika laughed as isha tried jumping up to see her reflection but couldn’t reach.

she picked her up and set her on her leg so she could see herself. she smiled widely in admiration of herself.

i stand up. “okay.. now, where are the scissors?” i sighed out.

jinx giggled menacingly before going to a drawer and pulling out these sharp, deadly knives attached to each other.

isha gasps.

“oh hell no..” sevika grumbled.

“are you trying to behead her?” i laughed.

“they’re all i got.” jinx shrugged, holding them up with both hands.

i stare at her before she sighs, throwing the giant scissors aside and finding appropriately sized scissors in a drawer.

“thank you.” i said. i look at isha. “you gonna help me, kid?”

she shakes her head “no” and jumps down. i laughed softly before looking at sevika’s reflection.

i sighed out. “okay… are you sure?” i asked her.

“yeah.” she sighed out.

“hm..” i took out the hair tie from her hair and let her hair fall to the sides of her face.

“uh… okay.. jinx, come here, i don’t know shit about cutting hair.” i said.

“no!” sevika protested. i slapped her shoulder.

“stop being a baby! damn! i’m just gonna have her tell me what to do.”

sevika huffs in relief as jinx walks over to us.

“okay.. let’s see… what’s the vision? what’ll make you wanna fall in love with her all over again?” she asks me.

i shrugged. “i love her like this.” i patted my hand on her head. she looks at me with a bored face.

“okay nevermind, bitch. fuck you.” i snapped. she laughs.

jinx hums in thought. “okay.. i got it. we’re gonna go short in the back, long in the front. sound good?” she says.

“i don’t know.. are you sure?” sevika asked.

“yes, just trust me. jeez..” jinx grumbled. i laughed as sevika was getting visibly nervous.

jinx guided me to cut off sevika’s hair in a way that so that it doesn’t look like a chopped mess.

i cut off the last of hair before jinx found a razor to use.

“whoa, hey, im not tryin’ for no buzzcut.” she protested.

“it’s just for the sides, you crybaby.” jinx said. she puts it in my hand.

“i don’t know how you put up with her.” she says. i laughed. sevika grumbled.

“it was funny.” i snapped.

“anyway, just relax, baby. it doesn’t look that bad.” i said to her.

we lightly shaved the hair on her sides before i finally finished.

“okay.. let me see.” she turned to face us with her new look.

“see? not that bad. you look... less terrible.” jinx said.

“yeah, not that bad.” i nodded.

i was lying, i was so wet, holy shit. sevika looked so good with her new hair.

the bangs falling on her eyes, her neck looking clean, ugh i needed her:

she checks herself out in the mirror and isha gives her a thumbs up.

“it’s.. good. thanks.” she nodded.

i took a quick breath before looking at jinx.

“alright, well, we gotta get home.” i smiled.

“already? it’s like.. 7. you don’t usually get outta here till late.” jinx said, glancing at her junky clock on her desk.

“yeah, i’m not tryin’ to run into any enforcers talkin’ about some “curfew.” i'm a grown ass woman, i'll go home when i want." i chuckled, lying about my intentions.

she scoffs. “i get it. see ya.” she waved at us as isha did the same, but more enthusiastically.

she signs “thank you for the makeup.” and i sign back “you’re welcome.” before waving to her.

i took sevika’s hand and dragged her out of the hideout.

“you’re in a rush.” she laughed as we walked onto the street.

i pushed her into an alley and pulled her neck down to kiss her. she kissed me back in surprise but leaned into it when my hands slid up her neck and into her freshly shaven hair.

“i’m so sorry i said anything before about not cutting it. you look so fucking good-“

“yeah?”

before she continued, i kissed her again, this time, she laughed softly against my lips.

i couldn’t stop staring at her the whole way home. we’ve been married for like two years and i feel like i’m crushing on her all over again.

i spent the night our my room letting her know just how good i thought she looked.

⍣ ೋ

a/n: her bob in s2 is so RARARGDHJBGIDWODHNPIDOBUO

[multicohn]

summary: fans don’t like lando’s new girlfriend because how scary and emotionless she looks, but he could care less.

warnings: mention of fans not liking the reader

pairing: fem! reader x lando norris

genre: fluff, short one shot, established relationship

face claim: none

author note: lowkey kinda sucks. i don’t have much motivation to write rn but i wanted to upload something 🥲

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

the couple had only been dating for only eight months before lando decided to reveal his girlfriend to the public. y/n had no problem with keeping it a secret since they were both unsure if their relationship would even work given the busy schedules they had, but through a lot of communication they managed to make it work. however, fans weren’t very happy since y/n always looked emotionless or angry on screen and in photos despite lando having a giant smile on his face that could rival all might’s ( my hero academia reference ) when he’s beside her. his fans were very vocal about how they felt about her, but neither of them cared.

the british grand prix was only a few days away and ever since they started dating, lando had dreamed of having her being by his side. however, y/n ( had exams that weekend / couldn’t get time off work ). he tried not to show that he was upset, brushing it off with a simple; "well, there's always next year", but y/n knew him too well and knew how much this race meant to him. any other race would have been understandable, but this was the british grand prix.

when lando arrived on thursday, he was immediately greeted by cameras, microphones, and merchandise being shoved at him from every direction.

"you look a little down, lando. not a fan of the weather?" it was quite cloudy that day and the rain was starting to pick up, but it was far from the reasoning behind his mood

"just didn't get a good sleep"

"oh?"

y/n had gone to bed much earlier than usual, saying she needed all the energy she possibly could for tomorrow. lando inquired about what was so important, but she refused to tell him. he had stayed up last night and wondered about what was happening; was her exam worth much more than he realised? / did her job have a special work thing going on that he doesn't remember?

lando sighed deeply as he made his way inside the hospitality area. his hand itching to grab his phone and text y/n despite knowing that she would be busy.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

y/n had lied.

she knew how much this race in particular meant to lando and she wasn’t going to miss it, but the thought of surprising him made her lie about school / work.

unfortunately, her plan slightly backfired as she was going to surprise lando when he finished his practice session, but the weather delayed everything.

shrugging it off, y/n entered the garage to find her boyfriend dressed in his race suit with a windbreak over top and looked to be dozing off in a chair.

“lando” y/n tapped his shoulder gently as she sat down beside him

“oh, hey baby” he commented while staring at her sleepily

. . .

he suddenly shot out of his chair making those around them jump in fright at the sudden movement.

“y/n?” lando rubbed his eyes. sure that his brain is still asleep and making him hallucinate

“yeah?”

“am i dreaming?” she rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the tv where they were showing fans who were in colourful ponchos or raincoats

she almost laughed at seeing someone’s poncho decorated with george russell’s face.

however, all emotion left y/n's eyes as her face popped up on the screen before it shifted towards lando who was just dazing at her lovingly.

if they were in a cartoon, his eyes would've been hearts.

she heard some people let out “awes” and they started cooing at the couple making the edges of y/n's lips twitch upwards. she turned to her boyfriend and placed a hand on his cheeks before caressing softly.

once they were no longer on screen, y/n leaned forward and kissed her boyfriend gently.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[sabertoothwalrus]

so I’ve been gaining a lot of insight into the animation industry recently, especially in regards to pitching & the creation of new shows. There’s a few ways to go about it.

First, there’s pitching to a studio. When you pitch, it has to be SHORT and CONCISE. You may write a lovingly detailed pitch bible that perfectly breaks down episodes and characterizations, and it might barely even get read. First impressions, first impressions, first impressions!

Most peoples’ first projects don’t get picked up. I’ve heard a few stories from directors that said they tried pitching a story they’d had for years, which got rejected, to then spend a week or even several hours in their car coming up with a new idea, only for that to get greenlit.

But that’s not the end of it. Just because a show gets greenlit, doesn’t mean it will ever get finished. There’s lots of things that can happen. Sometimes, unexpected major world events (like… a global pandemic) can cause projects to get chopped. Sometimes, a CEO change or studio merge means a single person can decide a project “no longer fits with the company’s brand.” Sometimes, the one producer that was rooting for your project gets laid off, and no one else cares enough, so it gets shelved. Sometimes, a streaming service decides to create an animation department, and then they decide they don’t want it anymore. Sometimes, the studio will be simultaneously be developing another project that was too similar to yours and they just didn’t think to tell you until they decide yours is the one with less potential.

On top of that, almost everyone in the industry is saying that “studios just don’t pick up original content anymore.” Studios want something they can franchise, something that will bring in money. New content is risky. Established fanbases are safer.

However! Studios can still be a very good thing. They can be unionized. They can provide better benefits and resources. They can have connections and infrastructure and a larger volume of workers. At a studio, you can divide the labor and produce more in less time. Longer episodes, longer seasons, more consistency in quality.

But this comes with all of the disadvantages of having more in the kitchen.

The alternative is indie animation.

With indie animation, you have total freedom. Full artistic control. It doesn’t even matter if your idea sucks ass, because there’s no one to tell you you can’t make it. You could make it anyway, and you can make it whatever you wanted.

The thing is, making animation is hard. In my production class last semester, the average maximum animation one person could make in that timeframe was 30-60 seconds, and that’s not even counting background design, sound design, or cleanup/color. To make a 5 minute animated short, you should probably have at least 5 people.

And it is CRUCIAL you have a production manager. Ideally someone who’s not already doing art for the project. Most projects without a production manager will fall apart pretty quickly. Once the adrenaline and impulse-fueled motivation wears off, you need someone to hold you accountable and enforce deadlines and proper time management.

Speaking of time, that’s also hard to get. The more people you have, the more likely schedules won’t line up. Most people will have school, or other jobs.

And it costs MONEY!!!!!! You either have everyone work for free and volunteer their time & energy, or you establish a business as a proper indie studio, with people who may or may not have experience on how to handle paying someone else’s salary. And the money has to come from somewhere, so you have to rely on crowdfunding like patreon or kickstarter. (This, by the way, is why I could never fault an indie animation for releasing merch with their pilot.)

And like, maybe you wanna do a series, and all your friends agree to volunteer their labor and time to make the first episode, but it was unanimously not sustainable. Deciding not to produce a second episode until you can raise enough money is not being suddenly greedy, it’s attempting to compensate people rather than expecting them to be continuously taken advantage of.

You have to consider your output as well. There are some outliers like Worthikids, who afaik does all his animation himself, and afaik can work on it full-time thanks to his patreon subscribers. And he still has only produced a total of 30 minutes of animation (for Big Top Burger specifically) in the past 4 years. This is an IMPRESSIVE feat and this is with using a lot of 3D as part of his pipeline!!

Indie animation also has the complication of being more accessible for fandoms. When you’re posting your Official Canon Content on youtube, it doesn’t look a lot different than the fandom-created video essay in the sidebar next to it. What’s canon vs what’s fanon becomes less distinguishable. The boundaries are blurrier. When the creator is just some guy you follow on twitter, it’s easier to prod them for info regarding ships and theories and word-of-god confirmation. They don’t have a PR team or entire international tv networks to appeal to. And this is when creators get frustrated that their fans snowball and turn their creation into something they don’t recognize (and no longer enjoy) anymore.

So it’s tricky.

Thankfully, the threshold to learn animation is fairly low nowadays!! There are TONS of resources online to learn it on your own without forking over a couple hundred thousand to a private art college. There are conventions and discord servers and events where you can network, if you know where to look.

I know it can seem discouraging in the face of capitalism, but I think that’s all the more reason why it’s so important to BE DETERMINED about animation!! We’re already starting to see the beginning of an indie animation boom, and I think it’s a testament to humanity’s desire to tell stories and create art. Even if there’s no financial gain, we do whatever it takes to tell our stories anyway.

[rizzanon]

Ages and background info

m.list

Current timeline:

Bruce - 42

Dick - 25

Jason - 20

Cassandra - 20

Tim - 17

regressed!reader - 16

Damian - 11

Alfred - 64

Barbara - 28

Stephanie - 18

Duke - 15

sadly Duke won’t be making an appearance anytime soon because I think he only comes around in the timeline when reader is like 17/18¿? 😔

Background info (Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Barbara, Jason centered)

You don’t know who your mother is. You were left at the doorstep of Wayne Manor the moment you were born. (don’t ask how she managed to get through Wayne Manor’s cutting edge and state-of-the-art security system..) Bruce took you in and became your parent after getting a paternity test that proved that he is your father. At this time, it was Dick’s first year of being Robin.

You’d be initially taken care of by Alfred during your early years. When Bruce was busy fighting crime or with board meetings at Wayne Enterprises, it was Alfred who rocked you to sleep, tended to your needs, taught you how to read and draw. His soft and steady preference was reader’s anchor in that big, lonely manor.

Growing up, you constantly heard about your father’s brilliance—Bruce Wayne, the untouchable billionaire philanthropist, praised for his endless contributions to Gotham. The public’s expectations for you, his daughter, were impossibly high, and your every achievement was either dismissed as trivial or compared to his legendary feats.

You worked tirelessly to prove yourself worthy of the Wayne name, pouring everything into becoming the perfect daughter. But no matter how hard you tried, there were always people who’d be better than you in certain aspects, you can’t always win, can’t always get the top place. And that was the only thing the public focused on.

It hurt, but you buried the pain, telling yourself to try harder. Because that’s what it meant to be a Wayne—always striving, even when it felt like no one cared. You hoped till the very end that one day, your achievements would actually mean something to your family. To your father.

And mind you, this was before you found out your father was the Batman. And when you did, that’s when you changed trajectories and tried becoming a vigilante just like your father, like your siblings. You took up the mantle of Batgirl at 13, you trained hard, trying to hone your skills. But you weren’t meant for this life of crimefighting. You were always sidelined, and at every moment, it felt like your family was waiting for you to fail badly, so that they’d have a reason to prevent you from picking up the mask ever again. You could never be good enough, strong enough like your family. But you still pushed through, tried to prove yourself, and that was ultimately the cause of your demise.

When Dick was still in his pre-teens, I would think that he liked the idea of having a baby sister. Whenever he wasn’t off at school or out being Robin, he’d always come and play with you. But as he grew older, his teenage years, Dick would spent less and less time around the manor, and more time with his friends and the Teen Titans. He’d be consumed more and more by his missions and bonds with his teammates.

At first, you didn’t mind of course. He was your big brother. He always promised to make it up to you, he’d always promise to come back. But as the days stretched into weeks, and then months, his time spent with her became shorter, and his attention became more divided. He still loved you of course—he always tried making that clear—but his life was no longer centered around the manor, around Gotham. And by extension, that meant you too.

But that changes when you find out about your family being vigilantes. You’d feel betrayed at first upon finding out, especially because they hid this from you for so long, and if you hadn’t found out when you did, you doubt they’d even tell you.

And that makes you want to prove yourself to the family, and that’s what makes you pick up the mask and become a vigilante as well. Dick was definitely against this, and that’s what initially causes your relationship to strain with him. After all, this was when Jason had just died not too long ago. But you were adamant. With that, he did try to train you for a bit, but he ultimately ended up focusing more on Tim, who was the next Robin, and Bludhaven. He “left” you to figure out the ropes of this yourself. He was sure that Bruce or Barbara would train you.

This widens the gap between you and Dick, and at first, you ruled it off as him gaining control of his life and trying to figure out what he plans to do with his responsibilities. But then as the years go by, you notice the blatant distinction between the way he acts around you versus your other siblings.

He kept his distance from you, his interactions were friendly, but always brief. He didn’t exactly linger to check on you or talk to you after patrols. At first, you thought it was Jason’s death that was making him distant, that he was just coping in his own way. But as time went on, it felt like he didn’t see you as worth the effort. Or maybe he just thought you were fine. When he did make plans with you, most of the time, it’d get postponed, or it would slip his mind. He never really thought it was a big deal, and what made things worse was that you never pointed it out as well.

You didn’t want to confront him about this. Maybe you were just afraid to break that loose strands that was holding your relationship with him. Your bond with him. Or maybe you did not want to admit that the bond was basically non-existent.

Whereas Dick remained blissfully unaware of the way he’s treating you. Did he notice that he doesn’t spend as much time with you as he does with the others? Maybe. But did he choose to do anything about that? Not really.

Maybe one day he’ll come to realise the consequences of his actions. That maybe, he wasn’t the best big brother he could be for everyone. Dick Grayson was a man who cared about many things, a man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He was fiercely loyal, protective, and deeply committed to the people he loved—whether it was his adoptive family, his friends, or the people of Gotham. But that didn’t include you.

Dick’s commitment to his own life and responsibilities, both as Nightwing and as a person, pulled him further away from you. He was no longer the older brother who would spend hours with you, teaching you how to be better, how to be a hero. Instead, he was often wrapped up in his own struggles—focusing on Bludhaven, or dealing with the aftermath of Jason’s death. Even when he did offer advice or training, it always felt half-hearted, like he was only doing it because he had to, not because he wanted to.

There were times when you did try to approach him, to bridge the gap that had grown between you two. You wanted to confide in him, to seek his guidance and maybe find the comfort you desperately needed. But every time you tried, it was like talking to a wall. He was distant, distracted, and no matter how much you tried to show him how much you were struggling, he never seemed to truly see you.

The bitterness began to grow, and with it, resentment. Why didn’t he care about you like he used to? Why was it so easy for him to focus on everyone else while you fell to the wayside? It hurt more than you wanted to admit, especially because you still looked up to him, still wanted to be close to him the way you had when you were younger. But now, as the years went on, you realized that maybe the bond you once had was slipping away for good.

He was still the person you wanted to be, but in a way, he had moved on from you. And as much as you hated to admit it, it was easier to hide behind the mask and do things on your own. Because at least then, you wouldn’t have to face the painful truth: Dick Grayson, the brother you looked up to so much, no longer had time for you.

As for Bruce, I don’t want to make it seem like he didn’t care about you. Bruce loves his children, and I don’t want to take that trait away from him. But at the same time, you have to admit that he’s quite emotionally unavailable. From the moment you were brought into his life, Bruce is terrified. He doesn’t know if he can be a good father to raise you, especially with his line of work. And it’s not like you were like Dick. Dick was a growing boy, you were just a baby. Completely dependent on him. You were so and fragile in his arms, and he thinks you’d break if he held you any tighter.

Bruce wanted to love you the way a father should, but love didn’t come easily to him—not in the way most people understood it. His life was a constant battle, filled with shadows and danger, and the idea of bringing a child into that world felt wrong. He couldn’t protect you the way he wanted, not with Gotham always demanding more of him.

So, instead of letting himself get too close, Bruce focused on what he could control: providing for you. He made sure you had the best of everything—your education, your safety, and most importantly, Alfred.

In truth, Alfred did most of the parenting. Bruce rationalized that it was for your own good. Alfred was patient, kind, and steady in ways Bruce felt he could never be. Alfred would shield you from the darkness of the world Bruce inhabited. But deep down, Bruce knew the truth: he was keeping himself at arm’s length because he was terrified of failing you.

But with him keeping you at an arm’s length all the time, Bruce is unaware of the repercussions of his actions. That in a way, he was in fact failing you. Just, not in the way he thinks. He doesn’t necessarily realise how much of your life he’s missing. Sure, he knows he misses out on some of your events, but he tries to make up for it by gifting you more toys and clothes.

Though, that could only work for so long. By the time you were in your pre-teens, you needed more than just trivial gifts.

You needed your father.

But Bruce couldn’t see that. He never did. He only just checked in on your well-being through Alfred. And everytime Alfred tries to tell him about how you needed him in your life more, Bruce always ends up brushing it aside, claiming that you only just need Alfred.

And then comes Jason’s death. That puts a huge hole in Bruce’s heart. The death of his son is something that will haunt him forever. He vows to never fail like that again, not with anyone else he cared about. This was the whole reason why he kept his vigilante life in the dark from you. But you found out anyways. And when you did, you wanted to follow in his footsteps.

That was the last thing he wanted you to do. He tried to dissuade you from this path, but you were determined. Stubbornness was the one trait you did share with him. And eventually, he relented.

He always assigned you cases that he thought was “safe”. Cases that he knew you could handle. But everytime, you demanded more, and each time, Bruce always said no. You were his daughter, he couldn’t risk putting you in dangerous situations. He knew what you can or can’t handle. And unfortunately, that did not change over the years. He was fixated on the very fact that you weren’t cut out for this life of crime-fighting. And you never will be.

Which is why he only watches from afar, the gap between you and your father growing too far apart for any of you to try and bridge it. He only gets updates about you from Alfred, and even that was rarely asked about. And eventually, you just fade into the background, into the shadows of the family.

As for Jason, I believe there would be two parts for him. Before his death, when he was first brought into the family by Bruce, he was this small, energetic boy who had a certain sass to him. He was only 4 years older than you, and that allowed you to build a fairly close bond with him. That is, before he suddenly becomes “busy” with other stuff. Though he spent lesser time with you, he always did try and check in with you when he could. You two always read together in the library, he’d tell you all sorts of stories about Crime Alley.

But that all changed when he died. Jason’s death left a void in everyone, including you. You didn’t understand why he died, what caused his death, and you were literally heartbroken. You saw how his death destroyed your family, and you tried desperately to fix it. But nothing ever worked. Which is why you shifted your grief towards your studies, trying to make sure that you could be the perfect daughter that could fill the emptiness Jason left behind. But nothing worked. You wanted to heal, wanted to help your family move forward, but without their support, it felt impossible.

When you take up the mantle of Batgirl, part of the reason is because you wanted to honour what Jason did. His time as Robin. You thought that maybe he’d be proud of you, for stepping up and doing this. And maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to become half the hero he was.

But no, Jason was far from proud. And you only know that once he is revealed to be Red Hood years later. Jason is furious. His fury cuts deeper than you expected, not just at the fact that you’ve taken up the mantle of Batgirl, but because of the underlying betrayal he feels.

He looks at you, his younger sister, the one who was supposed to be protected, and sees someone who is willingly stepping into the very nightmare he couldn’t escape. The life that broke him, the endless cycle of violence and pain, and the years of grief and rage that had consumed him. He sees you and wonders: Why? Why would you choose this path, knowing what it did to him?

His anger isn’t just about the mantle—it’s about the idea that you’re following in his footsteps, as if you’re willing to become just like him. Worse, you’re doing it without understanding what it costs. He doesn’t want you to end up like him, as someone who can’t find redemption, who is trapped in a life of revenge. He’s already lost so much—first to the Joker, then to Bruce—and now it feels like he’s losing you too. The only family he has left.

But for you, the choice to take up the mantle was about honoring Jason. You didn’t want to replace him. You didn’t want to erase the pain he went through. But as much as you wanted to fight for the family, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to prove yourself in a way he never had to. Your family was broken, and you thought that maybe, by stepping up, you could fix it. Maybe you could become the hero Jason never got the chance to be.

But that’s not how Jason sees it. He’s angry, and hurt, and feels betrayed—because he knows what you don’t fully understand yet. This life doesn’t fix anything. It destroys. And if you keep going down this path, you’ll end up like him—scarred, alone, and full of rage that will consume you, just like it did him.

The tension between you two becomes unbearable. The sibling bond you once shared is strained beyond repair, and Jason makes it clear that he’ll never accept you as Batgirl. He’s no longer the brother you knew—the one who once taught you how to laugh, how to stand up for yourself. Now, he’s just a stranger, a man whose hatred for the life he was brought into has twisted him into something unrecognizable. And you? You’re just another casualty of it.

No matter how much you try to explain, no matter how much you try to reach him, the gap between you two widens. He’s Red Hood, and you’re Batgirl. The two identities, both born from tragedy, will never be able to coexist peacefully. Every time you suit up, every time you fight to prove yourself, you feel the divide grow stronger. You’ve both chosen your paths, and with that choice, you’ve irreparably lost each other.

For a while, you only ever saw Barbara as the GCPD commissioner’s daughter, Dick’s friend. She had always been around, and was a frequent family friend. You never really understood why she was so deeply tied with your family until you found out the truth.

When you found out that she’d been the first Batgirl, you were amazed, and frankly, you wanted to be just like her. She, who has done so much and fought alongside your family in many battles, who has done so much to protect Gotham. Maybe this was the way for you to get close with your father and older brother. You had to prove yourself through this. That’s what you thought.

Which is why when you approached Barbara one day with the idea of being Batgirl, you expected support, encouragement, maybe even a bit of excitement. After all, she had once worn the cape and fought crime in Gotham’s shadows. But no, apparently you were getting in over your head.

Barbara’s face hardened the moment you mentioned the mantle. Her mantle. She immediately refused, telling you that it was dangerous. At first, you thought she was being protective. Jason had died not too long ago doing this, so maybe that’s why. Which is why you relented. But as she continued, you saw the weight of her words—the deep, painful truth that came from experience.

She recounted her time as Batgirl, her fight against the criminals of Gotham, and how the Joker had shattered her body and soul in a way that no physical injury could ever heal. She spoke of the night she was shot, of how she had lost everything—her mobility, her sense of security, and even a part of her identity. It wasn’t just the pain of what happened to her body—it was the mental toll of knowing that every choice she made brought her closer to losing herself.

You were taken aback, shocked by how strongly she felt. Was she really trying to stop you from becoming Batgirl? After everything she had endured, you couldn’t fathom why she wouldn’t want you to follow in her footsteps. But Barbara wasn’t just speaking from a place of worry; she was speaking from experience. She had seen firsthand how dangerous this life was, how it consumed you piece by piece, and how it left scars that would never fade.

But even as you understood her perspective, the desire to prove yourself still burned fiercely inside of you. You wanted to be more than Bruce Wayne’s daughter, more than someone who had to hide in the shadows. You wanted to stand beside your family, to help Gotham in the only way you knew how. You wanted to honour Jason for what he did for Gotham, and continue it for him. Which is why you relented, and eventually, just like everyone else, Barbara gave in. Because she knew couldn’t change your mind no matter what. Which is why she takes you on and helps with your training.

However, just like Bruce, she too only assigned you cases thst she knew you could handle. Even though Barbara had reluctantly agreed to help you become Batgirl, it was clear from the start that she wasn’t going to make it easy on you. She trained you relentlessly, teaching you the ins and outs of combat, tactics, and the stealthy finesse that Gotham’s criminals required. But even in her guidance, you could feel her hesitation. She never pushed you too far, always stopping just short of testing your limits, as though she was holding something back.

She would assign you cases, but they were always ones she knew you could handle—petty thefts, low-level gangs, the type of cases that wouldn’t put you in direct danger, that wouldn’t challenge you too much, and that she could step in and call someone else to take over if things ever went south.

At first, you didn’t mind. You were just glad to be training, to be doing something. But as time went on, the restrictions started to chafe at you. You could see how Barbara’s protective nature was keeping you in a bubble—one that was too small, one that didn’t prepare you for what Gotham truly was. You didn’t want to be stuck fighting the small-time criminals; you wanted to face the real threats, the ones that could change Gotham for the better after being dealt with.

The frustration mounted. Every time she handed you a case, every time she stopped you from pursuing something more dangerous, you felt your desire to prove yourself slipping further and further away. You knew you couldn’t keep doing this forever. Gotham was too big, the stakes too high, and you were capable of so much more. You had to break free from Barbara’s shadow, from her protective grip, and finally prove that you were ready for the challenges that came with being Batgirl—not just in name, but in action. Which is why you started doing more. Did more than you needed to, took one too many unnecessary risks.

But everything shifted when Barbara took in Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown, both taking up the mantle of Batgirl at some point. It stung. The sense of being sidelined was undeniable, and it hurt more than you had expected. Were you really that replaceable? Did you being Batgirl mean nothing?

Barbara’s training shifted with the new additions. She wasn’t the same mentor to you as she had been when you first started. She had become consumed with building Cassandra and Stephanie up, preparing them for the same Gotham streets that had torn her apart. Except, it was obvious that Barbara saw then as more capable, more stronger to take on the streets. More prepared than you’ll ever be. You were no longer her first priority. In fact, you were hardly a priority at all.

The worst part was how Barbara handled it. Instead of talking to you, explaining her choices, she just… distanced herself. There were no more long training sessions, no more subtle encouragement. Your bond, the one that had felt so strong when she first took you in, weakened and thinned, becoming strained and distant. It was as though she had replaced you with them. Maybe she had.

It wasn’t just the feeling of being replaced by two new recruits; it was the complete lack of acknowledgment of everything you had sacrificed, everything you had worked for. You had pushed through every painful night, every bruise, every tear, just to earn your place. But now, it seemed like all that hard work meant nothing. You were left alone in the shadows once again, watching as the people you cared about, the people who had once been your mentors and family, moved on without you.

The rift between you and Barbara widened with each passing day. You tried to hold on to the hope that things would change, that things would go back to how they were before. But deep down, you knew they never would. Barbara had chosen her new proteges—her Batgirls—and you were left to try to make your own way in a family that no longer felt like your own.

And as the years went by, you still held onto that mantle, and Barbara grew more distant. She checked in on you doing patrols and missions as Oracle, but that was that.

Part 2 (Tim, Cassandra, Stephanie, Damian, Duke centered)

lmk your thoughts on this because this has been on my mind for so long <33

taglist (open): @tricksters-maze @dusk-muse @quethekillerqueen @silverklaus @isupportorbitalbombardment @nxdxsworld @vanessa-boo @coffeeaddictxd @moonsbluekingdom @yuya-bubbly @percythebitchwitch @anonymousdisco @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @redsakura101 @what-0-life @idkwhattoputhete @secretyouthcomputer @witch-waycult @allycat4458 | ask to be added <3

(idk why i can’t tag some of y’all, must be your settings i think 😓)

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Simple Gestures

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> You and Logan, despite getting off on the wrong foot, find yourselves falling in love through simple gestures.

Disclaimer: Mostly cute fluff, an almost kiss in the snow, stargazing, stealing clothes, a little violence in the beginning, a meet ugly, simple gestures of love. Light swearing, happy ending. Not Proof Read.

Yourself and Logan had fallen in love through simple gestures. Although, that wasn’t how it always was. 

In the beginning, neither of you had exactly been in the other’s good books. Though, you supposed that had something to do with what Rogue would call your “meet cute” rather than your individual personalities. 

Your “meet cute” (as Rogue put it) had been when Xavier had first tried to recruit you to join X-Men. 

At the time, you had been living in Colorado and was spending most days either working at the library or working at the local bar. And one evening when you got home, you found three strangers on your veranda meaning they had misread your “Keep Out” sign at the pathway entrance, or had completely elected to ignore it. 

“I don’t know what you’re selling but I’m not buying.” 

You walked through the three of them and their huddle, opened up your screen door, unlocked your front door and slammed both in their faces. 

“Logan,” you heard a British voice sigh before an American one replied with; “I’m on it.”

Maybe he was Canadian?

Either way, he didn’t sound thrilled to be having to do whatever he knew was being asked of him. 

But you soon found out what that was because a few moments later, he was opening up your back door. 

So, as any woman would do when a stranger is ignoring her polite “fuck off, please” and trying to get through the back door of her home. 

You threw a book at him. 

And it wasn’t just any book. 

It was a hardback copy of Kings and Queens of Britain. 

“Wha- Jesus!”

Stumbling back, Logan caught hold of the door frame as his head mended his new found concussion. 

“Get out!” you screamed. 

Finding yourself walking towards him, you were about to shove him out when he noticed what had hit him and before you could throw a punch to his face, he caught your wrist. 

“Whoa, hey, wait. We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Said every intruder ever.”

“Please, Ms Y/l/n.” The British guy was back. “We only wish to talk.”

“Yeah?” You looked around at the three of them before you looked back at the book. Logan’s grip squeezed on your wrist to get your attention. 

He had it. 

“I wouldn’t think about it.”

Glaring from Logan, you turned back to the Brit. “Please. Just five minutes of your time.”

Once more you looked around them and yanked your wrist from Logan’s grip. Turning, you picked up your book and placed it back where you had found it. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” you grumbled to yourself as you walked further inside. 

The three of them entered and stood around your living room as you walked from your kitchen and back in again. It was more of an open floor plan so they could still see you. Not that you were trying to hide from them. 

“So why are you here? Other than trying to break into my home?”

“We wish to offer you a job,” the woman said. 

“And you are?”

She smiled at you. So far, she was the only one you liked. “Ororo. But you can also call me Storm. And this here is Logan.”

You looked at him. “We’ve met.”

Logan mirrored your look to him. 

“And this is-”

“Professor Charles Xavier.” He introduced himself. 

You nodded. “What sort of job?”

“It’s to be a part of our team. The X-Men.”

You took a gulp of your drink. “And I want to be a part of this…why?”

The Professor rolled forward. “Ms Y/l/n-”

“Y/n.”

The Brit smiled. “Y/n. Our team is made up of some of the best people we know who are like us. Mutants.”

You paused. “Mutants?”

“Ororo here can control the weather. Hence her nickname, Storm. And Logan-”

“Is what? Catwoman? I mean, with the breaking and entering and the little kitty ears for hair, it sure does fit him.” 

Storm chuckled and Logan looked less than amused. The Professor held back his laugh, too. “Actually, Logan is, well…”

Turning his head to look at him, Logan rolled his eyes a little and gave a short sigh before bringing his fist up and clenching it just as metal claws came out. 

You grimaced. “That’s super gross.”

Logan rolled his eyes once more and put his claws away. 

“Like I was saying, our team is made up of mutants, who can help people. And with your reputation preceding you, I figured we might as well come down here and ask you ourselves.”

Looking around them all, you debated the idea. 

“Why me?”

“Your mutant abilities might prove a successful part in building our team.” Ororo explained. “With talents like yours and by joining our team, you’ll be able to help more people than just the locals here. Those in serious danger could use your help, just like they could use ours.”

“And you just expect me to join you? Like that?”

“There are other parts to your job, such as becoming a teacher. I run a school for the gifted. For mutants. To help them earn a well rounded education as well as helping them learn how to control their powers.”

Logan was baffled. “I thought we were here to put her on the team, not give her a teaching position. She can’t be a teacher.”

“Why not?” Storm asked. 

“For one,” Logan gestured to you. “She works in a bar.”

Your arms crossed your chest. “Someone’s been reading my CV.”

“You really think making a bartender a teacher is a good thing?”

Your brows knotted for a moment. “I’ll have you know I do have a teaching degree and working in a bar is only part time. I also work at a library.”

“She has a teaching degree and she’s not even a teacher.”

The Professor shrugged. “This gives her a chance to put it to good use.”

“What will I be teaching?”

“Well, considering your degree is in English and History, you’ll primarily be teaching English to our students.” The Professor smiled. “And you can take some of Logan’s classes as we move closer to final exams for our older students.”

You looked at Logan, a little shocked. From the jeans and leather jacket, you figured he’d teach something like gym or shop. That’s if he was even a teacher and not just hired muscle. 

“You,” you pointed at Logan. “Teach History?”

A little offended by your shock, Logan nodded. “I’ve lived through most of it.”

“How old are you?”

By your tone, Logan was nowhere near being less offended by you.

After more than just a five minute conversation, you agreed to take the job. And six weeks later, you had your things packed, had moved into your new room and was already teaching some new classes. 

However, considering you were already taking one of Logan’s classes a week as he helped the older students prepare for their mock exams, and neither your or Logan had gotten off on the best foot, things were a little…icy. 

“You need to get neater handwriting.” Logan blurted out one afternoon as you were both sitting in the teachers break room. 

“Excuse me?”

Logan practically slammed another paper beside his thigh. “You write like a five year old.”

“Fast handwriting is a sign of intelligence,” you pointed out. 

“Fast, maybe. But illegible isn’t.”

Another paper went down by his side. 

“You know, maybe if you took your time to actually read, you’d be able to see what it said and it wouldn’t look so much like a blur across a page.”

Logan sighed, marking another paper. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have.”

“Logan, I practically read for a living. I’m living every introvert's dream.”

Logan sighed, shuffling his finished papers. “And I mark for a living. Fixed your handwriting.”

Placing half of the papers back with you, Logan walked out carrying the rest with him. And as he did so, you took the top paper from the pile and read where you had written your feedback for the student. 

“It’s not illegible.”

Six months in, not much had changed. 

You and Logan still held small hostilities to one another. Though, on the handwriting front, Logan stopped mentioning it after three months so either he gave up on ever trying to change your handwriting, or he got used to it enough that he could finally understand it. 

And as time went on, the students started to gather their own opinions on you and Logan, both as individuals but also…

As a couple. 

And it was simply by luck that neither you or Logan had found out about it. 

The first teacher to find out was Storm during one of her classes, to which she mentioned it to Jean who later heard the same from her students before she shared it with Scott in the privacy of their bedroom as they were getting ready for bed one night. 

Soon enough, all the teachers save for you and Logan knew of the group of students “shipping” yourself and Logan. 

But things between you and Logan began to change almost a year into you starting your position at the school. 

“But she’s annoying.”

You already knew Logan was talking about you. Over the course of a year you’d somehow become accustomed to the tone and tune of Logan's voice when he was talking about you. 

“Oh, please,” you grumbled as you entered the Professor’s office, still dressed in your pjs. 

Though, considering you had fallen asleep in lounge wear that consisted of joggers, an old t-shirt and a black hoodie which you were 40% sure had been Logan’s at some point, you figured you could get away with being dressed the way you were at eleven in the morning. 

“I annoy everyone,” you told Logan.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Logan mumbled. 

“You’re nothing special.”

The Professor smiled to himself. Storm and the others would get a kick out of this later. 

“Thank you for joining us.”

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

You drank your coffee. “Not all of us sleep in jeans, Logan.”

“I don’t sleep in jeans.”

“Please, you’re never out of them.”

The Professor cleared his throat. “As I was just telling Logan, since final exams are coming up, I would like you and Logan to work through a plan together for next semester's classes. It seems we have a few more students than we had planned, taking History as an option next year. I’ll leave it to you both to work it out, but when you’ve finished, please give me a copy of your schedule.”

“Oh,” the Professor continued. “And please let it be an actual plan this time, Logan. Not a scribble on the back of a napkin from the kitchens. I’ll make sure the library is free tonight so you can both work without any interruptions.”

So there it was. 

After almost a year, you and Logan were being told to spend time alone together after half of the team had worked their hardest to try and make sure someone else was in the room when it came to you two in fear of you both finally snapping and doing more damage than what an encyclopaedia could do to an adamantium skeleton. 

And when Logan found you that night, he felt something shift. 

Both universally and inside of him. 

Walking into the library, he was expecting to find you absent from your chair. But instead he found you sitting at one of the desks, your ankles crossed beneath your chair, multiple notebooks around the place, two pencils in your hair, one between your teeth, pens across the desk (some without caps) and you frantically searching for something. 

On one of the smaller tables behind the sofa, Logan found a familiar notebook which he knew belonged to you, flipped open onto a page. 

Somehow in the past couple of months he’d become fluent in you. From comparing your handwriting to that of a five year old, it wasn’t long until he began to pick out words and eventually became a master in your handwriting. 

Even the others came to him, most of the time shoving your note in front of him and asking him to read it. 

“Looking for this?”

You looked up at Logan and gave a look of relief. “I thought I’d left it upstairs.”

You took it from him. “Thank you. Now where did I put my pen?”

In a similar fit of desperation, you started looking around for your pen, but something made Logan smile. Leaning across the desk, his palm on top of a couple of sheets of loose paperwork, he raised his other hand and you stopped. 

“What? What is it?”

Reaching up and behind you, you felt Logan pull something from your hair before he presented it to you with a soft smirk. 

“Is this what you are looking for?”

You looked from the pen to Logan and back to the pen before plucking it from his fingers. “Thanks.”

Logan watched as your gaze flicked from his back to your work. He stood up. “What’s all this?”

“Just things for lessons. Oh, uh, here.”

You pulled a different notepad from beneath the chaotic pile. “This is my plan for the lessons next semester. Tell me what you think.”

Logan watched as you went back to scribbling before he opened up the notepad and read through it. 

“This is good. I can take a couple more classes closer to Christmas, though. Kids’ are gonna need you for the English exams.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“How long have you been sitting here?”

You shrugged before holding down the paper you were writing on, almost like it was about to fly away. “Couple hours. I’m almost done.”

Logan looked from you and back to the pad. “I can take more lessons before Spring Break, too.”

Picking up one of the uncapped pens, Logan made his adjustments to your plan before pulling out a chair and sitting across from you. 

And for the first time, there was peace between yourself and Logan. He used your notepad to draw up a copy for the Professor on his laptop whilst you finished up your rougher lesson plans for the next couple of weeks. 

It was in the moments Logan looked at you, sitting across from him, that he felt something shift. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but somehow, rather than arguing with you over the fact you were wearing his hoodie that had gone missing a few months ago, he found himself admiring you in it. How cosy you looked. How warm and comforted you looked. 

And something sparked in him when he realised something of his brought you that. 

Time pressed on and those civil moments that seemed to be saved for one day out of the year, became less and less rare. 

In fact, you now found yourself looking forward to spending time with Logan. 

A sentence you never thought possible. 

You’d spent so long bickering and fighting and glaring at each other over the smallest things, that you’d both failed to realise that you could actually be quite good friends.

At the beginning of the new academic year, the students and even some of the teachers thought someone had lost complete control of their power and had set something on you and Logan. 

But no. 

You had both simply…made friends. 

Now rather than frosty mornings spent poking fun at each other, mornings were calm and a little warmer. Of course, you and Logan still bickered occasionally. Mainly when you had pointed out the change in your dynamic. 

“No, this is too weird.”

“What’s too weird?”

“Us,” you gestured between yourself and Logan. “We’re friends.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

You almost whimpered. “Don’t you find it weird?”

“That we’ve gone from not being allowed alone in a room together to being friends?” 

You nodded. 

“No.”

Logan continued hanging up the posters around your classroom. 

You sighed. “You know, sometimes you can agree with me?”

He nodded. “I know. But it is fun watching you squirm.”

“I don’t squirm.”

“You’re squirming right now because rather than bickering, which we are still doing, we’re friends.”

 You sighed and handed Logan another poster. 

Soon the days began to feel like they were bleeding into one until finally Christmas break came around and you found yourself sitting in the kitchen on a snowy day, eating some soup. 

“What is it?”

Logan had walked in to find you looking at your soup with a confused look. 

“Something’s missing.”

Less than twenty seconds later, Logan dumped some crackers beside your bowl. That’s what was missing. 

“You’re missing snow day, by the way.”

You dipped one into your soup and ate it. “I’ll be out later. If I can just find my hoodie.”

“You mean my hoodie?”

“It became my hoodie a long time ago,” you told Logan. 

Then you watched as he smirked a little before walking out of the kitchen and towards the laundry room. When he returned, he was carrying the black hoodie and handed it to you. It was still warm. 

“You left it in the library the other night after you spilled some milk down it. So I washed it.”

You smiled, almost vibrating in your seat with excitement to have a freshly washed and warm hoodie. It warmed you instantly, for more than just being fresh out of the dryer. 

A few hours later, it was keeping you warmer still as you were being pelted with snowballs by a couple of the students and eventually found yourself being chased by Logan down the field after you had sent one flying to the back of his head causing it to run down the back of his clothes. 

He caught you, spinning you both before you both found yourself rolling in the snow. Except, as you both came to a stop, Logan was flat on his back, his arms still around you and you were lying against his chest, your faces mere inches away from each other. 

And as the laughter died down and the smiles remained, you felt something shift. 

Looking from Logan’s eyes, you own dropped to his mouth for a moment before coming back up again. And you couldn’t help but notice he did the same with you. Suddenly, his hands that had kept you steady were now creeping across your back and his touch was practically seeping into your skin. 

Only, before anything could happen, you were both hit with a snowball. 

“Come on you two, we’re dying out here!” Rogue yelled before narrowly missing a snowball being thrown at her. 

You and Logan laughed before scrambling to your feet and heading back into the game. 

Later that evening as you and Logan were doing the last rounds of the school, you’d found a couple of kids fast asleep in their pjs, clearly having snuck out of bed at the last minute to watch the late night snowfall. 

Yourself and Logan carried them back to bed, you shutting the light off as Logan closed the door quietly. And as he bid you goodnight, a part of you couldn’t help but wish that you weren’t going off to a different room, two hallways down from him. 

However, it was only a few mornings later when Logan came and woke you earlier in the morning than usual to bring you down to breakfast where everyone was up and ready for the day. It was a surprise field trip and by the time you had gone back to your room to get dressed, you gave a small yelp as you opened the door back up to find Logan already standing there. His fist was held up, just getting ready to knock on. 

“Jesus, Logan. Give a girl a word of warning before you go to knock her out.”

Logan chuckled a little. “You ready?”

You grabbed your bag. “Yeah, let's go.”

The day was fun but it was long and after spending half of the night convincing yourself of “one more chapter, then sleep” – it was safe to say you were knackered. 

So when Logan pressed his hand to your head and brought it down to rest on his shoulder as he leaned back, you didn’t protest. 

Only, since your eyes were closed, you had missed the small smile on his face when he noticed you were nodding off and the comfortable sigh that left him when he realised you were fast asleep against him. 

Halfway back to the school, he’d felt you shiver a little. 

“Rogue?”

She pulled out her headphones and looked back at him. “Yeah?”

“There’s a blanket in the cabin above your head. Pass it to me.”

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she did so, but took time to take in the picture before her as Logan covered both himself and you up as you slept. 

“What?”

Rogue just smiled, “Nothing.”

And she sat back down. And for as much as Logan wondered what Rogue meant by her smile, the thought left his head when he looked back down at you and you snuggled in closer to him. 

Once you all finally got back, Logan led you to your bedroom and slipped the shoes off your feet as you climbed under your covers. But as he went to walk away, you reached out and grabbed hold of his hand. 

And for a moment, he soaked it all in. 

The feeling of you holding his hand. The feeling of you falling asleep against him. The feeling of you. 

Until you let go.

It was only a few months later that you held onto his hand again, except this time you were fully conscious and didn’t let go until after the plane had landed. 

You had known Logan was afraid of flying since you first met him. You’d gotten onto that plane to take a short tour around the school before you officially accepted the job. Only, as you stepped onto the plane, you noticed Logan became tenser. And when it finally took off, he seemed like he was either wishing to pass out or he was gonna puke. 

“You’re afraid of flying.” You said almost with a smile, delighted to find out that the gruff man you’d thrown a book at merely an hour before, was afraid of something. 

Logan's stomach churned. “If man was meant to fly, he’d grow wings.”

You leaned back watching him with a smile. “Some already have.”

Logan just looked at you and tried to put his focus elsewhere. 

Knowing this, and finally being his friend, you found a seat next to him. The flight was going to be a long one. 

“How can you be afraid of flying? Weren’t you in the army for like…a gazillion years?” You asked as you boarded on with him. 

“You try nearly dying each time you get in one of these things, see how bad you’re itching to get back in one again.”

Logan put his bag in the compartment at the back before taking yours and placing it with his. As he buckled his seatbelt, you found difficulty with yours and just as you were about to give up or, at the very least, swear at the inanimate object, Logan’s body turned and helped you do it up. 

“These can be tricky.”

He clipped it together. “Thanks.”

He looked at you before sitting back in his seat, trying to find something to concentrate on as the jet started to lift. 

Only, his search to find something else became distracted when your hand reached across and held onto his. And for a moment, he was shocked. And then he smiled. And relaxed a little. With a little bit of turbulence, he squeezed your hand but never enough to truly hurt. 

But you never let go. 

And when the jet finally landed and you both found tarmac under your feet, you felt the climate hit you a lot more than you had been expecting. Except, less than a minute later, the familiar scent of Logan surrounded you and you found his jacket spreading over your shoulders. 

You smiled, letting your senses drown in his scent and warmth before you slipped your arms through the holes and found your way to your intended location. 

A week later, you were all sitting around in the living room, reading different things or watching TV. However, Logan lay on the sofa with his head in your lap, slowly dozing off to the sound of the TV, you turning your book pages every now and again and your heartbeat which only seemed to be amplified when he pressed his ear to your leg, hearing the blood rush around your body. 

By the time he woke up, everyone had disappeared, the lamps were on, the TV was on low and you were sitting on the floor, not too far from his head, going through a small pile of essays. 

“Hey.”

His voice sounded a little rougher than usual. You turned your head and smiled. It wasn’t often you got to see sleepy Logan, let alone comfortable Logan. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just some marking. Ooh, now you're awake, can you read what this says?”

Logan took the paper from you and looked at it. “This is your handwriting.”

“I know but I can’t tell what it says.”

But Logan could. 

You thanked him before taking the paper back. “Sometimes I think you know my handwriting better than I know my handwriting. Case in point.”

“You’re your own language.”

You smiled. “And after a year, you’re an expert. Maybe you missed your calling. Logan, the Language teacher. Read and speak in English, grunts, kitty cat and my handwriting.”

Logan groaned, trying to hide his smile. He was still waking up. His muscles couldn’t fight it off just yet. “I’m not a cat.”

“You have quite literal claws.”

“I’m Wolverine.”

You jokingly scoffed. “You’re a cat. But it’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

Logan just rolled his eyes with his smile and brought his hand over to cover your mouth. “You done?”

You eventually nodded and went back to marking the essays whilst Logan simply watched you. 

He’d found himself doing more of that recently; watching you. Not in a stalker kinda way- at least, he hoped not. But just small things you did in the day. Grading papers, scribbling on paper, walking down the hallway and somehow avoiding every pillar and post on the way despite your nose being buried deep inside whatever book you were reading. 

And he’d noticed more things about you, too. 

How you walked, how you moved. And when you were in the zone, it was almost like watching you dance. You knew what you were doing, ten steps ahead of time. You’d caught more students talking and passing notes more than even he had. 

Some days, when he was on his lunch break, he’d sneak into the back of your classroom. The class would be fully engrossed in whatever it was you were talking about, so he mostly went unnoticed. So, he’d pull up a chair at the back and sit in the sea of students. 

And when he forced himself to pay attention to what you were saying, rather than just checking you out and watching you, he managed to learn a thing or two. 

It was also on some of those days, you’d find a protein bar and a coffee at your desk by the time you returned back to class. 

For another year, these small gestures continued. You, holding his hand during a plane ride, him bringing you coffee and a snack, both of you falling asleep on each other, him routinely finding lost pens and pencils that most of the time were stuck in your hair or behind you ear. Even going so far as to bring each other meals when you knew the other had missed one. 

That was how the “dates” started. Sometimes in the library, other times in the kitchen or out in the garden. If one of you was missing for a meal, the other would wrap leftovers on a plate. 

Across a couple of these nights, some of the students had gone unnoticed when passing the rooms. Because, when you and Logan looked at each other, everything else faded away. 

And then one night everything changed. 

Everything went from the small moments and small gestures and a friendship that made you question if that’s all you wanted when it came to Logan, to both of you confronting your questions with the answers you’d both known, deep down, for a long time. 

Or maybe it was just one answer. 

“Yes.”

Logan turned and found Rogue leaning in the hallway. He placed down the photo frame he’d been holding. 

“I was just looking at some pictures. Found one of you.”

Logan picked up a second and held it out for her to see. “Cute. But, I don’t think that’s why you were looking here.”

Rogue put the photo down and picked up the familiar frame. The picture Logan had just been holding. 

“You know, if you asked her, she’d probably say yes.”

Logan put the photo back down. “Say yes to what?”

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t.”

Rogue gave a smirk as she watched Logan walk away. And she followed after him. 

“You can’t just run away from feelings, you know. They’re inside of you. Unless you can outrun your own skin, you can’t leave them behind.”

Logan looked at her. “Don’t you have a class to be in?”

“My final exam is tomorrow.”

Logan pushed open the door. “Then shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Giving my eyes a break.” Rogue hopped down the steps behind him. “It’s just a date, Logan. Everyone already knows you’ve completed steps 4 through 20. Just need to complete the first three.”

“Three?”

Rogue followed Logan into the garage. “Ask her out on a date, first kiss and first…time.”

Rogue smiled up at Logan a little, watching him blush a little before awkwardly walking away. “I forget you’re old enough to know about stuff like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s just sex, Logan. But the more important part here is step one. Asking her out on a date.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Step twenty.” Rogue told him. “You’re in love with her.”

Logan paused what he was doing and turned to look at Rogue. “Logan, you can’t just keep running away each time you feel something for someone.”

“I’m not running away.”

“Then where are you going?”

“To the store. We need some things.”

Rogue sighed, getting back to her point. “Look, I get your whole “lone wolf” act, but you keep forgetting something.”

“Really? And what’s that?”

“A lone wolf can still find a pack. Better yet, build one of their own.” 

Logan took in Rogue’s expression as she held onto the door on the other side of the truck. He sighed. 

“Do you need anything from the store?”

“Period pads.”

By the time Logan got back from the store, it was almost nightfall. He left the bag of products inside Rogue’s door before he headed into the kitchen and found it…quiet.

“Where is everyone?” Logan asked as he put the milk away. 

You looked over your shoulder from the stove. “Jean and Scott are out on a date, Ororo took the kids out with the Professor. Last minute deal – they get to spend a night inside a museum.”

“Anyone else home?”

You shook your head. “Just us.”

“So,” Logan eventually found his seat across the kitchen island from you. “What do you want to do?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t really have a plan outside making dinner and eating outside.”

So that’s what you both ended up doing. Sitting outside, under the stars, backlit by the lights from the kitchen, eating dinner. 

Logan washed up inside, looking over his shoulder every now and again to see you stood outside, looking up at the sky. 

“You know, back home you could see all the stars. I think I was about ten when I finished mapping out all the constellations I could see.”

Logan leaned against the backdoor, listening to you explain. Then with a smile and a kick of his feet, he made his way over to you. 

“Here.”

“What?”

Logan opened up his jacket for you and you thanked him quietly as he helped you slip it on. It was big, the sleeves managing to cover your hands more than your own jackets did. 

Twirling you around, Logan pulled the jacket close by the collar and you found yourself inches from him. 

“Figured you’d get cold.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

And for a while, you both just looked at each other. You’d noticed Logan always had this look on his face when he looked at you. You just couldn’t pin it. But then it shifted. Like you could see the cogs turning in his head, but he had come to a conclusion before you could ask. 

“What?”

“Do you want to go on a date?”

You felt yourself reel back a little, trying to decide if he was bullshitting you or not. And it took a moment or two, but once you realised he was being serious you said…

“Yes.”

“With me?”

You nodded with a smile. “I’d love to.”

“Are you sure?” Logan asked, his hands still holding onto the jacket. 

You raised your brow slightly. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“Good.” You gave a short nod before looking back at him. “I like a man who knows what he wants.”

Brushing the hair from your face to behind your ear, Logan smiled. And so did you. Feeling his warmth through his palm as he caressed your face, he drew you in. 

And when his lips finally met yours, something seemed to click into place. 

That feeling that had been growing inside of you, ever since you saw him for the first time when he’d pulled the pen from your hair all those nights ago, was finalised. 

This had been the shift. This was the change. You’d both taken a step forward without realising it and had found not only comfort but love in each other's presence. 

“Are you busy now?”

You shrugged, your arms looping around the back of Logan’s neck. “Depends. What for?”

“For our date.”

“Now?” You asked, a little shocked. 

Logan nodded. “Come with me.”

Holding onto his hand, he hurried you down the stone steps and towards the garden. You laughed. 

“Logan, slow down. Where are we going?”

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

And you did. 

He’d taken you to the greenhouse, climbing up the spiralling staircase and out onto the small rooftop. 

Looking up to the sky, you took in a breath. 

“It’s gorgeous.”

You were in amazement. The greenhouse was far enough away from the school that none of the lights from it polluted your vision. The sky was as clear as it had ever been and you felt like you could see for miles on end. Most of it was woodland, covered with a blanket of stars. 

It was one of the most extraordinary things you had seen in a long time. 

However, when you looked to find Logan to gauge his reaction, you just found him looking at you. 

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Hey there could I request G!P professor!nat x shy!quiet!reader where reader goes to the school dance alone and feels like a loser for not having the balls to talk or join in with other people but then nat decides to keep her company because she can’t stand seeing her favorite student all pathetic just standing there like a lost puppy and then they sneak off to do “other” stuff

Favourite

Paring: fem!reader x prof!Nat

Warnings: SMUT, amab!Nat, top!Nat, bottom!reader, age gap (legal), taboo relationship, soft sex, p in v, brief oral, soft!Nat, virgin!reader, gentlewoman!Nat

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional. I do not own these characters!

A/N: I’m not dead yet and more active noe

I had always thought in college things would change for girls like me, the quiet ones, with a few friends, who you would only talk to to copy their homework. However it stayed that way or at least for me. I had found my small group of friends but I was far from well socialised in my college. But I wasn’t complaining about it either after all it left more time to study.

Most of the lessons I attended were boring except for one: Russians literature with Professors Romanoff, a tall, athletic woman, with red hair and the greenest eyes you had ever seen. You didn’t mind her talking for hours about poems and novels and what we were supposed to think of them. However you couldn’t care less about the words leaving her mouth when you’re eyes were only fixated on her lips.

Eventually more of the semester passed and soon it was time for the annual ball. Because of your low social status you didn’t even try to find a date opting on going alone instead, it wouldn’t be that bad right?

Once there you where alone, the few friends which you had didn’t bother to attend so you stood alone at the side of the large room your eyes fixated on the ground. You should just go, you thought to yourself. “Good evening, Y/N” you heard the familiar husky voice next to you. You looked up only to be greeted by your smirking professor. She looked gorgeous having picked out a matching suit to her eyes.

“Hi, Ms. Romanoff” she leaned against the wall next to me her eyes darting over my smaller body. “Where’s your date?” “I don’t have one” I answered truthfully, her expression stayed the same it was hard to read her. “And you’re friends?” I sighed she knew the answer to that already. “They didn’t attend.” She chuckled licking her lips like a predator who just found it’s helpless prey. “Poor girl, all alone and needs her professor to keep her company”

I let out a small laugh which sounded incredibly fake. Her words made my cheeks heat and I didn’t even know why. “Could be worse” I looked up in her eyes again “You’re a very pleasant conversation partner” “Am I?” She chuckled “That means a lot to me, hearing my favorite student say something like that” “I’m your favorite?” you stammered out “Trust me bunny a girl like you” Her hand trailed to my hip “You hardly get something like that every ten years. I’m very happy to have you”

Her words made my heart flutter and my head turn. I was special, Romanoff’s girl. “Do you mean that?” My voice was still a bit shaky. “Of course I do. We should go somewhere more private” I nodded her hand intertwined with mine she pulled me with her through the masses into the parking lot. Once seated in her expensive looking her hand never left my thigh before she started the car she leaned over to me our lips inches apart I tried to lean forward but her hands pushed my shoulder back against the car seat.

“Don’t do this to make me happy” She paused her eyes looking sensire “It won’t affect your grade no matter how you decide.” “I want this”

I breathed out our lips immediately finding each other. The kiss was passionate and heated until Nat pulled away to fasten my seat belt.

“I’ll drive to my apartment” She put her own seatbelt on “Is that okay with you or do you want to go to your dorm” “I’d like to join your tonight” Natasha gave you a cheeky grin at the response her plan had worked out perfectly.

Arriving at her apartment she seated you on her leather couch. She paced around her living room having two wine glasses in hand. “Do you want a glass?” I laughed I was extremely nervous but in a good way “Oh, I don’t drink but I’ll have a water instead” She just nodded accepting my preferences.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve met” She laughed slipping away from her wine glass. “And I’m not just saying that because of the wine.” She added she was sat next to her hand on your thigh. She had long forgotten about her crumpled up suit jacket on the ground though she normally was so precise about keeping everything organized.

“You don’t look bad either” You laughed she pulled you on her lap forcing you to but your legs on either side her crotch on yours. “Let me kiss you” she mumbled against you wet lips. You lips were pressed together so where your bodies and you could feel a bulge poking you. “Fuck you make me so hard” she breathed out on your lips making you moan out in response.

We were caught in the dance of our tongues when I felt her standing up her arms under my ass supporting my weight. I giggle and tighten my grip around her. “Let me take you to the bedroom”

She laid me out on the bed being careful with every item removed and making sure I was comfortable. She kissed everything inch of my skin paying extra attention to my sweet spots and I never felt so loved before. “Have you done that before” She breathed put against my skin.

“Never” I answer truthfully and suddenly I felt a dang of jealousy in my chest. “Is that- a problem?” My professor moved up again before kissing me “Of course not” She looked me in the eyes with her green eyes. “Will you let me be your first” She was being incredibly cheesy but Iiked that. It made me feel safe. “Yes”

She took one of my nipples in her mouth twisting and turning the other with her trained fingertips. She made me putty in her hands with each lick or flick she brought a new sound from my tongue.

My back arched which only made her increase the speed of her movements. After she seemed it to be enough foreplay she kissed her way down to my pubic bone, pressing her nose against my skin to take in the smell of my sweet arrausel. “Can I bunny?” She smirked and kissed your clit I was already wet but Nat was dying for a taste. She flicked her tongue over my now exposed bud. The pleasure was incredible better than any other toy I ever had and you tried to not lose my mind as she teased you bundle of nerves.

She pulled away shortly after ripping away my release in front of my eyes. I looked at her confused as she was already freeing herself from her boxer. She didn’t have a size to be ashamed of and her bush was well groomed too, like you would’ve suspected. She pumped herself a few times groaning until she was fully hard a little droplet of cum on the redden tip.

“Wait I’ll put a condom on” She reached for the drawer but you stopped her “I’m on the pill” Her lips formed a smirk as she positioned herself between my legs. “It’s not gonna hurt sweetheart” She reassured you kissing my neck.

She pushed inside and I making me scratch down her toned back making her whimper. Fuck her whimpers where hot. She bottomed me out looking down at where our bodies were connected she smiled up at you and you smiled back and after I nodded to her she picked up pace.

She was slow at first making me want more you could tell she being careful with you. “Faster” I moaned out making you hips buckle into her trusts. She moaned like a pornstar panting above me as she increased her speed the bed creaking. She made my back arch and my eyes squeezed shut as I released my quiet prayers for her.

“You close?” She panted and I nod “Fuck, your so tight” I grabbed on her shoulders scratching down as I came all over her shortly after she filled me up too. She pulled out the cum leaking down my legs. She climbed up my body flipping us over so I lay on her chest.

“You’re my favourite” She whispered and kissed my sweaty forehead

:)

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Part 3

Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Tags: Anxious-ish!Reader but not shy, one sided pining, no use of y/n, fem!reader, one sided enemies to lovers, fem!reader

2.4k Words

Part 1, Part 2, Master List

Miles Cooper was still at school the following week, which meant that he was given no consequences for what had happened to you or for blaming Eddie. 

Eddie couldn’t even say he was surprised by this point. If Eddie really had been the one to trip you up, he was sure he’d get suspended or even expelled. It was so close to the end of the year and he could feel that Higgins was looking for any reason to keep him from walking across that stage to get his diploma. 

You hadn’t shown up on Monday. Not that it mattered to Eddie either way, you two didn’t even know each other. But you had cleared his name. That was the thought that kept buzzing around his brain like a mosquito that he just couldn’t swat. Despite the glares and the snide remarks, you had gone out of your way to make sure that he didn’t get in trouble for something he didn’t do, which is more than what he could say for a lot of people at this school.

He had to give you credit for that at least. Not many people outside of his small friend circle would stick up for him like that. 

With work and band practice, it was easy to forget about you until Wednesday when you showed up to English class with a thick white cast around your wrist and arm. Shit, your fall really had done a number on you. You were struggling with juggling your books and they fell off your desk with a clatter, and you thanked the girl next to you for helping you pick them up. 

Eddie would like to think he was above eavesdropping and gossip, but he’d be wrong. 

“What happened?” The girl- Sarah- asked. 

“I face planted on the bleachers at the pep rally.” you said, taking your seat again. “One minute I was trying to get down, and the next I’m getting elbowed and my arm hurt.” 

“I heard someone pushed you” 

Eddie heard that emphasis on someone and gripped his pencil, hearing the subtle sound of wood splintering against his thumb. This was not the time to make a scene. 

“No one pushed me. Miles elbowed me and I fell.” you said firmly. 

You were still defending him, Eddie wasn’t sure how to feel. 

“If you’re gonna spread rumors, could you do me a favor and make it sound more interesting?” You continued, “Like, start telling people that I dived off the bleachers to distract everyone that Miles shit himself.”

Eddie snorted loudly before he could stop himself. He slammed his hand pencil down on the table and covered his mouth. Dammit, why did you have to be funny?

Sarah laughed, much less obnoxiously and agreed before asking to sign your cast. You must be covered in signatures now, as you seemed to be friends with everyone. 

Everyone except him. 

Not that it mattered. 

It was nice and all that you saved him from getting in trouble, but it’s not like you two were ever going to be friends, no matter how funny you were. 

Class started and Eddie spent the rest of class doodling and barely paying attention to the teacher. This was usually how his school days went. Yeah, he had been trying harder in the past two years to graduate and pass his classes but some days his brain just refused to focus on anything important. 

The bell rang and Eddie took his sweet time getting his things together. Next period was his favorite- lunch. 

“Shit.” He heard you mumble as you tried to wrangle your books with one arm. He knew there was a rule about not being allowed to carry around a backpack but, shit, Eddie would have thought you’d get some help. Shouldn’t one of those many signatures be offering to carry your books? 

Obviously not, as you finally managed to tuck your notebook under your arm. You looked flustered, and hot in the face. Your brows were furrowed in concentration and you finally let out a loud groan as your papers went flying everywhere as students for the next class started coming in. 

It was pathetic, and Eddie couldn’t exactly leave you stranded. You cleared his name, so at least he could try and help you out right now. Maybe he’d even figure out what your problem with him was. 

“Here.” Eddie said and grabbed the papers closest to him and picked up your binder before you could stop him. 

Normally when Eddie looked at you, you’d turn your nose up at him and look away. This time, he found himself giving you direct eye contact. Your eyes were wide with surprise that he had stepped in to help, followed by more frustration. 

“Thanks.” you said shortly. 

“Need help getting to the lunch room?” Eddie asked. He’d wait for you to say no, to tell him to get out of your face, and he can walk away with a clear conscience that at least he tried. 

You were staring at him as if he were some sort of alien who had just asked you why the sky wasn’t orange. Yeah ok, he could take the hint. 

“Yes.” 

The word sounded choked out, as if the single syllable was a struggle to say. But you had said it, and Eddie was a man of his word, even though he hadn’t promised you anything. 

Eddie stacked your notebook and binder on top of his. You were still staring at him as if you couldn’t believe he was talking to you. Eddie couldn’t really believe it himself. 

He’d do this small favor for you as a thanks, and then you two could go back to ignoring each other. 

“Lead the way.” He said, offering up his best impression of his dad’s smile. If he was lucky (which Eddie never was) then maybe some of his dad’s Munson Magic might rub off on him enough so that you’d at least relax a little. 

You only nodded and led him out of the classroom. 

You didn’t like the cast and it’s off-putting stark white bandages. You wanted to choose a different color- maybe red or black or even that weird obnoxious toxic green that was offered to you. But your mom decided that white would be better because it would make it easier to sign, so white it was. 

Your parents at least took pity on you Monday, letting you stay home to wallow in embarrassment that you had broken your wrist and fractured your arm in front of all of your classmates. Tuesday they released you back to school, but you had instead skipped getting on the bus (because you could not drive one-handed) and played hooky at the local library. It’s not like anyone would care that someone your age was skipping school. 

Wednesday came, and you forced yourself onto the bus, the first time you had used it since moving to Hawkins. The ride was bumpy and long, and your walkman ran out of batteries halfway to school. 

It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. A few people came up and signed your cast, some asking what happened. You just told them the same thing, that Miles elbowed you and you fell. It wasn’t as exciting as the idea of the school Freak attacking you, but you weren’t about to get Eddie involved in something that he had nothing to do with. You were just going to ignore the fact that Eddie had been the reason you were heading in that direction anyway. 

English class rolled around, and you spent most of it poking the inside of your cast with your pencil, trying to scratch an itch that just wouldn’t go away. It was bad enough that you had fucked up your dominant arm, but this was actually Hell. 

When the bell rang, everyone else seemed to be in a huge rush to get out of the classroom. Everyone but Eddie. Obviously. Because of course the one person you were trying to avoid was now slinking around you. 

Your long weekend, you had done your best to try and not think about him. You could handle falling in front of everyone else in school, but with Eddie it was different. Your stomach twisted as you remembered how he had yelled as you fell next to him and how he had looked at you as you had ignored your stinging arm as you ran out of the gym to clear his name. 

It was bad enough he had heard you make a poor joke out of context, you weren’t going to throw him under the bus either. 

“Need help getting to the lunch room?”

Your face was already hot with the embarrassment of not being able to carry your own books. Your backpack had ripped the second you got off the bus, and you lost your math homework to a puddle. You hated that he was still here to begin with, was breaking your wrist already not enough pain and suffering? 

You were staring at him. Fuck- dammit- shit say something back-

“Yes.” 

The word almost got stuck in your throat. The only reason it came out was that as painful and embarrassing as this moment was, what Stacy would do to you if she found out you said no would be far worse. 

Eddie dropped your books on top of his, and gave you a smile that looked so forced that you couldn’t stand to look at him. Was this being done just out of pity? You’d run for the hills if he wasn’t holding you binder hostage. 

You led him through the hallway, and towards your locker. “I need to put some things up.” you said, and he followed you. 

The hallway was already mostly clear, and so no one seemed to pay you much mind. You weren’t sure what the rumor mill would churn out with Eddie carrying your books, but did it even matter? Two more months and you’d be out of this school and none of these people would matter. 

No one except the young man following behind you. 

Eddie dutifully held your books as you put them away. The door to your locker stopped you from seeing his face, which seemed like the perfect time to take the foot out of your mouth that had been there since the pep rally. 

“...I’m... uh... I’m sorry for what I said on Friday.” you started, pretending to rifle through a folder. “About you being in a cult. It was a stupid joke and I shouldn’t have said it.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment, and you felt your whole body tense up as you waited for him to say anything. 

“Yeah we uh.. We aren’t big on sacrificing in Hellfire.” he said carefully. “Had to stop that with the club budget cuts.” 

You had to bite the inside of your cheek and close your eyes tight to keep from laughing. You covered it up with a cough. “Yeah uh... sounds like that’d be a lot of paperwork.” 

You took a slow and deep breath before closing your locker to look at him. He was smiling at you, a far less forced one than before. It was almost the same smile he gave his friends when he didn’t know you were looking. 

It wasn’t much, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from exploding in your chest. You should see a doctor about that. 

“Oh yeah, tons.” Eddie said. “And with all the letters we get about our club being associated with the Devil it was just a bureaucratic headache.”

I know that if I could just talk to him one then I’d be fine. You had told yourself that every single day since these pesky little feelings emerged. Maybe you had been right. The two of you made your way to the cafeteria. 

“You’re just some nerds playing with dice.” you said, and realize that could be taken the wrong way. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve also... played board games.” 

God you were acting like a total airhead. Board games? Really? You were acting like your brain was broken rather than your wrist. 

You felt Eddie’s eyes on you, and saw how he also looked unsure about your answer. Whatever was going through his head, he brushed aside. 

“I should also thank you for clearing my name.” he said, changing the subject. “You came running out of the gym and saved my ass.” 

“I wasn’t going to let someone get in trouble just because I fell!” It was the most assured thing you had ever said to Eddie.

“Well, either way I’d say you’re my hero.” Eddie said. “I’m pretty sure if you hadn’t come running to my rescue I’d probably be expelled by now, and then who would be around to corrupt the youth of Hawkins?” 

Hero. Eddie called you his hero. You felt your body buzzing with an energy that you were not in a place to use. 

You two were in the cafeteria now, and you led Eddie over to where Stacy was sitting. Stacy, being the queen of subtlety that she was, was openly gawking at the sight of the two of you together. 

She was giving you a look, and that look said that the second that Eddie was out of earshot you would be giving her a play by play of every single second of this interaction. 

Eddie dropped your books on the table by Stacy.

“Hi, Eddie!” she said in a perky voice. You wanted to kick her, and shot her a warning look which she ignored. “Will you be dining with us today?” 

You wanted to rip your hair out. 

“As much as I would love to spend my lunch period with you two ladies, I’m afraid my freshmen wouldn’t survive out there in the wild without me.” Eddie gave a dramatic bow. 

“Thank you. For helping me.” you said stiffly. Being on the receiving end of Eddie’s theatrics was making your brain blow a fuse. 

Eddie gave you a nod and sauntered off to his usual table where he was immediately hounded by his friends for being seen with you. You wondered what they were thinking. Did you look weird next to Eddie? Were they judging you for not being part of their group?

“Stop drooling.” Stacy said. “Talk.”

I have never broken a bone and have done minimal googling.

Also these chapters are getting longer dammit. This is supposed to be the easy stuff to wright UGH. Also tell me if there's something you wanna see with this, because I'm winging it like I do with all my writing lol

Tag List: @eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

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@sassidykassidy @cultish-corner @thedoubleexposurephotography @bambibiest @wheels-of-despair

[anakinstwinklebunny]

older sugar daddy!anakin who's paying for your postgrad, just cuddles you after a long day of studying 😩

TW: none really, just fluff and soft praises cause bunny loves dilf!ani :3

Author's note: I love you, give me more..let your fantasy free. Also, today's my birthday, when it's posted, I'm sleeping (thanks to the queue). But I want to thank YOU for this year. In September, I celebrated without all you knowing probably, my one year on this app. One year. Year ago, I'd not even imagine that one of my dreams would come true - to post MY work, something people will enjoy..you guys made it real and for that I thank you so much! Hugging all 622 of you!!! <3333333

It had been one of those days where nothing seemed to go right. Your brain was fried from the constant cycle of lectures, readings, and assignments. The textbooks in front of you blurred whenever you tried to focus on yet another chapter of dense material, so it was no use.

You felt drained—mentally and emotionally. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget about postgrad for a little while.

The soft click of the apartment door opening snapped you out of your haze. You heard the familiar shuffle of Anakin’s shoes being kicked off, his expensive, cashmere-wool blend coat draped over the chair. Before you even had the chance to look up from your mountain of notes, he was beside you, his presence filling the room with warmth and comfort you so much craved at the moment

"Hey," he greeted quietly, his deep voice gently vibrating in your ear. He could immediately sense the tension around you, see the exhaustion written all over your profile side. Without asking, he leaned down to kiss your burning temple that was heated up from way too much information for one day

Not taking your tired eyes from the whatever you were trying to focus on, your nostrils could pick up the familiar scent of him—clean, warm, with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon

Dear heavens..

"Long day?" he asked softly, his large hand coming to rest on your shoulder, thumb gently brushing the back of your neck. You closed your eyes at the contact - it felt so good, to just being able to feel the all the stress and tension slowly melt down your spine

Well, Anakin's hands were magic. In every way. They could tear you apart, pull you back together and make you beg for more. Yet today, you were way too tired to beg him to do anything

"You have no idea," you sighed, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into his touch. “It feels like this coursework is never-ending.”

Anakin’s lips curled into a soft, understanding smile as he tilted his head, studying your tired expression. "You’ve been at it for hours. I can tell." He glanced at the textbooks, notebooks, and laptop scattered around you. It was impressive, to say the least, but even him knew you needed to slow down "You need a break."

Before you could protest, Anakin was already moving. He gently closed your laptop, setting it aside along with your textbooks, making sure they were out of reach so you wouldn’t be tempted to keep working. At first it brought you a quicker heartbeat, to see him just so casually act like it when you still had so much to do “Come here,” he murmured, reaching out to you. "You’ve done enough for today."

Yet, you didn’t hesitate. As tired as you were, the moment he opened his arms, you were drawn to him like a magnet. You slid into his embrace, sinking into his broad chest as he wrapped you up in the warmth of his body.

Your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his sweater, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was grounding, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone in all of this. He was here, as he always was, making everything seem a little less overwhelming.

“You’re working too hard, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice tender as he massaged your scalp before gently threaded his long fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your face. "You need to rest."

You sighed, sinking further into his embrace. Dammit, if he keeps it up, you'll fall asleep "I just want to get through this semester." you confessed

Anakin pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head before his hand moved to caress your back “And you will. You always do.” His voice was filled with quiet confidence, the kind of unwavering belief in you that never failed to make your heart swell.

“You’ve been taking care of everything else,” Anakin murmured after a long moment of quietness, his voice a soft rumble in your ear. “Now let me take care of you.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, overwhelmed by how much his simple presence soothed you. He always knew when to step in, offering comfort without needing to ask for anything in return. It wasn’t about money or gifts—this, right here, was what made him your anchor. The way he could make you feel safe and cherished, no matter how heavy the world felt on your shoulders.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. You pressed your face further into him, breathing him in, the scent of him calming your racing thoughts. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’ll never have to find out," he replied softly, kissing the top of your head. "I’ve got you."

You shifted slightly, your legs curling up as you snuggled deeper into him, finding the perfect spot in his lap. His hand gently cradled the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair with a touch so tender it made your heart flutter.

"I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the night."

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[skufdaddyswansea]

Mouthwashing, Dual Protagonists, and Captain Curly

While the vast majority of Mouthwashing is shown from Jimmy's perspective, the events leading up to the Tulpar's crash usually follow Curly. There are several interesting reasons for this, but there's one reason in particular that I'd like to focus on.

By setting Jimmy and Curly up as dual protagonists, we're invited to draw comparisons between them. Not only are they the lenses through which we view the story, they pass the role of Captain back and forth between their chapters.

It's easy to feel sympathy for Curly, given the state he spends the larger part of the game in. It can also be easy to gloss over his more subtle shortcomings when measuring him up against Jimmy.

In this post, I want to take a closer look at Curly's character. And more specifically, how he relates to one of the game's most obvious themes.

Is Curly able to deal with the consequences of his actions? Does he realize his own failures and how they harm the people around him? What does he do with the power he's granted over others?

Does Curly take responsibility?

Jimmy's fixation here gives us a good jumping-off point. It's certainly possible that he's only really been told this once or twice, but because he's Jimmy he's blown it out of proportion out of spite. It's also possible he's entirely making it up because he's projecting, but I think the former is more likely if anything.

And, if I had to take a guess where he heard it from, I'd put my money on The Pony Express itself.

In the eyes of The Pony Express, a "great leader" isn't someone diligent or able to meet the needs of his crew. The real reason Curly was able to rise to the top of the ladder and become captain is because he gets the job done without rocking the boat.

I'm establishing all this because I think it's worth examining by what metric he's being judged. Because, while it may be Jimmy who most often digs this point up, Curly doesn't disagree with him. Even in the depths of his ennui, it's important to him that not only is he the Captain, but a good one at that.

When comparing the two, that can again seem difficult to argue against. Jimmy is quick to lash out and shift blame. His resentment and insecurities often drive him to pick fights. Curly prefers to avoid conflict, but knows his position doesn't always allow him to do so. He tries to pick his battles, but when he has to get involved he focuses on de-escalating the situation.

But although their similarities are few, they do exist. And they greatly influence the narrative. Because it is from their shared selfishness, callousness, and cowardice that the entire story is born.

It's time to address the elephant in the room. We can't draw any conclusions about Curly's nature, his character, his role in the story, and his relationship to its themes without digging into his handling of Anya's assault, and the chain of events that follow.

I find it interesting that we never see the initial conversation Anya has with Curly about the assault. We simply know that she confided in him. He is the Captain, after all. The crew is his responsibility.

The thing is, we don't really need to know the exact conversation they shared, because we can imagine it went quite similarly to their conversation about her pregnancy.

She tells him how scared she is. She fears for her life. It never even occurred to him that she was upset about anything other than losing her job. He swears to her that everything will be fine. They'll fix this. All he has to do is talk to Jimmy.

He does not talk to Jimmy.

Maybe the first time he really did intend to. He just needed time. Jimmy has always had... struggles. If we want to, we can be generous to Curly, we can assume his old problems were much less vile. Otherwise, he would have never pulled the strings to get him this job, never put him in a position of power over vulnerable people. Right? But now, this was whole new beast altogether. Because he and Jimmy go way back, he had to process this, figure out what he was even supposed to say.

But at the same time, The Pony Express had just gone gone under. He'd been struggling with dissatisfaction and indecision for so long, and now his hand has been forced. He has his own problems. And Anya seems fine, doesn't she? If she hadn't said anything, he'd never have even known there was anything wrong. It just doesn't seem that important.

Anya talks to Jimmy herself.

She's scared, she fears for her life. But now she knows now that Curly won't defend her, nor give her the means to defend herself. Still, he promises her, they'll fix this. He just has to talk to Jimmy.

Things are different now. He can't sit by and wait for things to work out anymore. After all, it's not only her problem anymore.

Now it's Curly's problem too. How is he supposed to find another job with this on his record? There's only one other person on this ship who understands what he's going through.

He talks to Jimmy.

And he understands. Not that what he did was wrong, of course. Not that he'd done something horrific, irreversible, cruel. But that it now had consequences, and that he wouldn't suffer them alone.

Curly made his decision. He chose his paper-thin illusion of peace and his eroding friendship with Jimmy over the safety and well-being of his crew. And when it all came tumbling down, he decided it was better to bury them all under the rubble than to face the struggle to rebuild.

If Jimmy hadn't been there, hadn't been his co-pilot, Curly almost certainly would not have been able to bring himself to actually follow through with something so selfish and reckless.

But Jimmy was there, and Curly made sure of that.

So, it's time to ask again. Does Curly take responsibility?

Well, yes.

But it's too little, too late.

As much as Mouthwashing is about Jimmy fighting furiously against the consequences of his actions, it is also about Curly being forced to watch them unfold anyway. His silence and inaction, once a choice, are inflicted upon him by his mangled body.

Jimmy may have crashed the ship, but Curly gave him the keys. And so it's fitting in the end that Curly is made to take the full weight of responsibility by the man who he helped avoid it so many times.

[maidservant-hecubus]

My father is an Ashkenazi Jew. His parents were first generation Americans. Their parents escaped the pogroms in Russia and Ukraine and came to find their American dream. They fought in wars and opened businesses and assimilated and my generation barely has a few words of Yiddish between us. My mother is as much of a WASP as it gets. American Revolutionaries and Signers and some household name civil war feature players. Not old money, but old America and undoubtedly white. I'm patrilineal. Not a Jew to a lot of Jews. Not a Jew to a lot of my Jewish family. Even though i was raised Jewish. Even though I look like my father. Even though i got enough of something in my DNA to get asked "What are you?" more often than not. More often than I'm just accepted at face value as "white". When i was little we lived in an Irish Catholic neighborhood. Like the 5-10 kids in every family sort of Irish catholic neighborhood. The kids calling me a christ killer and refusing to play with me because they heard it from their parents sort of irish catholic neighborhood. For some reason my parents tried to send me to the catholic school down the street. I lasted less than a week because i didn't understand their rituals and their language and they found out my father was a Jew and they couldn't have a christ killer in their midst. I was just sad i didn't get to wear the cute plaid skirt anymore. So i went to the public school and my well meaning shiksa mother who never converted but learned the Chanukah prayers and helped cook Seder dinners came to the school to teach the class about Chanukah. She taught them songs and all the kids got dreidels and had so much fun spinning the top for chocolate coins. It was nice to feel normal. A few weeks later a boy in a higher grade attacked me on the way to the bus and smashed my art project (we had made pig noses from solo cups to celebrate reading charlotte's web) into my face and called me a filthy jew. I didn't understand, i was more upset to lose the project i was so proud of. Other things happened. Things I wont talk about because putting them in context would doxx me. But a million reminders that i wasn't one of them. I wasn't welcome because i was Jewish. My parents divorced. My mother left. Far away so I'd only see her a handful of times growing up. And I went to live with my Dad in a city that seemed like it was overflowing with Jews. Everyone knew my holidays! In public school the teachers looked like my family and had familiar sounding names. We had the high holy days off just like christmas or easter. We sang Chanukah songs in the winter recital and nobody's mom had to come teach them to the class. Finally I belonged! My friends and cousins started planning for their b mitzvah celebrations and i asked for my own. I asked to go to hebrew school so i could be more like the people i belonged with and celebrate the things i loved about myself and them. "But you're not jewish." My father would say. This was news to me. The christ killer. The filthy jew. But a 10 year old has little power over their lives. So i didn't go. I didn't have a bat mitzva while my cousins had theirs. It was okay because i still belonged more than i ever had. But i was still jewish enough to keep the holidays and pray and fast and get sent with a box of matzo to my WASP grandmothers for easter, and have matzo packed in my lunch to eat in AP algebra in 7th grade and get asked if I'm a "Yid" by the teacher. And still to this day not know if it was endearment or insult but by then I knew even in this magical city being a Jew wasn't always safe. in highschool I tried to take hebrew lessons with a friend in a similar situation as me. She was also hungry to reconnect. I don't remember why the classes or the friendship fell through, but they did. My next "friend", a goy raised catholic from another neighborhood, liked to accuse me of being money driven when i picked up a penny on the sidewalk or tried to ask who was going to pay for the zine's she wanted to publish.

 "What are you?" I'd get asked a lot on the street by curious strangers, "Where are you from?" "Are you Italian?" Always Italian. I never really understood that, but its become code in my head for "You look like you're white but something about you is very not white and I just can't place it, so Italian seems safe and polite." I'm not here to unpack the Italian part of all that. I don't even know what I'm unpacking for myself by writing this except I've been sick for days and I'm so tired and this is all that my foggy brain can wrap itself around. Later I'm an adult and on my own and getting bloodwork done. The Nurse is a black woman and so sweet to me. She can tell I'm nervous about the needles because I've already stumbled through my apologies for my herd to find veins. So she distracts me with small talk. Where do i live? I tell her. She looks worried for me. Tells me that it used to be a nice neighborhood before white people took it over and she warns me like she's my own mother to be careful because they aren't safe. I doublecheck the skin she's putting a needle into. Whatever she sees isn't white. I love her for it. For a moment I belong there with her. She doesn't ask what I am or where i'm from, but she knows what i'm not. I'm the only one keeping the holidays with my family. We celebrate Passover because I go home to my fathers and cook the dinner and print out the Haggadah and lead the Seder to the tune of my drunk catholic stepmother eating my food and telling me i'll never be a jew. She's more of a jew than I'll ever be because she grew up in a jewish neighborhood and her friends were all jews and she married a jew and i was just playing pretend. I stopped going home for holidays and they stopped observing anything except Christmas. I marry a goy. "Is he a jew?" is the first thing my father asks and he's disappointed when i say no. He's abusive, i run. I end up living in the attic of this older old money WASP couple who need a live in house sitter. They're pillars of their church and they know someone from the WASP side of my family very well and its a funny coincidence and they think i belong there. I know from their divest from Israel bumper stickers that i don't. Then they find out I consider myself Jewish and i see the light in their eyes die and its replaced by something hard and disappointed. Now, while writing this, i can laugh about being the jew in someone's attic. But then, it was only a few months after that they started coming up with excuses for why I needed to move out. I did, their excuses never manifested into reality. I got married again. A jew this time! a Jewish medical professional liek grandma always wanted. She's a convert and her ex was a rabbinical student. I think maybe i'm home finally. She has to understand. I'm not Jewish enough for her. We don't keep holidays at home because i'm not a jew. I cry every year when pesach comes and goes and i haven't recited the plagues or eaten matzo piled high with horseradish. She insists on putting up a christmas tree. She turns abusive. I run.

I'm alone now and no longer in that magic jewish city. I'm far away and surrounded by mega churches and cows and the bagels suck and people quote the bible at me like some call and response that i don't have the cheat code for and I don't belong here at all but i'm finally finally free to light my menorah and recite the plagues and study torah with the group i found here on tumblr who love and accept me even though i'm patrilineal. Oct. 7th happened a few weeks after I moved here. I worry about my family back home and i think no one will look for Jews here among the cows and mega churches, so I can be a safe place for them to run if things get bad again. But i still don't fit in here. I don't look right. The last name I have now is common here and too white for whatever people see when they look in my face. I get interrogated about it a lot. But i learned quickly how to smile and say "have a blessed day". I hide my menorah when maintenance comes to work on my apartment. I flew home last month. Just for a visit. I've never been away from home this far or this long. And I'm the type that covers nerves and anxiety with chattiness, so at the airport i made a for-now-friend while we both waited for the plane to board. She's Puerto Rican. We talk about our lives. Our families. Her twin sister and i go by the same nickname and so we're family now. We talk about food. So much food and how much we love cooking and how important food was at home. "Are you Italian?" she asks as we're stepping through the hatch into the plane. Why always Italian? I wonder for the millionth time in my life. And I freeze up for a moment between fighting my carry-on over the gap and terror that I'm about to see the light go out behind her eyes and i'll lose this for-now friend. "No," i laugh but its not a real laugh and i see the concern in her face as we squeeze through the aisle because she can hear the apprehension in my voice, "I'm Jewish." And something strange happened because her face lit up and she smiled and said "No way?! You guys have GREAT food!"

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (1)

posted this originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Emily Scott, sister of legendary lionesses Jill Scott, has died at the age of 21. Wife Amelia Scott-Higgins in intensive care. 

Police have confirmed that Emily Scott was murdered in her family home over the weekend, her wife, Matilda’s star Amelia Scott-Higgins is in intensive care after sustaining life threatening injuries. 

Waking up in a hospital bed, wrapped in bandages and in heaps of pain was not exactly how I expected my day to go but here we are. I don’t remember much. I remember going home after training, I stopped to get dinner, chicken carbonara and garlic bread from our favourite Italian restaurant and then flowers from the corner stand that Emily was obsessed with. I was already late so who cares if I was a little extra late. 

I remember the front gate being open, which is never normally the case, I remember the front door being unlocked but closed, again not normal but sometimes Em is in a rush when she gets home. As I took my shoes and coat off and wandered down the hallway, I didn’t notice the guy standing behind the door, or the guy on the couch, or Emily in the back room tied to a chair. I didn’t notice any of it. The only thing I noticed before it went black was the two wine glasses, one tipped over and smashed, the other full. 

Chelsea FC superstar, Amelia Scott-Higgins has QUIT mid season. 

CLICK TO READ MORE….

Where is football superstar Amelia Scott-Higgins?

Moving to Barcelona was the best thing I could’ve done. No one knows me,no one knows what happened or who Emily was. I am invisible. As soon as I could, I quit, left England, deleted all my social media and changed my number. 

The rehab was incredibly hard. That’s to be expected considering I have multiple stab wounds to my stomach, my leg cut up, bruises covering every part of my body. I was still me though. Maybe not on the surface but deep down I was. I missed Emily everyday, I missed our life together, I miss the little things. 

My apartment was empty. Nothing on the walls, plain furniture, it looked more like a show house than something someone would actually lived in. It didn’t bother me, it made my brain have to work less. All I did was rehab, surf and doom scroll. I came across the Manuelas instagram page, a gay bar in Barcelona. From what I’ve heard it’s incredibly popular but I’ve never been. They had a shirt available, “lesbian services”, after inquiring they allowed for me to pick it up. 

I was meeting someone called Olga, slightly worried as I had no idea who she was, I let it play out. 

“Hola! Are you Amelia?” 

“Hola, yes I am.” 

“Perfect! I’m Olga! Let me take you inside and you can get whatever you want. They said you’ve paid so you can get anything.” 

Stickers, hats, shirts, they had it all. I grabbed one of everything and then had a chat with Olga. 

“You’re not around here are you? Your Catalan and Spanish is good but the accent is a bit weird.” 

“Oh nah. I’m Australian. Lived in London for a few years but I’m here now.” 

“Oh wow! How long have you lived here?”

“3 years now. It’s beautiful. I don’t get out much but I’m trying to get out more.”

“What do you do for work? If you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Uh um, I used to play -“ 

“Amelia? Is that you?” Keira Walsh and Lucy Bronze. Right in front of me. I haven’t seen them for 3 years, purposely ignoring all of them and essentially falling off the face of the earth. 

“Amelia! What are you doing here? Give me a hug!” 

“Hey guys. Long time so see.” This is not what I wanted. More and more people started surrounding us. 

“Holy shit. That’s Amelia Scott-Higgins! She’s been MIA for so long. I miss watching her” the short one with dimples tried to whisper, it didn’t work. 

“Dude she used to be so good. What happened?” Her taller companion asked next. 

“That’s enough you two. She has ears and can hear you idiots.” Alexia Putellas. 2 time Ballon d’or and 2 time pain in my ass. “Hola Amelia. How are you?” 

“Fine thanks Alexia. And you?” 

“How do you all know each other? I am very confused here.” Olga spoke up. 

“Mil used to play for-“ Alexia started to say

“We are old friends!” This is why I don’t leave my house. 

“I need to go. I have things to do. Olga thank you so much for all this. If I owe any money let me know. Alexia, girls, it was nice to see you. Good luck this season.” Turning as quickly as I could to escape. 

“Milly, wait.”

“Kei, don’t. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

“Please can I have your number or something? It’s been 3 years and you disappeared.” 

“Give me your phone and I’ll put it in. I’m not good at replying. Bye Kei.” 

3 years since I stepped foot in England, 3 years since I buried my wife. 3 years since I’d spoken to my friends. 4 years since Emily died. 4 years since I played football, 4 years since I felt normal. 

[paceprompting]

An Unexpected Gift

written for ‘alone’ | wc: 999 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: pre-season four, pre-relationship, fluff, steve has a crush on eddie, eddie has no clue

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Part One Part Two

Winter break was in full force in Hawkins, complete with a post-Christmas Day bash at the Harrington residence. And after a full day or more stuck with their extended families, the student body was desperate to let loose.

Cue Eddie and his little black lunchbox.

The timing was perfect. His usual customers would have run through their stashes from before school let out, and he could even up charge a little extra when people tried to give him shit. Even then, he was still their cheapest option.

The extra cash would be worth having to convince Wayne to drop him off, still without his van. If he played his cards right, his haul from the party might be enough that he could finally take his van into the shop and stop having to share the pickup with his uncle.

So, perched on his usual armchair and nursing a watered-down rum and coke, Eddie pilfered out the goods. Only a few people noticed the lightly higher prices Eddie asked for, and even then, they wanted their weed more than they wanted to argue.

The house wasn’t decorated very extravagantly, so most everyone looked like everyone else in the dim light of the living room. A customer was a customer, and hard cash was hard cash.

He cleared his lunchbox just about halfway through the party, though he wasn’t sure just how much he’d made in profit. He made a point not to whip out the cash from the pocket inside his jacket with so many people around.

After that, Eddie didn’t exactly need to lurk around. He pulled out his backpack for the lunchbox, and the heavier coat he’d laid on the chair’s arm next to him.

One last unlucky customer sidled up to him.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve said, standing there in a trademark striped polo and dark jeans.

“Hey,” Eddie said back, settling his jacket over his front. He gave a strained smile. “Uh, I’m all out for the night. Sorry.”

Steve hadn’t always bought from Eddie, and he never seemed to mind when Eddie sold at his parties. But he rarely bought by himself, usually serving as the bank from which his friends funded their drug habits.

“No, I was actually wondering if I could ask you something.” Steve rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, unable to meet Eddie’s gaze. “Upstairs, if that’s alright? Alone?”

This was a bad idea. It was one thing for Steve to associate with him in the anonymity of the crowded mall, but there were only certain thoughts that went through people’s minds when Steve Harrington took people upstairs toward his bedroom.

And Eddie was not one of those people.

More like the opposite.

“Five minutes,” Steve promised. “I’ll even walk you out.”

“Not necessary, Harrington.” Eddie rolled his eyes and stepped past Steve, his beeline for the stairs serving as his answer to Steve.

They weaved past the drunk and/or high partygoers lining the stairs. With Eddie going first, he assumed that the strange looks he was getting was less than he if he’d been following Steve.

Who knew who had seen him go straight into the King’s bedroom.

He took a place in the center of the room, hands tucked firmly in his jacket pockets and backpack on his shoulder. Steve closed the door behind him, but he didn’t notice Eddie’s highly-raised brows, instead heading straight for his dresser.

Steve picked up a wide, white box and turned, holding it straight out toward Eddie.

“I didn’t know we were doing a gift exchange,” Eddie said.

“It’s just…something I thought you’d like.” Steve shrugged one shoulder, still holding the box. “I don’t expect, like, reciprocation or anything.”

Eddie peered at the top of the box, where a line of blue text spelled out ‘Bloomingdale’s.’ Eddie leveled his gaze at Steve, but all he got in return was seeing Steve nervously bite at his lower lip.

Eddie took the box.

He heard Steve swallow hard as Eddie worked off the fitted cardboard lid, taking it before Eddie had to ask. Letting Eddie see the garment inside in all its surprising glory.

“It’s—”

“They had one in black, like you’d said.” Steve pointed to the gift, as if Eddie couldn’t see exactly what he was holding.

It was the jacket from that day at the mall. Stiff, because it was new, but clean denim with bright silver buttons on the breast pockets and down the front. The only difference: black, instead of blue.

Eddie dragged his hand across the fabric, remembering how warm the one he’d tried on had been. The warmth that came from nicely made stuff.

“You actually remembered that?” he said.

Steve fucking shrugged again, like he just went around remembering random bits of trivia from people he should never be associating with, much less buying Christmas presents.

The worst thing? Eddie wanted to keep it.

It would be a lot harder for Steve to try and take the gift back if Eddie had it safely in his own closet. Refusing the gift meant Steve could just return it.

Was Eddie supposed to refuse it?

He knew one thing for sure.

Steve Harrington was confusing the hell out of him.

“I’m planning another party. For New Year’s,” Steve said, breaking up the silence of Eddie’s indecision. His hand still on the jacket, Eddie looked him, mouth surely hanging open. Steve pursed his mouth, seemingly unsure of his own words. “If you want to plan…to be there.”

Eddie would have been there regardless. Didn’t usually get an invite to these things.

He narrowed his eyes toward Steve, who he was sure hadn’t not looked nervous since he first walked up to Eddie in the living room.

“I’ll think about it,” he said slowly. He lifted the jacket from the box, officially accepting the gift and tossed the bottom part onto Steve’s bed. As he headed for the door, he added, “And, thank you. For the jacket.”

“Don’t mention it."

Part Four