#meet ugly??

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

PD-MDZS: The Hallmark Episode.

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

Diabetic Steve who is at a Dairy Queen with Robin after he went with her to an all girl punk band that’s she’s been wanting to see for years. Steve had been feeling weird all day but he didn’t want to bail at the last second because he knew that Robin would just cancel everything to take care of Steve.

(Steve would do the same for her).

Steve plops down into a booth while Robin goes to order them food. He pulls out his pod and winces when he sees his glucose level.

64 and going down. Not a good sign.

Just to be sure he pricks his finger and holy shit, he’s actually at 43. It’s at that moment, when Steve is wiping his finger with the alcohol wipe, that his phone decides to loudly beep to alert him that, “hey you’re crashing pretty hard and fast— take care of it soon!!”

Steve is rifling through his bag while Robin is already trying to rush their orders.

“Shit,” Steve mumbles to himself. “I’m out of fucking juice.”

His hands start to shake and Robin begins to freak out. Steve is always so in control of his diabetes, she’s never seen him like this. So, Robin does what any other person would do and grabs the largest blizzard she has ever seen on the online orders tray and runs over to her best friend.

“Here! Have this, I’m going to try to get you some apple juice!”

Steve just nods his head and slowly spoons some of it into his mouth.

“This tastes like shit, by the way.”

“You’re welcome, dingus. Now shut up and eat.”

The worker behind the counter comes over and starts talking to Robin after she sits in front of Steve. Steve can’t really make anything out right now since he’s trying to focus on making his hands work. But, he thinks he hears the mention of calling 911 and an ambulance.

Time passes a little slower after that. Steve somehow manages to get down enough of the ice cream that he is slowly rising again.

57 after he pricked. Thank god.

It’s at that moment that Eddie Munson, lead singer of Corroded Coffin, walks in. He went to his best friend’s, Chrissy’s, show and needed a pick-me-up after helping her lug all of her equipment back into their vehicle.

He goes over to the online orders tray and it’s empty. He doesn’t really mind waiting. He walks over to the counter and sees that the worker is extremely frantic as she sorts some shit out.

“Hey,” he starts, his fingers tapping the fake granite counter top. “Just checking, I’m here to pick up an order for Edmundo and it’s not on the tray. Do you know when it will be ready?” He flashes an awkward smile and the worker just points to the table behind him.

“We’re working on it. Your nightmare of a blizzard was needed for something else. Give us five minutes.”

Eddie nods and slowly turned around, where he sees the most gorgeous man eating his blizzard. Reluctantly, he might add. The man has on a light pink t-shirt and brown corduroy pants, thick lensed glasses sliding down his nose. The woman across from him was clad in funky colors and had a dirty blonde bob. She was talking extremely fast and gesturing with her hands a bunch.

Chrissy would love her.

He walked over and tapped the man on the shoulder.

“How’s my blizzard?”

He slowly looks up and Eddie is met with honey brown eyes and beauty marks for days. A straight nose and an angular jawline. Jesus Christ.

The woman looks like she’s about to say something, but the guy beats her to it. “It tastes like if a unicorn threw up in my mouth, but it prevented me from passing out. So… thanks.” He smiles. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie needs to become Steve’s husband immediately.

“And I’m in love.” He pauses and then sees the look of glee on Steve’s face. “EDDIE. My name is Eddie.”

“It’s nice to meet you Eddie. Are you free tomorrow?”

[flawlessflesh]

this was truly our dungeon meshi

[yueebby]

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — — 

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing. 

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist. 

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated. 

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town. “You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind. 

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point. 

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.” 

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — — 

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]?  getosugu  how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu  Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri  Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri  someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri  Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri  You disgust me sometimes getosugu  Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri  Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.” 

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.  

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — — 

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa. 

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked. 

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — — 

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you. 

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him. 

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up. 

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid. 

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — — 

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.” 

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you. 

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together. 

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper. 

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

[vecnuthy]

Eddie having A Blast™️ in the pit at a metal concert, dodging fists and getting shoved in the swirling mass until he gets shoved towards the front and rams into a guy who's obviously strategically placed in order to keep the pit from reaching the two girls in front of hi-- oh hey that's Chrissy! And she looks really chummy with the dirty blonde that looks to be with the guy, who turns around, and....oh.

Oh.

The glorious din of the metal concert turns into a choir of angels because the guy's gorgeous face is all but three inches from Eddie's, and Eddie's whole sweaty right side is pressed against him, and, yeah, he could stay right there for the rest of forever, thank you.

The Greco-Roman vision suddenly smirks at him, making Eddie's tummy swoop, then swoop again when the guy's hands press against his shoulders with gentle force, sending him backwards back into the fray.

Eddie might have gotten bodied in the pit because he was so distracted, but getting the stunner to laugh at his dazed request for "the kiss of life" made it worth it.

[02511213942]

two unstoppable forces + two immovable objects :)) thank you @wuzeio for striking my two neil shaped brain cells together in drawing fox neil and raven neil together!!! 💥

[hairmetal666]

The worst thing that ever happened to Eddie Munson is a spinning studio opening in the building next to the neighborhood store he runs with his uncle.

"That's the third one today," Eddie whines as soon as the door snicks shut behind a woman with a glossy high ponytail and electric pink polka dot Lululemon sports bra and bicycle short set.

"You see her ponytail?" Nancy asks. She's flipping through a stack of flashcards. "Never seen a twenty-five year old look fresh off a facelift."

"I hate them so much. What kind of job is 'cycling instructor' anyway?"

"I'm concerned about the amount of makeup they wear to workout. That's gotta be bad for the pores."

"I'm concerned about the collective IQ holding that operation together. Like, do they know how to get out if there's a fire alarm?"

Nancy shoves him, but snickers too. It's not like he really has anything against the instructors. They're fine. Polite and usually harmless. It's the principle of it. It's not fair, that they get to continue into an adulthood that's still all about them being pretty and popular, without any substance.

"You've done college bio," he says. He notices a couple of cereal boxes have fallen over, hops off the counter to push them back in place. "What are the chances their muscles are so big it's cutting off the blood flow to their brains? Is that a thing that can happen?"

There's no response from the front of the store, which isn't unusual. Mostly, she lets him talk and chimes in when the mood strikes. Since she seems uninterested in offering her input, he straightens the cereal and keeps gabbing.

"The other day, one of the guys came in, and his shorts were so tight, I could see his balls. Not just the outline, but the wrinkles. I could almost make out individual pubes. Is that one of those things where they pretend they're limiting drag, or whatever, to improve their speed? Even though it's a stationary bike--"

He turns, the shelves straightened, and literally only three feet from him is one of the aforementioned cycling instructors. Unfortunately, he's the most beautiful man Eddie has ever seen. Even more unfortunately, he definitely heard Eddie making fun of them.

"Uhh," Eddie says.

The guy smiles. "Sorry, my giant muscles make it hard to get around sometimes."

And Eddie just. Like. What the fuck. "That must make it difficult to cycle." God, god but this guy is so fucking, devastatingly hot and all Eddie has done is antagonize him. And not even intentionally!

"I get by," he smiles and Eddie almost swoons. "Hey, when I bend down, can you let me know about the ball sitch? I have a wholesome image to maintain."

Is he flirting? It seems like he's flirting? But that's weird, right? He caught Eddie talking shit, why would he--

"It would be my pleasure to look at your balls," his mouth says before his brain can catch up.

The guy snorts, smile getting bigger. "I don't know, now I might be self-conscious. Might have a wayward pube."

"How will you know if someone doesn't take a look?"

The guy steps closer, cocks his head to the side. He's got this impressive sweep of hair that barely tumbles, his throat dotted with cute little moles and freckles. Eddie's mouth is watering, why is his mouth watering? "I usually get to know someone a little bit better before they get that privilege."

For once, he's speechless and now he's blushing, can feel it up to his ears and down to his nipples.

The guy leans even closer, breath ghosting against Eddie's skin. "Too bad you hate exercise instructors."

This social interaction has already been a disaster, but he makes it even worse by responding with an indignant squeak.

The guy winks, can't hide his genuine amusement at Eddie's expense. "You ever want to make it up to me, you can come to one of my classes."

With that, he walks up to Nancy at the counter, and Eddie gets his first look at the single most glorious ass he's ever seen. His mouth literally drops open as he watches how it jiggles, perfect and round, and he wonders if it would be too much to fall to his knees and worship it right then and there.

Eddie's dumbstruck for a little too long, almost misses as the cycling instructor heads for the door. "How can I take your class if I don't know your name?" He shouts.

The instructor half turns, the sexiest, smuggest smile on his pretty face. "It's Steve!" He yells back.

"I'm Eddie!"

"I know!"

The door closes and he turns to Nancy. "How--how did he know my name?"

Nancy rolls her eyes, goes back to her flashcards. "You're wearing a name tag, you absolute dork."

Eddie knows he's a man of weak will. Is not completely surprised when, after a month of meanly flirtatious interactions, Steve leans across the counter to taunt, "you do one cycling class with me and I'll take you out to dinner."

He's fresh from a workout, hair still damp and messy from the shower. Eddie thinks he's about to lose his mind, desire a clawing beast gnawing on his bones.

"Oh, so I might finally get the opportunity to check out your balls?"

Steve's cheeks go very pink, and something tight and hot tugs in Eddie's abdomen. "If you play your cards right."

[gilverrwrites]

Meet Cutes Uglies Ft. Bruce, Dick, and Jason

GN!Reader, ≈500 words each

CWs: Mild/nonexplicit threats of violence, slut-shaming (but not really), swearing.

Bruce

The chances of bumping into a celebrity not once, twice, thrice, but four times in one day are low, but not impossible as you’re finding out.

It was kinda cool realising you’re stood behind him in line at the coffee shop, but not spectacularly cool or anything. Almost everyone you knew had a story about meeting Bruce, or another member of the Wayne family out in public so you weren’t overly excited. You just kept your head down, scrolling through your socials and wondering whether his drink was the iced cold brew, the fudge brownie hot chocolate, or the three pump vanilla no foam cappuccino. Your friend Jade was right, he is far ‘hunkier’ than the media gives him credit for, his piercing eyes really are that blue, and he smells good too, like bergamot and cedar.

It became somewhat more exciting when you'd headed to the library on your lunch break to return a book, only for him to already be there, chatting-up the librarians no less. Your friends were not going to believe this. He must sense you staring at him because he turns to look at you, when you make eye contact you smile, wondering if he might recognise you from the morning. He did not smile back.

Upon returning to work, the rest of your shift had been gruelling, job after job being piled onto your shoulders with minimal time to get them all done. You hadn’t even had the chance to tell your co-workers about your unlikely encounters with Gotham’s richest man. By the time you got off for the night, you were exhausted, the thought of having to cook dinner and wash the pots once you got home looming over you like a rain cloud until you decide to grab some take-out on your way home instead.

You’re barely out of the doors of Big Belly Burgers, a handful of fries hanging from your lips when you see him for the 3rd time. Bruce Wayne, on the sidewalk across the street, engrossed in what seemed to be a very intense telephone call. Weird.

You don’t have to wait long for the fourth encounter, it happens just a few blocks from your home. He’s much closer this time, a little too close for comfort maybe. You hadn’t seen it coming, one moment you’re rifling through your bag, looking for your keys, the next you’re suspended a few inches from the ground by a pair of strong hands fisted into the collar of your jacket. Instinctively you paw at him, one hand wrapping around his wrist, the other bunching up in the fabric of his sweater for faux support.  

You think for a moment you’re being mugged, until the familiar smell of wood and citrus hits your senses. Bruce Wayne is pressing you against the cold, damp wall of an alleyway, handsome face marred by its stern expression.

“Who are you?” He demands. “And why are you following me?”

>[Continued]<

Dick

The only thing worse than the feel of the uneven, filth-trodden pavements of Blüdhaven against your bare feet, is the thought of putting the torturous pair of dress shoes you’d worn last night back on. Perhaps you should have asked your hookup for something to wear, but that would almost certainly guarantee your having to see them again in order to return it and you’d happily walk barefoot across Tartarus before you let that happen.

Careful to avoid stepping in anything less than savoury, you keep your eyes glued to the floor, so focused on the things below you, that you don’t notice the things in front of you. The person in front of you, until you plough right into their admittedly firm chest.

The person in question reeks of stale alcohol, his shiny hair is a mess, there’s a shadow forming on his striking jawline, and the half-undone shirt he’s wearing is clearly wrinkled and stained from the night before. A fellow walk-of-shamer.

You stare at each other for a long moment before you realise you had bumped into him, therefore you should be the one to speak first.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” You murmur, voice hoarse.

“No problem.” He replied, far too chipper for his current predicament. His eyes rake up and down your body, and you might be vexed by it if you had not just been doing the same to him. “Why aren’t you wearing your shoes.”

“They hurt my feet.” You shrug, taking a cautious sidestep around him as you speak. “Just want to get home, they were slowing me down.”

That should be the end of it, but the sound of his dress boots tapping against the sidewalk follows you down the street. You can’t be certain, but you were pretty sure he’d been walking in the opposite direction prior to your collision. You cast a glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, he’s just a few steps behind you, offering you a striking smile that almost makes the grey morning feel brighter.

“Proposal?” He asks, and you stop to listen. Possibly because you’re genuinely intrigued, probably because your brain isn’t awake enough to tell your heart that you shouldn’t talk to strangers. “If I can get you home without you having to use your feet, will you go out for breakfast with me?”

“You’re really asking me out during a walk of shame?” You snicker, impressed by his audacity.

“We don’t shame in 2024, I prefer to call it a stride of pride.” He informs you, and he has a point. “Besides, might be fate that we walked into each other this fine morning, gotta give it a chance, right?”

“Right.” You agree, but your raised brow and puckered lips might suggest some scepticism. He doesn’t seem put off however, still beaming that brilliant smile at you. “And how do you plan on getting me home?”

“Easy.” He shakes his head, conveying his confidence as he beckons you closer by curling two fingers towards himself. You follow his direction and before you can comprehend what’s going on he’s crouching before you, threading his body between your legs and lifting you on his back, piggy style.

“So, where do you live?”

Jason

The coffee shop is that perfect level of busy that's not overwhelming but isn't too quiet as to be unsettling. Your drink is the ideal temperature, and the evening sun is seeping through the windows at just the right angle to warm your skin and add a golden glow to the atmosphere. By all accounts, this should be the perfect, relaxing moment, except… this book sucks.

You’d thought after years of recommendations from friends, many critically acclaimed adaptions, and its general status as a must-read classic that it was high time you picked it up, but you were about two-thirds in and thoroughly not enjoying yourself.

“Excuse me.” A low voice draws you from the pages of the book. You hadn’t noticed the 6ft+ mountain of tattooed muscle casting a shadow over your table until you looked into his eyes. Oh wow. You don’t know why he’s approached you, but whatever it is; he can have it. “Are you reading Lady Liatris?”

“I am.” You confer, lazily tilting the cover to show him, despite your reading choice already being apparent.

“Nice to meet a fellow bibliophile out in the wild. What do you think of it so far?” He smiles at you, reaching out a hand, your heart sinks as his strong fingers wrap around your own for a handshake.

“Well….” Handsome, well-read, confident enough to approach you, and you were about to blow it with your brutal honesty. “I haven’t finished it yet, so I won’t commit, but so far I am not impressed.”

“What?” He actually flinched. “No way. Where are you up to?”

“I just finished the bit where Claude professed his love for Florance at the flower show, which was the drollest thing I’ve ever read, and it went on and on for far too many pages.” It was probably impolite for you to be venting so quickly to this stranger, but you just couldn’t help it, the words just kept coming. “Not to mention its total lack of realistic feminism, you can’t just unveil your fencing champion to secretly be a woman and call it a day, every other woman in this book is either a two-dimensional gossiping villain or a two-dimensional love interest for the male side characters.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” The mystery man shakes his head at you in disbelief as he situates himself in the chair across from your own. “First of all, it was a product of its time, and is widely considered to be one of the greatest pieces of feminist literature despite its origins, secondly, did you not read any of Evie’s subplot?”

The conversation continues that way, back and forth. He emphasises his points with big sweeping, passionate movements of his arms. He nods his head and purses his lips when you make arguably good points and grits his teeth when he disagrees with you. Neither of you notice when the sun goes down, or your drinks going cold until the barista informs you both that they’ll be closing in a few minutes.

Shit. You’d been debating classic-lit with this guy for at least 2 hours, and you didn’t even know his name. The sentiment appears to be shared because he offers you a comically confused frown as he puts his jacket back on and offers you a hand standing from your seat.

You exit the café into the cool night air together. You’re not sure if you should ask his name and invite him over, or say goodbye, fortunately, he removes the need to decide by handing you a napkin with his name and number jotted onto it in black marker. Jason.

“Call me when you’ve finished the book.” He instructs, and then he gone.

[katrasining]

Some Jacob doodles cus I'm very weak towards big brother types sigh 🫠

[starryeyedjanai]

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve says as he collides with someone as he’s turning the corner. There’s a split second where it’s just that— just two bodies colliding. And then the iced coffee the man is holding is dumped all over him.

“Shit, shit, shit. I’m so sorry,” the guy says, using the one singular napkin in his hand to try and mop up the freezing liquid from Steve's shirt.

It’s winter. It’s cold out. “Who the hell gets an iced coffee in the winter?” he asks, pulling his wet shirt away from his skin.

The one day he doesn't zip his jacket up because it’s not as frigid as it was yesterday is the day this happens of course.

“Gay people,” the guy says, deadpan.

Steve looks up and—

“Oh,” he says.

He’s cute. And almost exactly Steve's type— curly brown hair, eyes large and dark.

Steve’s still chilled to the fucking bone because of the coffee spilled on him, but he still has to shoot his shot.

“I’m bi.”

The guy’s mouth stretches into a wide grin. “Well, hi Bi. I’m Eddie,” he says and Steve knows it’s over for him, there’s no way he stands a chance now.

[somerandomcockroach]

[littlechivalry]

Wedding Bell Blues

(no Upside Down AU, meet-ugly, Baker!Steve/wedding singer!Eddie)

--

Eddie is a wedding musician and it's pretty great actually. It's not the rock star life he dreamed of but it's a damned sight better than most people including him expected of Al Munson's little boy.

Eddie gets to play music. For a living. And he does pretty well. He gets to dress up a little snazzy. He gets free fancy food and a couple of drinks. And he gets to shoot his shot with anybody that looks like fun.

He's good at it too. That's the best part. His younger years spent being a low level drug dealer and a high level weirdo mean he can read a room in an instant. He gets the playlist from the bride usually, presses for some other song ideas, and he can tell who to take requests from at six paces. And who to ignore from across the room.

It's a good time.

Unfortunately not all ceremonies can be winners and based on the tension Eddie has felt from almost everyone involved in today's wedding it was going to be a tough gig.

Everything starts in an hour but Eddie isn't on until the reception so he has plenty of time to grab a smoke before soundcheck. He knows the venue pretty well and there's an alcove next to the vendor loading area. Nice flowers, a decent bench, and it's nowhere near the dumpsters.

This venue butts up against a small patch of woodland and Eddie wonders if he might have time to check it out, see if there's anything inspiring. He doesn't hike but he does enjoy a walk in nature.

Before he gets the chance a baby blue van with 'Steve's Sweets' painted across the side pulls up, blocking his sight line.

He mourns the loss of his view right up until the driver pops the door open and climbs out.

Oh, the beauties nature provides.

Acid wash jeans which under any other circumstances Eddie would laugh at are lovingly hugging possibly the finest ass he has ever had the pleasure of seeing.

The rest of the picture - when he can drag his attention away - is pretty choice too. A soft looking pink sweater, sleeves pushed up to expose sun bronzed skin making Eddie idly wonder if the man is that tan all over.

The crowning glory is a gorgeous head of hair framing a face that Eddie can only describe as pretty.

Eddie tries to turn his attention back to his cigarette. Admiring someone is one thing, leering like a creep is entirely different.

He takes a last drag and drops the filter on the gravel, grinding it out under his feet. Mentally he says farewell to the handsome stranger and turns to go back inside.

Eddie takes two steps before a suit clad man comes out of the building and pushes past him in a rush.

"Steven."

The man's not yelling, but his voice is the kind of loud that demands to be heard.

Eddie turns to watch as the man approaches the van and the other guy, Steve apparently, standing in front of it.

"What the hell are you doing here dressed like that."

Eddie should go inside. This isn't his business. But one of the perks of working weddings was the drama and this was very promising.

He stays where he is, standing just in front of the door. In case either man looks in his direction Eddie actually mimes patting at his jacket like he is looking for his smokes.

"I'm delivering a cake, Dick. And if it wasn't for Diana I wouldn't even be doing that much. She deserves to get something good out of this day."

Eddie bites back a smile, lowering his head a little so he can still watch what was happening ideally without being noticed.

"You will refer to me as father. I believe I have earned at least that much respect."

Eddie feels his eyebrows rise. This kind of drama was another part of why he likes weddings. Better than the soap operas he watches with Uncle Wayne.

"Sure," Steve snorts. "Tell you what, I'll compromise," and he continues, "Riiichaaaard."

"Grow up, Steven. You were invited here as a guest. You had better have a tuxedo in that stupid truck of yours, the ceremony starts in an hour."

"I was hired to bake a cake. Part of my fee includes delivery. That is literally the only reason I'm here. You and the future ex-Mrs Harrington will have to celebrate without me. Try not to cry yourself to sleep about it."

"You little asshole," Richard snarls. "You think you're better than me. You think I wanted you here? You owe me your presence. I have important people coming to this wedding and I need them to see my dutiful son at my side."

The baker laughs, a low nasty chuckle that sends a perverse shiver down Eddie's back.

"Tell you what, Dick, I'm booked up today but I'll come to your next wedding." Eddie looks up to see Steve is grinning, bright and as sharp as a knife. "I'll even get you a toaster."

Eddie lurches in place as he sees Richard lunge towards Steve. He is too far away to stop the man but he has to do something.

Before he takes a step the door swings open again and a petite woman comes rushing out.

"Richard?"

Eddie watches as she runs forward tugging at the satin bathrobe she is wrapped in. She freezes a few feet away from what had been brewing into a nasty fight.

"Steve? You're here-- oh, but your suit! Richard? What's going on?"

The older man doesn't turn around, doesn't seem to notice her at all but Eddie watches Steve gingerly move until he is standing between his father and the woman.

"Hey Diana," he says softly. "Sorry you had to see this, dad and me just have a difference of opinion. Everything's fine."

Eddie feels something in him clench. He is very familiar with the tone in Steve's voice. He had heard it from his uncle Wayne to his dad when he was a little kid. It is soft but firm, implacable. Eddie isn't sure exactly what is coming but he can tell Steve knew and that it would be bad.

The venue usually had at least two security patrolling the grounds, more if the reception was expected to be contentious. Eddie doesn't know where they are right now but hopefully not far.

"See what you've done Steven? God, you're useless."

"Richard, don't say that," Diana says, her voice rising.

The older man is turning from pink to red and Eddie can see Steve moving slowly, shifting his father's attention to him.

"That's me, Richard. Useless Steve. Flunked out of college and he bakes cookies like some kind of fairy. You sure you want to parade your failure of a son in front of the hoi polloi?"

Eddie hears Diana's gasp from where he's standing. "Steve, what are you talking about? Richard what's going on?"

Richard turns his glare on her and Eddie feels himself moving forward almost against his own will. He's not sure what he'll do when he gets there but he's never been the bystander type.

Steve just laughs. Bright and angry. "I'm not sure what my father told you about our relationship but we don't have one."

"No," she says. "Your father-- he told me-- "

When Eddie met her a few weeks ago he had seen a confident, charming woman that knew exactly what she wanted and was excited to be married. Now she looks confused, maybe even scared.

Eddie has gotten closer to this whole altercation than he wanted to be but since he is there and it looks like Steve and Richard are busy trying to glare holes in each other Eddie steps up to Diana and lightly grasps her elbow.

She startles and turns to face him. Her eyes are wide, wet and staring.

"Mr. Munson," she asks, softly.

Eddie tries to smile. "Mr. Munson is my uncle, ma'am. It's Eddie. Let's get you out of here, okay? Back inside."

Eddie is able to gently guide her a few steps away. He hates turning his back on the other two men but he needs to get Diana out of reach for whatever is about to happen.

"I dont understand," the bride mutters. "Steve used to be such a sweet boy. Mr. Harrin-- Richard. Oh, I'm so silly. Richard. He said-- this is so embarassing."

Her voice is pitched and tight and if she isn't crying yet she would be soon. Eddie resolves to get her inside and into the arms of literally any friendly face.

"Hey," Eddie says. "Let's just--" he scrambles for a name. Anna? Annie? "Amy, right? Your maid of honor? Let's get you to her, okay. You can sit down."

Diana nods.

Behind him he can hear Richard and Steve hissing noxious words back and forth. There is no shouting but the air is heavy and hot with anger. Even though he was outside Eddie feels like he can't breathe.

Eddie gets Diana to the door, hadn't realized how close they really were, maybe 30 feet if that. It's open, anxious faces framed in weathered oak. He hands Diana off to her Maid of Honor who quickly sweeps the woman deeper into the hall and then he nods to Patricia Abernathy, the event space manager.

"Think we're gonna have a cancellation," he says, nodding towards the departing woman.

She rolls her eyes. "Can't say I'm surprised. I had a bad feeling about this one."

Eddie scoffs. "You have a bad feeling about all of them."

He turns to face where the two men are still in a stand off in front of the van. "You're not wrong though, I think. At least I hope they cancel."

Patricia snorts. "We got the deposits locked down and the contract is airtight so if they cancel we still get fifty percent of the remaining fee. I'll take that for the rest of the day off."

"You got a date, Patty? And it's not me? You're breaking my heart."

"Ha," she says flatly. "That pretty boy is more your type and from the way he's talking you're in with a chance. Now you keep an eye on those two. Security is on their way, we'll see if they can get here before these guys start really butting heads."

Eddie nods. It isn't the first time he had been called on to help manage fractious families.

He turns back in time to see Richard take a swing at Steve. The younger guy steps back out of the way and Eddie can hear his mocking laugh as far away as the door.

He moves closer to the two of them. Eddie isn't going to get in the middle of the fight but maybe if he reminds them there are other people around that might be enough to calm them down.

He watches Richard lunge forward and swing again. This time Steve can't move away fast enough and the blow glances off of his cheek.

"Hey," Eddie calls, now jogging towards them. "Hey, knock it off! You wanna fight take it somewhere else!"

Steve turns to face Eddie, opening his mouth as if he was going to say something but all that comes out is a low grunt as Richard hits him in the shoulder and shoves him to the ground.

Eddie throws himself forward, pushing Richard away. "What do you think you're doing," he shouts in the man's face but Richard doesn't seem to hear, pressing back against Eddie.

"You little bastard," Richard shouts at his son. "You're worthless! I don't know why I bothered."

"Go to hell," Steve replies.

That seems to make Richard even angrier which Eddie hadn't thought was possible. He isn't sure he will be able to hold him off much longer.

"Hey, what's going on here," a low even voice calls. It is the venue security guard, his partner just behind him with a hand on his radio.

Eddie feels himself relax and then stumbles back as Richard pushes him aside to fall on his son again.

Eddie turns to see both guards trying to pull the older man away as he continues to hit his son, screaming obscenities.

Not sure how to help, Eddie stands by. When he sees an opening he lunges forward and takes hold of Steve's shoulders, pulling him back and away.

The younger man fights against him at first, eyes closed and arms up in front of his face.  Eddie figures he probably didn't know whose hands are on him.

"Hey. Hey. It's me, Eddie. Shit. I work here. You're safe, security has your dad. You're safe."

Eddie steps back, loosening his grip on Steve but still keeping one hand on his shoulder, trying to sooth him.

A few feet away Richard is still twisting, trying to get free and attack his son again, but Eddie can see the guards have a good hold on him and it doesn't look like they will be letting go any time soon.

As Steve calms down Eddie lets go of his shoulder, instead crouching next to him. "You doing okay? I saw you had you hands up but he got a few hits in."

Steve lowers his arms and sits upright. He twists his neck back and forth and shifts his shoulders before opening his eyes and looking up at Eddie. "I'm okay. I'm fine. God, it's a soap opera isn't it? Fuck."

Eddie lets himself drop into a seat next to the other man. They both watch in silence as the guards march Steve's father around the corner to the front of the event hall.

"You know the bride? Diana," the guy asks. "She was my babysitter. When I was eleven."

"Oof," Eddie says. "So she was--"

"Seventeen then, and now it's been twenty years for her and about three wives for him."

"Scandalous," Eddie murmurs. He sees Steve smile and feels relieved. "What will people say. The 'hoi polloi' I believe you called them?"

Steve snorts. "A crowd of empty suits that exist solely to tell my dad how respected he is. Will he get arrested?"

"Maybe," Eddie says. "I think that might be up to you. It's assault at least."

"Ugh," Steve says, rubbing his face. "That's all I need. I'm trying to get him out of my life."

"Well," Eddie says. "I can attest that jail is very good at keeping deadbeat dads out of your life."

Steve starts laughing and then winces, wrapping an arm around his stomach.

"Shit, you are hurt," Eddie says, scrambling to his feet. "Do you need an ambulance? Patty probably called 911 by now."

Steve waves him off. "I'm fine. This is not my first fight and my old man hits-- well, I was gonna say 'like a girl' but then my best friend would kick my ass and I'm way more scared of her," Steve says, laughing softly.

He looks up at Eddie and holds out his free hand. "You gonna help me up? Or is chivalry dead?"

"Chivalry," Eddie repeats. "You a damsel in distress?"

"I might as well be," Steve says. "Now come on."

Eddie laughs and reaches down, gently guiding Steve back to his feet. He feels the man's weight leaning on him for a few seconds and despite the circumstances Eddie has to admit Steve feels good in his arms.

Once he is steady Steve steps back and Eddie lets him go.

Steve moves to the van and leans up against the metal surface. Eddie walks over to join him.

"So," Steve says. "What next?"

Eddie shakes his head. "I honestly don't know. The wedding is canceled, for sure. For today at least."

"Just for today? You think she'll marry him still?"

Eddie shrugs. "I have no idea. I wouldn't but then I wouldn't have said yes in the first place."

Steve leans back, tapping his head against the van a few times before he turns back to Eddie. "You know the worst part? This was my last delivery. Now, I have to deal with this stupid cake. Three tiers of lemon and raspberry." He laughs. "Do you think a homeless shelter will take a wedding cake?"

Eddie grins. "I don't see why not. At least something good will come out of today."

Steve looks up towards the hall. "I feel like I should say something-- to Diana, I mean. She was always really nice to me, she deserved better than this."

"I have found that good or bad people rarely get what they deserve. You don't really owe her anything but I can't fault the impulse." Turning towards the hall, Eddie gestures for Steve to follow him. "Just-- just don't apologize for him? Okay?"

Steve walks in silence for a few steps before he coughs roughly. His voice is thick and choked and he coughs again. "I, uh, I stopped apologizing for him a long time ago. His faults are his own. I just wish I didn't get dragged into it."

Eddie laughs. "I know that song."

"Yeah," Steve asks.

Eddie nods. They are at the door and he pulls it open for the other man, gesturing him in with a bow.

Steve stops in the doorway as Eddie stands up again. He is framed by the light inside and the scent of hothouse roses comes drifting out into the open air. Eddie can picture him suddenly in that moment standing at a balcony limned by moonlight.

"Hey Sunshine," Eddie says softly. "Buy me a drink and we can trade stories?"

Steve smiles. "Yeah," he says, with a small laugh. "Sure, why not." He holds up his hands, still dirty and scraped from the asphalt. "Help me get cleaned up and let me say something to Diana. Then we can talk."

Eddie nods, reaches out, and places his hands gently over Steve's. "Sounds good to me."

[valtsv]

it's my birthday so i figured it was a good excuse to do one of these things

[arctik-fox]

There are wounds you can't heal

ZK Month 2024: 3. meet ugly/cute

[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. 

[steveseddie]

asking for a friend

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | prompt: shopping | rating: t | wc: 1000 | tags: modern setting, meet-cute, steve works at target, eddie is a gay disaster, chrissy & eddie are best friends

read on ao3

Eddie hates Christmas shopping.

Every year he puts it off for as long as he can only to end up at fucking Target on December 23rd surrounded by screaming children, mean parents, annoyingly loud Christmas music and more desperate last-minute shoppers.

This year is no exception but Eddie does have someone else to blame.

Steve. Target’s hottest employee.

Eddie saw him for the first time a few weeks ago. He was at the cash register, looking both sexy and adorable in a tight red shirt and a Santa hat as he wished customers a Merry Christmas with a smile that made Eddie’s knees weak.

Knowing that he’d probably embarrass himself if he tried to talk to him, Eddie left the store, flustered and giftless.

A few days later, he came back and the guy– Steve, according to his name tag– was greeting people at the entrance. Eddie didn’t even make it inside that time.

He made a few more attempts but Steve was always there. Restocking toys, fixing the decorations, dressing up mannequins. And every time, Eddie turned on his heel and left.

As Christmas approached, Eddie started getting desperate so he gave Chrissy twenty dollars to find out when Steve wouldn’t be working. She welcomed the money and the excuse to talk to Steve’s coworker, and told Eddie that Steve wouldn’t be here today. And even if Eddie hated the idea of shopping on Christmas Eve Eve, it was his only option.

At least he only has one gift left.

So of course that’s when Eddie sees him. Steve helping a little girl reach a Barbie from the highest shelf.

“What the fuck?” Eddie mutters, hiding behind a mannequin. He peeks around it to make sure he isn’t imagining things, after all he’s been thinking about Steve a lot lately so maybe–

Nope, that’s definitely Steve. He’d recognize that ass in those pants anywhere after watching him through the store’s windows.

“What the fuck?” Eddie repeats, balancing the gifts in one hand so he can call Chrissy.

“Hello?”

Eddie growls. “Chrissy, you bitch.”

“Hello to you too, Eddie.”

“Don’t be cute,” he snaps. “You’re a liar.”

“What?” She asks, confused. “Wait, where are you? I can barely hear you.”

Hell. “Buying Christmas presents.” Same thing really.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?”

“Duh! But I had to wait until Steve wasn’t working, remember? Well, guess who’s here?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I might’ve– gotten a little distracted talking to Robin and couldn’t remember if he said the 21st or the 23rd. Whoops.”

“You had one job, Cunningham!” Eddie groans. “I want my twenty dollars back.”

“Sorry, I spent them already.“

“On what?”

“Your Christmas present,” she giggles. “Hey, maybe this is a good thing. Talk to him!”

“Fuck no, I’m leaving. Fuck Christmas, it’s a capitalist consumerist ploy anyway.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” she says but Eddie is already heading for the exit.

“I’m not! I just don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“Eddie–”

But Eddie doesn’t hear what Chrissy has to say because in that moment he knocks over a pyramid of toys and faceplants amidst the boxes, his phone and his gifts flying from his hands.

Eddie groans, both from the pain and the embarrassment. He can feel his face already starting to burn and he seriously considers staying there, buried in toys, forever.

At least until someone says, “Christ, are you okay?” and Eddie has no choice but to roll over only to immediately wish he didn’t when he sees Steve leaning over him.

“I’m fine,” he mutters. “What are you doing here?”

Steve offers Eddie his hand, his eyebrow raised in amusement. “Helping you?”

“I mean, here,” Eddie gestures around them. “You aren’t supposed to be working today.”

“That’s not what my manager told me,” Steve jokes while clearly confused.

“It’s what Chrissy told me,” Eddie says, letting Steve effortlessly pull him to his feet.

“Chrissy? The blonde who flirted with Robin?” He asks. “I was confused why she wanted to know if I had any days off.”

Eddie hangs a hand from his neck. “She didn’t. I did.”

Steve frowns. “So you could avoid me? Is that why you never came in or bought anything?”

“It’s just that I always embarrass myself in front of hot guys and I was trying to avoid that!” Eddie sighs. “Obviously, I failed.” Then he realizes what Steve just said and blinks. “Wait, you noticed me?”

Steve’s lips stretch into a flirty grin. “Of course, I always notice cute guys.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, hiding his blush by tugging some hair across his face.

Still grinning, Steve bends down to pick up Eddie’s gifts. “So, want me to ring these up for you?”

Eddie gestures at his mess. “What about the toys?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell Jason to clean it up,” Steve smirks. “He’s our newest hire. And he’s a dick.”

Eddie chuckles. “Okay.”

They bring the gifts to the cash register and Eddie tries not to blatantly check Steve out as he does his job. Steve’s wink probably means he fails.

“All done!” He says, giving Eddie his bag and the receipt. “Merry Christmas–”

“Eddie.”

Steve grins lopsidedly. “Eddie.”

“Thanks, um, Merry Christmas.” He waves awkwardly.

Then thinks, fuck it. He already embarrassed himself anyway. “Hey, uh, when do you get off?”

“Asking for a friend?” Steve teases.

“Nope.”

Steve’s face splits into a grin. “I’m done in an hour.”

“Wanna get coffee with me? There’s a nice cafe a few blocks away.”

“I’d love to,” Steve says, “I put my number in the receipt, text me and I’ll tell you when I’m on my way.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, he checks the receipt and chuckles. “Cool,” he says, stomach fluttering as he walks away, almost knocking over another toy display because he can’t stop glancing back at Steve.

But he makes it out without embarrassing himself and he has all his gifts and a date with a hot guy.

Maybe Christmas shopping isn’t so bad after all.