#public history internship | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cryptfile · 5 months ago

Text

Ꮺ˖˚₊ leeches, [ logan howlett x vampire!reader au ]

summary — logan howlett lacks of patience (and he can also be a nice little blood-bag while losing his temper). 8k+

warnings — 18+ mdni, fem!reader implied, blood kink (keep in mind you’re a vampire! not twilight but more of a true blood kind?) downright filth im sorry, dead dove do not eat, smoker!reader, endless tension, manhandling, praise kink, kind of porn without plot (LIES CAUSE IT HAS ONE THO??) my boy's into paaaaaain can't help it it's canon, age-gap at first (reader is her 20's but again, vampire), public sex (it just happened), daily reminder to wrap it before you tap it, p in v, choking, filthy mouth, pet names.

side notes — thought this could take place after days of the future past? au cause why nottttt ,,currently on ovulation season so bare with me,,, been a little mia cause i’m surviving aka going through the worst semester of my life at uni? internships are breaking my ass currently so well, here i am just existing, also, english’s not my first language and everyday i’m grateful for it, so any mistakes i’m not sorry in advance lol i’m also too lazy to correct once published,, feel free to send more logan requests since i've basically been a slut for him for a while now (i'm rotting in hell).

He could swear the mansion got ten degrees hotter when you came in.

It’s inevitable. It’s this thing you carry, the way you move — Graceful, elegant, almost compelling as the air fills the room. It’s not public knowledge that you’re not a mutant itself, yet you’re presented like one, like you have healing factors and age painfully slow, but human after all, a subtle lie, one that can harm no one.

It’s safe to say you catch his attention in the most annoying way: How couldn’t you? All you do is this weird seduction he’s appealed to, whether you’re conscious or not it’s just captivating, an invisible force that even when you ignore it is there, there waiting for the perfect moment to flood every time you happen to be in the same room.

Captivating. That’s the word.

The room becomes smaller after, the air grows thicker, and it’s almost like a ticking bomb, the way you wouldn’t even look at his face while he’s noticeable pinning after Jean Grey, the mystery that surrounds you and he cannot seem to resolve no matter how much time he puts into it.

It’s like he's the plague. You don’t really try to exchange more than just a few words, only when it's needed and you cannot avoid him any longer, and he didn’t say anything at first, keeping his distance too cause he don’t see how you’d become friends, cause after all, what he could have in common with a girl that doesn't surpass the twenty years?

But soon he's upset about it, even when he doesn't really say anything out loud, it's a spike he cannot reach under his skin. You seem to become friends with anyone but him, mutant kids in your history lessons, the rest of the team, even the damn mailman when he delivered a package — You'd say hello like it's a long time lover or so, greeting people like they mean the world to you.

He has students now that are asking for a transfer from his class to yours cause it seems you're fun to be around, more like he is, and he fucking hates it.

It's fair to say it's been getting into his mind lately. That thing you do with your hair, twisting it in your index finger on a lock as you speak, the subtle red glow in your eyes he always catches by mistake, not enough fast to stop looking at you, pretending he didn't even see in your direction at first.

Tension. Logan just happens to hate tension.

In fact. He's almost sure your problem is personal, that you might hate him enough to act like he didn't exist at all, enough to avoid him like he was not there.

That's why it's just so weird.

When he finds himself walking down the hallway to the kitchen and he smells this cherry-scented aroma that settles under his nostrils, he changes the direction he's walking to, to instead, follow the path to the person that was silently smoking outside. Hiding. Maybe, a student he'll have to scold like the old man he was turning into.

No smoking in the mansion!

However, as the night is just settling, he doesn't recognize a little mutant, but instead happens to recognize you in the middle of the gardens of the mansion, close to the maze; escaping the comfort of the inside to enjoy a self-rolled cherry tobacco he has smelled before in the air. He's a victim mostly, cause his legs move on it's own as his mouth go dry, approaching you in silence.

"What do you want?" you ask when he's halfway there. And your tone is just cold as ever, not an ounce of feeling as he contemplates your side profile, the way the tobacco sticks out of your parted lips, seated on a bench hidden between bushes and trees — "Is Scott bitching about the smell going into the mansion already?"

No. He's not. But he doesn't have enough reasons to explain exactly why he's outside if you asked, why, all of sudden, he followed the scent of cherry knowing it was you the only one who carried a colts package in the pocket of every single jacket you wore, constantly asking Storm if she could hold on to the bag of filters for you while you rolled in the worst moments.

It's distracting, to say the least.

"Yeah," he quickly says, lying cause in reality he hasn't seen the guy in the whole day, yet it sounds like something he would say. "Do you happen to have another one of those to share?"

You don't talk much, hand reaching his as you offered him from your tobacco without a single word, the same that was placed between your lips and now was on his in what seemed to be something more intimate than what he'd like to admit, the cherry taste filling his lungs as they weirdly enough, shared a cig.

"Aren't you too young to be smoking?"

You laugh, and the sound sends a shiver down his spine cause he has never heard a sound quite like it, nothing that resembles that throaty, raspy sound that came out of your lips in amusement thanks to his words. He, out of all people, has never seen you like that — "And how old you think I am?"

He seems to think about it for a second, carefully picking his next words. Logan knows that women and their age are a tricky thing, you cannot say a number that's too compromising, nor act stupid and say something that's clearly not correct — "Not a day over twenty-two."

The answer pleases you, and he just knows he's wrong, but you don't seem bothered by it, instead, you nod pretending he's right, like he just got the answer right away.

He can see why everyone's switching classes now. Cheeky bastards.

"Twenty-two is not young at all, but i'm twenty-seven though," you say, and he scoffs at the statement, seeking for any change in your heartbeat, any sign of a lie. The strange thing happens when he cannot pick any heart at all, any sign of pulse.

"You are pretty young still," he says, against his age, you’re just starting out living—. "You don't look like you are twenty-seven at all."

"Cause I age slower than the rest," it's a practiced lie. One you know from repeating the same explanation over and over again, the priced answer of why you haven't changed a single bit in the past few years and made you a mutant — "I never looked my age."

Such a fucking liar. He doesn't need any heartbeats to confirm it cause deep down you are a terrible actress, he can see it so clear, how you're calculating every answer, thinking about the correct thing to say, the normal thing to say.

"Is that your thing?" he asks, playing pretend almost as bad as you do. Tilting his head to the side as he questions you — "Age slowly?"

"I have healing powers," you explain as he tossed you the joint once again. "My saliva kinds of help healing wounds. It's pretty boring."

"Boring" Logan repeats. The word itself sounds so damn fun in your lips it's contradicting. "That doesn’t sound really boring."

There's a moment of silence after that. Where you smoke in silence taking in the taste of the cherry, and he is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that your lips also touched the side of the cigar he was smoking before, the plain lies you've been repeating over and over the last ten minutes.

It's almost infuriating. Makes his blood boil without question, he surely endures your treatment of silence, but being lied to? That's a whole different level.

“How old are you, kid?”

Your brows furrow in response, a clueless face. You are pulling out this show once again Logan don’t buy for a damn second. Something about the scrunch in your nose, the way you dismissed your own powers as if they weren’t enough. He knows it’s all a lie. He knows it even when he doesn’t really know you at all, when it’s the first time you’re truly speaking to him after your arrival to the mansion almost a year ago.

“How old you really are?”

You laugh at the question once again, and he just knows it, knows it when he sees you barely illuminated by the dim light of the moon, the act you always keep up, a web of tangled lies you have to be into— “Told you i'm twenty-seven already, didn't you hear?”

“Is it now?” he asks, amused by the sass, exhaling the smoke of the low-quality tobacco he doesn't understand why you're so invested in when passed it to him—. “Cause you don’t seem very convinced, it really sounds like bullshit to me.”

You're almost offended. By the look you give it's like the worst mistake he could ever make, yet you remain silent, not giving the satisfaction of an honest answer yet. Testing his patience like he did have one to begin with.

"Is that why I can’t hear your heartbeats, darlin'? Cause you age so slowly?”

The nickname scratches a part of your brain, and you hate him for it. The word rolls out of his tongue with an accent, smoking your cherry tobacco cause you happen to be nice.

“You can’t?” you’re good at faking it suddenly, at least, that's what he thinks when your brows furrow in alleged curiosity, stiffening your back, uncomfortable. “How weird.”

“Damn right it is” that's when you realize he knows you are lying. Even when you don’t talk much, even when you act all stiff and bothered when he’s close, he knows that you are fully invested in lying. In whatever twisted little lie you've planned, like it was your real life and not something you made up. “Are you going to tell me truth, then or do I have to find out? Does the professor know that you're lying?”

The smoke lingers in the air.

“How old are you?” he asks once again, demanding an honest answer this time — "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

You find his questions annoying, mostly cause he won't stop until he gets an answer, one that pleases him enough to leave you alone, the other part cause you happen to like the playful banter you two keep going, dangerously much. You don't hate attention it's clear, what you do hate it's the way he seemed to see pass the lie, to demand more even when he has no right to.

He enjoys being the one who's right though, Logan cannot help it. He's pleased to catch that look on your face who says everything but nothing at once, to have you where he wanted, almost at the edge of admitting a truth.

Is it payback because you've been stealing all of the little mutants from his class? He's jealous cause kids like being around you? It does not make much sense, but he is fully invested. Questioning all.

Even when you're outside, it seems like the air grows thicker. And Logan finds himself seeking for your breathing, cause he don't know nothing, nothing about you more than the fact you don't seem to have a heartbeat, or pulse and now, breathing.

“If you really are that eager to know, i'm a hundred and twenty-seven” the words float in the air for a while, and he's sure you're just messing with him, cause there's no way a pretty little face like yours had endured a century. “I've been alive for quite a while.”

He doesn't fully believe it first. Of course he doesn't. Logan's sure you're messing with him also, distracting him about your real age.

“And I supposed this do come from you slow aging powers” He tries to give you a point there, but it's difficult to be serious when you're just playing with him—. "How so?"

To be honest, you do have a little temper yourself, you've learned to stand up for yourself most of the time, so when you happen to notice he's teasing you, that he doesn't really believe you, you adopt this attitude of defense he notices as you shift over the wood you're seated in.

"No, it doesn't" you steal the joint from his hands to have a smoke yourself. "You really aren't as smart as I thought you were, huh?"

Do you happen to have a dead wish? His muscles tense beneath his shirt, and in contrast of his problem, you can hear it all. All the sounds his body makes when he's all bothered just by the beat of his heart, that annoying sound his bones make each time he moves.

"What are you?"

"That's it," the praising goes directly into his chest, the tone you use to tell him he's going in the right direction it feels just so right he forgets why he got mad in the first place—. "That's what you should be asking right there."

It's almost a shame having to admit he would also switch classes. That he would also go through all the paperwork himself without a second thought and that right there, is pathetic, but you're smiling at him as if you're encouraging the man to try harder, to find the answer himself, and fuck — He's old, too old, he's tired, he's in a bad mood as fucking usual, and he happens to dig a drink in the quiet of his own room, but he's pulled by something as equal as devastating as the gravity force, shoot towards you in pure need to have some answers even if he has to make you spit them.

"I find it strange, cause when you don't have a heartbeat, you aren't usually alive" Deep down he's fascinated, hazel eyes glues on your face trying to understand. He feels like he has it in the tip of his tongue waiting to leave his mouth as a catastrophic answer, but he doesn't find the right words.

"That's cause i'm not," you state it like it's something obvious. And just as he knows you're lying, this time, he knows you're telling the truth, blowing the smoke in his direction just to bother him — "Why do you think i'm teaching history after all huh?"

He hasn't seen it all, it seems.

Yeah.

He's losing it after that night.

It’s known that Logan has sleeping problems, but that night specifically he thinks about something else rather than what usually torments him, a truth he also has to keep a secret now that he's learned more about it.

See, Logan doesn't expect you to be really dead. Much less to hear what you are and have been hiding this whole time from the rest of the people in the mansion — He also learns that you feed on blood, that vampires are a common thing in the world and that he shouldn't, at least, be that surprised when he's a mutant in a world full of humans himself.

You are a folklore myth on small villages, stories in Rumania and horror character in films, so you don't blame him when as you spoke, he finally understands why you're so damn attractive, so damn seductive as you explained more about your way of living, some memories you've been keeping to yourself since being a vampire was so damn solitary, memories he listens to cause he knows what it's like, to be misunderstood, to be eternal, to be alone as well.

It makes the two of you grow closer by the next weeks. You now talked during broad daylight about random shit at first, about the war sometimes, about your condition as he refers to when people is around, eaves-dropping on what you two are talking so invested in. Friends.

Simple as that.

And it's safe to admit also that in the course of the next days, Logan Howlett is a fucking mess, and he knows it, but he won't do anything about it.

He won't flirt cause he knows you're a hell of a woman, in every good sense of the word, that he's way too damaged for a vampire even, for all kinds of people out there, and as much as he'd like to say anything, he values your attention, how you switched the attitude of acting like he didn't exist to be a friend, one that you came to share secrets with a cherry aroma glued in their skin.

It gets him insane, to the point he's no longer spending much time with Jean and people start to pick up on it as if he didn't have enough headaches already. He doesn't care. Shit you are not bothered by what people say, and to be honest, he cannot seem to care either.

At first, he's reluctant of keep on talking to you as normal as it is. He's not really invested in religious themes, but he sure admits you're a sin by all meanings, a religious experience of some kind if anyone asked him — He agrees with what he has heard also in the hallways. Innocent conversations of teens and their platonic crush on their teachers. You are pretty hot.

He's so interested in knowing more about you, about the nights you spend in Rumania, when you leave to Canada, the different lives you've lived across the years. He finds himself looking forward to share his stories too, weird enough, cause he's over two centuries himself and he just craves to talk about it with someone who also gets him in a deeper level, that weariness that fills your body when you age so long.

You got the best of immortality, and instead of feeling envious, Logan finds himself attracted to you so much like he's never been in his whole existence. Not at the point it happened with you at least.

By the end of the first month he knows your little treats. You use a lot of sunscreen, and avoid activities outside as much as you possibly can with those classic, tiny black sunglasses that hided you from the rays of the sun, always in the shadow so unapproachable; how you'd usually dismiss food offerings from anyone who's kind enough to even offer you something, and when you haven't fed well during the course of the week, you'd become the most maddening woman he'd ever met.

Maddening.

"What wrong with you, Leech?" Leech. You've been in such a bad mood lately that when he's seating next to you in another random smoking session outside, your fingers twitch, clearly pissed at the nickname after saying multiple times you don't like it.

"I'm not in the mood for plays now."

He can tell from before. When you talked to him that very morning and stared at the collar of his flannel for what it seemed a good, nice minute, he realizes the same moment that you were staring at that pulse point in his neck, where the flesh blood was pumping in his blood flow: You're hungry, as any living creature would be and at your own manner, in constant control as you fight the sense of hunger.

So instead, the mutant ask, like he always does when he’s curious about something that involves you:

"When did you last feed?"

"A couple of weeks ago."

That would explain it. You don't talk much about your meal plan, he knows the professor is in charge of all of that. You've told him about blood bags and hospitals, but he's not really aware of how constant you need to eat, how the blood supplies most of your energy, makes you stronger, gives you vitality, so Logan at first, don't really know what its like to not drink any blood in the course of two weeks.

"What happened with the blood bags from the Hospital?"

The mention of blood out loud seems to triggers you. A groan escaping your lips as you can swear you feel the taste in your mouth — "Don't know. Haven't seen a single one this week, Charles said something about next week, problems in the bank I guess."

You're clearly worked up. It's a new look he hasn't registered before, your hair is tangled in a less-composed look, and there's a slight shake in your hands as if you're going through withdrawal, deprived for what you needed the most.

"And animals?" he questions, trying to find a solution. “Can’t you eat a cat or something?”

"Like shit i'm going to feed from a fucking animal," you're almost immediately grossed out, scrunching your nose at the idea. "I can barely handle being so close to a damn human but animals? I'd rather fucking die this time for real, no waking up."

"That bad huh?" the mutant asks, taking a sip from the beer he sneaked outside, chucking lightly afterwards. "So you're a leech with elegant taste, huh? Of course you are."

"Clean blood is rare," you explain, rolling your eyes. It's inevitable. He knows you hate the nickname so much that he insists to keep on calling you that way just to get a reaction—. "Humans nowadays taste like dirt. They consume drugs among other substances, pills, food supplements, even damn vitamins, don’t get me started about blood diseases cause it gets me in a bad temper. Every single thing affects on your taste, even what you eat. It's all registered there. Clean, good blood is rare to find. Call me elegant, call me picky. It's a damn fact."

"And what about mutant blood?" he questions. And it seems like a mere phrase at first, one with no subtle tones, he’s usually curious about your nature so you don’t pay much attention as he spoke—. “You’re picky about mutants too?”

“No, i’ve never had a mutant before.” The truth is, you hate feeding from people, the act being something so intimate, so damn personal, you refrain yourself. Killing humans, picking a next victim to fed on, is considered now a treat you don't appreciate from your kind, making you steal from hospitals and any kind of blood bank before Charles offered you help. You haven't fed from a mutant, cause you avoided everyone equally, but you don't want to be rude about it. “You all smell different, but i’d be lying. Maybe yes, i’d be picky about it too, feeding is something intimate.”

It's an undeniable admission, and now that he's trying to be in your position, he would also be picky about someone's blood. Logan remains stoic cause he’s suddenly filled by the thought of something else, a glimpse of his own weird creativity he forces himself to push aside, to really suppress now that it's not the time or the moment.

“How do I smell?” It's too late to stop the words from coming out of his mouth when he asks her. And at first, is out of pure curiosity. He has never encountered a vampire in his life until you, let alone had someone talking about the subtle tastes of the blood being undead, so he doesn't want to let the opportunity slip — Of course he wants to know if an over two hundred mutant like himself would be as remotely good as a fresh, clean bag from the hospital.

"You stink like wet dog," he surely deserves it after all the times he’s been calling you a leech — "Like those cigars you tend to smoke, alcohol, and musk. It's similar as wood. That smell you got when you're in a forest and it's not raining but straight pouring."

"Is this a way of telling me i'd taste bad, peach?"

You make a mental note to let him know after you like peach way more than leech.

"If i'd found a human smelling like that, you won't be hearing from me anytime soon" you're just messing with him. A playful banter you enjoy more than ever, the distraction you needed to think in something else rather than the blood bags you craved so deeply — "Hell, i've would just walked the other way."

"So i'm taking you won't be feeding from me anytime soon."

It all takes a dark turn there. You're very aware of the tension the last month now that you talk to him in daily basis, but it’s just mere tension, nothing that ever goes beyond the limit. Logan has never said something to flirt with you despite the million chances he got, and he always remained like a friend, one that you enjoy spending time with now. Cannot be blamed when you're taken aback.

“Cat got your tongue, kiddo?” Man. You're about to whine about the name before you remember he is indeed, older than you are. Vampire or mutant.

"You want me to feed from you?"

He seems so willing when you ask. Even when you teased about his smell calling him a wet dog. He just seems so eager to let you just do it, try a mutant for the first time.

"Yeah," he dismisses it like it's not something so deep — "I doubt Charles is going to let you take a bite since you could clearly kill him, and I'm not sure the others would be pleased with the idea of you sinking your teeth in them, so yes. Me, leech."

Logan Howlett doesn't really smell bad. And you don't know why cause he has all the ingredients to fucking stink, yet, you'd call him interesting. That's what you thought when you find his pulse point again, the vein in his neck you looked earlier in the morning, thinking just as the same you were thinking now.

Of course you would feed from him. Is it a good thing to do? No, in any other circumstances you'd decline. He's your friend.

Now? You’re having a hard time.

"So I'm guessing that you're pleased with the idea, then," Real talk?, you just want to hear him say it. He doesn't talk much usually, but now that he's very vocal about what's on his mind, you have to take advantage of it—. "I'm not sure either. But I do think Storm may be interested too."

He seems content with the response, taking a long sip from his beer before adding — "Please, go and ask her so you're less annoying."

You're almost completely sure he doesn't find you annoying. You also don't care about Storm. And maybe he knows you're not going anywhere, that you're not moving.

"You really want me to bite you?"

"I dunno now, princess" he looks at you pleased now cause he got you where he wanted to, cause he managed to awake all the interest now that you're looking at him "Are you going to pull a Dracula on me?"

"No, i'm not going to suck you dry if that's what you're asking."

Logan chuckles. He's a damn masochist. It's been like that as long as he can remember. It may have to be with his healing powers cause he likes it more than usual, but the idea gets to his head soon enough, all falling so damn fast: Your breathing would be against his neck and he'd take the bite like a damn champ.

"Yeah I can handle you," he says, aroused. "You're not gonna hurt me if you take some blood. I'll be fine and you won't be a pain in the ass."

He acts so gruff about it but you hear the sound of his heartbeat already high enough to wake the entire mansion, his labored breathing since he suggested the idea himself. He digs it, strange enough. Thrives on the idea.

He's a grown man already, and he can take a little leech like yourself.

It's clear you're hungry, cause it doesn't take much for you to accept, nodding like you're defeated, like you just lost the war entirely, cause there's no many options here to take and even if it were, you are now interested in have him more than any other blood bag. In fact. To hell with the hospital.

"Okay."

It's a simple answer, and it sure works with him as you get close to him, the bench you always used to sit now seeming so small as you look around confirming you guys really are alone—. "You won't tell anyone?"

It's something stupid to ask, cause after all that time he has never said anything, keeping your secrets as if they were his own, saving you from weird questions people get sometimes as they didn't know much about you. He's clearly not going to say nothing at all.

"Are you going to stop whining for a second and just eat darlin'? Cause I might change my mind here."

He's feeling overload soon after.

You don’t need a formal invitation to lean closer to his neck.

There's no way to describe it also cause he has never seen something like that, never felt a similar sensation more than when he's fucking, the cold touch of your fingers in his chest, taunting the vein in his neck without a previous warning before leaning in even closer than before—. "Stay still" you demand, face close against his bare skin, only one goal in mind. "Don't move for a minute. Just-"

You cannot finish the sentence, and Logan can experience the sporadic pain of the bite first hand when your teeth finally sink in his neck, piercing the flesh so easily as you let the blood fill your mouth. He grunts at the sharp pain, his face contracting momentarily before it's replaced by a nice wave of pleasure, one that hits him right in the guts as he grabs you by the nape of your neck, pushing you against him, almost demanding you to be closer, to keep on taking what you want, what you've been craving for two weeks.

When did he turned into this perverted sick? Getting off by something so primal as the fact you're feasting on him.

The feeling of your lips and the clear suck you gave when feeding are sending him into a spiral, and to be honest, he didn't expect to be so devastated by you, by the way your fingers stay against his chest to prevent him from moving, pinning the mutant between the wood bench and yourself so he won’t move, won’t do anything unless you want him to,pressing on the wound to draw more blood out.

"You heal so damn fast," you complain, looking at the traces of your bite with an unpleased face as they disappeared on his skin as fast as you created them.

"Then bite me again. I don't care."

You chuckle before leaning once again, and you can feel how the air grows hotter than how it was usually, the shift on his breathing as you bite him again, pressing on the wounds once again just to suck.

And you’re hungry, it’s the whole deal. His taste differs from what you believe at first, a huge change from what humans taste like, from what you’re used to deal with in hospitals. There’s a subtle taste of alcohol yes, but it mixes good with the sweet taste of honey, the weird taste you cannot put into words. It must be a mutant thing for sure cause it’s thicker than usual, a mix of flavors that explode in your tongue.

The headache you suffered from the whole week seems to dissapear as you drink in, feeding the monster you responded to in your stomach, demanding you to make him bleed more, to satisfy yourself until you can’t have any more.

Logan, on the other hand, is really fighting against his very own war.

You’re already close enough, but he just wants you damn closer, as much as he possibly can. It’s clear that well, it hurts slightly, but he has endured much worse, means nothing when it’s the pleasure that comes with it who strikes on his body, the light sucking, the idea you’re full of his blood, that you are not on trouble as you were before thanks to him. All because of him.

He's not used to acts on his impulses, but he does it anyway.

"C'mere" he says in a strangled voice, Logan's having no trouble moving you around, grabbing you by the hips to make you straddle him, keeping you glued to his neck as he doesn't want to disturb you—. "You really are a pretty leech, huh?”

You hum against his skin, pleased at the contact, and when he realizes you’re not complaining about his actions, he let his fingers grip your tights, keeping you against him.

You can hear him making this sound, quite like a moan but not exactly when you’re licking the holes you left in his skin, he does heal fast and don’t need any of your help when you’re done, but you coat his skin with your saliva anyway just to speed up the process, cause you want to do it, looking down to him after to check if he’s pale or nearly dead. You never really know.

And Logan himself is just fine cause his fingers gather the blood under your lip when he takes the sight of you sitting in his lap as the pearly white rays of moonlight makes your skin shine, and he pushes them inside your mouth so you don't waste any drop of what it can be considered food.

"So what's the final verdict?" he asks as his hands are now grabbing your tights, there's something so intimate about the moment, so personal, hot as he presses his fingers against the flesh of your muscles, he understand what you said before—. "Do I taste like utter shit?"

"Well, i’d need another taste to have my final decision" he laughs, and he don't really laugh often so the unexpected sound sends a shiver down your spine now that you’ve heard the sound quite a while now—. "Not much, just a little."

“Have you fill then, peach” He encourages you. “I want you full so you don’t whine the rest of the week.”

You don’t have any heartbeat, but if you did, it would be ragging in your ears at his words. At the warmth he’s spreading like a disease on her body that, despite being dead and cold, you can feel more than ever.

“I like peach,” you admit, this time pressing a soft kiss before directly hurt him—. “Leech is annoying.”

He’s going to say something, tease you about it maybe but he’s interrupted by the nice feeling of what he considers are your fangs tearing his skin apart, familiarity hitting him all sudden as he moans, a rough sound that comes from the deep of his throat, hands coming down to squeeze your ass, making you gasp against his neck when you experience the aching need physically forming in his pants.

“Still,” you say, concentrated on not allowing the wounds to close. But at the lack of complaints on what he's doing, Logan’s hands kept wandering around, making you move against his now clearly stiffed cock—. “Fuck’s sake I said still.”

“Stop being a damn brat. You can eat while I move you,” he grunts annoyed, shoving you against him, the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your shorts is enough to keep you quiet: Feeding from a stranger and feeding from a person you’re attracted to are two different things, especially in the position you find yourself in. “You don’t have to do anything. Quit whining about it.”

In response, your fingers press against the wound, not caring if it hurts or if it bothers him, but just enough to get him to bleed more and prevent the cut from closing, lapping at the blood that gathered over his collarbone, staining his white tank before you could even avoid it.

Your fingers grab the fabric just to pull it slightly down so it won't bother you, and the deep sound his chest make when he mocks about your desperation is stuck on your brain for the next couple of minutes, indulging in his taste, shutting up the rest of the world.

A moan comes out of your lips, muffling it against his skin. You're too zoomed out to hear it, but he's on a hell of a ride too, moaning as he demands more. It's been a while since the last time you did something like that, combine the pleasure of something as primal as eating with a mundane activity like sex, so you kind of forgot how good it felt, blaming yourself from depriving from something so needed.

"Do you always get this turned on when someone bites you?"

"No" Logan answers as you finish. He's rock hard beneath you, and he lets you know it when he's controlling the movement of your hips, working you against him at a slow pace—. "See, the woman i'm trying to seduce don't usually bite me, nor make me their main dinner plate."

You whine at the friction.

He looks down to the cause of all his damn problems just to notice his pants being damped with nothing but a physical form of need, soothing the uncomfortable fabric of his blue jeans — "So wet for me already, you’re making a damn mess, do you always get this turned on when feeding?"

Cheeky bastard.

He's using your own words against you, and you cannot be less bothered as you laugh softly, licking your lips only cause you know there's dried blood in them, drowned in his smell, the honey taste that lingered in your mouth.

“No, I don’t.”

At the sight, Logan's hand grabs your jaw in a rough movement, making you look at him before making you kiss him, deepening the contact as fast as you give him the chance. His tongue is soon invading your bucal cavity as he takes control of it, slow, intense and needy, as if he was holding on so much time before giving in to his own desires.

It is something like that.

You don't need to breathe in daily basis, but there's a burning sensation in your chest of wanting, of infinite lust you've been also experiencing by yourself.

The old mutant can taste his own blood in your mouth, a metallic taste as he keeps on kissing you until your lips are pink and puffed. He has thought so much about it that now that he has the opportunity, he devours as if he's a starved man having his first meal in what seems are ages.

"You didn't tell me if I tasted bad."

You think about it for a second.

"I'm afraid you're a rare breed cause it doesn't make any sense" You don't need any help now moving, cause you're rolling your hips on top of him at your own pace, allowing him to use his hands for something else—. “You have all the ingredients to taste like shit, but it's nothing but the contrary, even better than the fucking blood bags.”

“Sounds like your going to make me your meal plan, darlin. I’m here offering you a hand and you just take everything,” — “Such a greedy little vampire.”

He doesn't seem to care though, same as before he's nothing but willing to let you take everything as much as he tries to bark about it. He's more worried about his hands now that they're sliding down your oversized shirt, tracing patterns over your stomach, his touch so hot against your usually cold temperature.

"Logan," you whine,— "Someone can see us out here."

"Now you care about that?" his hazel eyes are a shade darker when he speaks. "After you're nice and full of my blood?"

His hands are big enough to take your whole cunt, allowing his digits to roam over the fabric of your underwear, almost thanking you for using those loosened pajama shorts he has seen before that very night as he just takes the fabric and pull it to the side.

"Nobody is going to see us. It's late and everyone's sleeping, leech" he teases you, and you cannot bring yourself to care about the nickname at the feeling of his hand taunting you from over the fabric—. "If you can bite me here outside, you might as well take my cock here too."

You cannot battle against that. You're deep in whatever spell he puts you into, giving in to the attraction and the tension that now needs to be taken care of. Logan's fingers touch you in nothing but experience, cause he knows how to please after so much time alive, how much pressure he needs to apply to leave you plain dumb, pliable for him.

"D'you think I need to stretch you out before fucking you?" he asks against your neck after leaving a reasonable-sized hickey in the zone, he likes the idea of people finding out about what you've been doing with him the next morning. "Or you're a big girl and can take me all by yourself?"

He'd like to take your time with you. Thoroughly enjoy you as much as he wants to, let everyone know you're his now, that you're shuddering thanks to him only, but he's too needy for that, too deprived of you to take his time.

"I want you to use that pretty mouth of yours and talk to me," he demands, coming up to look at your face while torturing you, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit from over the underwear—. "I'm not properly touching you yet and you're losing it already, peach. C'mon, you can talk to me still."

"I can take you," you say in a strangled voice. "Please Logan, please."

It's the plea of your tone that gets him, the soft begging of an ache he can only soothe, your face while you ask for more, not aware of anything else but him.

"Please what?"

"Please just fuck me already," you ask in frustration—. "I just need you to fill me up for a damn while."

You are starting to love the sound of his laugh. The deep sound he makes when he’s really enjoying something, his voice in damn general.

"Be a good little vampire" He says in a gentle tone. Logan’s trying to be kind even when his touch is so rough. "Unbuckle my pants and take my cock out. My hands are busy now, and you can do it yourself."

He is busy indeed. Toying with your underwear being the only thing that’s keeping him from the direct contact, pushing the fabric against your hole as it works as a barrier, preventing his digits to fuck you as he’d like to. He’s busy keeping you in place, preventing you from downright melt as your hands came up to unbuckle his belt first, the sound of the metal as it moves filling the air for a couple of seconds before you put all your attention in the button of his jeans, the zipper coming down with the force you’re using.

“Yeah baby,” he praises—. “You’re doing so good, keep going.”

When you pull the fabric of his briefs down, he’s already leaking for you, pink head, slightly curved to the side, moaning, erratically how much he needs your hands on him, how you're wet and ready for his cock. You close your fist around him, stroking slowly as your hips lift up enough to position yourself on top of him.

He’s big. Damn fucking right he is, you’d expected it from before cause sometimes you swear you can see his full length in his jeans, but taking him in your hand is a struggle but itself.

“Are you going to take me yourself or do you need my help? I know you can.”

Despite his words, he does help. Grabbing the black fabric of your underwear to finally make it to the side, the tip of his dick pushing against your clit before he's the one to place it in your leaky hole, forcing himself slowly, giving you time to take him in, inch by inch.

“Good girl," he says, head rolling backwards for a brief moment as he experiences the warm sensation of your walls surrounding him, clenching against his cock as he keeps one hand on your hip, helping you as you lower yourself over him. "Let me look at you.”

His fingers grab your jaw, squeezing you as he makes you look back at him, pushing you once again as you holded a loud moan. He's stretching you at his need.

"One more time," he begs. "One more time and you got it, peach. You're almost there."

Jesus fuck. You can feel yourself getting dizzy. You've drank a lot of blood and you're now overwhelmed by this intense pleasure that formed in your lower stomach, gathering there and waiting for the perfect moment to explode—. "Fuck I-"

Logan's pampering you with kisses as a mere distraction, his lips travelling through your neck to your collarbone before you're finally seated on top of him, a muffled moan you need to shut filling the calm of the night.

"Fuck you're tight," he exhales, and he's lost in the sensation, the way your velvety walls welcome him inside. He stays still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, to make you the one who starts moving on top of him.

You can see his veins popping up. All over his chest and coming down to his shoulders and his arms, and god gracious — He smells so fucking good you’re tempted to ask if you can have a bite again.

The moment feels longer than usual, the seconds pass slowly as you stay there. Logan’s hands are just touching your skin from under your oversized t-shirt, taking in the low moans you gave him, the almost perceptible whispers as you get used to him, to his size.

He likes the intimacy of it, the bliss. Man you look so pretty in his lap when the light of the moon is stripping you all to his eyes, even if you’re fully dressed an he’s seated in a damn bench, he cannot enjoy it more, pulling you in for a needy kiss, one that is rougher than the first one and leads you to move inevitably.

His cock pushes past that nice spot inside, and the friction is enough to make you move again, rocking your hips at a slow pace for a few seconds. The sound of your moans is silenced by his demanding kisses, and now that he knows you can handle him, his grip on your hips turn more firm now, squeezing the skin there so he can control your speed, the rythm of your movements now faster than before.

“Shh, don’t whine” what he lacks of vocal usually, he pours it all in just fucking, talking you through it when he feels you’re being too loud—. “Do you want to wake the others? We can’t have them seeing you like this, all fed up and cock-drunk.”

“Let me bite you again,” you ask soon enough. And it takes a lot to do it, cause you’re doing it out of pure greed, cause you can’t have enough.

“Take whatever you want, leech, just don’t make me faint” he jokes, his panted breathing betraying him as he moans, incredibly interested in the idea—. “Want to be conscious when you cum all over my dick.”

Logan’s sure your eyes glisten in a red color as you lean over his neck. And this time is less affectionate, much less gentle as you finally bite him again, teeth piercing the flesh so easily his hips jolts against you in response of the sharp pain your fangs create, the warm sensation of his blood in contrast of your cold touch, tongue-licking all you get from him.

And fuck it feels good.

He shrudders beneath you, shaking his head just slightly at reflex of pain before continue working his way with you, placing his hand between your tights as he lets his fingers rub on your sensitive clit, just enough to make you bite on his neck harder, the lewd sounds of your cunt taking him between holded moans as you suck on his neck.

“That’s it taking me so good,” He praises — “You like that, princess? Like how you’re full of me?”

You hum against his skin. The blood coates your chin as it goes down through his chest, staining his white tank for a couple of seconds before the holes your teeth made finally closes on their own.

It’s pure ecstasy. He can feel it when you clenching around his cock, cheeks red from his blood going now through your system, his vitality, his energy.

You can feel him fucking everywhere. So when you kiss him it’s all teeth, bite and his blood.

The pleasure’s taking control of you now, and Logan’s dizzy from the blood loss, his body covered now in sweat as his words slur together, not threading any coherent thought.

“That’s it,” he says, making you bounce of his cock. “Gonna’ have you in my room then, all spread out f’me.”

His hand wrap around your neck tightly, keeping the direct contact as he chokes you. Shit. You don’t need to say a word. Logan already got you.

“James-” he’s too deep to question why you’re using that name with him. How you facade is crushing down now as you let go.

When your body trembles on top of him he’s already cumming too, the squeeze on his cock sufficent to fuck him up personally, his bruising grip on your hips shoving you as deep as he possibly can as his release hits him like a brick falling from the damn sky.

He lets you work for it, ride each second of your high, milk him dry as a white circle of his own cum mixed with your juices coated the base of his cock, his underwear now slick with your orgasm.

He’s struggling to breathe, to properly say something as you’re finally coming down from your peak, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

“Did you called me James?” he questions, and you’re a damn bad liar, cause he knows imediately you’re hidding something cause of the look on your face—. “Do we know each other? From before.”

You don’t know how to respond at first, at least, cause you cannot lie in a position like that now.

“Well uh. It’s quite a long story here.”

Before you can continue he gets up, making you wrap your legs around his hips before stsrting to walk to the mansion.

“Logan-” you say in a strangled moan yourself, still sensitive as he’s balls-deep inside you.

“It will be less than two minutes, leech” he responds gruffily,— “Need to get you into my room so I can enjoy you the rest of the night, and you can tell me all of it.”

He don’t care if he’s bloody or a damn mess as he squeezes your ass climbing up the stairs, much less if anyone see the two of you in that state.

“I want to hear all the details, Cause I have a weird feeling that this has happened before.”

You cannot find a reasonable excuse to say no as the man’s already reaching the second floor.

Logan’s fucked after that night. When he learned about all that you were before, weirdly connected to you through the decades.

It must be the bite isn’t? Shit. He’s more in sync than ever now that you’ve been feeding from him a lot the last few weeks.

Ah. You fucking leech.

my masterlist

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlet smut #logan x reader #logan xmen #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett #jimmy howlett #xmen smut #cryptfile // x-men #minors dni #minors do not interact #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett x vampire!reader #deadpool 3 #xmen days of future past #deadpool and wolverine

427 notes · View notes

uva124 · 1 year ago

Text

INTRODUCING THE MOST MANIPULATIVE KING IN HISTORY , MAGNIFICO!!! 🎇🎇🎇🎇(I hate him but he deserves a redesign lol).

For those who see this post for the first time, I introduce myself, Hi :D! I'm Aled and this is a collaboration with @ animación , author of the rewrite of Wish that is on her profile (read it, the story it's soooo good) and I am in charge of drawing the redesigns of her story.

Now, coming back to the main thing, I will show how we got to this result :)

FACIAL FEATURES AND HAIR:

-Honestly, I never thought that getting used to drawing Magnifico would be so difficult lmao, how in most of my procedures to make the designs, I start with sketches and studying the structure of the character's face, this was a little difficult because I'm not that I'm used to drawing people over 20, but with a few practices I was able to figure out how to draw him :D

(I also did digital internships, but I didn't save most of them because I forgot lmao)

COLOR PALETTE:

-Don't think that I chose a palette of yellow and gold colors just because I thought it was pretty (well, that's also another reason), what happened is that when I was searching through conceptual arts, I found some designs by Magnifico where They used a blue and yellow color palette

I did a quick search and found this:

-Tell me this doesn't remind you of Magnifico, then yes, that's why I chose a yellow color palette, also adding a golden tone to give it a royal vibe.

-I also applied this in the design of Queen Amaya, in the publication of her design I explained why I added details of a dark blue color in her costume and Magnifico's costumes

ATTIRE:

-From the beginning I always wanted to modify Magnifico's cape by adding a rose as a brooch, and searching through the conceptual arts I found quite a few interesting models, so it can be said that I combined everything I liked and that's how I got the cape for Magnifico, Also adding other details that occurred to me.

-The author sent me several ideas for Magnifico (thank you by the way :D), one of them was associating Magnifico with the sun, I really liked the idea and that is why there are so many symbols of the sun in his suit, plus these It reminded me how in so many cultures the Sun is worshiped, just as the kingdom of roses worships Magnifico, there are also other reasons why the sun fits with Magnifico but I already mentioned that in the publication of Amaya's redesign.

-The truth is, I only drew the other details improvised, this time I just got carried away, but hey! The outfit didn't look bad at all :)

-Another important part of Magnifico's costume is the "M" on his badge, but in fact it is not an M 😅, it is the sign of Scorpio ♏, this idea was from Anny Mation

-So yeah, I had to add the Scorpio symbol yes or yes, at first I thought about adding it to the back of the cape but I wasn't convinced by the idea, but then I thought: "Wait, why don't I add the sign on the gold plate ? that would look elegant."

FINAL COMMENTS:

-I'm proud of how this turned out, I feel like it does justice to a villain that commemorates 100 years of Disney :)

-Also, I think that those who have already seen the other redesigns know which character is next, right 👀✨? For Aster, I don't know how long it will take me to draw him, since the boy is literally a walking animation studio lmao.

That would be all for now, until next time :D!

204 notes · View notes

okasuka · 20 days ago

Text

Uhhhhh drabble stuff

Tw : mentions of self harm, light drug use.

First Day Back

The early September morning was crisp, the kind that teased of autumn but still held onto the warmth of summer. Gotham Academy’s imposing gates were buzzing with activity as students reunited, exchanging stories about vacations, internships, or simply surviving another year.

Standing just outside the gate, you adjusted the strap of your bag nervously. You glanced down at your reflection in a nearby car window, making sure your slightly messy brown hair—with its signature red streak—wasn’t too unruly. Not that you cared much about appearances, but first days had a way of bringing out old insecurities.

Your eyes darted through the sea of uniforms, searching for one face in particular. Then you saw him.

Damian Wayne strode toward the gates, his posture as impeccable as ever, his green eyes scanning the crowd with that calm yet calculating intensity you’d come to love. His uniform was perfectly pressed, his tie immaculate, and his dark hair neat and slicked back —practically screaming “perfectly put-together Wayne heir.” But then his eyes landed on you, and that trademark stoicism softened, just enough for a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips.

“Y/N,” he greeted as he approached, his voice steady but warmer than usual.

“Damian!” you called, your grin lighting up your face as you dropped your bag to the ground and rushed toward him. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug.

To anyone watching, Damian Wayne being hugged in public might have seemed like a scandal waiting to happen, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a barely audible sigh and placed his hands gently on your back, hugging you in return.

“It’s only been two weeks since we last saw each other,” he murmured, though you caught the hint of amusement in his tone.

“Two weeks is an eternity when you’re my best friend and my boyfriend,” you shot back, pulling away just enough to look up at him. “Did you miss me?”

His green eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “More than you’ll ever know,” he replied, and while his voice was quiet, you could tell he meant it.

You beamed at him before reaching up to ruffle his perfectly combed hair. “And here I thought you’d come back looking all stoic and business-like. Guess I haven’t lost my touch.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping back slightly to smooth his hair down. “And here I thought you’d be less insufferable after a few weeks apart.”

“Please, you’d miss me if I wasn’t,” you teased, leaning down to grab your bag.

As the two of you walked toward the main building, you noticed some of your classmates whispering and glancing your way. While Damian ignored them entirely, you rolled your eyes. “You’d think people would be over it by now. What, do they think I’m not good enough for the Damian Wayne or something?”

“They can think what they like,” Damian replied smoothly. “Their opinions are irrelevant. Besides…” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “You’re more than good enough. You know that.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you quickly changed the subject to avoid getting too flustered. “So, what’s our schedule looking like? We still have most of our classes together, right?”

Damian pulled out his neatly folded timetable. “Mathematics, English, World History, and, unfortunately, Chemistry with Professor Clark. I presume you’ve heard about his… ‘enthusiastic’ teaching style.”

You groaned dramatically. “Great. Guess I’m going to need you to keep me from blowing up the lab this year.”

“If you pay attention and follow instructions, I won’t need to intervene,” Damian said with a smirk.

“Oh, like you’re not going to spend half the time criticizing my technique,” you quipped.

“Only if it’s necessary,” he replied coolly, but you could see the faintest glint of humor in his eyes.

As you entered the school and made your way to your lockers, you couldn’t help but marvel at how natural it all felt. The teasing, the banter, the unspoken understanding between the two of you. It was going to be a good year—you could feel it.

“I’ll walk you to first period,” Damian said, closing his locker and adjusting his bag strap.

You grinned. “What a gentleman. Lead the way, Mr. Wayne.”

And with that, the two of you headed down the hallway, side by side, ready to take on another year—together.

As you and Damian stepped into your first-period class, you were relieved to find most of the seats still empty. You scanned the room quickly, looking for two seats side by side.

“Do you see any—?” you started, but Damian was already ahead of you.

“There,” he said, nodding toward a pair of seats in the middle of the room.

But before you could move, a group of students rushed past, snagging the spots you were eyeing.

“Seriously?” you muttered, glancing around again. The only open seats left were scattered across the room, none close enough to sit together.

Damian’s jaw tightened. “Unfortunate.”

You sighed. “It’s fine. We’ll survive one class apart. I’ll sit…” Your eyes landed on an empty seat next to a familiar face, a boy from your grade named Logan. He was nice enough—a little flirty sometimes, but harmless. “There.”

Damian’s gaze flicked to Logan and narrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything. “I’ll take the one near the window,” he said, his tone clipped.

You hesitated. “You sure?”

“I’ll be fine, Y/N,” he replied, already walking to his seat.

You shrugged and made your way over to Logan, who greeted you with a grin. “Hey, Y/N. Long time no see.”

“Hey, Logan,” you said, sliding into the chair next to him. “Ready for another year of torture?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he joked. “Especially if it means sitting next to you.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “Smooth.”

The teacher, Mr. Daniels, walked in and began droning on about classroom expectations, but it wasn’t long before you started to feel lost in the lecture. Chemistry wasn’t exactly your strong suit, and the formulas on the board looked like a foreign language.

You leaned over toward Logan. “Hey, do you get this?” you whispered, pointing to your notes.

Logan smirked, lowering his voice. “Not really, but I’ll pretend I do if it helps.”

You snorted softly. “Wow, so helpful.”

Before you could ask another question, Mr. Daniels cleared his throat loudly, his eyes narrowing on you. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice sharp. “Do you mind not flirting in my class and actually paying attention?”

Your jaw dropped. “I—what?”

The class chuckled, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you stammered, “I wasn’t flirting! I was asking for help!”

Logan, however, leaned back in his chair with a grin. “I don’t know, Y/N. Sounded like flirting to me.”

The room erupted in laughter, and you buried your face in your hands, groaning.

From his seat by the window, Damian’s eyes darkened. His jaw clenched tightly as he watched Logan bask in the attention. It wasn’t like you to flirt with anyone, but the way Logan played along—and how the teacher called it out—was enough to irritate him.

When the laughter finally died down, you muttered to Logan, “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime,” he said with a wink.

Meanwhile, Damian’s grip on his pen tightened. He forced himself to focus on the board, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you and Logan. The way Logan looked at you, the way he leaned just a little too close—it was infuriating.

By the time the bell rang, Damian was already out of his seat, waiting for you by the door.

You approached him, still grumbling under your breath. “Can you believe Mr. Daniels? Flirting? Seriously?”

“Hardly,” Damian said, his tone sharper than usual.

You blinked, caught off guard by his demeanor. “Whoa. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said curtly, though his eyes betrayed his irritation. “But perhaps next time, you should direct your questions to someone more reliable.”

You raised an eyebrow, realizing what this was about. “Are you… jealous?”

Damian’s expression didn’t change, but his ears turned slightly red. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You smirked, leaning closer. “You are. Admit it.”

“There’s nothing to admit,” he said, brushing past you. “Let’s go. We’ll be late for the next class.”

Laughing, you hurried to catch up. “You’re jealous,” you sang teasingly, and while Damian didn’t respond, the way his shoulders stiffened told you everything you needed to know.

As the second-period bell rang, you and Damian made your way to your next class—World History. The classroom was much smaller than the last one, and you were relieved to see an empty pair of desks near the middle of the room.

“Looks like we’re stuck together this time,” you teased as you slid into your seat.

Damian didn’t respond right away. Instead, he placed his bag down with practiced precision, his expression unusually stoic.

“Hey,” you said, nudging his arm lightly. “What’s with the silent treatment?”

“I’m simply focusing on the lesson ahead,” he replied curtly, not meeting your gaze as he pulled out his notebook.

You blinked at his tone, a flicker of irritation rising in your chest. “Right. Of course. Damian Wayne, ever the diligent student,” you muttered, opening your own notebook with a bit more force than necessary.

His eyes darted toward you briefly, but he said nothing.

The teacher started the lecture, droning on about ancient civilizations, but you couldn’t focus. Damian’s cold demeanor was grating on you, especially after how playful and sweet he’d been that morning.

About twenty minutes into the lesson, you turned to him, keeping your voice low. “Okay, what’s your deal? Did I do something to piss you off?”

“No,” he replied, not looking up from his notes. “Perhaps I’m simply preoccupied.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Preoccupied with what? Chemistry? Or the fact that I asked Logan for help?”

That got his attention. He glanced at you, his green eyes sharp. “If you’re aware of how inappropriate your behavior was, I fail to see why you’re asking me.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to process his words. “Are you serious right now? I wasn’t flirting, Damian. I was asking a question.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered under his breath, scribbling something in his notebook.

Your patience snapped. “Wow. Okay, so what, you don’t trust me now? Is that it?”

His pen froze mid-sentence, and he finally turned to look at you fully. “It’s not a matter of trust, Y/N. It’s—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as if he was struggling to find the right words.

“It’s what?” you pressed, crossing your arms.

Damian hesitated, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s infuriating to watch someone else act so… familiar with you. Especially when they clearly enjoy pushing boundaries.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty in his tone. “Damian, Logan wasn’t pushing boundaries. He’s just a naturally flirty guy, and I don’t take him seriously. You know that, right?”

Damian’s gaze hardened. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t take him seriously. The fact remains that he’s disrespectful. And I don’t appreciate having to sit there while he makes a joke out of our relationship.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Damian, I can handle Logan. He’s harmless, and he doesn’t mean anything by it. But this?” You gestured between the two of you. “You snapping at me and acting all cold? It’s not fair.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching. “Perhaps it isn’t fair, but—”

“Exactly,” you interrupted, your voice firm. “It’s not fair. And it’s not me you should be upset with. If you have a problem with Logan, take it up with him, not me.”

Damian exhaled sharply, the tension in his posture barely easing. “You’re right,” he admitted, though his tone was reluctant. “But I can’t help it, Y/N. I… I don’t like sharing your attention.”

Your annoyance softened at his admission, and you gave him a small smile. “Damian, you’re my boyfriend. You already have my attention—more than anyone else. Logan’s just a friend. He doesn’t even come close to you.”

His gaze flicked back to yours, and for a moment, the usual confidence in his demeanor faltered. “I know that. Logically. But…”

“But emotions don’t always listen to logic,” you finished for him.

He nodded, his expression softening. “Precisely.”

You reached over and placed a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Look, I get it. I’d probably feel the same way if someone was acting flirty with you. But you have to trust me, okay? If Logan ever crosses a line, I’ll shut it down. No one comes between us.”

Damian studied you for a moment, his green eyes searching yours before he finally relaxed. “I do trust you,” he said quietly. “I’m… sorry for being difficult.”

“Apology accepted,” you said with a teasing grin. “But you owe me for making me look like the bad guy in World History.”

He smirked faintly. “I’ll make it up to you. Perhaps a visit to the Gotham Art Museum after school?”

You raised an eyebrow. “As long as you’re not trying to bribe me into forgetting about this.”

“Of course not,” he replied smoothly. “It’s simply… a gesture of goodwill.”

You chuckled, the tension between you finally dissipating. “You’re impossible, Damian Wayne.”

“And yet, you still tolerate me,” he said, his voice lighter now.

“More than that,” you said, leaning closer. “I love you. Even when you’re being jealous and stubborn.”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “The feeling is mutual.”

With that, the two of you turned back to the lesson, the earlier tension replaced by the quiet comfort of understanding—and the promise of a much better day ahead.

After the school day ended, you and Damian walked to the car waiting to take you both to Wayne Manor. The ride was quiet but comfortable, the tension from earlier long forgotten. Damian had even let his hand rest lightly on yours during the drive, a subtle but sweet gesture that made your heart flutter.

As the car pulled into the circular driveway, the grand silhouette of Wayne Manor loomed above you. You grabbed your bag and followed Damian up the steps.

“Do you ever get tired of living in a castle?” you teased as he opened the massive front doors.

“It’s hardly a castle,” Damian replied with a faint smirk. “Though it does have its advantages.”

As you stepped inside, the warm interior of the manor greeted you. Alfred appeared almost immediately, as if he’d been expecting you both.

“Master Damian, Miss Y/N,” Alfred said with a polite nod. “Welcome back. I trust your first day of school went well?”

“Uneventful,” Damian said simply, shrugging off his bag and handing it to Alfred.

“Eventful,” you corrected, grinning. “But in a good way. Thanks for asking, Alfred.”

Alfred’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he turned to you. “I’m relieved to hear it, Miss Y/N. I’ve prepared some refreshments in the living room if you’d like to relax.”

“Thanks, Alfred!” you said before glancing at Damian. “Wanna go chill for a bit?”

Damian nodded, but before you could take a step, a deep voice interrupted.

“Y/N, good to see you,” Bruce said, walking into the foyer. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his usual air of authority surrounding him.

“Mr. Wayne!” you said, smiling brightly. You’d always been a bit in awe of Bruce Wayne, but he’d long since made you feel welcome in his home. “How’s everything going?”

“Busy, as always,” Bruce said, offering a faint smile. “And no need for the formalities, Y/N. You’re practically family.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the comment, but before you could respond, Bruce glanced at his watch, his expression turning serious. “I’d love to catch up more, but I have a meeting to attend. Damian, Y/N, enjoy yourselves.”

“Good luck with your meeting,” you said with a polite nod, watching as Bruce strode off toward his study.

Damian gestured toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go to the living room.”

You followed him, excited to finally relax after the day’s chaos. Alfred had set out an impressive spread of snacks, including your favorite cookies, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth, making the room feel cozy despite its size.

As you plopped down on the couch, Damian sat beside you but noticeably kept some distance. He seemed lost in thought, his brows slightly furrowed, and his usual composed energy felt off.

“Okay, what’s up with you?” you asked, tilting your head to get a better look at him.

Damian blinked, as though he hadn’t realized you were talking. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been… weird,” you said, shifting to face him fully. “Since school ended, you’ve been kind of quiet. Did something happen?”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor. “No, nothing happened.”

You frowned. “Damian. Don’t do that thing where you bottle everything up, okay? I can tell something’s bothering you. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine, Y/N,” he said, a bit more firmly this time. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

His tone stung a little, and you leaned back, crossing your arms. “Right. Of course. Because heaven forbid I try to be a good girlfriend and care about you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, guilt flashing across his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” you pressed, though your voice softened. “I don’t want to push you, Damian, but I also don’t want to sit here and pretend like everything’s fine when it’s obviously not.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you,” you said, smiling faintly. “But I can handle complicated, remember?”

He hesitated again, clearly torn. Finally, he shook his head. “I just… I need some time to think.”

You nodded slowly, though a pang of disappointment hit you. “Okay. If that’s what you need, I’ll give you space.”

“Y/N, it’s not—”

“No, it’s fine,” you interrupted, standing up. “I get it. Sometimes you need time to sort things out on your own. Just… let me know when you’re ready to talk, okay?”

He looked up at you, his expression conflicted. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” you said, grabbing your bag. “I don’t want to hang around and make things awkward for you. Besides, I should probably get some homework done.”

“Y/N,” he said again, standing as if to stop you, but you shook your head.

“It’s okay, Damian,” you said softly. “Really. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before he could say anything else, you turned and made your way to the front door, nodding at Alfred on your way out. As the door closed behind you, you let out a quiet sigh.

You cared about Damian deeply, but sometimes, loving him meant giving him the space he needed—even if it hurt to walk away.

You walked out of the manor, each step heavier than the last. The cool evening air hit your face as you descended the grand steps, trying to shake the weight in your chest. You told yourself Damian just needed space—that this wasn’t about you. But the ache in your heart said otherwise.

The car Alfred had arranged was waiting at the end of the drive, but you hesitated. You didn’t want to leave angry or upset, not when there was clearly something Damian wasn’t telling you. Against your better judgment, you turned back, gripping the door handle and pushing it open quietly.

The sound of Damian’s voice drifted down the hall. You paused, peeking into the living room to see him pacing near the fireplace, phone pressed to his ear. His usual sharp posture was rigid, and his tone was sharper than you’d ever heard.

“I told you, I don’t need advice on how to handle my personal life,” Damian snapped, his back to you. “This isn’t about her. She’s just—” He stopped mid-sentence, exhaling harshly. “It’s not like that.”

Your heart sank at his words. He had to be talking about you.

You stepped into the doorway, your voice quiet but firm. “What’s not like that?”

Damian froze, his head whipping around to face you. His expression was unreadable for a moment, but then it shifted into something colder, something you hadn’t seen directed at you before.

“I’ll call you back,” he muttered into the phone before ending the call and slipping it into his pocket.

“Y/N,” he said flatly. “I thought you left.”

“I did,” you said, crossing your arms. “But I couldn’t just leave things like this. What’s going on, Damian? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I just heard you.”

He stared at you, his green eyes unreadable. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

The sharpness in his tone cut through you like a knife, but you pressed on. “Why? So you could keep avoiding me? Pretending nothing’s wrong?”

“Maybe it’s because nothing’s wrong, Y/N,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Maybe it’s just that I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“This? You mean us?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Don’t twist my words,” he said coldly. “I don’t need you analyzing everything I say.”

You took a step back, hurt flashing across your face. “I’m not trying to analyze anything, Damian. I just want to understand what’s going on. Why you’ve been acting so distant, so—so cold.”

“Maybe it’s because you don’t understand me as well as you think you do,” he said, his voice cutting like a blade.

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “Damian… how can you say that?”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Look, Y/N. I care about you, but sometimes, it feels like being with you is—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening.

“Feels like what?” you demanded, your voice breaking. “Say it.”

“Like it’s suffocating,” he finally said, his tone low but firm.

The world seemed to tilt beneath your feet. You stared at him, unable to process what you’d just heard. “Suffocating?”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the floor. “You always want to talk, to fix things, to know every little thought in my head. Sometimes I just need space, Y/N. And you don’t give me that.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I only do that because I care, Damian. Because I love you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said, his voice colder than you’d ever heard it.

That was the final blow. Your chest tightened painfully, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. “I can’t believe you just said that,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I thought… I thought we were in this together.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be,” he said, his voice quiet but unwavering.

The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, searching for any hint of regret or hesitation in his expression, but there was none.

“Fine,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s how you feel, then maybe I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

Damian said nothing as you turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. This time, when you left Wayne Manor, you didn’t look back.

The door closed behind you with a finality that made your heart ache, but you refused to cry—not here, not now. You climbed into the waiting car, gripping your bag tightly as the driver pulled away.

Only then, as Gotham’s streets blurred past the windows, did the tears begin to fall.

The ride home felt endless, even though it was only a short drive. You stared out the window, the Gotham skyline blurred through tear-filled eyes. Every word Damian had said replayed in your head like a broken record. Suffocating. I didn’t ask you to. Maybe we shouldn’t be.

When the car pulled up to your house, you mumbled a quick thanks to the driver and stepped out, your legs feeling like lead. The house was dark and quiet as you unlocked the door and stepped inside. The emptiness greeted you like an old friend.

“Dad?” you called out half-heartedly, even though you already knew the answer.

No response.

The faint tick of the clock in the hallway was the only sound as you dropped your bag by the door. You leaned against the wall, staring into the void of your empty home, the weight of everything crashing down on you.

Tears spilled over as you slid down to the floor, burying your face in your hands. The silence amplified your thoughts, every doubt and insecurity creeping in like shadows.

Maybe Damian’s right. Maybe I am too much. Too needy. Too—

You choked on a sob, wrapping your arms around yourself. It felt like you were unraveling, like every part of you was splitting apart.

You stumbled to your room, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto your bed. The walls felt like they were closing in, the loneliness suffocating. You couldn’t stop crying, your body trembling with each sob.

And then, in your darkest moment, the familiar, dangerous thought surfaced. You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough.

Your eyes darted to your desk drawer, where you knew you’d hidden a small, sharp blade months ago. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t need it again—that you were stronger now. But right now, you didn’t feel strong. You felt shattered.

Your hands trembled as you opened the drawer, pulling the blade out. The weight of it in your hand felt heavier than it should have. You stared at it for what felt like forever, your mind spinning with the whirlwind of emotions.

Maybe this will help. Maybe this will make it hurt less.

You pressed the blade against your skin, the sting sharp and immediate. A small line of red appeared, and for a brief moment, the emotional pain seemed to dull. But the relief was fleeting, replaced by guilt and self-loathing that hit you like a tidal wave. You stared at the mark you’d left on your arm, the faint sting a cruel reminder of how far you’d let yourself fall. Tears streamed down your face as you whispered to yourself, “What’s wrong with me?”

The room was suffocating now, the walls closing in on you as your breaths came quicker. You curled into yourself on the bed, clutching your knees to your chest, wishing for the pain to stop. The silence of the house only made it worse.

Why isn’t anyone here? you thought bitterly. But deep down, you knew the answer. Your dad was always at work, and the few friends you had didn’t know how to handle the pieces of you that you kept hidden.

And Damian? The person you trusted most? He’d made it painfully clear where he stood.

The night dragged on, every minute feeling like an eternity. You didn’t sleep, too caught up in your own thoughts, your body aching with exhaustion and despair. By the time morning came, the idea of going to school seemed impossible.

You sent a quick text to the school’s office, pretending to be your dad, saying you were sick. Then you turned your phone off completely, unwilling to face anyone—not even Damian.

Meanwhile, at Wayne Manor

Damian hadn’t slept either.

The moment you walked out the door, regret had started to claw at him. The image of your hurt expression wouldn’t leave his mind, and his words replayed in his head like a haunting echo.

He sat in his room, staring at the ceiling, his hands clenched into fists. He’d thought pushing you away would give him the space he needed to think—to sort through his own feelings—but all it had done was make him realize how much he hated the distance he’d created.

“Suffocating.” The word sounded so harsh now, so untrue. You weren’t suffocating him. You were grounding him, giving him something real in a world full of chaos and masks.

By the time morning arrived, Damian had resolved to apologize. To fix things. He hated admitting he was wrong, but for you, he’d do it. He couldn’t lose you.

When he got to school and didn’t see you by the gates like usual, unease crept in. By the time first period started and you still hadn’t shown up, his unease turned into worry.

He pulled out his phone under the desk and sent a quick text:

Damian: Where are you?

No response.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the screen as if willing your reply to appear. When the second period came and you were still absent, he finally left the classroom without asking for permission, heading straight to the hallway to make a call.

You didn’t answer.

Damian’s grip tightened on the phone, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

By lunchtime, he was already texting Alfred.

Damian: I need a car to Y/N’s house. Now.

Alfred’s reply came quickly, his usual calm demeanor evident even in text form.

Alfred: Understood, Master Damian. The car will be ready in five minutes.

Damian didn’t bother explaining himself to anyone as he left school, his thoughts consumed by you. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he’d pushed you too far. That his cruel words had broken something in you he didn’t know how to repair.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

The car ride to your house was a blur for Damian. His fingers tapped anxiously on the leather seat as he stared out the window, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He hadn’t heard from you since the previous night, and every second that passed without a response only made the knot in his chest tighter.

When the car pulled up to your house, Damian barely waited for it to stop before getting out. His hand went straight to the key you’d given him months ago, a small token of trust that now felt heavier than ever. He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his ears, before unlocking the door and stepping inside.

The silence hit him first. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that made his stomach churn. He closed the door behind him and called out, his voice sharp and edged with worry.

“Y/N?”

No response.

Damian’s jaw clenched as he stepped further inside. The living room was empty, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound. He scanned the space quickly before heading toward your room, his heart hammering harder with each step.

When he opened your bedroom door, the sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

The room was a chaotic mess. Comics were scattered across the floor, their colorful covers torn and crumpled. A few bookshelves were toppled over, their contents spilling out in disarray. On the bed, torn photographs of the two of you lay in pieces, the edges jagged and angry.

But what made his blood run cold was the small, bloody blade lying on your desk.

Damian’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at it, his mind reeling. The faint smears of dried blood on the metal glinted under the soft light coming through the window.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, his chest tightening as he approached the desk. His hands trembled as he reached out, carefully picking up the blade. The sight of the blood sent a wave of nausea crashing over him.

He dropped it back onto the desk and turned, his sharp eyes scanning the room again. There were no signs of you anywhere—not even a note. His gaze fell on the ripped photos, and he crouched down to pick up a piece.

It was a picture of the two of you at the Gotham Art Museum. Your smile in the photo was radiant, your arm looped through his, while his usually stoic expression held the faintest trace of a smile—an expression you had drawn out of him so effortlessly back then. But now, the photo was torn cleanly in two, your half discarded on the ground while his was crumpled underfoot.

Damian swallowed hard, his chest tightening painfully. His mind raced with questions. Where were you? What had you done? What had he done?

He forced himself to look away from the torn photographs, scanning the rest of the room for clues. His eyes landed on your desk, where your school bag sat unzipped, papers spilling out of it. A few notebooks were scribbled over with angry marks, as if you’d taken a pen and let all your frustration out in jagged lines and furious scratches.

But what caught his attention most was a small notebook lying open on the desk. He hesitated before stepping closer, his hands shaking as he picked it up. The words scrawled across the page in your handwriting made his heart drop.

“I’m not enough.

I’ll never be enough.

Why does it hurt so much?

Maybe it would be better if I wasn’t here anymore.”

The edges of the page were smudged, as if tears had fallen on the ink. Damian’s hands tightened around the notebook as his breath quickened. His usually composed demeanor shattered, panic clawing at his chest.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “Y/N…”

He spun around, searching the room again, as if you might somehow appear if he looked hard enough. The mess around him was overwhelming, every detail screaming of your pain, your anger, your heartbreak. And it was all his fault.

Damian dropped to his knees, his head hanging low as he gripped the notebook tightly. His mind was a storm of regret and guilt, every cruel word he’d said to you echoing in his ears. I didn’t ask you to. Maybe we shouldn’t be.

The blade. The blood. The notebook. The torn photos. It all pointed to one unbearable truth: he had pushed you too far.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Damian felt helpless. He was always the one who had control, who had a plan. But now? Now he didn’t know what to do.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing your number again with trembling hands.

Damian sat on the floor of your room, phone pressed to his ear, waiting—hoping—for you to answer. The ringing dragged on for what felt like forever, each second stretching into eternity. And then, to his shock, the ringing stopped.

For a split second, hope sparked in his chest. But instead of your voice, the call disconnected.

He stared at the screen in disbelief, his heart pounding. You had declined the call.

“Y/N…” he whispered under his breath, panic threatening to overwhelm him.

He immediately stood, his training kicking in. He needed to find you, and fast. Scanning the room one last time, his eyes landed on a map of Gotham pinned to your corkboard. He spotted a circled area near the outskirts of the city—a dense, secluded forest.

He didn’t hesitate. Pulling out his phone, he called Alfred.

“Master Damian,” Alfred answered calmly, though the sharpness in Damian’s tone quickly changed his demeanor.

“I need the car back at Y/N’s house immediately,” Damian said, already moving toward the front door. “And alert Father. I might need backup.”

“Yes, sir. On my way.”

Deep in the Forest

You sat on the damp ground, surrounded by towering trees that blocked out most of the moonlight. The air was cold, biting at your skin through your thin jacket, but you barely noticed. Your hands trembled as you held the small bottle of pills, the weight of it feeling unbearable.

Your eyes were red and swollen from crying, the exhaustion making every thought feel heavier, more suffocating. You glanced down at the pills, your mind swimming with memories of Damian’s words.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Suffocating.”

A fresh wave of tears blurred your vision as you whispered to yourself, “I was trying. I really was.”

You tilted your head back, staring up at the dark canopy of trees above, your voice breaking as you continued. “I just wanted you to love me. But you gave up on me. On us.”

Your voice cracked, and a sob escaped you as you unscrewed the cap of the bottle, the pills rattling softly.

Damian Arrives

The car screeched to a halt near the edge of the forest, and Damian was out the door before Alfred could say a word. He sprinted into the woods, his heart racing as he followed the faint trail you’d left behind. Broken branches, footprints in the mud—signs he was on the right track.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the trees.

There was no response.

He pushed forward, his sharp eyes scanning the dark surroundings until he spotted you—a faint silhouette sitting on the forest floor. Relief flooded him for a moment, but then his heart sank as he saw the bottle of pills in your hand.

“Y/N!” he called again, louder this time.

You froze, your head snapping toward the sound of his voice. Tears streamed down your face as you clutched the bottle tighter, your body trembling.

“Stay back, Damian,” you said, your voice shaking but firm.

He slowed his approach, his hands raised slightly in surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you, Y/N. Please… just put the pills down.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “Why are you even here? You made it clear you don’t want me around. So why do you care now?”

“Because I was wrong,” Damian said, his voice cracking in a way that surprised even him. “I was so wrong, Y/N. About everything.”

You stared at him, your grip on the bottle loosening slightly. “You don’t mean that. You said I was suffocating you. That you didn’t need me.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, stepping closer. “I was angry, and I said things I didn’t mean. But I do need you, Y/N. More than I can put into words.”

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your face. “You don’t need me, Damian. You gave up on me. On us.”

He stopped a few feet away from you, his green eyes filled with a mix of desperation and regret. “I thought pushing you away would protect me. But all it’s done is hurt the one person who’s ever made me feel like I’m more than just… a weapon.”

Your lip quivered as his words hit you. “Damian…”

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I can’t lose you. Not like this. Please, Y/N, put the pills down.”

You stared at him, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through the fog in your mind. Slowly, your grip on the bottle loosened, and it slipped from your hand, landing in the dirt.

Damian closed the distance between you in an instant, dropping to his knees and pulling you into his arms. You sobbed into his chest, your body trembling as he held you tightly, as if letting go would mean losing you forever.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your hair, his voice filled with guilt and pain. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll never give up on you again. I swear.”

You clung to him, the weight of his words finally breaking through the darkness that had consumed you. For the first time in hours, you felt a glimmer of hope—a tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

The ride back to your house was quiet, the low hum of the engine filling the heavy silence between you and Damian. You sat in the passenger seat, your arms wrapped around yourself as you stared out the window, your swollen eyes still red from crying. Damian was next to you, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. He glanced at you every few moments, as if afraid you’d vanish if he looked away for too long.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice soft and raw. “I didn’t mean to love you so much,” you whispered, barely audible.

Damian’s hands faltered for a moment on the wheel, his green eyes darting toward you.

“I’m sorry,” you continued, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry for being too much. For… for making you feel like I was suffocating you.”

His chest tightened at your words, a pang of guilt twisting in his stomach. “Don’t apologize, Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice low. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I was the one who hurt you. I was the one who didn’t see how much you were trying. This… all of this… it’s my fault.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill again. “I just wanted to make you happy, Damian. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Damian’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly as he let out a shaky breath. “You do make me happy,” he said, his voice softer now. “More than anyone else ever has. I was too blind to see it before, but I’m not going to make that mistake again. I swear.”

Back at Your House

When you arrived, Damian followed you inside, his presence steady and grounding. The chaos of your room was still overwhelming, but this time, Damian didn’t hesitate.

“Let’s clean this up together,” he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You nodded numbly, and the two of you worked side by side to pick up the mess. Damian carefully gathered the torn photographs, setting them aside, while you stacked the scattered comics and books. He didn’t rush you or push you to talk, letting the silence between you feel safe instead of suffocating.

Once the room was mostly back in order, Damian turned his attention to you. He gently took your hands in his, his eyes narrowing as he examined the cuts and bruises on your arms.

“These need to be treated,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

You tried to pull your hands back, but he held on gently, his touch steady and reassuring. “Please, Y/N. Let me take care of you.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Damian guided you to sit on the edge of your bed as he retrieved the first-aid kit you kept in the bathroom. He knelt in front of you, his movements careful and precise as he cleaned and bandaged each cut.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, I do,” Damian said, his eyes meeting yours. “I’ll always take care of you. Always.”

When he finished, he stayed kneeling in front of you for a moment, his hands resting gently on your knees. “You’re not alone, Y/N,” he said softly. “You don’t have to go through this by yourself. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Later That Night

Damian stayed with you, refusing to leave your side. As the night wore on, the two of you ended up lying on your bed, the lights dimmed. You rested your head against his chest, his arm wrapped protectively around you.

Tears continued to fall silently down your cheeks, dampening the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, his presence steady and unwavering.

As exhaustion began to take over, your voice broke through the quiet. “Don’t… leave me, Damian,” you mumbled, your words slurred with sleep and raw emotion. “Please…”

His heart clenched, and he tightened his hold on you. “I won’t,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll never leave you, Y/N. I promise.”

Your breathing slowed as you finally drifted off to sleep, your tears subsiding. Even in your sleep, your fingers clung to his shirt, as if afraid he’d disappear.

Damian stayed awake for hours, watching over you, his heart heavy with guilt and determination. He’d nearly lost you once, and he vowed to himself that he would never let it happen again.

The next day at school, you felt yourself walking the fine line between pretending to be okay and actually feeling like you could survive another day. The previous night’s events still lingered in your mind, but the warmth of Damian’s presence gave you a sense of reassurance that you hadn’t felt in a while. With him by your side, maybe the world wasn’t so cold after all.

As you entered the school grounds, the familiar chatter of students surrounded you, but you felt like you were walking through a haze. You tried to smile when you saw Damian waiting by your locker, but your stomach still churned with nerves.

“Feeling okay?” Damian asked, his green eyes searching your face with concern.

You nodded, though the words felt hollow. “Yeah. I think I’m alright.”

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t true. You weren’t fine—not yet. But you didn’t want to burden Damian more.

You walked through the day, the hours dragging on as you tried to push through the heaviness on your heart. It wasn’t until lunch that things took a turn.

You had been sitting at a table in the cafeteria, quietly eating, when you felt the familiar, sharp gaze of a group of girls approach. They had always been the type to poke fun at you when they could—mocking your hair, your clothes, anything that set you apart. But today, they focused on something else.

One of the girls, a blonde with a condescending smile, leaned over the table and grabbed your sleeve, yanking it up to reveal the fresh bandages on your forearms.

“You really thought you could hide these?” she sneered. “What, did you think no one would notice the little ‘cry for help’ on your arms?”

The others giggled, their voices dripping with mockery. You tried to pull your sleeve down, your face flushed with humiliation, but the girl didn’t let go.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” she taunted. “Can’t handle the pressure of life? Are you really that fragile?”

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach as the laughter from the group rang in your ears. You felt small—vulnerable—and everything you’d been holding together from the day before seemed ready to fall apart. You wanted to fight back, to tell them off, but your voice caught in your throat.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t bear it any longer, a familiar, commanding voice cut through the laughter.

“Get your hands off her.”

You looked up to see Damian standing just behind the group, his posture tense, his jaw clenched with anger. The girls froze, the cocky smiles slipping from their faces as they turned to face him.

“Damian,” the blonde girl sneered, her expression turning defensive. “What, are you gonna protect her now?”

Without a word, Damian stepped forward, his green eyes locked onto hers with cold fury. He didn’t shout or raise his voice, but the threat in his tone was unmistakable.

“If you don’t let go of her sleeve, I’ll make sure you regret it,” he said, his voice low but laced with a warning.

The girl hesitated, her confidence wavering under the intensity of Damian’s gaze. The others behind her shuffled uncomfortably, unsure of what to do.

The blonde finally released your sleeve, sneering one last time before stepping back. “Whatever,” she muttered. “It’s not like she can even take care of herself anyway.”

Damian stood his ground, his eyes never leaving the group as they slowly retreated. His presence was a shield, protecting you from their cruelty in a way no one else had. When they were finally gone, he turned to face you, his expression softening as his gaze flickered to the bandages on your arms.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but full of concern.

You swallowed, blinking back the tears that threatened to rise. “Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.” But it didn’t feel fine. Your chest still felt tight from the encounter, and the words of those girls continued to echo in your mind.

Damian stepped closer, placing a hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Y/N. I’m here. And I won’t let anyone hurt you, not even with words.”

You met his gaze, the weight of everything you’d been holding in your chest finally feeling a little lighter. “Thank you,” you whispered, a small tear escaping despite yourself. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Damian gave you a small, reassuring smile, though it was edged with the same underlying pain. “You’ll never have to find out,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed with him the rest of the lunch period, the both of you lost in the quiet comfort of each other’s company, as if the world outside your small bubble didn’t exist. For now, at least, you didn’t have to be strong alone.

The weeks passed, and slowly, but surely, you began to feel yourself healing. It wasn’t easy—some days, you felt as though you were taking one step forward and two steps back—but with Damian by your side, you were starting to find joy again.

You’d signed up for soccer, something you’d always wanted to try, but never had the courage to do. You weren’t exactly a star player right away, but it felt good to do something that was just for you. It was an outlet—a way to channel the frustration and hurt, to feel like you were building strength in every pass and every kick.

Damian noticed the change in you too. He saw the small spark return in your eyes, the way you laughed when you made a good play. So, without a second thought, he joined in. He wasn’t exactly a soccer player, but that didn’t stop him from running beside you on the field, working together to help you feel less out of place. He didn’t care that soccer wasn’t his thing; he cared that it was your thing, and he’d support you no matter what.

The next match was one of the biggest games of the season, and the whole school was buzzing with excitement. You were both nervous—especially you, with the memory of how the girls had taunted you still fresh in your mind. But this time, you felt different. This time, you weren’t alone.

As you and Damian stepped onto the field together, the opposing team was already on the sidelines, laughing and joking among themselves. A few of the popular boys—part of the group of arrogant athletes who had always looked down on you—shot you and Damian disdainful looks. One of them, a tall jock with dark hair, sneered at you from across the field.

“Hey, look, it’s the freak show and her bodyguard,” he jeered, his friends snickering. “Did you guys really think you could win?”

Damian’s posture immediately straightened, his usual calm replaced with a barely contained intensity. He stepped closer to you, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the boys. His body was tense, ready to take action if needed, but you placed a hand on his arm, grounding him.

“Don’t let them get to you,” you murmured. “We’re here to play, not to fight.”

Damian didn’t say anything, but he nodded once, taking a deep breath.

The game began, and at first, it was clear that the other team was underestimating you. They were trash-talking, trying to get into your head, but you kept pushing forward, focusing on the ball, on the game. As the match continued, you felt stronger—faster—your confidence growing with every successful pass, every goal attempt. Damian was right there with you, supporting you every step of the way, offering encouragement with a smile that made your heart race.

It wasn’t until one of the boys from the opposing team kicked the ball into the net, mocking you with a grin, that the game took a more intense turn. You could feel the eyes on you, and the taunts growing louder, but you refused to back down. You and Damian worked together like a perfect team, passing and dribbling, until finally, with only a few minutes left in the game, you made a break for the goal.

The crowd held its breath as you charged forward, the ball at your feet, and with a single swift kick, you sent it into the net. The roar of your teammates and the audience around you was deafening. The scoreboard flashed in your favor: Your Team 3 - Opposing Team 2.

The other boys on the opposing team froze for a moment, shock written all over their faces.

And then, the one who had been the most vocal earlier, the tall jock, turned to look at you—really look at you—for the first time. His expression shifted from mockery to guilt as his eyes fell to the bandages on your arms, barely visible beneath your sleeves. His gaze flickered to Damian, whose unwavering, icy stare was enough to send the boy scrambling for an apology.

“Hey, uh…” the jock began, his voice faltering. “I’m… I’m sorry about what I said earlier. We were just messing around, but… I didn’t know about… well, what happened to you.” He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his friends. “We were just… told to act like that.”

Damian didn’t say anything, his presence enough to silence the boy with a simple look.

The jock’s eyes widened in realization, and he mumbled an apology to both of you before walking away, his pride clearly deflated.

The rest of the boys, seeing the awkwardness unfolding, followed suit, quickly backing off and offering half-hearted apologies. You didn’t say a word, but inside, you felt something shift—a weight lifting from your shoulders.

After the Game

The final whistle blew, and your team celebrated the hard-earned victory. You were exhilarated—your heart racing from the rush of the game, the adrenaline coursing through you as you high-fived your teammates. But as you looked at Damian, standing by the sidelines with a proud grin on his face, something deep inside of you swelled.

You walked over to him, breathless and smiling, and without thinking, you reached up and kissed him—softly, quickly, but with all the emotion you’d been holding inside.

Damian froze for a split second, clearly surprised, but then he melted into the kiss, his hand finding its way to the back of your neck, pulling you gently closer. When you finally pulled away, his eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, full of warmth and affection.

“You did great out there,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

You smiled, your heart soaring. “We did great,” you corrected. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Damian smiled, a small but genuine expression. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. And I’m always going to be here… by your side.”

And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed it.

As the cheers and celebrations of your team echoed around the field, you and Damian lingered in your own little bubble. The kiss had been spontaneous, but it felt like a long time coming. Even amidst the noise, the world seemed quiet as the two of you looked at each other, the connection between you stronger than ever.

“You’re full of surprises,” Damian murmured, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “What can I say? You bring it out of me.”

Before Damian could reply, your teammates called for you to join the group photo, their voices filled with excitement. You glanced at him hesitantly, unsure if you should leave his side, but he gave you a small nod.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll be right here.”

You ran off to join your team, grinning as you posed with them, the victory still buzzing in your veins. Every now and then, you glanced back at Damian, who leaned casually against the fence, his eyes never leaving you.

The Walk Home

After the game, the two of you decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. The evening air was cool, and the city lights flickered against the darkening sky. Your cleats dangled over your shoulder, and Damian carried your bag without you even asking.

“So,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence. “What’d you think of my moves out there?”

“They were adequate,” Damian said with a teasing edge, though the small smile on his face gave away how proud he really was.

“Adequate?” you repeated, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “I think you mean phenomenal.”

Damian chuckled, his rare laugh warming you from the inside out. “Alright, fine. Phenomenal,” he admitted. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.” You grinned, feeling lighter than you had in months.

The conversation flowed easily as you walked, but soon, the quiet returned, comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding. As you approached your house, you stopped just outside the door, turning to face Damian.

“Thanks for everything,” you said softly, your voice full of gratitude. “For joining soccer with me, for standing up for me, for… everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his voice steady. “You’re worth it, Y/N. And I’ll keep proving that to you, every day.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but this time, it wasn’t from sadness—it was from the overwhelming warmth of knowing someone cared so deeply.

A Quiet Night Together

Once inside, you kicked off your shoes and flopped onto the couch, exhaustion from the game finally catching up to you. Damian followed, sitting beside you and stretching his legs out.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked after a moment.

“I could eat,” you admitted, laughing.

Damian smirked. “I’ll cook something. But only if you promise not to criticize my technique.”

“Deal,” you said with a grin.

He got up and made his way to the kitchen, and as you watched him move around the space, you couldn’t help but marvel at how much had changed in such a short time. Things weren’t perfect—you still had a long way to go—but for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

Later, as the two of you sat together on the couch, eating and talking about anything and everything, you realized how far you’d come. Damian’s presence, his unwavering support, had made all the difference.

And as the night grew late and you rested your head on his shoulder, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you wouldn’t face them alone.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through your curtains, and for once, it didn’t feel so harsh. It was Saturday—a break from the chaos of school—and Damian had insisted on spending the day with you. His reasoning was simple: to replace the comics you’d ripped up in your darkest moment.

You got ready, pulling on a comfortable hoodie and jeans, and when you opened the front door, Damian was already there, waiting. He was dressed casually, in a black jacket and sneakers, but he still carried himself with that same composed air.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his green eyes soft as they met yours.

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah. Thanks for doing this with me.”

The Comic Shop

The bell above the door jingled as the two of you stepped into the cozy little comic shop tucked away in one of Gotham’s quieter neighborhoods. The familiar smell of ink and paper greeted you, along with rows upon rows of colorful covers displayed on shelves and racks.

You felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you as you wandered through the aisles, memories of weekends spent here flashing in your mind. Damian followed close behind, his hands tucked into his pockets as he scanned the titles, occasionally picking one up to inspect the cover.

“I still can’t believe I destroyed some of these,” you said quietly, your fingers brushing over a stack of graphic novels.

Damian’s gaze shifted to you. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly. “You were hurting. And now, you’re here. That’s what matters.”

You gave him a small smile, grateful for his understanding.

Finding Favorites

After some time, you spotted one of the comics you’d torn up—a special edition issue you’d loved. You picked it up, running your fingers over the glossy cover, and held it up to show Damian.

“This one was my favorite,” you said, your voice tinged with both sadness and excitement.

He took it from your hands, inspecting it. “Then we’re getting it,” he said matter-of-factly, tucking it under his arm before moving on.

“Damian, I can pay for it—”

“No.” He cut you off with a sharp look. “Consider it a gift. Besides, I’ve been meaning to expand my collection, and this way, I’ll know what to get for myself, too.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile as you followed him.

A Quiet Moment

After gathering a small stack of comics—some for you, some for Damian—you both headed to the small seating area in the back of the shop. It was cozy, with a few chairs and a coffee table surrounded by posters of superheroes and villains.

You sat down and flipped through one of the comics, the familiar feeling of the pages between your fingers bringing you a sense of calm. Damian sat beside you, his own book in hand, though you noticed he glanced at you more often than he read.

“Stop staring,” you teased without looking up.

“I wasn’t staring,” he replied smoothly, though his faint smirk betrayed him.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Sure, Wayne.”

For a while, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence, immersed in the colorful worlds of your comics. It felt normal—peaceful—even in a city like Gotham, where peace was often hard to come by.

Wrapping Up

When you finally got up to leave, you felt lighter than you had in weeks. Damian paid for the comics despite your protests, and as the two of you stepped back out into the crisp afternoon air, he handed you the bag.

“These are yours,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said softly, looking up at him. “For everything. Not just the comics.”

He gave you a small nod, his expression serious but full of care. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. I told you—I’ll always be here for you.”

You smiled, and without thinking, you leaned up and kissed his cheek. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away—instead, a faint blush crept across his cheeks, making you grin.

“Come on,” you said, tugging his hand playfully. “Let’s go home. I need to read these properly.”

Damian let out a small chuckle.

The walk back to your house was filled with lighthearted chatter, the bag of comics swinging from your hand. By the time you got home, you were already buzzing with excitement to dive into the stories.

You kicked off your shoes, grabbed the bag, and plopped onto the couch with Damian following close behind. Pulling out the first comic, you settled into the cushions, fully prepared to lose yourself in the pages.

Damian, however, had other plans.

Instead of grabbing a comic for himself, he sat beside you, his arms crossed as he leaned back, watching you with an amused expression.

“You’re just going to stare at me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned a page.

“Maybe,” he replied smoothly. “It’s entertaining.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re weird, Wayne.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” he quipped.

For the next few minutes, you tried your best to focus on the comic in your hands, but Damian’s unwavering gaze was impossible to ignore. Finally, you sighed and turned to face him.

“Alright, what is it?” you asked, exasperated but amused.

His lips curled into a smirk, and before you could react, he lunged forward, his fingers digging into your sides. A squeal escaped your lips as you flinched away, but Damian didn’t relent.

“Damian! Stop!” you shrieked, laughing uncontrollably as he continued his relentless assault.

“Not until you admit defeat,” he teased, his voice calm despite the chaos.

You tried to squirm away, but he was too quick, pinning you down against the cushions as his hands moved to your ribs. Tears of laughter streamed down your face as you kicked your legs, desperate for an escape.

“Okay, okay! I surrender!” you gasped between fits of laughter.

Damian paused, his hands still resting on your sides as he hovered over you, a triumphant smirk on his face. “That’s more like it.”

You glared at him, still breathless. “You’re evil.”

“Perhaps,” he said with a shrug, his tone playful.

As you caught your breath, you realized just how close the two of you were. Damian was leaning over you, his arms braced on either side of your head, his face only inches from yours. His green eyes met yours, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere shifted into something softer.

Neither of you said a word, the air between you thick with unspoken emotions. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“Damian…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

But before you could say anything more, his smirk returned, breaking the tension. “You’ve got comic ink smudged on your face,” he said, reaching out to gently brush his thumb across your cheek.

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly pushed him off of you, sitting up and grabbing a pillow to hide your embarrassment.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though the smile on your face betrayed your words.

Damian chuckled, sitting back and grabbing one of the comics from the bag. “Maybe. But you’re stuck with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but as you settled back into the couch, this time with Damian reading beside you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for moments like this. Moments where the world felt lighter, and the weight of everything else faded away.

The rest of the day unfolded in quiet comfort, a kind of domesticity that felt warm and grounding. After finishing a few comics, you stretched out on the couch while Damian remained seated beside you, flipping through one of his own picks with his usual intensity.

“You know,” you said lazily, your head tilted to look at him, “you don’t have to read like you’re memorizing every panel.”

He glanced at you, one brow raised. “Attention to detail is important,” he replied. “You miss things otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Only you could turn reading comics into some kind of serious study.”

He didn’t respond, but the slight upward twitch of his lips gave him away.

Cooking Together

Eventually, your stomach growled loudly enough to interrupt the peace. Damian looked over, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Hunger finally catching up to you?” he teased.

“Maybe,” you admitted, sitting up and stretching. “Want to help me make something?”

“You mean, do all the work while you ‘supervise’?” he asked, standing up and offering you his hand.

You took it, grinning. “Exactly.”

In the kitchen, the two of you worked side by side, though Damian insisted on taking over whenever you looked even remotely clumsy. You pretended to be annoyed, but the truth was, you liked seeing him in this relaxed, everyday setting.

As he chopped vegetables with precision, you leaned against the counter, stirring a pot of pasta and stealing glances at him.

“You’re kind of good at this,” you said, feigning surprise.

“Did you think I’d be bad at it?” he asked, not looking up.

“Well, yeah,” you admitted with a smirk. “You’re so used to fine dining at the manor, I thought you’d be hopeless at normal food.”

He finally looked up, his expression deadpan. “You realize Alfred taught me, right?”

“Oh, so you’re cheating,” you said, laughing.

Cleaning Up

After dinner, which turned out surprisingly delicious, you both tackled the mess in the kitchen together. Damian washed while you dried, the two of you moving in sync like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“This is weirdly nice,” you said, holding up a clean plate for him to rinse.

He glanced at you, his sleeves rolled up and his hands wet from the soapy water. “What is?”

“Just… doing normal stuff. With you,” you admitted, your voice softer. “It makes everything else feel less… heavy.”

Damian didn’t reply immediately, but he handed you the next dish with a look that was equal parts understanding and affection. “You deserve moments like this,” he said finally.

Movie Night

With the kitchen clean and the dishes put away, you both collapsed onto the couch again, deciding to end the day with a movie. You scrolled through the options while Damian leaned back, his arm casually resting on the back of the couch.

“What about this one?” you asked, pausing on a cheesy superhero movie.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Really? That one’s notorious for being terrible.”

“Exactly,” you said, grinning. “It’ll be fun to make fun of it together.”

He sighed but didn’t protest, and you started the movie.

About halfway through, you found yourself leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder as you laughed at the absurdly bad dialogue on screen. Damian didn’t say anything, but you noticed the way his arm shifted slightly, wrapping around your shoulders to pull you closer. It was a subtle gesture, but it made your heart flutter nonetheless.

“See? This is fun,” you said, nudging him lightly as a particularly over-the-top action scene played out.

“If your definition of ‘fun’ is watching actors butcher every basic combat move, then yes,” he replied, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Oh, come on, Mr. Perfectionist. Not everything has to be realistic,” you teased. “Sometimes you just need to enjoy the chaos.”

He gave a quiet hum, and you could feel the vibration through his chest. “Chaos isn’t something I usually associate with enjoyment.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me, so you better get used to it,” you said with a grin, leaning further into him.

Late-Night Calm

By the time the credits rolled, you were half-asleep, your head tucked against Damian’s shoulder. He glanced down at you, his expression softening as he noticed your slow, even breathing. Carefully, he reached for the remote to turn off the TV, trying not to disturb you.

“You’re hopeless,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no bite to his words.

He shifted slightly, adjusting you so that you were lying more comfortably against him. As he rested his head back against the couch, he found himself staying awake, watching over you as you slept.

Morning Routine

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of faint movement in the kitchen. Rubbing your eyes, you sat up on the couch, a blanket draped over you that you didn’t remember grabbing.

You followed the sounds to the kitchen, where Damian stood, already dressed, pouring two cups of coffee.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still groggy.

He turned, offering you one of the mugs. “Morning,” he replied. “I figured you’d need this after staying up so late watching… whatever that movie was supposed to be.”

You chuckled, taking the mug and leaning against the counter. “Thanks. And for the record, I stand by my choice.”

“Of course you do,” he said, shaking his head lightly.

The two of you sat down at the small kitchen table, sipping your coffee in companionable silence. It was simple, ordinary, but it felt special—like a glimpse into a life you never thought you could have.

“What’s the plan for today?” Damian asked after a while, his green eyes meeting yours.

You thought for a moment, then smiled. “Maybe something boring. Like grocery shopping or reorganizing my bookshelves. Something normal.”

“Normal sounds good,” he said quietly, his lips curving into a small smile.

And so, the day unfolded in a series of small, domestic moments—sharing breakfast, tidying up, and simply enjoying each other’s company. It wasn’t grand or dramatic, but it was enough. It was everything.

#dc #dc comics #dcu #dc fanart #dc robin #damian wayne #fluff #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #angst

38 notes · View notes

oksurethisismyname · 1 year ago

Text

There’s a lot of One Piece student/ high school Aus but I suggest One Piece teacher AU

Note: these descriptions are based on my experience as a teacher in southern USA. Where I’m at, you have to be certified to teach in public schools and it is a well known fact that coaches are almost always history teachers (don’t ask why)

Luffy is one of those coaches that is also a history teacher, but every student knows he only got his history license so he could be a coach. He’s taking girls volleyball to state this year, they are absolutely destroying their opponents. He teaches World History and is known for being vocally anti government / capitalist, but also super optimistic.

Sanji is a French teacher who is also certified in Home Ec. He is known by students to be a bit of a hard ass but he always brings food from whatever francophone country their learning about and students low key love him for always having snacks ready for kids who might not have enough lunch money or have breakfast at home.

Zoro is a coach as well, and he got certified in Japanese so he teaches one section and then uses the rest of his time coaching. Him and Sanji are both on the World Languages department and when the state language competition rolls around, they go HARD. Somehow he got roped into teaching health this year but is really hoping the teaching intern will get hired and take that over next year.

Nami is a certified geography and economics teacher, which is unfortunately apart of the history department so she’s stuck in stupid department meetings with Luffy. Shes in charge of detention and has students do stuff for her class as “punishment”, but really it’s a fun time with music playing and her classroom is always spotless after.

Robin is obviously also a history teacher. She’s AP certified so she does AP World, AP US, and AP Euro. Her students love her but are also kind of afraid of her. She’s currently advocating for the inclusion of AP African American Studies at their school.

Franky is part of the vocational program at the school, doing mechanic and wood working stuff with students. Alternatively, Franky could be the maintenance guy at the school. He’s always around fixing something.

Usopp is the drama teacher. He is the most chosen elective because he’s super funny and also has a habit of getting off topic and just not giving tests. He and Franky work together on set design and lighting for the school shows.

Brook is the choir and orchestra director. He’s super old so students think it’ll be boring but day 1 he is acting a total fool and kids love this crazy old man.

Chopper is a student teacher doing his internship as a biology teacher. He’s got major baby face and a sweet voice which is funny considering his teaching mentor is Dr. Trafalgar Law, who has resting bitch face and a tired annoyed voice. His AP bio and AP anatomy classes are some of the hardest classes at the school, but chopper offers tutoring and students are doing better now that they see Dr. Law being kind to Chopper .

Jimbei is the guidance counselor. He’s always got his door open for students to talk to him and he never judges them. He’s kind and patient and students trust him.

#one piece #one piece school au #one piece teacher au #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #soul king brook #cat burglar nami #god usopp #one piece franky #trafalgar law #jimbei #monkey d luffy

193 notes · View notes

useless-catalanfacts · 6 months ago

Text

Frequently Asked Questions

This post answers the following questions:

Who are the Catalans? Where are they?

Which are the Catalan Countries? (each Catalan country)

Where can I learn the Catalan language? (free online resources and where to find classes)

What social media accounts can I follow that post in Catalan?

Other Tumblr blogs similar to this one but for other cultures of the world.

If your question isn't answered here, you're more than welcome to send me an ask!

1. Who are the Catalans? Where are they?

Catalan people are a cultural group who come from the area known as the Catalan Countries. We speak the Catalan language (a language that descends from Latin) and have a distinct culture (cuisine, traditions, holidays, dances, music, literature, etc) and history since the Middle Ages.

Our nation is the Catalan Countries, located in the coast of the Mediterranean sea, in South-Western Europe.

As a result of past wars and invasions, most of the Catalan Countries are under Spanish rule and a part of it is under French rule (+1 city in Italy). In fact, Spain and France have harshly persecuted, illegalized and tried to exterminate the Catalan language and culture for a long time, well into the 20th century. But Catalan people have survived the ethnocide and we still exist, even though we continue to face discrimination and there are some settings where it's still not legal to speak Catalan (for example, public schools in the French-controlled part, or European Union ambits, among some others).

There is also Catalan diaspora around the world.

We are not a closed culture, we are very open to foreigners learning our language and culture, and the Catalan diaspora often organizes celebrations for our holidays or groups to do traditional activities (most famously the castellers, aka human towers) that everyone can join.

2. Which are the Catalan Countries?

We say the Catalan Countries in plural because it's made of different areas for historical reasons. The Catalan Countries are all the areas where Catalan is the native language, which have historically been part of a whole, and which share a common culture (with local variants, of course). Here they are:

From North to South:

Northern Catalonia. Capital city: Perpinyà. It's under French administration (part of the region Occitanie in the new French regions system, used to be Languedoc-Roussillon in the old one).

Andorra. Capital city: Andorra la Vella. It's an independent microstate.

Catalonia. Capital city: Barcelona. It's under Spanish administration (it's the Catalonia region in the Spanish regions system).

Eastern Strip, also called Aragon Strip. It's under Spanish administration (it's part of the region of Aragon in the Spanish regions system).

Balearic Islands, including Mallorca, Menorca, Eivissa (in English also known as Ibiza) and Formentera. Capital city: Palma. Under Spanish administration (Balearics region in the Spanish regions system).

Valencian Country. Capital city: València. Under Spanish administration (called Valencian Community in the Spanish regions system).

El Carxe. Tiny rural area. Under Spanish administration (part of the Region of Murcia in the Spanish regions system).

L'Alguer. One city in the island of Sardinia. Under Italian administration (part of the region of Sardinia in the Italian regions system).

3. Where can I learn the Catalan language?

We are thrilled that you want to learn our language. Catalan people love it when others learn our language. Here I'll link you to classes and free online resources.

If you want face-to-face classes outside of the Catalan Countries, you can check this website to find if there's a university that offers Catalan classes near you. There are 101 around Europe, 25 in North America and Cuba, 5 in Asia, and 4 in South America. Students from these courses can also participate in language stays and internships in the Catalan Countries.

If you're already in the Catalan Countries, you will easily find courses for foreigners which the government offers for free or for a cheap price (depending on the level and each person's economic situation). Check out your local CPNL (Consorci per la Normalització Lingüística).

If you want to learn independently on the internet, there are two resources I recommend the most, both are available online for free.

One is the book "Life in Catalonia. Learn Catalan from..." that you can find in various languages. Here I add the link to the official government page where you can legally download the PDFs for free, you only have to scroll down and click under where it says "text complet". You can find the book Learn Catalan from English, from Spanish, from Arabic, from Tamazight, from French, from Hindi, from Urdu, from Punjabi, from Romanian, from Russian, and from Chinese.

The other resource I recommend the most is the online course Parla.cat. It has different levels for beginners or advanced learners. You have to create an account (it asks for an official document number, don't worry about it, it's not a sketchy site, it's because it's an official course paid by the government of Catalonia and if you immigrated to Catalonia having taken this course would officially count as a language course and can give you some benefits). You can either use it for free (all the learning material is available in the free version) or you can use the paying version. In the paid version, you will get assigned a language teacher from Catalonia who can help you and correct you.

There are many more resources. You can find more free resources in this post, this post, or in this link.

Here you have some recommendations to start practising. And remember that you can watch Catalonia's public TV streaming service 3Cat for free from anywhere in the world!

4. I want to follow social media accounts that post in Catalan. Can you tell me some?

Of course! According to the WWW Consortium, Catalan is the 35th most used language on the Internet, out of the more than 7,000 languages in the world.

Here's some lists with recommendations by topic:

Anime and manga

Cooking

Travel accounts

Videogames

Fashion and lifestyle

More lists will be coming soon

If your question wasn't answered, you can send me a question clicking here. 🙂 You can also browse this blog by topics here.

5. Can you recommend other blogs like this one but for other cultures of the world?

Yes, I made a list of recommendations in this post.

#faq #països catalans #catalan countries #catalan #cultures #culture #europe #anthropology

54 notes · View notes

askyena · 1 month ago

Note

Drop the lore about the history of itadori & co.

ok SO- wasuke grew up lower middle class, paycheck to paycheck because his parents wanted to put him in nice schools. he understood the assignment and strove for greatness, was always at the top of his class, was a scholarship kid at a university that was more prestigious than the ones his kids and reader went to, this man worked and continues to work for everything he has.

he wasn't the type of grad that needed internships, he was SMART and got hired right away, he worked as a financial advisor under the table starting his first year of university (they were able to get away with it bc it's was in the 70's). since he went to a prestigious university, he was able to open up a firm with one of his university friends. after 10 years of co-owning a financial firm, he was able to buy his friend out right before everything skyrocketed. from there he want public with the company, got many investors, and now he's worth around 50 million dollars.

his "rags" to riches story (he still ate good every night lol he wasn't that poor), is the reason why he loves reader so much and wants to give her raises and even make her an advisor. he sees that she wants more out of life and as willing to work for it. he loves his sons ofc, and sees the work they put in (jin and sukuna work HARD), buuuut he'll always have a soft spot for people that came from nothing

43 notes · View notes

moony-mari · 2 years ago

Text

Isn't it strange - Charles Leclerc

charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: loosely based on strange by celeste warnings: Angst, fluff a/n: my first fic… I have so many more ideas. This was just a warm up!

It was a huge cliche the way you and charles met way back in 2019. It was his first day at the ferrari factory and he was running late. Coffee in hand he ran towards the building entrance failing to notice the girl walking out of doors, spilling everything onto her ferrari polo.

He was completely frozen before he snapped back into reality reaching for his ferrari jumper to dry the shirt. Apologies spewing from his mouth continuously but all you did was stop him and tried to tell him it was alright and he should head inside for his meeting as he was already late he gave you his jumper and ran inside one thought playing on his mind. He never got your name

He never saw you again until the next race you spotted him and made your way over returning his washed and dry jumper as you were about to turn around he asked you if you would like to get coffee as a thanks. You laughed and told him to promise he wouldn't spill it on you again his eyes lit up and he joined your laughter.

The rest was history.

One coffee date led to many many more until he finally asked you to be his girlfriend after his win at monza all of a sudden it was your 1 year anniversary and you couldn't be happier. Charles was the sweetest most considerate boyfriend you’d ever had. He put all his effort into making you happy when he was not racing. He took you on dates that no one could compare to, he made sure you were always safe and comfortable when in public and most importantly he supported you in your career as you worked through the ferrari engineering internship.

So when you got a job offer to work at Mclaren for the 2021 season as their main engineer you thought he would be happy for you as this was not only a massive step in your career but also for women in engineering and motorsport. How wrong you were.

You opened the door and walked to the kitchen bursting to tell him the news. That was until he shoved the letter across the countertop with a look of betrayal on his face. Your smile dropped as you saw the mclaren logo at the front.

He shook his head and began to laugh in disbelief. You tried to explain that you’d still be in the paddock but he wouldn't have any of your answers. He claimed you going to mclaren wasn't necessary as they were not doing well and ferrari was better, he even told you that you didn't need to work at all and he could provide for you saying engineering wasn't meant for women and how mclaren only hired you to make them look good.

Tears fell down your face as you looked at him in disbelief. A scoff escaped your lips as you brushed passed him to gather all your things from his apartment. charles not understanding why you were leaving despite telling him multiple times. Once you got to the door charles was still so sure he didn't do anything wrong so you left and never looked back.

Radio silence. Nothing from charles. All of your messages were left on delivered. The season has ended and you were officially announced as lando’s main engineer. Praise came from the whole team and from across the whole paddock. Everyone except the one person you wanted praise from.

The last straw was when he brought another girl with him. It was like a knife stabbed you in the heart as you saw them walk past the mclaren garage. you always thought you’d get back together. A tap on your shoulder brought you back to reality, when you turned around you were met by lando who smiled at you “don't worry love you’ll find someone who appreciates you now come on smile for me i can't have my main girl being sad now can i?” he asked as you smiled for him and laughed when he cheered unnecessarily loud.

Unbeknownst to you charles watched the whole interaction bitterness filled his heart as he watched you laugh with someone else he knows he's to blame for losing you but he can't quite grasp it yet his eyes finally breaking away from the mclaren garage as he walked away

You had just finished debrief and walked out of the mclaren garage, suddenly your shirt was wet as you looked up, your eyes locked with his. He offered you his jumper but this time you declined, smiling at him pulling a mclaren hoodie out of your bag. It truly was the end

#f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 one shot #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc x female reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #ferrari f1

258 notes · View notes

lgbtq-history-museum-cfl-intern · 1 year ago

Text

The Final Count Down

Sunday 11/26/2023

Technically I’m supposed to be on vacation until tomorrow, but I have some time on my hands and thoughts on my mind.

This is the last day of classes and I’m working on some final assignments: The last touches on a research paper for the capstone course for my Interdisciplinary Studies major, a PowerPoint for the Hands-on History Internship Showcase on Friday, and a reflection on my service-learning hours with the LGBTQ History Museum of Central Florida – again, for capstone.

All I can think about is graduation! I’m so close, I can feel the end nearing!

My nerves are finally dissolving, leaving me with anxious anticipation, and a bit of “senioritis” as I chug through these final tasks.

Once the semester ends, this internship will fulfill the last course credits that I need – pending the History Department’s substitution – to complete my history minor.

Even though UCF has an Interdisciplinary Studies Master’s Program, I’m looking forward to turning in my application for the Public History Master’s Program by the priority deadline (January 15th). I aim to start my degree in the Fall of 2024 and, after learning about another student’s experience from Rollins’ Archival staff, I plan to take one seminar course at a time.

The only exception would be if I’m accepted into the Summer Research Program at UCF, allowing me to earn 6 credits the summer before.

This plan to take things slow is to hopefully avoid burnout and allow me to work with plenty of thought, care, and attention to my master’s degree. I’d also like to have time and energy to dedicate to internships and other forms of hands-on learning experiences like volunteering – maybe even a job that provides opportunities to expand skills that are relevant to public history professions.

Thursday 11/30/2023

Tomorrow is presentation day and I’m first up on the schedule (thank goodness! I’ll get to just sit and listen to everyone else’s experiences for the rest of the time!)

I’m literally functioning on meeting and due dates:

Tomorrow is the Hands-On History Showcase.

Sunday, all of my Capstone Assignments are due.

The following Friday, my final is due.

Then the Friday after that is graduation.

After that, I have about a month until the priority deadline for applications for the Public History Master’s Program at UCF.

That’s as far out as I can think right now.

I’m full of excitement and anxiety, but I’m also hopeful and optimistic!

Most of all, I am grateful, and I plan to spend some time throughout the following weeks communicating that to the mentors who positively impacted my undergraduate journey – pretty much all of them. (I was wondering if I was going to get sentimental leading up to graduation and, finally, here I am typing through calm tears as I reminisce on how lucky I am to have so many wonderful people to reach out to with gratitude.)

I’m glad this is how I chose to spend my final semester. Earlier this year, I was thrown off my path and I was heartbroken trying to piece together a new plan that accommodated my limited capacities as a student living with disabilities.

Now, two weeks from graduation, I stand firmer and more confident in my plans, goals, and desires.

Thank you to the wonderful faculty, staff, and peers who taught me so much along the way! Without their support, I would not have accomplished all that I have throughout my undergraduate career.

See you next Fall as a master’s student! (fingers-crossed)

Friday 12/01/2023

The showcase just ended and that just about wraps up the semester for me!

Everyone else had some incredibly enriching experiences and it was cool to see someone else who participated in the HerStory: Women in History Internship at the Orange County Regional History Center.

It seems the structure of it has come a long way, allowing her to accomplish so much more hands-on work than I had during my time there!

There was a lot of diversity in the projects everyone worked on, so I also learned other ways of being a public historian and doing public history work.

Hopefully, when I enter the Public History Master’s Program at UCF I’ll get to work alongside some of these wonderfully talented individuals!

Thanks for following my journey!

- Marena

#history student #internship blog #public history intern blog #history intern blog #public history internship #museum internship #student internship #college student #internship #history exhibit #banned books #graduation

0 notes

thelastharbinger · 2 years ago

Text

Did not have the U.S. government holding hearings on previously classified information and lying making confirmations under oath that they are in possession of alien bodies and ufos in order to distract from the fact that covid-19 is still the leading cause of death in children, the cost of living is astronomical, cop city is well underway despite Atlanta residents overwhelmingly crying out against it, we are experiencing the hottest & deadliest temperatures on record, the state of Florida trying to rewrite history to say that slavery was just a mutually beneficial unpaid internship, trans lives and rights are under attack, anti drag laws, FLINT MICHIGAN STILL DOES NOT HAVE CLEAN DRINKING WATER, anti-discrimination laws being reversed, Supreme Court ruling against affirmative action, Roe v. Wade undone, universal free school lunches are on the ballot, ongoing mass shootings, climate change, big pharma killing off people by withholding live saving drugs at ungodly market prices, the erasure of separation of church and state, AI surveillance being implemented to detect fare evasion for increasingly costly public transport services, the rise of fascim, proud boys showing up with military grade weapons at libraries and day care centers, the permitted attempted coup of the capital, labor union strikes happening all over the country, people dying of heat in Texas because evil landlords want to cut off cooling over an unpaid $51 utility bill, train derailments causing toxic waste spills, corruption within the highest court in the land, homelessness rates the highest its ever been, migrants and asylum seekers being kicked out of temporary housing, the cost of food, book bans, Miranda Rights no longer being stated, mayors deciding to no longer publicly disclose how many people are dying pre-trial in detention facilities, federal minimum wage still $7.25, Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, oil pipeline constructions on native lands, something like 30-50% of the nation's drinking water contaminated with forever chemicals, the rich remaining untaxed, biden going back on his campaign promises to forgive all student debt, still no free universal healthcare, ICE deportations increasing under biden admin, the u.s. yet maintaining colonies, teens and women getting jail time for miscarriages and abortions, 100 companies globally responsible for 70 or 80-something percent of all CO2 emissions, we are living in a police state, diseases resurfacing after years with no cases due to rising temps, death penalty, public services being defunded to increase military and police spending budgets, and abusers suing victims for defamation cases in court so that they legally cannot talk about it, and setting a dangerous precedent in the process in my 2023 bingo card but here we god damn are.

#2023 is a goddamn JOKE #aliens #us government #us govt #aliens and ufos #2023 bingo #land temp in spain was 140 degrees 2 days ago. owners r gonna have to start buying shoes for their pups out of obligation bc paws on fire.#i hate it here so bad #like can the aliens fix racism?

168 notes · View notes

myglassesareinkansas · 1 year ago

Text

Obviously, I wanna write an academic rivals to lovers book but I can't really do that until I've finished at least one semester of grad school so I can get a feel for what academia is actually like

#joy speaks #i'm in some doctoral level classes with some phd students #so this is The Way #i'm gonna learn so much about people #and history obviously #i just wanna write about two characters shouting at each other across the seminar table #and one of the characters is like 'SIR I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL'#ugh the humor #unmatched #also i think that trope literally should only be for university/grad school #maybe actual academic scholars who are employed #not high schoolers i'm ngl #there's just so much more you can do with tertiary education and grad school #fighting for internships and scholarships and grants and publications and collaborations #kjldsjsldfjkdksljf i'm obsessed

0 notes

bambamramfan · 9 months ago

Text

Discourse knows, there have been too many articles in the UMC publications about polyamory, and I apologize for adding to the bonfire of think pieces. At least this one linked above is less obnoxious than most of them.

(The most obnoxious one is referenced in this article, the Atlantic piece saying that polyamory is bourgeois identity politics distracting from material change.)

And what gets me is that for a bunch of supposed Marxists decrying how polyamory is just cultural superficiality irrelevant to the superstructure of material conditions.... none of them can bother to write a Marxist analysis of polyamory! It's just throwing different names at each other, no discussion of material incentives.

And it's so fucking easy to write one, isn't it. Here's our starting points:

Marriage (and the relationship models that lead to it) is an economic institution.

The change in modern polyamory fads is, like most fashion, coming from the upper-class.[1]

I think we can all agree on these basic premises, and they provide a great deal of grist for economic analysis.

For instance, the middle class in America is falling apart. Especially if you are a recent college graduate. It's easy to get an internship that might be on track to a very lucrative career, especially in a big city. It's a lot harder to start a stable middle-class job somewhere between the coasts. So you can't really start planning for baby until you're 30 and after 5 different careers you maybe have one that will last more than a year, and can put a down payment on a home at maybe 35. (Housing costs rising, especially in cities, has really exacerbated that.

Does this apply to everyone? No. Does it apply to more people that in the past? Big yeah. So, what does a young educated something do in their twenties and early thirties?

But the upper class - I suppose we are supposed to say upper middle class, but c'mon programmer earning $250k you're fooling no one - is booming. It's easier to enter it, especially if you're smart, than ever (note that increasing from 1% mobility to 10% mobility is a big change, even if on the absolute scale it's still unfair.)

Polyamory - or extramarital sex - has always been popular among the rich. Because marriage isn't really an economic necessity for them. If a couple splits, well there's enough money to go around for all the kids to live in nice houses. Mormon bigamy flourishes when a male breadwinner is so ultra-successful they can support for 5 wives, and geek group poly houses flourish when one systems engineer can pay for the whole house on their own too (maybe there's one kid everyone chips in babycare for in the house, but no one is even thinking about enough children in the group house for a fertility rate close to 1:1.)

So if you cut out the ladder from the middle-class-monogamy path, and widen the highway for upper-class-laissez-faire-culture, then cultural norms are gonna flow from the former to the latter.

The thing about relationship norms that makes the change really noticeable is their NETWORK EFFECTS. Being the only polyamorous person in a monogamous community is basically irrelevant, right? Who you gonna date? Similarly if you are in an entirely polyamorous community, my sympathies if you happen to be monogamous and so everyone you want to date has incompatible norms.

But once you start getting away from the edges, they S-curve up real fast because there's finally the option to try the minority relationship style, and for the agnostics who are okay poly or mono, they start seeing people they think are cute in the other camp, and hey, why not try it out.

So combine the collapse of the middle class, the proliferation of upper class hedonism, and network effects and a poly-explosion seems almost inevitable, doesn't it?

...

Of course, I haven't presented any hard evidence, this marginal change at most applies to less than double digits percentage of the populace, and this isn't even how the story feels from inside my head (as a poly converted person.)

But it was. At least. An attempt. To do. Materialistic analysis!

Why are all published Marxists so bad at this.

[1] Polyamory, or extreme family/relationship/household flexibility has always flourished in the underclass. But the NYT isn't going around interviewing trailer parks in Appalachia to ask them about their exciting new lifestyle.

#polyamory

26 notes · View notes

otrtbs · 9 months ago

Note

hi! could you explain a little bit what you studied and if you did any apprenticeship before you got a job ? a little summary to how you got there ? i’m so curious (and i admire you a lot)

hiya!! sure!!

so back in high school i actually started volunteering at my local art museum when i was 16 (up until i graduated at 18). they had a program specifically designed for teens to volunteer at the museum (i gave guided tours, and helped plan events at the museum, and worked with kids 3-12 in a drop-in studio every saturday where they could make art of their own after looking in the gallery) <- not a lot of museums do this, but you can call and ask if they need volunteer docents for the weekends !! they’ll train you!!

then i majored in art history in undergrad (making sure to focus my courses in modern and contemporary art towards the end of my studies bc that’s what i wanted to do! also i took a LOT of french classes. as in i only needed a few credits to have a minor but the last class was so hard i dropped it) to give yourself a leg up, i recommend studying a language (italian, french, spanish, german) most jobs in ARH require at least a minimal reading knowledge of another language.

while i was in school, i got a job at my university’s art museum as a gallery assistant! (<- fancy way of saying i walked around the galleries and told people not to touch the paintings and answered their questions if they asked and made sure no one was trying to steal the art)

during the summer, i got a summer internship at an art gallery in the biggest city close to my house (bc i moved back home w my parents in the summertime. uni housing was crazy expensive) and that was the *most* instrumental. i learned how to write wall texts, how to install artworks, i made studio visits to artists, updated the gallery website, handled artist contracts, you name it! it was great experience!!

i also got involved in art history/fine arts clubs at my university! i was on the fine arts council at my uni which represented the art and art history department to the student senate and the university at large. and the art historical society.

then i got my master’s degree in history of art theory and display, joined the art historical society at that university, got a degree and entered my FLOP ERA OF THE CENTURY

and by that i mean, i was 6 months unemployed and moved back home w my parents flop era. no one would hire me ,, no one would even give me a call back to tell me they didn’t wanna hire me ,,, and then one day someone did !! rahhh!!!! and i got some of my research approved 4 publishing and now im here!!!! (i say this not to discourage you but to let you know that the job market for art history ppl is tough,, it has always been tough,, but if you love it, it’s never a waste to pursue!)

i would do a few things differently if i had a second go at it, just to get a leg up so here’s some advice that im giving but i DIDNT DO myself:

1) try to minor in something to give you a leg up! a language is good, marketing is good, public relations… something to make you stand out!

2) try to get things published as an undergrad or a grad student! get your research out there if you can (way easier said than done ik ik) have some things you can list under your publications tab on your CV

3) if you find yourself in a 6+ month jobless, flop era period like me, volunteer somewhere at a museum or gallery if you are able. i was bitter as fuck that i had a masters degree and would be working at a museum for free when i needed money so i didn’t do it ,, but when someone finally calls back and you get an interview and they ask what you’ve been up to recently ,,, telling them you spend your time volunteering in museum spaces and working in your desired environment looks so much better than saying “i’ve been job searching” i promise !! (<- also just recognizing the extreme privilege i had to just stay at home and look for jobs in my desired field instead of immediately having to get a job somewhere. but im not gonna lie to you. i put out applications at olive garden and einstein’s bagels and they both rejected me. so. i was scrambling bc my student loans were due and i had zero dollars 2 my name 🧍‍♀️)

okay i rambled on for entirely tooooooo long. but i hope this was helpful somewhat !!! 💗💗

#asks #ARH talks #ARH ramblings

28 notes · View notes

possiblyeldritch · 4 months ago

Text

Welp, my time has come. I am going to disappoint my parents and be happy while I do it.

I recently got an email from my college’s financial aid office alerting me that I was chose as a recipient for a $2500 dollar humanities scholarship. This is great because I’m broke and $2500 is life changing for me. This will put a massive dent in my tuition for me.

But that’s not why I’m disappointing my parents (more accurately: will be disappointing). The reason I’ll be disappointing them is because I’ve taken this as a sign. I did not apply for this scholarship, I did not even know it existed, yet the donors picked me out of all the humanities students as the recipient. This is a sign to me, but more like an excuse to do what I actually want.

For context: I have been struggling with a very important choice lately. That choice is: do I make the rational and reasonable choice to switch majors when I transfer to Uni so I can get a well paying job after graduation OR do I keep majoring in English and double down on my literature studies/dream of being an author?

I have spent my entire life talking about how much I want to be an author, and nothing but an author. My parents have known this because it literally has been the only thing I’ve wanted since I was a little kid (I have been writing stories since I could read and write). When I was younger and still in public schooling, they were supportive, but now that I’m an adult in college they have been less so. Every time I bring up my dream of being an author their faces fall and they try to talk me out of it in that subtle “we just want the best for you” way.

The most recent occurrence was after I finished my internship as a museum curatorial assistant. I told them about how I liked working at the museum but was still unsure if studying history and museum work was what I wanted to do next year when I start my bachelors. They were supportive and said that I still had time and options, but then I brought up studying literature again and they were not pleased. It is clear they don’t like the idea of me being an author any more because it isn’t something real or sustainable.

But that’s all just context at this point because that scholarship gave me a push and opened my eyes. Out of everyone the donors could have selected from the humanities students, they chose me, and that made me feel good about my art for the first time in almost two years.

I am not going to study history for my bachelors. I am going to study literature and I am going to be an author. It is all I have ever wanted my entire life and I am going to make it happen.

!Tangent Over!

#lisle talks #writing #writer #tangent #personal rant

10 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 1 year ago

Text

The Night Moves | Part Two

The Night Moves Masterlist

Alternate Universe

supernatural!Bradley Bradshaw x Female Reader; supernatural!Jacob Seresin x Female Reader

Summary: An internship with the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History should have been the highlight of your academic career. The perfect addition to your resume while you worked on your doctoral thesis. An interdepartmental assignment, however, sees your reality ripped apart by incomprehensible forces. Five tumultuous days will leave you forever changed and inextricably linked to two men born centuries apart.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Alcohol, Emotional Struggles, Crying, Discussions of Violence/Blood/Gore, Supernatural Themes, Historical Inaccuracies, Institutional Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ Only

Word Count: 4795

-------------------------

-Wednesday-

Your alarm had gone off at its regular time, jarring your barely-rested body rudely into consciousness. Your eyes, feeling more akin to sandpaper than anything, had only suffered being opened to mere slits, allowing you to simply grasp at your phone weakly and turn off the ever-increasing sound. There had been no internal struggle about calling in late today, nor had your supervisor had any issue with it given what you had gone through the night before.

You had pinned a lot of hope on three extra hours of sleep, and while you certainly felt more human the second time your alarm went off, it was nonetheless a struggle to throw back the covers. Untangling your limbs from the sheets you had wrenched from the mattress at some point in the night, you peeled your tired frame from the bed. Exhaustion had somehow kept you asleep, but the disarray of your bed linens spoke to the restlessness of your body during the night. Scrubbing your hands down your face while exhaling a jaw-cracking yawn, you planted your hands on the bed and leveraged yourself to standing, shuffling into the bathroom to start getting ready.

The apartment felt unsettlingly quiet, the usual white noise of the rest of the complex waking and preparing for the day absent at this hour. Toothbrush in hand, you worked the bristles along your teeth as you ambled down the short hallway passed the dining room and around the corner into to the living room to turn on the TV. Not pausing to listen, you made your way back to the washroom to spit a frothy gob of toothpaste into the sink as a local news update about an unidentified body found not three blocks from your home played unheard in the other room.

A hot shower and, what you realized was your first real meal in nearly twenty-four-hours, had you feeling nearly human and on your way out the door. Living at the terminus of the silver line in Ashburn usually guaranteed you a seat on the train, but at midday there was very little competition anyhow. Just over an hour later, you were riding the escalator up onto the Mall, blinking into the blinding light of the sun before making your way across the street and into your building.

The atmosphere at work was understandably subdued, and you had only just arrived when you were pulled into the first in a series of debrief meetings that descended down the organizational chart until you finished with the curatorial team at three o’clock. Having used all your reserves the night before, you faded quickly through the day, and your supervisor strongly recommended you take the last few hours as compensatory time for the night before rather than try and remain functional with only two working hours left.

The idea of returning home to an empty apartment, however, with six idle hours until you could somewhat justify going to bed filled you with a sense of dread that had you turning not toward the staff exit but instead through the door connecting to the public exhibits. There were just over two hours before closing, a rare opportunity for you to enjoy the displays, and you found your feet carrying you toward the Price of Freedom exhibit – specifically the area focusing on the War of Independence.

It honestly seemed counter-intuitive, to be looking over artifacts from the same era so closely tied to the horrors of the night before, yet your mind seemed unable to focus on anything else. Leaning in to get a better look at a surgical kit from the period, backdropped by a diagram of an amputation from a 1768 medical text, you were startled to see a familiar reflection in the glass. Turning to look over your right shoulder, your eyes widened in surprise as your moustachioed rescuer from the Mall was making his way through the exhibit, just a few displays behind you.

As if sensing your gaze, he raised his eyes to meet yours, grin stretching across his features as he strode forward to your side.

“Is this also part of your job? Perusing the galleries?” His tone was warm and teasing and somehow, despite everything, managed to summon a smile to your face.

“Done early today, just taking advantage of the rare opportunity to enjoy the place during open hours. I see you took my advice?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Seemed like as good a place to start as any, first one at this end of the Mall, cute girl works here, might actually remember to ask for her number if I run into her this time…”

You smothered a laugh, despite the giddy thrill that raced through you, pleased that he had the same regret about your parting earlier that morning. Unlocking your phone, you held it out to him. “Please, text yourself so there’s no mix-up, I am only marginally more functional than the last time I literally ran into you.”

You watched as he took it carefully, swallowing tightly at how small your phone appeared in his hands, pleased to hear his phone vibrate before he handed yours back. “Done. So, aside from shorter, I hope today was also better than yesterday?”

Exhaling thoughtfully through pursed lips you eventually conceded with a nod, clicking your tongue against your teeth. “Not normal, but certainly more bearable.”

“You have some time to show me around?” He tilted his head, and you worked your lower lip between your teeth for a moment – not because you needed to consider his request, but because you did not want to appear over-eager.

Once you trusted your voice again you nodded. “I’d be happy to, where were you before I interrupted?”

He walked over to the display where you had been standing, even though you both knew he hadn’t gotten that far and pointed at the box lined with green velvet. “What is that?”

“A surgeon’s kit, carried by a battlefield doctor.”

“They do a lot of amputations?” He raised an eyebrow, looking at the enlarged medical diagram.

“Quite a few. Musket balls were made of lead, quite a soft material, that would flatten on impact. They left gaping wounds but still shattered bones. The primary medical treatment for such injuries was amputation, though infection was still very much an issue due to the lack of understanding of bacteria at the time.”

Nodding thoughtfully, he walked with you over to the next display before frowning. “And they were doing all that in the time of blood letting?” He pointed to the kit labelled for such a purpose and you shrugged.

“It was an important tool for treatment in that period. I shudder to think what standard practices we rely on today that will seem horribly outdated with the advancement of medicine in a few decades.”

“Or centuries, even.” He looked over the foreign instruments and you could not help but admit the idea of taking blood from an already sick and weakened individual seemed utterly ridiculous to your modern sensibilities.

“Is this really boring for you?” Bradley leaned in to ask quietly, pulling you from your thoughts and you looked to him warmly, shaking your head quickly.

“I spend most of my time with the collection in storage or newly received items, I very rarely get to visit the ones on display. And honestly, I’m trying not to bore you with too many facts.” You smirked gesturing with a set of sarcastic jazz hands that elicited a raspy chuckle from him.

The sound sent your stomach somersaulting end-over-end in your abdomen, and you were convinced it might have the power to end your life.

“Promise it’s not possible.”

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Bradshaw?”

The pink flash of his tongue darting out to wet his lips had your knees losing their structural integrity and you took a sharp inhale through your nose before locking them back into place lest you crumple onto the exhibit floor.

“I feel like only a fool would challenge you, sweetheart.” He rasped and it took all your will power not to stare at the way his pretty lips formed words and sounds.

“Smart.” You murmured and swallowed, trying to rehydrate your dry mouth with saliva as you moved onto the next display.

Bradley remained delightfully curious and actively engaged in listening to your explanations. No longer concerned about holding back your extensive knowledge on the subject matter, you found yourself expounding at length on topics like conditions in camp, the Battle of Saratoga, and the fall of Charlestown. One conflict proceeded into the next – the War of 1812, the Mexican War, the Civil War – and as you spotted the chairs Grant and Lee sat in during the surrender at Appomattox Court House your excitement got the better of you. You grasped the cuff his jacket, barely noting the quality of the suede, and tugged him over to the glass to look them over eagerly.

“These are the chairs used during the signing of the surrender in the house of a man named McLean. Four years earlier, he had lived in Manassas, and the first battle of Bull Run took place on his land. So, he had moved further north to escape the fighting, but still somehow ended up right in the middle of it. Supposedly, he’s to have said ‘The war began in my front yard and ended in my front parlor.’”

“How could anyone get bored of things like that?” He replied, deftly lacing his fingers together with yours, overtaking your grip on his cuff. “I am in awe of your ability to recall these things with such ease.”

The warm, callous-roughened feel of his skin against yours left you flustered, words abandoning you for the first time in over an hour, so you simply smiled sheepishly and shrugged. He winked in reply, squeezing your entwined hands before moving onto the next display.

You had just made it to the Wyllis jeep from World War II, suspended from the ceiling, when the final closing announcement echoed throughout the museum. “I’m sorry we didn’t quite make it all the way through, but I think the docents might murder me if I were to linger any longer…”

“No apologies necessary if,” he paused for dramatic effect and you looked to him quickly, “you’ll allow me to buy you dinner.”

You eyed him quizzically as the pair of you exited the gallery with the last trickle of visitors. “I may only be a historian, but I am fairly confident that doesn’t really add up? I owe you so you’re repaying me?”

He stepped onto the descending escalator in front of you, smirking cockily as he leaned back against the railing to maintain eye contact with you. “I assure you my math is sound, and my offer stands. But, you’ll have to tell me where to take you because I still don’t know anything about this city.” He finished with a shrug that had you tilting your head back and laughing brightly.

“Well, what kind of food would you like to treat me to?” You asked once your laughter subsided, stepping out with him into the gathering dusk.

“Hmmm, something you’ll enjoy, nothing too pretentious but still delicious? Distance isn’t an issue, my car is just parked over here.” He gestured toward northwest fourteenth street. “In the Ronald Reagan building.”

Nodding thoughtfully, you headed off in that direction, teeth sinking into your lower lip as his hand slipped into yours once he caught up. “I think I know a place and its close to a Metro station too.”

There was a pause as he seemed to be thinking something over but whatever it was, he didn’t share with you. The pair of you headed into the building, stepping into the security line. Because the building was located so close to the White House, anyone entering was required to undergo a screening process similar to that of an airport. After placing your work bag onto the conveyor belt, you stepped through the metal detector, retrieving it once it passed through the scanner.

Bradley followed shortly behind you, collecting his keys and wallet, leading you over to the elevator. When the doors opened, it was already pretty crowded but the pair of you managed to squeeze in, pressed side-by-side.

“What floor?” A gruff, balding man ask from nearby the row of buttons.

“B1.” Bradley replied easily and you swallowed thickly at the feeling of his voice vibrating through you.

“Already pressed.”

“Great.” He replied with an easy smile, tilting his head to catch you eye, raising his eyebrow in a silent check-in.

You offered a soft smile in return before the doors opened at the Concourse level and you were both forced to step out to let a series of people get off the elevator before stepping back on. The next floor was thankfully yours. Bradley gently grasped your hand to carefully guide you over to a classic Bronco in the prettiest shade of blue you had ever seen. Had a car ever suited its owner more? Unlocking the passenger door, he opened it for you, offering a hand to help you up onto the white vinyl seat.

“Thanks.” You hopped up, setting your bag in the footwell as he closed the door carefully before coming around to the driver’s side. You tugged off your lanyard and shoved it into the front pocket of your bag, not wanting to wear your identification badge out in public any longer than you already had.

The Bronco growled to life, and you struggled not to openly stare at his command of the vehicle. Thankfully, the drive to the restaurant was less than ten minutes and a parking spot proved shockingly easy to find. Somehow you had the wherewithal to add your name to the waitlist online during the drive over, so you only had to loiter in the lobby for fifteen minutes. Scrolling through the menu together with heads bowed precariously close over your phone, the feel of his breath caressing your cheek made it difficult to focus on food and beverage choices until two seats to open up at the counter.

Seated on the bar stools with Bradley’s knee grazing against yours, it was no easier to focus on the menu. A waiter stopped by to get some drinks started; Bradley ordered a beer and you managed to blurt out the name of one of the cocktails off the list. To your great relief, when you took your first sip, it was quite delicious, and the alcohol relaxed the tension in your limbs.

Sufficiently braced with liquid courage, you leaned in asking, “So where did you live before your recent move here?”

You were treated to the sight of his tongue swiping foam from his upper lip before he replied, “Virginia Beach, born and raised.” He tucked his chin into his chest, playfully chagrinned. “Promise not to think less of me?”

Laughing warmly, you shook your head, reassuring him. The pair of you became so involved in getting to know one another, trading questions back and forth, that when the waiter returned to take your food order, you looked up to him guiltily. Bradley easily placed his order, giving you time to quickly scan though the options and choose your meal as well. Trading bites of food and bits of personal information, before you realized it two hours had passed. The crowd at the restaurant had thinned somewhat and your fatigue snuck up on you, forcing you to try and smother a yawn behind the back of your hand.

“I should get you home to get a good night’s sleep for work tomorrow.” He sighed reluctantly, gesturing for the bill and insisting on paying the full total. “This is my thanks for the private tour, after all.” He teased in response to your protests, which were admittedly weakened by alcohol and lack of sleep.

Stepping out into the dark of evening, you hugged your jacket tighter around you as the warmth of the day had disappeared with the sun. “The Metro station is just two blocks that way,” you gestured, “so I’ll leave you here.”

“Oh, I’m driving you home, didn’t I tell you?” He shrugged when you shook your head, bewildered. “Well, I am, come on.”

“I live out past Dulles, it takes half an hour to drive out there and then you’ll have to come back to your place…” The words died on your lips as he slid his hand into yours once more and tugged you towards the Bronco.

“I don’t mind, I enjoy driving. And I’m guessing it’s faster than the Metro?” He raised an eyebrow, and you huffed in defeat before conceding with a nod. “Then it’s decided.”

Settled back in the front seat, he handed you his phone to input your address in the map app for directions. “I’m paying the tolls, though, ok?” You insisted stubbornly, pulling up a blank note on your phone. “I just need your licence plate number to pay online.” You typed it in carefully as he rambled it off easily, going to the Express Lanes website to sign up for a notification for when the tolls for today’s trips would be ready.

“Why do you live so far out of town?” He asked, turning on the radio to an oldies station but keeping the volume low, easily following the navigation instructions.

“I wanted outdoor space, a separate bedroom, and to be able to eat. That combination of things is easier to find outside DC, plus I don’t mind the commute. I listen to music and wake up slowly on the Metro. Being the first stop means I usually get a seat, too.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “So maybe living in a crappy studio with one window facing an air shaft for $1800 a month wasn’t my best choice?” He grinned ruefully.

“Leases aren’t forever? You can always move.” You nodded encouragingly. “Sometimes it takes a few times before you find the right place.”

“The included parking space is the best thing about it.” He chuckled and you laughed warmly in response.

“That will definitely have to be prioritized in any search parameters if you decide to start looking for a new place. Can’t leave this pretty vehicle just anywhere.”

He flashed you a smirk before pulling onto the toll road, glancing at his phone balanced on left his knee to confirm the exit number. You settled back into your seat lazily, watching him drive, listening to his music choice, finding an easy smile resting on your lips. It seemed all too soon that he was pulling off the exit ramp to Ashburn, heading towards your building.

Straightening in your seat, you clumsily kicked over your work bag, hearing some of the contents hit the floor mat. Cursing under your breath you leaned forward in the intermittent flashes of streetlights to gather some pens, lip balm, and your keys. Apparently, you had neglected to zip up the front pocket. You sat up as he turned into your apartment complex, a group of four apartment blocks around a play structure, barbeque area, and pool, guiding him to the building in which you lived. He pulled into a visitor parking space, and you hopped out of the car, scanning the floor to ensure you had all of your belongings before you heard Bradley’s voice behind you.

“Have everything?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walked with him up the stairs to your second-floor apartment. “This is me.” You turned to look at him softly. “Thank you again for driving me…and for dinner…”

“Thank you very much for a lovely day.” He smiled in returned.

The pair of you stood, neither moving, both watching the other. Perhaps waiting for an indication, or for someone to initiate something. Fearing the moment might evaporate, that he might turn and head home, you leaned forward pressing your lips against his cheek gently. He sighed softly as you pulled back and you snagged your lower lip with your teeth nervously, glancing at his face.

“We need to work on your aim, sweetheart.” He chided fondly as his hand moved to cradle the side of your face, guiding your lips to meet his warmly.

Your eyelids slid shut as you leaned into his kiss, shivering at the feel of his moustache tickling the tender skin of your upper lip tantalizingly.

“Better.” He rasped as he pulled back. “We’ll need to practice but for now you need to sleep a full night…” His hand caressed down your jaw to rest against the side of your neck, your eyes fluttering open lazily.

“Mmmhmm.” You replied wordlessly, licking your humming lips. “Good night, Bradley.” You managed to summon the words.

“Night, sweetheart.” He smiled fondly, watching you fumble with your keys until you were able to slide them home in the deadbolt and step inside.

Giving one final wave you stepped inside and closed the door with a dreamy sigh. Unfortunately for you, the fatigue from the car did not translate easily to sleep. You followed your normal routine, crawling into bed in your sleep shirt and pajama pants, turning out the light. Thoughts that had been kept at bay by the daylight, by Bradley’s warm and steady presence, immediately flooded your mind. Memories of the night before – a face contorted in centuries-old anguish, a dark and unfamiliar hallway, blood-soaked fabric, the gurgling sounds of a man drowning in his own blood, a pair of eyes vacant in death.

You must have tried for an hour, laying on each side, sticking a foot out of the covers because you were too hot, pulling it back in because you were too cold, before tossing the duvet aside in frustration. You were exhausted but sleep refused to come. Your mind refused to give you peace. Sliding a sports bra under your sleep shirt and a hoodie over top you grabbed your keys and phone, stepping outside for a walk. It had served you well in the past; when a project at work had you nervous, or when you were waiting for news of medical test results from a friend. The grounds of complex were tree-filled, safe, quiet. You could only hope a circuit of them would be enough to provide some relief tonight.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs you turned away from the parking lot, heading toward the courtyard, inhaling sharply as a man was walking towards you. Face illuminated by the security lights that ringed the building, you were struck not only by his longer sandy blond hair, pushed back carelessly from his handsome face, but his piercing green eyes. There was something unsettling about them – predatory, sinister, not unlike a cat preparing to toy with its meal. You offered a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to appear stand-offish to one of your neighbors, before continuing on your planned path. Feeling the hairs standing on end at the nape of your neck you risked a glance backward and exhaled in relief to see he was not following you.

Walking along the wrought iron fence, you made your way past the swing set, the wind moving the empty seats slightly as it picked up, and onward towards the barbeque area before your path was suddenly blocked by that same stranger from the hallway.

“Out for a stroll, Miss Intern?” He spoke smoothly, his voice carrying a hint of the South yet something about the way he spoke was utterly unfamiliar.

His gaze impaled you, your feet were rooted to the spot, and you found yourself unable to continue your walk.

“Can’t…sleep…” You murmured despite your inherent suspicion of him, your mind working as efficiently as wheels spinning in mud. Puzzling unhelpfully over the fact that his grey Henley shirt seemed several sizes too large for him.

His fingers reached out to brush along your cheek bone, the coolness of his touch making you wince. “Perhaps you are simply in need of companionship.”

“Mmmm.” you reply noncommittally, the world hazy. You watched wide-eyed as he stepped closer, his movements blurred while the sway of the tree branches in the distance behind him seemed impossibly slow.

He slid his nose along your jaw before burying it against your neck below your ear. “You truly smell divine, please, I need to taste more. One drop is not enough.” He whispered, cool lips brushing against your flesh, making your full body shudder, goose flesh erupting across your neck. “I beg of you, Miss Intern.” His fingers curled into the thin fabric at your hips, pulling you closer.

Your eyes slid shut involuntarily. Why did he keep calling you that…

The sound of your name being shouted sharply across the courtyard pulled your attention and you turned your head in a daze to see Bradley hurrying toward you. The blond stranger was suddenly gone, sending you stumbling a few steps backward into a nearby picnic table. You leaned heavily against it, head swimming, as Bradley closed the distance between you with remarkable speed.

“Found your key card in my Bronco, thought you’d need this tomorrow” He spoke normally, not at all winded, your lanyard dangling from his index finger, but his eyes were darting around the darkened space. He leaned in closer his posture shielding you defensively. “You alright?” He looked you over, concerned.

“Oh shit, thank you so much” You tug your lanyard from his hand and tucked it into the pocket of your hoodie, straightening as your head cleared. “It’s late, thank you very much for coming back with it.” You continued, not really answering his question as you weren’t entireley certain what your response would be.

“I figured it was important…” He shrugged, pulling back slightly to give you some space. “What are you doing outside?”

You sighed deeply, glancing around before looking to his concerned expression. “I’m having trouble sleeping, honestly.” You swallowed tightly before it suddenly came pouring out of you. “Someone died in front of me last night.” Once you started speaking them, you found the words did not stop. The story was disjointed, by no means linear. You doubted Bradley would be able to fully understand what happened, you surely didn’t, but he stood there in the brisk Autumn wind, near midnight, listening to you ramble about the thoughts that had been plaguing you while you had been attempting to sleep.

Eventually you ran out of steam, ran out of things to say, a hush falling over the courtyard once more before he pulled you close into a warm embrace. You burrowed your face into his neck and squeezed your eyes shut against a sudden flood of tears, but they proved as unstoppable as the flow of words. His palm drew soothing circles on your back, and he pulled you closer as you dissolved into sobs, body shaking against his.

In a tremendous show of patience, he continued to hold you, waiting for your tears to subside. Eventually you were able to take a deep breath without it catching in your throat, and the ache in your chest had eased somewhat. You straightened carefully, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, eyes glancing at his shyly.

“Sorry about that…” You croaked and he shook his head quickly.

“No apologies necessary, but you’re freezing.” He frowned as his fingers swept away the last of your tears, feeling the chill in our skin. “Can I get you inside?” He asked hopefully and you nodded with a sniffle, in desperate need of some tissues.

Sliding his arm around your shoulders he led you back past the swings still dancing in the wind, down the hallway, and up the stairs to your door. You turned and hugged him tightly once more.

“Thank you yet again, Bradley. Good night for real.”

He squeezed you tightly in return. “Get some sleep for real, ok?” He murmured, kissing your forehead tenderly before ushering you inside.

You stepped into your apartment, shivering at the warmth awaiting you there, and glanced the doors out to your balcony, suddenly filled with the unusual urge to close the blinds. Yanking on the cord repeatedly, you sent the louvres flying toward the centre of the sliding doors before you tugged on the chain to spin them shut.

You felt instantly better once the night was shut out of your home. Making a circuit past the front door to ensure the deadbolt was lock and chain was in place, you finally returned to your bed, pulling on an extra blanket. Focusing on peaceful things like the feeling of Bradley’s arms around you, and the heavy exhaustion in your limbs, you finally convinced sleep to overtake you.

-------------------------

Read Part Three

The Night Moves Masterlist

Tag list: @moonyinthestars

#top gun maverick fanfiction #rooster x reader #hangman x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x reader #rooster x you #hangman x you #bradley bradshaw x you #jake seresin x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #vampire au #vampire hunter au

63 notes · View notes