#dead on the kitchen floor rn

[formula-red]

ppsojdftholjdk'pogjaédgj'sl hello listen to this rn thanks ill be screaming about this until the day i die love you bye

i have never known a silence like the one fallen here // never watched my future darken in a single tear // i know we want this to go easy by being somebody's fault // but we've come long enough to know this isn't what we want // and that isn't always bad

BYE

[lazyjellyfish300]

12 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 ~ 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑻𝒘𝒐

Synopsis: It's the classic Hallmark tale: what happens when you, a business woman from the city, arrives at the family owned O'Hara Christmas Tree farm your greedy boss wants to demolish, and finds much more than you bargained for that fateful night you get snowed in?

CW: x FEM!READER, SMUT(unprotected p in v ,oral (f receiving), creampie, breast play, touch of mirror kink) enemies to lovers ish, DUBCON?(You're both a bit drunk), alcohol, touch of angst, mention of pregnancy

Words: 4.4k

A/N: a little late, mb but I hope it's worth it!😩 I'm on vacation rn but I'm dedicated to making this happen even if I'm a lil behind lolol

Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

12 Days of Smutmas Masterlist 🎄🎁

You certainly weren't in Kansas anymore. Or so the saying went. This time you found yourself somewhere in the Catskills outside of Nueva York. Your high heels crunched on the gravel as you stepped out of your Uber, taking in the grand Christmas tree farm in front of you. 

"O'Hara Ranch" was welded in iron lettering on a black sign above the entrance. You whistled as you took in the expansive acres of balsam fir trees, dusted in a thin layer of snow straight out of a painting. 

It was no wonder your boss was so dead set on this place. You became keenly aware of the biting chill of the countryside as you huddled your arms closer around you, your pink blazer doing little to keep you warm as you started to quake in your Jimmy Choos with your laptop case and singular carry-on in tow.

---- 

Miguel grunted, scratching his lower back as his large, sturdy boots squeaked a little on his kitchen floor, eyes almost as dark as the warm beverage in his mug, looking out in silent disapproval at the black Escalade that pulled up, dropping off what he was certain was another employee from that pesky developer.

Some poor soul who had to be the shot messenger for a CEO who never strayed out of the wealthy privileged fairytale land they lived in, thinking that multiple commas would be enough to get him to sign his life away. 

When would they ever learn? He thought. He puts down his mug on the counter then strides over to the door, placing one of his hats on his head before he goes outside to greet this new imposter. 

---

You shuddered as you reached inside your pocket, taking out the flimsy scrap of paper that contained the phone number for the ranch and dialing it again, hoping to reach this Miguel, or whoever it was you were supposed to meet. 

"C'mon..." 

You shouldn't be surprised if he didn't pick up again. It was no secret that you were the bad guy in this situation straight out of a Hallmark film. 

Corporate business lady visiting a Christmas Tree farm that's been in the same family for decades, beloved by all the locals, who forced them to sign over their American dream to a greedy land developer and demolish it to the ground for a lavish mountain resort, and 2 weeks before Christmas no less. 

Just as the call goes to voicemail, a four wheeler's engine interrupts your train of thought. Just like out of a movie, you take notice of the very tall, dark haired, very handsome rider who sat astride it.

His long sleeved grey shirt did nothing but accentuate his rippling arm muscles, layered underneath a Carhartt vest, complete with a baseball cap and salt and pepper five o clock shadow on his sharp, steely jaw. His lips were plump and relaxed into a subtle frown, complete with thick brows and dark wavy hair that complimented the pair of rich brown eyes he possessed that compared to the slice of Earth he owned. 

"Miss...?" He asks your name with an equally deep beautiful voice to match in slightly bored formality. You could tell it was painful for him to be polite to you like this, if you were the corporate imposter like he thought you were.  

"Yes, hi! You're...M-Miguel, right?" 

His expression remains unmoved. "That would be me." 

"It's a pleasure to meet you. Gorgeous property by the way! Really, it's much much better in person than the pictures-" 

"Right." He replies stiffly. "There's really no need to be so gracious.  I figure you're here for one thing and one thing only." 

"Uh-" you reply, a little thrown off by what he means. 

"And the answer is no. I understand you've got a job to do, but I've told your boss over and over again: no. Five years ago, it was a no. Last month, also no. Come back in a week, my answer will still be no. Thank you." 

He revs the engine, getting ready to speed away. 

"Wait! I really do need you to sign this! From the mayor?" You waved a pink colored document which caught his attention for once. 

Miguel turned off the engine, hopping off the four wheeler and strode towards you. He shoots you a superstitious glance before his eyes flicker to the paper, slowly becoming more enraged as he scanned along the fine print:

 Notice of Eminent Domain. 

That bastard. There was a reason Miguel didn't vote for this prick. The new mayor was part of this recent wave of money hungry idealists in power who wanted to turn the humble town he grew up in into another rich touristy playground. 

Usually, these folks couldn't wait to sign the dotted line, get their check, and be on their merry way, but this Miguel was taking his time reading every last stipulation in the document. You notice the snow is coming down harder and harder, your teeth chattering wildly as you did your very best to stay calm as the relentless cold tested your endurance. Finally, Miguel hands you back the paper with a sigh, 

"Still not signin'. Sorry for wasting your time." 

"Miguel." You felt your patience snapped in half by now. Between traveling all morning, your boss's incessant emails, and the cold ass weather, you had just about had it up to here. 

"I'm sorry. But any complaints you have will just have to be taken up with the big man later. I came with a job to do and I have every intention of doing it." 

"That so?" Miguel straightens up, flexing his height over you. 

You were emboldened by this point through all the bullshit you had endured. "It is very much so. I'm not leaving this damn farm without a signature, and that's final." 

"Hm." Miguel nodded his chin, as though he was calling your bluff before he swiftly turned around, walking back towards the awaiting four wheeler. 

"Oh no you don't!" You huffed as your icecubes for feet magically thawed off of pure adrenaline and spite as you began to sprint. 

"What the-" Miguel looks at you quizzically then his brow furrows when he sees you darting towards his four wheeler. "The hell you think you're doing??" 

You ignore him and climb on, Miguel snickering a little bit at the prim and proper lady from the city now straddling his seat, slightly disheveled with a wild look in your eye from dealing with corporate messes all day. 

"Get down." Miguel says sternly, coming up to stand next to you. 

"No." You answer simply, smoothing your blazer. 

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be." Miguel's tone becomes more warning now. "Get off my property, woman." 

"Sign my document, then." You fold your arms. 

"You're a brat, y'know that?" Miguel folds his arms too, incredulous at your undying persistence, more like annoyance. "So childish." 

"Name calling? And you say I'm the childish one." You turn your nose up at him.

"I'm not the crazy lady jumping on a stranger's four wheeler that she doesn't even know how to drive." Miguel grumbles. 

"You'd be surprised." You glare. 

Both of you just sit there in silence, the snowfall has  escalated to just short of a blizzard by now. You're trying but failing to conceal just how damn cold you are as you shiver and shudder. Miguel's mind brews with some ideas before he speaks. 

"Alright." Miguel sighs "I'll sign your damn document. But I need to show you the place first. Just so you can get an idea of just how sick and twisted you people truly are: tearing down a place like this that's been in the family for generations." 

"What?" You blink, not expecting this change of events. "But I mean- but..." You glance at your wrist watch. "It's almost 4 pm. I was supposed to be on the road a half hour ago." 

"Not in this storm you're not." Miguel tsks his teeth. "They always close the canyon when it snows. You won't be able to go anywhere until the morning. But hey, if you wanna call an Uber and wait four hours for him just to be turned around at the bridge, then be my guest." 

"You-" You shuddered and groaned, exasperated at the fact that Miguel appeared to have the upper hand this time. You were stuck playing by his rules. 

"Fine." You resign, throwing your hands up. 

Miguel smirks at this surrender in you, getting on the four wheeler behind you. He's aware the space between your bodies is now very thin, his chest just barely grazing your back as he leans forward, placing his hands on both handlebars. 

You try not to make it obvious that you can't breathe and realize you might be in way over your head being stuck overnight with a man four times handsome as he was stubborn as Miguel drives you rapidly towards his ranch. 

---- 

"Home sweet home." Miguel hums halfheartedly as you enter the elaborate living area of Miguel's mountain home. Several brown and white cowhide rugs were spread over the polished wooden floors, a large pair of antlers hung over a luxury stone hearth, with an inviting leather couch in front of it. 

A short time later, you're absentmindedly staring at some photographs on the wall when Miguel's voice startles you. 

"Had enough snooping?" 

"I wasn't snooping!." You whirl around, pretending to avert your gaze. "I was admiring the antlers." 

Miguel scoffs. "You're a terrible liar, you know." 

"Who is that?" You ask, voice a little more gentle. You kind of wish you never asked when Miguel's eyes soften with the slightest tinge of melancholy. 

"My daughter." He answers then clears his throat. "She passed some years ago." 

"Oh..." You look at him then back at the photograph of the cheery bright eyed girl in it. "I'm so sorry." 

"Thanks." Miguel answers shortly, crossing over to the bar on the far side of the room. 

"I can see why you don't want to leave." You admit, crossing your arms and running your palms up your arms as the glow from the fireplace worked quickly to rid you of any lingering chill from outside. "For what it's worth..." 

Miguel scoffed again. "You don't need to play the sympathy card to win points with me." 

"I- No Miguel! Of course not!" You look at him in horror. "Really, you think I take pride in doing these things to folks like you? You think I'm some souless corporate ghoul that drinks blood of the innocent?" 

"Yes." Miguel stays deadpanned, with the faintest glimmer of amusement. 

"Oh shut up." You blow air through your lips and stride over to where he's standing by his bar. "What do you have to drink around here anyways?" 

Miguel smiles, the bourbon in his glass had made him feel a little more comfortable by now. He glanced outside, eyes slightly widened in surprise at the complete blizzard that was unfolding outside the frosty window. 

"You might wanna go for something a bit stronger than that." Miguel nods in the direction of the window. 

Your fingers move away from the canned margaritas in the mini fridge. You realize bourbon is also the answer tonight when you lay eyes on the absolute winter wonderland outside. 

You had never seen so much snow in your life, as a seemingly infinite stream of snowflakes littered the staggering blankets of pure white that would be nearly waist deep should you venture back out. 

Even though the night was completely black, the shimmery powder stood out, illuminating the December night among the silent and formidable evergreens. 

"Damn..." You whispered. 

"Damn is right." Miguel polishes off his bourbon. "Another round for me too, when you get a chance." He slides his glass towards you across the polished wood. 

"Please?" You quirk a brow at him. 

Miguel chuckles, the sound deep and a little breathy. The feeling it left you...quite unexpected. "Yes, please."

You hum and fill his glass a quarter of the way after you pour your own into one of the small shot glasses you spied below the countertop, throwing the liquid fire back in one ragged gulp. 

Miguel laughs at the face you make and little cough you let out as your eyes water. "Miss Corporate can't handle a little country bourbon?" 

"Miss Corporate can handle herself just fine." You give him a small harrumph. "Miss Corporate wishes to remind Mr. Country Man that she is still here strictly on business and she has no problem decking him in the face should he continue to mouth off." 

"Hmmm business, eh?" 

"Mhmm." 

"Oh, I think we're way past that." Miguel smirks as he leans forward a little closer towards you. "You're having a drink with your evictee. Can't imagine that's not frowned upon." 

"I've had drinks with clients before." You huff, hastily grabbing the bottle and pouring another shot as if to prove a point. This one went down with less resistance, albeit still just as fiery as the one before. 

"Cálmate."(Calm down) Miguel goes to grab the bottle from you just as you're about to pour a third when the sudden move causes the bourbon to splash a little, ending up on your thousand dollar blazer. 

"You... idiot." You roll your eyes as Miguel snorts. 

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." Miguel steps towards you, trying to help. 

"Nope, you've done quite enough." You huff, trying to disguise the warmth the alcohol was quickly dispelling all over your body. 

"I insist." 

"Miguel, fuck off!" 

"Come here, dammit..." 

And you're not sure exactly what happened, but in that moment his body was pressed up against yours and your faces were mere inches from one another.

This was dangerous now. You knew it, and he knew it, but for Miguel, he was at risk of losing everything anyway. Who could blame him if he wasn't going to make the most of this...convenient situation that presented itself to him. It didn't help that you were quite easy on the eyes as well. 

He pauses as if holding his breath, those deep, deep eyes completely swallowing you up where you stood, the faint sting of the bourbon you can detect on his lips that he wet ever so slightly. 

"M-Miguel, I really shouldn't, I-" 

And you can't remember exactly what drove your lips to meet in that heady first kiss, or how his touch moved from your face, to your neck, whether you were the one who guided him, or his hands wandered on their own accord to the sensitive swells of your breasts, but here you were, up against this tall, rugged farmer you thought you hated only 20 minutes ago, breathing and panting into his mouth and kissing him like your life depended on it, completely contradicting everything you ever said. 

He began to rock his hips against you, hands now on either side of your head, caging you against the wall. You could tell he loved being bigger than you, finally something he had to humble all the sass you loved to throw at him earlier. A not-so-secret attraction you had for him all this time you feebly tried to disguise with disdain. 

Miguel felt it too, and God, right now he couldn't get enough of all the little whines and sounds you were making. How desperate you got just from a little deep conversation and bourbon. This night was swiftly traveling in a more heated direction, and if he wasn't mistaken by the subtle rolls of your body against his aching bulge in his jeans and the hunger laced in your fingers as they tangled in his hair, you had no intention of stopping. 

"Not so feisty now, are you?" He groaned as he started leaving heated kisses along both delicate junctures of your neck. "Sure you're not gonna change your mind  and go back to stealing my farm, hermosa?" He teased. 

"Oh, fuck off..." You grumbled and then bit your lip, back arching involuntarily when you felt him just barely tug your delicate nipple with his teeth. "Aaah Aahhh, Miguel..." You threw your head back.

Miguel smirks and takes that as permission to lay you back completely on his bar, gently tugging the waistband of your business slacks while he switched between both tits and lapped them with the pointy tip of his tongue, until both buds of your nipples were bumpy and hard from all the attention. "You can still stop at any time..." 

"N-No more asking..." You managed to sputter out as you felt his fingers begin to wiggle against your clothed heat that was steadily soaking from the inside. "Just- fffuck, Miguel, so good...just fuck me..." 

"Mmmm..." Miguel groaned in satisfaction and yanked off your pants, followed by your panties without another word. 

Pure ecstacy rolled off the tip of his tongue and dripped between your warm folds as he began to slurp your pussy up like hot cocoa. Miguel strategically left your high heels on, smirking as he glanced over at the mirror on the wall, seeing the pretty businesswoman half naked and back arched so beautifully, moaning as he ate you out on his bar. 

Despite never knowing your body before, his tongue just seemed to find and hit all the right spots, even the ones you were too impatient to look for when you laid in bed all alone. He sucked, and he spit, rolling your clit so perfectly between his lips and leaving no inch of your pretty pussy unbathed by his tongue. 

He alternated between tongue fucking you where his thick nose squished against your clit, hands slinking up the soft flesh of your hips, encouraging you to grind on his face. When he paused and brought his face up to look at you, you swore he was never more handsome than when his face was shiny with your slick, dripping with the evidence that he could make you wetter than any man you'd ever been with.

And other times, he loved to just stare into your eyes with that same, beautifully mesmerizing gaze that was almost too intense to where you'd have to turn away, only for him to whisper, "ah, ah, mirame..." (Look at me) , while his thumb slowly rubbed over your swollen clit, and his middle and ring finger noisily and wetly massaged your squishy walls. 

"Miguel, baby, so good..." You moaned and you sighed, face twisting into a smile as you bit your lip. It felt so shameless to indulge right now. Your career hit the road the second you decided to kiss him but right now you weren't complaining. Logic took a permanent vacation leaving you with nothing but raw, carnal need. All that mattered right now was spreading your legs for this man, being his whore, riding his face and taking his cock every which way he'd have you tonight. 

Your eyes watered as you felt that familiar feeling swelling in your belly, thighs shaking more unsteadily than before. Your back slightly arched from where you laid on his bar but the pleasure Miguel kept injecting into you with his sinfully delicious tongue kept you right there.

"M-Miguel...I'm gonna cum." 

Miguel went even harder, nuzzling his nose even further into your dripping heat, savoring the dribbling honey running between your thighs and dripping into his mouth. He added his fingers again, fingers normally rough and taut and calloused from all that work he did on the farm became soft, intentional, sensual, and deliberate as he coaxed your pussy closer and closer to releasing all over for him.

Your thighs began to quiver around his head, clamping down, however Miguel would gladly suffocate every time for the cause.

"R-right there, Miguel..." 

"Right here, baby?" He groans, swirling his finger in circles over that tried and true spot on your clit, another gush of your juices wetting his fingers before the flood, and Miguel leans over to clean it up with his tongue. 

Every touch now feels amplified in electricity, bordering on overstimulation as his tongue glosses over your soaked folds, something changing in your brain chemistry as he licked up every bit of your arousal as though it were frosting from a bowl. 

"Still with me?" Miguel whispered, leaning in and making out with you as he scooped you into his arms, leading you over to the couch, the entire room painted in an alluring orange glow from the fire next to the warm yellow lights from the tall Christmas tree. 

You groaned as you tasted yourself on his soft, messy lips, the ember of desire burning hotter than ever in both of you. "Y-yeah..." 

Miguel smiles as he sets you down next to him, reaching over and pulling a fleece blanket over your shoulders. His thumb gently brushed the corner of your mouth as he took you in. The most sobering moment between you all evening. One where the alcohol had some time to sink in and both of you were riding out the end of your high together. A new kind of closeness beginning to set itself alight between you as you wordlessly began stripping off the rest of your clothes and you reached for his. 

"Can I?" You asked and a low groan rumbled from his chest. 

"Please." 

You weren't sure, but somehow despite his sass, his generosity and sole focus on making you cum with no assumption on his part that you would be obligated to do the same for him made you even more determined as you peeled back layer after layer, until he sat there in all of his naked glory in front of you. 

He was absolutely beautiful. The salt and pepper pattern from his stubble on his jaw was repeated in his happy trail, leading to a nice, thick, bush around the base of his thick, veiny, cock (More fun for you when you'd be riding him into next week later on).

The tip was just barely a hint of red as it bloomed with precum.  His legs and arms were hairy as well, stomach soft with just the right amount of pudge but everywhere else was solid pure muscle that could only be found on a man who worked hard in the elements, dark hair tousled a bit that fell in his eyes from your passionate fingers earlier. 

The throbbing ache pounded, the glistening sheen between your thighs was all the lube you needed as he pulled you into his lap. Miguel's eyes remained completely locked on you, softening a bit as he felt himself start to push inside you. 

He had suspected sometime around while you were moaning his name and he was lapping up your arousal like an oasis that this whole encounter was deeper than a hookup, and now, he realizes he's sunk: hook line and sinker as your pussy just grips and squeezes him. He sighs as his hands find residence on your hips, taking pleasure in kneading the soft fat. 

"Take your time...." He whispered as he noticed you struggling a bit under his sheer size, his girth slowly spreading you more open. Somehow though, the stretch felt more rewarding, more sinful as you became fuller and fuller of him as you just allowed yourself to relax. 

Miguel's cock bottomed out inside of you, an experimental twitch of his cock reminded you on all fronts that you were stuffed to the brim. He adored this, he loved being so close to you like this, loved the satisfaction that the woman who supposedly hated his guts at first was now completely putty in his hands as you wrapped effortlessly around him. 

"So damn warm..." Miguel purred as he began bouncing you in a slow rhythm. "Ah, ah, mas despacio, por favor(more slow please)..." He teased, grip tightening as he slowed your hips. "I wanna enjoy you like this for a while." He grunted and groaned, loving the way you just responded with more dripping slick around his base as he leaned in to suck on your tits while keeping himself buried inside. "If I'd known you felt this good I would've dragged you out of that fucking snow a lot earlier." He murmured before his lips puckered over your nipple. 

"Please, Mig..." You rolled your eyes but returned a chuckle with a sigh, gently rolling your hips while his cock remained warm and snug inside you. "I'll admit when you pulled up on that four wheeler, it was kind of hard not think about you bending me over the seat.." 

"Yeahh?" Miguel groaned as he churned his hips, drawing his cock in and out of your sea of wetness. "Shouldn't have told me that, now I might need to make that happen..."

As he spoke, his pace increased faster and faster. 

"Aaahh, Miguel...Miguel!" Your threshold was being tested on how much you could take, but nearly fell apart altogether when he added his thumb back to your clit while continuing to fuck up into you ruthlessly. 

"Come on baby, with me...let go."  

And your highs came in waves, yours first followed by his like a bursting dam. His cum overwhelmed your tight hole, causing it to dribble down the sides in filthy display but you loved it, shoving yourself back down on his cock with naughty enthusiasm. Miguel smirked at you, eyes still slightly dazed from euphoria. 

"Good to see you're not wasting any, baby." 

And before you knew it he picked you up, yelping slightly then giggling when you took the initiative of squeezing your thighs tighter around his waist, cock still softening slowly inside your silky pussy, but beginning to pulse back to life as you and Miguel began making out passionately while he took careful steps with you cradled in his arms to his bedroom. 

Perhaps by now you didn't have a job anymore, the future of Miguel's farm was still uncertain, surely you'd be the talk of the entire town come a few months later when your tummy would be swelling with the evidence of every steamy thing that took place tonight inside this snowed in ranch. But, for now, you had much harder, longer, thicker things on your mind as round two became three, then four, with a surprise fifth in the middle of the night and a sixth in the morning. 

When all is said and done, you could always just blame it on the snow. 

[buckyalpine]

I'm here for some angst and fluff rn. Bucky being sad no one trusts him after his metal arm is taken off during a fight.

-

Bucky stared at the dark grey metal that fell to the floor with a clank, his vibranium arm no longer attached to his body with just a few pushes to his joint. The fight ended, leaving the soldier lost as he picked his arm off the floor, fingers trembling around the cold material. It felt dead in his hand, the emotional weight of it far heavier than anything else he'd ever carried.

"Did you know they could do that?" Sam asked, eyeing Bucky carefully while he locked his arm in place, readjusting it with a swing. The gold plates shifted to recalibrate, his fingers flexing while trying to silence his thoughts that begin to run a million miles a minute.

"No"

Bucky trudged down the hall, his heart sinking when he could hear the soft humming from inside his apartment, his sweet girl already waiting for him to come home. He usually felt the weight of the world life off his shoulders when you were around.

Not today.

Not when he knew what he really was.

What he had been all along.

He let out a strained breath before rummaging for his keys and opening the door, the smell of tea, sugar and vanilla wafting through the kitchen and living room. He thought about escaping as soon as he toed his boots off, locking himself in the shower and calling it an early night, of course you'd understand but his body won over what his mind was screaming.

Your face lit up as soon as you heard the door creak open, setting down the book you were reading, excited to see Bucky after he'd been gone for days for a mission. Your happiness was short lived as he padded into the living room, the strained smile on his face doing nothing to mask the pain he was feeling. You could see the turmoil in his eyes, waves of emotion crashing over him before he could surface.

"What's wrong, bub" You coo softly, opening your arms for him. Bucky kept his jacket on, avoiding melting into your hold even though he craved it more than ever.

"Do people still think I'm dangerous?" He asks quietly, shifting away from you when he feels you pressed against his arm. Something so soft and sweet as you definitely didn't have any business being near something so terrible, disgusting, murderous-

"What? No baby, why would you say that?" Your heart breaks at the tears that begin to well in his eyes, his nose and cheeks reddening as he suppresses all the emotions that desperately want to bubble over.

"I-I had no idea others would be able to remove it" He whispers, chewing his lip till he nearly draws blood, avoiding your gaze to stare at the floor instead. The fluffy rug turns blurry as tears begin to escape, his throat growing unbearably tight. "M'still a monster" His voice cracks before the first cry slips out.

Your pull him into your chest as sobs begin to wrack his body, letting him lay on you while you wrap him safely in your arms. The feeling of your affection is too much for Bucky, he doesn't deserve it but he needs it; he feels selfish as he allows you to hold him, hiding his face into the crook of your neck.

"What happened, sweet boy" You coo against his hair, running your fingers through his soft locks. He continued to sniffle between whimpers, trying to calm down, fresh waves of emotion holding him down, his metal arm gripping onto the sofa cushions.

His arm was dangerous.

He was dangerous.

"During a fight" Bucky let out a shuddered breath before continuing, shame seeping through his veins. What would you think of him if you knew the people who had healed him still didn't trust him, "We were trying to calm things down. I didn't mean to do anything-I didn't-I was holding back, we wanted to talk things over, she-"

He bit his lip again as it trembled, still feelings the spots that were pushed, sending his arm to the floor, "I didn't even know what was happening. She hit my shoulder in a few spots and my arm fell right off"

You stopped your ministrations, your heart breaking into two hearing the pain in his voice. Bucky sounded so small, like an admonished child scared to tell the truth. He curled himself up further, still flexing his fingers, almost fearful his arm would fall off again without warning. You moved your arms to hug him tighter, wishing you could take away at least half the pain his was feeling.

"I didn't know they could do that" He said with defeat, still softly sniffling while you kissed the top of his head.

"You're not a monster baby" You knew how much work Bucky had put in, how much he struggled to get a hold of his mind again, how long it took for him to learn to trust others, to trust himself.

"Then why" You knew he was desperate hearing the plead in his voice. Why. Why did others still have control over his own body. Why were others still able to do things to him without his knowledge.

Why?

"I wish they'd told you why, baby boy" You brought your hand to gently tip his chin up, making him look at you, "Perhaps they have their reasons. Regardless, your heart is pure, Bucky" Your hands moved under his jacket and tshirt, stroking his bare skin, the feel of your pure hands already soothing his aching heart.

"They don't trust me" He sighed, sitting up again as his mind swirled. You didn't let him spiral for long, straddling his lap while his arms moved on their own to wrap around your waist.

"They do, bub" you shook your head, cupping his cheeks so he'd look at you. "They took you in and healed you because you were worth healing. You deserved it. I need you to remember my sweet Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes is a good man. The opposite of dangerous, a soft, sweet boy"

"Do-do you trust me" His voice was small again, looking at you through his lashes, nervously fidgeting with the hem of the Henley you'd stolen.

"I trust you with my life, Bucky" You took his metal hand, brushing your lips against the gold ridges before kissing each of his cool finger tips. "Every single part of you. Your mind. Your body. All of it"

The mental exhaustion of the day began to take it's toll as his eyes grew heavy, cuddling into you while you rocked him in a comfortable silence. You smiled at the soft snores you heard moments later as Bucky fell asleep in your arms.

"Let's get you to bed, baby" you whispered, gently waking him and taking a quick warm shower before jumping into bed. He was right back in your arms as soon as you pulled the sheets back, the grating voices not so loud any more.

Regardless of what the world though, had you.

A pure sweet angel.

She trusted him.

That had to mean something.

It would be a long road of healing but at least his had his angel to guide him.

[maivolpe]

I'm giggling rn what if reader and bucky go on a mission and reader gets shot while trying to protect bucky but the bullet was actually a 🌟 special 🌟 bullet and bucky has to take care of reader until they feel better (LIKE A BARBED WIRE BULLET omg and they keep bleeding through their bandage and finally find out what bullet it was GASP.)

fun fact: this would probably technically be a war crime! so sorry for how late this is, i appreciate your patience and thank you for requesting ♡

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader cw: cursing, gunshot, blood wc: 918

“bucky?”

he didn’t respond. he was focused on something sam had said, face frozen in a smile, oblivious to the shadow at the window, the glint of metal in the sunlight.

but you could reach him. you dropped your glass, crossing the kitchen in three steps, planting your hands on his chest. you pushed him, both of you tumbling towards the floor, and then…

“hey, hey, hey…” bucky’s voice floated across the blankness, calm and measured. “don’t move…”

why did he say that? you weren’t moving.

“…didn’t hit anything important, you’re okay…”

what didn’t hit anything important?

“…muscle and fat, jus’ muscle and fat…”

and suddenly it occurred to you what he was talking about.

everything came rushing back, your train of thought screeching back into the station, and you gasped, face pressed against the cold tile of the kitchen floor. pain struck up your leg like lightning, and you cried out, bolting upright.

“easy, now, sweetheart,” he grunted, laying his vibranium arm across your chest while he pressed a cloth to your leg with his other. “can’t have you moving right now.”

fuck, it hurt. you’d been shot before, but this time it was different somehow. it burned with a fierce intensity, ravaging your leg. you felt like you might explode at any second.

“sor- i- i-“ you stammered.

“hey, don’t forget to breathe, doll.”

you bit down another cry, forcing air out through your nose.

“good, that’s good… sam?”

you caught a glimpse of him ripping off a section of his shirt for a tourniquet. somewhere in the back of your mind, you felt sad. you’d liked that shirt. it was a shame he’d have to use it on you.

“buck, it- fuck…”

you really felt it now, warm and sticky blood seeping through the cloth, flowing down your leg. the pain seemed to deepen, spreading up through your calf to the rest of your body, and you gritted your teeth to halt a pained scream.

“sam?”

bucky glanced down at your fear-stricken face with a mix of guilt and shame, but quickly offered you a tight-lipped smile. “nothin’ we haven’t done before, huh sweetheart?”

“feels different,” you groaned. “w-worse.”

he swore, propping your leg up onto his knee. you hissed at the movement, but held as still as you could while he pulled the strip of cloth up to your thigh.

a door slammed somewhere behind you and sam finally drifted into your swimming vision, breathing heavily. “i got him.”

“great,” bucky grunted, pulling the knot tight with his fingers. “help me out, will ya? i think it’s a dum-dum.”

then sam swore, and you knew to be worried. “give me that.”

bucky hovered back over you, lifting your chin with his hand. he thumbed at your cheek, and you leaned into the contact. “eyes on me, doll. sammy’s jus’ gonna tighten that up for you.”

you nodded, but it felt detached, as if you were slowly floating away from your body. his bright blue eyes were getting harder and harder to focus on, your body begging for the respite of unconsciousness.

“she’s going,” you heard bucky say, and you let the darkness take you.

when you next awoke, the pain had faded to a dull throb, and you were decidedly not dead. it was a good start.

you were in bed. not your bed, though. the gentle crackle of a record player sounded somewhere in the corner— bucky’s bedroom, then. sunlight was just beginning to stream through the blinds.

the super-soldier was curled up in an armchair next to your bed, head cupped in his palm. his hair, loose and unkempt, dangled in front of his face. he must have nodded off at some point during the night— that was rare, but then again, you were sure it had been a long one.

“what’s a dum-dum?” you croaked.

bucky startled awake, instinctively checking over your bandaged leg before meeting your eyes. his gruff expression melted into one more sympathetic, and he reached out to squeeze your hand.

“hey there, trooper.”

“hey. what’s a dum-dum?”

he chuckled at your persistence. “dum-dum bullets are expanding projectiles. they’re used to enlarge wounds and increase impact shock.”

your eyes widened, and you pushed yourself up on your elbows, straining to catch a glimpse at your calf.

“we got you fixed up,” he said quickly. “don’t worry.”

“thanks, buck,” you murmured, sinking back into the cushions.

he didn’t respond, and you blinked up at him. he had paled, the grave expression you were so used to seeing returning to his face.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” he mumbled, voice gravelly.

“you were gonna get shot,” you said. “i did what anyone would’ve done.”

bucky shook his head. “you should’ve let it happen.”

“i don’t think it’s fair,” you argued. “just because you’re strong doesn’t mean you should have to take it all the time.”

“i can take it,” he corrected. “i am guaranteed to come out on the other side. you’re not.”

“that’s so stupid,” you sniffed.

“i know,” he said, smiling sadly. “but if it means keeping you safe, i’d take it every single time.”

you sighed, beckoning at him. “get in.”

he gingerly climbed over you, careful to avoid jostling your leg. you threw the comforter over him, and once he was settled, pressed your forehead to his.

“you owe me, barnes.”

he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “my knight in shining armor.”

you know he’s teasing you, but you don’t care. “of course, princess.”

･｡ﾟ: ∘◦☾◦∘｡ﾟ.

ko-fi ♡

[astarasstuff]

night crawler

summary: gojo loses his glasses at a frat party. geto loses his phone. they’ll soon find out what happened when geto’s phone is returned to him, with several drunken videos taken of that night on his camera roll, but not by him.

contents: modern!au, frat!satosugu, partygirl!reader, drinking, slight hints to itafushi but it’s mainly in jest, reader is besties with itadori and nobara but they’re only one year below gojo and geto, gojo and geto think ur so hot and fun and they want to get to know u. u have them whipped from literal video footage go you, horny thoughts from the both of them but no smut, still 18+! mdni!

notes: i can’t be bothered to make this pretty rn, so sorry!

“dude, where the fuck did my glasses go” gojo slurs snapping his head around the room in an attempt to find them. he has spares, but he’d like to find them anyway.

“i’m kinda busy trying to find my fucking phone?!” geto responds, and gojo throws his hands up defensively.

the party was fucking huge. one of the biggest. the college football team, of which both gojo and geto were a part of, had won a massive anticipated game against their biggest rivals. and as such, a celebration was in order.

there were too many people in this party to count. faces of people the boys had never seen before. they don’t doubt that a good bunch of the guests don’t even go to their college. they don’t care. they end up getting too drunk to care about their lost items, convinced they'll find them soon enough. they get busy with the huddles of women that surround them and before they know it they’re either blacked out or passed out, they don’t care.

they do care in the morning, however, with raging hangovers and girls who have overstayed their welcome, of whom they usher out of their rooms as soon as possible. they meet coincidentally in the hallway and make their way downstairs for breakfast.

“dude, suguru, we found your phone!” one of the bros shouts to him and geto sighs a sigh of relief. gojo then whines about his glasses still being missing. he goes off to check the aftermath of the party for his glasses, and gives up when he decides he can’t see them past the red solo cups and dead disposables vapes that litter all corners of the floor.

as gojo potters back into the kitchen, geto is in the middle of checking through his phone, making sure it's okay and trying to find evidence of what happened that night. he soon finds it in his camera roll.

a string of videos are available that weren’t there previously, all of varying lengths. he taps on the first one, as gojo looks over his shoulder in curiosity.

some guys is recording using the back camera, as the first couple of seconds of the video show just the surroundings. the camera then twists around, and they get a look at who’s behind the camera. at first, they just see the guy with pink hair? he’s singing to the current song playing, which happens to be night crawler by travis scott. the frame then widens to allow one more person into the view. and gojo figures out where his glasses went.

coming into the frame was one of the prettiest girls either boy had ever seen. perched on her head were gojo's signature glasses. your voice is croaky as you shout out to the camera.

“we found this phone on the ground! we were worried it’d get smashed so we picked it up but we couldn’t find the owner, so we thought we’d take care of it instead!!" you scream at the camera and get a little too close, evidently drunk.

the buildup of the chorus begins and both you and your friend look at each other with excitement, beginning to dance and sing along to the song. your friend turns in front of you so its just you in the frame, and you pull gojos glasses down from your head and into the top of your nose, looking through them into the camera as you sing along. more of your friends come into frame, and you're all dancing together.

“i don’t know whose glasses these are!!!! some guy just put them on my head but they're cute so i'm borrowing them for the night!! i'll leave them here though! hopefully…” you mumble and then the chorus is about to start and you both start jumping and screaming and dancing, and all the boys can think about is how fucking hot you are and how glad they were they lost their items to you. you pull the glasses down your nose again to wink at the camera as you and some girl they assume is your friend start dancing on each other. both men gulp at the sight.

“fuck, she’s pretty.” geto mumbles and gojo just hums and nods in agreement, almost in a trance. he urges geto to keep watching the videos

the rest of the videos are like a compilation of sorts, mainly if you dancing and drinking and gojo and geto both think you’re so much fun and so fucking pretty, they feel their cocks beginning to strain in their pants. god, you’re so so pretty, gojo just wants to fuck you silly in just his glasses, and geto can stop thoughts of how good you'd look on camera as you cum all over his dick. they both baulk at the sudden debauchery that forced its way into their minds. they try to shake such impure thoughts of someone they don't even know out of their heads.

the next video catches their attention. it's longer than the last couple, and it starts with you propping up the phone on the counter of a bathroom, with your pink-haired friend and a brunette girl who had been dancing with you the entire night. gojo notes that you've pushed his glasses up back onto your head, revealing your full pretty face to them again, this time in better lighting.

"maaan i wish megumi were here!" your guy friend said, as you take your lip combo from him that he'd been keeping safe for you in the pocket of his jeans. gojo and geto begin to worry your relationship with him was not platonic. wait what? "you know him, yuuji, hell would freeze over before he came to one of these" you giggle as you uncap your lip liner and start applying it in the mirror. yuuji. the boys make a mental note at that name.

“stiilllllllll,” he whines, “doesn’t mean I’ll miss him any less.” the other girl in the room laughs at this. “christ, separate yuuji from his boyfriend and all of a sudden he’s pouting like toddler.” you stop applying your lip liner to giggle at her, definitely finding it a tad too funny. you’re cute when you’re drunk, they conclude. “he’s not my boyfriend.” the boy they now know as yuuji has adopted a tone akin to a child being denied their favourite candy at the store. “that’s what you think.” you giggle and move to apply your lipgloss.

now, gojo and geto like to think they’re not absurdly dirty minded. yes, they’re pretty sex driven, as any boy their age is, but they both felt like a pair of prepubescent boys seeing boobs for the first time when you applied your lipgloss to your pretty pretty lips. The colour compliments you so well, and they just want to kiss is right off you, better yet have it smeared on their co-

christ they both need a cold shower.

“girl I’ll never get over that combo on you.” the other girl in the room with you says. “right? i love it so much.” you say looking at both you her in the reflection of the mirror. “god we’re so hot nobara.” you say and this ‘nobara’ squeals in agreement as you giggle together. yuuji smiles at the interaction, and you turn to the camera.

“hey mystery person, don’t we all look hot?” and you swing your arms over your two friends and you look so happy, you all giggling together. god, you were pretty, fun and your smile was gorgeous. did you have any flaws? the boys both startle when you and yuuji gasp as you begin to hear ‘no hands’ by waka flocka flame from the speakers outside the party. “oh fuck i love this song i am not missing it. let’s go!” you squeal and grab the camera, pressing a kiss to the lens as a goodbye.

it wasn’t a final goodbye, evidently, as there were more videos. they were more of the short miscellaneous dancing ones, though they weren’t complaining. your body was to die for, and seeing you move like that? yeah, absolutely no complaints. they make it to the final video, which is just you in what they think is their supply closet? you still have gojo glasses on, and you speak as loudly as you can, music still penetrating to the room with you.

“we’re about to leave! yuuji got to drunk and is throwing up somewhere and nobara is keeping him in check… i hope. so i came to say gooooodbye! this is kinda sad, this was so fun. sorry for stealing your phone for the night, mystery person. we just wanted to keep it safe, i hope you weren’t too worried! im hoping to put it on the nightstand of a bedroom that isn’t currently occupied by horny college goers, so hopefully one of the frat bros finds it and can keep hold of it until you come to collect it! i hope you had as much fun tonight as i did, mwah!” and you finish by blowing a kiss to the camera with a wink. both of them are pretty upset the vlogs have ended, and it’s pretty evident you ended up going home with gojo glasses. oh well, they’re in great hands now anyway.

“you have to send me those.” gojo says after a beat. “in you dreams.” geto replies and gojos mouth drops at this. “it’s my phone.” geto declares. “well, yeah but she was wearing my glasses. and she said they were cute. cmon man.” and they begin to squabble when they’re interrupted by one if the brothers, calling their attention to a guest who probably lost something last night and came to get it back. they don’t expect to see who’s actually there.

it’s you. less dolled up and in casual clothes but still as fucking pretty. you’re evidently tired, and they can feel the embarrassment radiate from you. they immediately stop arguing, geto turning off his phone and turning to face you.

“um, im so sorry to interrupt your day,” you start and they both think about how thankful they were you did interrupt their day. “i, err, i accidentally took home these glasses last night. i don’t know who they belong to, so i thought it was a safe bet to drop them off here in case someone comes looking for them.” you shuffle your feet shyly and bring forth the glasses for them to see. who knew such a party girl could get so shy. god you were so fucking sweet it was almost bad for them. gojo grins and begins to step forward.

“those are mine, pretty girl. thanks for returning ‘em.” gojo grins as he walks up to you. you flush, and geto comes to join his bestfriends side. the pretty girl they’d been entranced by all morning was now right in front of them. and they’ll be damned if they this opportunity go to waste.

[justcallmesakira]

HIII OMG I haven’t had a good laugh in a while until i came across your fyodor’s sis dating dazai hcs IT GOT ME ROLLING ON THE FLOOR 😭 can i request for dazai’s sister dating fyodor if you’re up for it? fluff crack make it silly if you want i’ll enjoy anything from you for sure!!

"Dazai with a sister dating Fyodor!"

Sypnosis: Uh oh! Looks like Dazais one and only sister he grew up with is dating a rat who the entirety of yokohama is after!

Genre: crack, suggestive? (idk sth is wrong with me)

Warning: More blasting, bombing, terrorrist, rizz,

A/N: AHHH I AM SO HAPPY U ENJOYED IT- AND I AM MORE THEN HAPPY BCS I MADE YOU LAUGH !!! >.<

nahhh like brother like sister :/

NO BCS i feel like fyodor just wanted to temper dazai by using his ugly breedable charms on you

But it backfired terribly! (like his posture)

Though you were his one and oNlY eNeMyS blood relative he just couldnt help but flirt with you and perhaps ykyk do those romantic stuff ppl do

This is so ooc rn ;skull emoji 69x;

However you were extremly LIKE extremly careful to not let your brother know

You literly sneaked off the house as if you were sneaking inthe kitchen to cook a whole buffet at 3am!!

Except you were sneaking off to EAT a whole buffet😏😏

Even the rat himself helped you to sneak to his rusty ahh apartment

Wow! The first thing he actually did for others!!!!!

Honestly dazai would be chill though-

Like oh his sister is dating someone? welp sure! i have exes all around the city hope its not one of them though hehe...HeHe

FUCKING SLU--

You took the risk of rizzing fyodor up infront of him though like:

"I am crime, I am punishment" you: "I know something else you can punish :3"

Dazai woke back from the dead with em bones fish eye when u said that

AYYY DAZAI IN HIS MELANIE MARTINEZ "PORTALS" ERA!!!!1😍

When he find out though.....oh god hes going to give you that light skin stare, with his eyes turning into nothing but a pitch black void

like my soul-- OKAY THIS IS THE LAST ONE I PROMISE--

One day you met up with fyodor and you were so excited that you nearly threw his anemic ass to the ground

"Yaaaah fedya,!! we finally met! dont give me that face do u know how hard it is to come and meet you when my lazy ahh brother puts trackers on me!" "Malyshka, please calm down---''

All of a sudden u could hear shuffling which instantly cautions the both of you only for your eyes to be meeted with your brothers eye turning into nothing but pitch black like the face he gave when he saw mori

your getting grounded <3

"Out of all people...out of 8 billion people, sister😀" "I-i-i-i i can explain"

he then looked at fyodor with the ugliest angry face ever "YOU FUCKING RAT HOW DARE YOU WOO MY SISTER WITH FEHUYOUR UGFLY AHH RATUTILLIE NO RIZZ MANIUPULATION I AM GONNA BLAST YO-"

damn.. dazai become eminem

the shift mood between to u then to fyodor was so funny

LIKE YALL SAW THE ADVICE FYODOR GAVE TO DAZAI IN THEIR CELLS? THATS A BIT--- UM YANDERE??????!!

"BROTHER CALM DOWN I WAS NOT MANIUPULATED TF-" "THAT WONT STOP ME FROM MY MANSLAUGHTER ARC" "WHAT?--"

#siblinggoalsfr

fyodor honestly only glared at him with a smile that said "If they annoy you, go for their sibling"

dazai YANKED Your arm taking you back to you apartment and just stared at you as if you got a B in maths

uh oh...

So YEAH after hours of not being able to calm him down he finally accepted!

Dazai gifted fyodor a dead rat in a helicopter after he accepted you guys😍😍😍

No bcz i think u and nikolai would have matching energy--

Nikolai: "Dos-kun bites his nails!" You: "Real except he bites my neck!"

one day ranpo jolted up from his seat with fisheye and slowly turned to you as if you ate his (dead)mother

"Dazai Y/N, you did not..." "Oh yes yes i just did :3"

everybody was so confused like did you steal his snacks or sth???

"like brother like sister i guess...." -ranpo after finding out his bestie is doing unholy things to his enemy

JKJK-

Dazai acted so overdramatic omg- ugh hes so babygirl

"I still cant believe it... MY OWN SISTER DATING-DAT-DATING A STINKY RAT! Wait- WHAT IF YOU GET MARRIED???????!!!!! WILL YOUR NAME BE D-D-D-DOS-DOE RATVESKY?? sis you better let him take your name WAIT NO I WILL NOT SHARE MY NAME WITH HIM UGFYDUTYFE"

dramatic gossip girlie fr

like its literly like

"I took your victory😈" "I took your sisters viriginty😈😈😈"

i am so sorry-WAHHHHHHHHHH- *gets shot in the head by reader for being so dirty*

during gatherings, they just smile at each other protesting in their minds who can take care of u better while your in a chair rollin around and going :3

kuro kuro kuro kuroooo kuro kuro kuro kuro ding luro kuro ding~

until your silly ahh falls! :D

And its just a second of time to see who can cath you first-

Dazais going to turn your wedding into an arson commitment!

"Breaking news!, Depressed man who half the fandom slanders burns down his sisters wdding venue with soy sauce!"

Well... its a funky ride! but hey its fyodor

A/N: i know its short but i tried okay- ENJOY!! i love doing crack if i cant laugh or be happy i will make others happy!! <33

Divider crds: @nikolaismasquerade

tags! @silverbladexyz @riiwrites @chuuyasboner @heartsfourdazai @atlasnessie @atsquie @tojifile @biscuits-lovely-corner @darling--angst

[junibunny]

18+, nsft, minors dni, total perv!seven, voyeurism (it was kinda definitely intentional, but seven doesn't know and its never stated), seven is implied to be a sub!leaning!switch, not canon compliant

seven had started to grow a resentment towards you. he couldn't hate you, or anything that you did to him, but what he hated was how he was so pathetic that he couldn't do anything if he wasn't able to just turn his head to "check-up" on you. and by "check-up," of course, i mean palm himself through his jeans for 20 minutes while you did whatever mundane task you had to complete. today, he's been watching you cook... something for lunch. he has not taken his eyes off of your ass, not something he was proud of, but he really really couldn't tell if what you were wearing would classify as shorts or underwear. which also makes him wonder if there was anything underneath them. that thought makes seven get up out of his chair and take a few laps around his room. he really never thought he'd be this guy, the kind of guy who literally needs a glass of water and a walk to calm down after just thinking of pussy he's never tasted. after downing the rest of a half empty soda can he found on a shelf in his room, he hesitantly returns to his workspace. he couldn't focus with you around, and he couldn't focus when he couldn't see you. he much prefers seeing you, so that's the one he's going with. when he sits back down, he realizes that he made the right decision. in the time between him losing it over thinking about your ass and him coming back down to earth, you somehow forgot that there was a camera pointed towards the stove and that whole counter. or maybe you were just too desperate that you didn't care if seven was watching you use the corner of a counter for a bit of relief. god. how long has it been since you've touched yourself or even been touched? because it couldn't have been that long since you started, and you're already whining and the way you're grinding onto the counter... seven gives up completely on shame, unzips his jeans, and throws them down to his ankles. he doesn't know how long he's gonna last, especially when you're now dropping your... underwear to the floor, or maybe they were shorts. all he knows is that there's nothing under them. how did you forget he was watching you?? he tries to remind you so you DONT forget. he's sure you wouldn't want him to watch this, at least maybe not until you two were closer... fuck he can't help it though, right? he's not sure if you're close or not, but seven is gone when you shove your fingers into your pussy and he can hear the squelch, it's faint because of the distance, but now that's all he wants to hear. he keeps watching and lightly stroking himself, he can't miss the end, and fuck is he happy that he didn't. you're still bent over the counter, one hand inside of you, the other rubbing your clit like a desperate whore. he knows it's aggressive, he wants to treat like the angel you are, but sometimes, especially right now, he wants to choke you and bite you and make you say that you're his personal little toy. but considering that all it takes is watching you cum and hearing you moan loud enough that the neighbors definitely heard it for him to cum for a second time, he's got a small feeling you'll be calling the shots more than him.

A/N: this was in one go, i just had to get out some of my seven thoughts. my hormones are so outta control rn lmao, also thinking about it. it's hilarious to imagine mc jerking off on the kitchen of this random dead woman while there's supposed to be someone dangerous after them 😭

[loveephia]

you as nekoma's beautiful manager.

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, kenma has a small crush on you, reader is as pretty as kiyoko shimizu and alisa haiba, karasuno featured in the bonus.

⚠ warning/s: none.

inarizaki ver. | shiratorizawa ver. | fukurodani ver. | aoba johsai ver.

oh dear

now, it's no surprise that the boys have been wanting a manager for the longest time

and you just so happened to stumble into their gym while trying to look for the girls'

you wanted to tryout

but it's okay! you can still walk out and make it to the tryouts—

wrong.

because once yamamoto saw you in your tracksuit, assuming you'd be their manager, all hell broke loose.

guess there's no turning back now

"PRETTY.. MANAGER.." yamamoto falls to his knees and

ok, now, imagine him crying in the jojo artstyle

yeah, that's him rn

you don't know why, but two people in the back did a high-ten and yelled out, "yakisoba!"

yaku is sO KIND AND CARING although lev could say otherwise

kai helped you adjust to the team's stupidly loud antics 😭

kenma just nods at you and goes back to practice

kuroo recognizes you because you're one of the smartest students in nekoma. your report card, from top to bottom, is all filled with lines of 9 (grades from 90-100)

and it's safe to say that he's intimidated

because you're pretty, intelligent, and totally his type 🫦🫦

inuoka gives you a charming smile and you feel ten times lighter than when you first walked in the gym today

"woah, you're really pretty." lev, honey, yk you can think to yourself, right?

fukunaga welcomes you with a joke

"what kind of streets to ghosts haunt?"

"dead ends?" you respond

oh my gosh, is it you? is it really you?

are you the destined one he's been searching for for all of these grim years?

".. yeah, dead ends." fukunaga mumbles.

it's only day one, and you got the entire team admiring you already

nice kill 💯💯

1 point for nekoma 0 for karasuno

you sign the papers that need to be signed, and BOOM!,($!] you're now on trial!!!

everyone was kind!! they politely asked you for tosses, gave you reassurance and encouragement, and they helped you carry a few things to the gym!!

now they're taking a break, and kenma sat on the floor, pulling out his gameboy

you tried to sneak a few glances at what game he's playing, and you recognized it! it's the game you play in your spare time at home!!!

you try to peek at his level, but it's hard to see due to his hair

"you know, you can just.. ask me questions, right?" he asks

you knew that of course >:(

you sit next to him and ask for his level, and it turns out he's a few levels lower than you

sooner or later, you're giving him tips on how to play the game, and WOW HE'S A FAST LEARNER

he went from 15 levels below you to only 3 now

his motions were swift, and you couldn't help but stare starry-eyed as he played

why's kenma feeling warm all of a sudden

it's not even summer yet

maybe he needs some potassium

kuroo notices you two and is happy that kenma has someone he can share his interest in gaming with, like how kuroo shared him his interest in volleyball

BONUS

nekoma welcomed karasuno at the entrance, having been the only school here that karasuno is familiar with.

then suddenly, nishinoya and tanaka are wailing in the background while yamamoto laughs maniacally. "yes, oh, dear, karasuno! look at our beautiful manager!" you stood there idly. you were just trying to carry some fresh produce to the kitchen before yamamoto pulled you aside..

kuroo facepalms at yamamoto's behavior.

© lowercase intended | loveephia

[mochidolls]

bobby brainrot so bad rn + blurb is inspired my bobby bot & prompt from @/scealaiscoite

the ivy outside your house was relentless, climbing half the brick like it was trying to swallow the place whole. bobby hated it. “looks fucking disgusting,” she’d muttered last time they pulled into the gravel driveway. she’d said the same thing today, slamming the door of her truck and hauling a six-pack of beer under one arm, a grocery bag in the other.

you’d meant to get around to trimming it, but there was always something more urgent—like the twins. you could hear them before you saw them, the heavy stomps of little feet on hardwood floors as they chased each other around the living room with toy swords, screeching loud enough to scare the birds outside.

“gonna lose a tooth if you keep that up!” bobby hollered from the kitchen, her voice low and dry like she wasn’t sure if she was serious or not. she cracked open a cheap beer—whatever was on sale this week—and leaned against the doorway, her broad shoulders filling the frame.

you caught her eye, scoffing as you wiped cookie crumbs off the counter. “you’re one to talk. pretty sure you lost your last molar to a bottle cap, genius.”

“that…was intentional,” bobby shot back, her lips twitching like she might smile if she weren’t trying to keep a straight face. “and it was a front tooth.”

“wow, even better!” you deadpanned, tossing the crumbs in the trash and leaning against the opposite counter. the kitchen smelt of peanut butter and stale coffee, air warm from the cookies you’d baked earlier.

bobby tipped the bottle toward you in a silent ‘cheers’ before taking a swig. “you married me for this winning smile, remember?” not quite the truth, but not a lie either.

“uh-huh…right,” you teased, tugging on the hem of your flannel—a hand-me-down of hers that hung loose over your frame. “real irresistible, you and your smile.”

before bobby could retort, one of the twins came barreling into the kitchen, his face lit up with glee. “mom! i got her! she’s dead!”

“am not!” your daughter shouted from the living room, already sprinting toward the kitchen to reclaim her honour.

bobby sighed dramatically, bending down to her son’s level. “listen, bud. you don’t gloat. it’s bad sportsmanship.”

“but—”

“no buts. get back in there and let her win this time, okay? mom’s orders.” she ruffled his messy hair, and he groaned like it was the worst thing in the world before running off again.

“he listens to you more than me,” you pout, folding your arms.

bobby raised a brow, her grin sharp and just shy of cocky. “can’t argue with results.”

you tossed a dish towel at her, and she caught it without looking, her reflexes still awfully too good for casual moments like this. damn marines.

“go trim the ivy,” you ordered. “you’re not getting out of chores just ‘cause you’re cute.”

“cute, huh?” bobby smirked, tossing the towel back.

“debatable. get moving, soldier.”

[chiyeko-kurea]

I saw this post:

And LMAO IM TEARING UP

‘lonley’ BFFR😭😭 it’s on the FIRST line too lmaooo

Also ‘dead’ being there is so funny « how are you? oh, im dead😊 » like ‘im dead.’ not even ‘dead inside’ just plain dead. not like im laughing so much im dead🤣, im actually dead.🙁texting from my grave rn😗

Also « wearing a mask »?

-How are you? -Im wearing a mask!🥰

-That’s not what I-

….you asked….😘

« Down ». I’d get it in a « -wanna fu€k kitchen cabinets or whatever? -yea bro im down! » context but in this context? how are you? down. THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE (also i’d make a joke but im on the wrong side of tumblr for that i think)

« Forced »? How are you? Im forced! THE SENTENCE IS NOT FINISHED?? Forced to do what???

The person who wrote this just pulls this face on a regular basis:

« DOMINATED » IM ROLLING ON THE FLOOR LIKE BRO ARE YOU IN THE DEPRESSI0N SIDE OF TUMBLR OR THE NSFW ONE🙏😭

So instead of doing sh bingos here’s for you<3

Then just moves on to « crushed »

IM NOT DONE THERES A PART 2

[leonenjoyer69]

Welcome to my big list of Will Wood songs I relate with Jekyll and Hyde/TGS!! Including what character it's associated with (ie, Jekyll, Hyde, or Lanyon lmao)

I also have art ideas for like, half of these songs so that's fun too (I'm so normal about these things)

Front Street- Hyde

Venetian Blind man- Jekyll, with big chapter 8 vibes, BUT SPECIFICALLY the line:

"Feet, don't fail me now the ways my eyes did

Mind, don't snap and heart, don't break, not now

No, not like this, any but this breakdown"

2econd 2ight 2eer- Hyde

Cotards solution- Jekyll and Hyde

6up 5oh cop-out- Hyde, but also big Chapter 14 vibes

Mr Capgras encounters a secondhand vanity- Jekyll and Hyde (and a little Lanyon, being the one to question what you feel and what you do, is that really you? And things of the like, At least in my silly mind)

BlackBoxWarrior- OKULTRA - Jekyll and Hyde

¡Aikido!-Neurotic/erotic- Jekyll and Lanyon

A little bit mine (cover this song)- Lanyon

Red Moon- Hyde

Chemical overreaction/ Compound fracture- Jekyll

Dr Sunshine is Dead- Jekyll (and a little Hyde)

The song with five names- Jekyll and Lanyon

.. And if I did, you deserved it.- Jekyll

Suburbia overture- Jekyll and Hyde

Marsha, thankk you for the dialectics- Jekyll, and I like to think some of the song is Lanyon talkin to him

Hand me my shovel, I'm going in! - Jekyll, making the potion mayhaps, or his little mind escapade where he figures out what Hyde actually is of him

Against the kitchen floor- Lanyon and Jekyll

Outliars and Hyppocrates - Hyde, talking to Jekyll

The first step- Hyde

2012- Jekyll

When somebody needs you- Lanyon and Jekyll

Misanthrapologist- Lanyon

Sex, drugs, rock 'n roll- Jekyll

Laplaces angel- Hyde

The main character- Hyde

Conclusion: the Will Wood/TGS fan relationship makes sense bc this man could NOT stop popping out songs that people can relate a repressed Victorian man with a despicable Alter ego to.

Also, while on the topic of Will Wood songs, a bonus for my fellow Picture of Dorian Gray fans:

Yes, to err is human, so don't be one is SUCH a Dorian Gray song, specifically him towards Basil, and if I could get my brain to write rn I'd totally write a fanfic of that.

ALSO I'D LOVE TO TALK ABOUT ANY OF THESE SONGS AND WHY I ASSOCIATE THEM IN MORE DETAIL FOR ANYONE THAT MAY BE WILLING TO WATCH ME STUMBLE OVER WORDS AND CONFUSINGLY TRY TO EXPLAIN WHAT I MEAN :33

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Sunrise, Sunset

[A/N: I wrote this in a rush bc there’s some stuff going on in my personal life and I just watched episode 9x10 and I needed a good cry 🥺]

*Warning you rn, sad Stevie ahead

—————

“Christ,” you grumble under your breath, slipping in a puddle and nearly falling flat out on the back porch. You try to adjust the grocery bags in your hands to see where you’re stepping, juggling your house keys between two fingers as you mutter on, “How many times have I told that man to wipe down the deck after a swim? Gonna break my damn face one-”

Your griping comes to a dead halt and the bags fall onto the deck with a series of heavy thuds. It’s not water you slipped on.

“St-Steve?” you stammer out, choking on his name. As you follow the trail into your home, now resembling more of a macabre art exhibit than a kitchen, your voice grows stronger and you yell, “Steve! Steven!” Red streaks and fingerprints are smeared across every visible surface, and the sheer volume of blood on the floor sends your heart leaping into your throat.

You can hear heavy footfalls rounding the corner, and you brace yourself to meet your demise at the hands of the same man who attacked your husband minutes ago. Then panicked blue eyes appear at the doorway, and tears pool in your own as you rush into the familiar security of Steve’s arms.

“You’re okay,” you exhale sharply, hands roaming every inch of skin that you can find. Your fingers graze over several bandages along his arms and chest, across his split lip, down the bridge of his nose, and you repeat again, “You’re okay.”

“Most of that blood’s not mine,” he assures you, tenderly brushing his thumb over your cheek and giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Is this- Is someone after your team?” you ask, taking note of his harried appearance and red-rimmed eyes as he leads you to sit on the living room couch.

He sniffs sharply and averts his gaze before answering, “Not Five-0. My team from the Morocco op.”

You take his hand and bring it to your lap, squeezing it tightly and running your thumb over his knuckles. “How many, Steve?”

He swallows thickly. “Three.”

“And…” You steel yourself for your follow up question. “And Joe?”

Giving your hand a squeeze in return, he says, “Joe’s okay.”

You take and release a deep breath, then lift his hand to your mouth and press a kiss to the back of it. “Do what you need to do,” you say softly. “Just come home to me in one piece when it’s done.”

“Angel, this might not-”

“Consider that an order, Steve,” you cut him off, lifting your resolute gaze to meet his. “You will come home to me.”

“Okay, mama,” he whispers. “Okay.”

—————

The telltale sound of a key slipping into the lock has you jolting awake in the dark living room. Sitting up on the couch, you rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock to find it’s nearly three in the morning. Steve steps inside and locks the door behind him before dropping his bag to the floor. Even in the dim lighting, you can see the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders, and you call out to him softly.

He takes lumbering steps towards you, then sinks to his knees and rests his head on your thigh, his arms coming up to encircle your waist. “I came home to you,” he says, haunted, his voice muffled by your cotton shorts.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper, carding your hands through his hair as he tightens his grip on you, his anchor.

“I came home,” he intones again. Your heart aches at how small he sounds, and you understand in that moment what he’s really saying to you: I’m the only one who came home. Pressing your lips to his forehead, you murmur, “You can let go now, honey. Let it go.”

His large body quakes beneath your fingertips, heaving with silent sobs as a lifetime of loss and sacrifice takes its toll. Drawing in shuddering breaths, he clings to you like you’re the oxygen he’s seeking while you rock him side to side and run your hand along his back.

The sun will come up in a few hours, and with it, a new day. But for tonight, all your husband can focus on is coming home to you and the most beautiful sunset he’s ever seen.

—————

[A/N… again: Writing that last line broke me 😔 If you’ve seen this episode I hope you get the reference; seeing my baby sad breaks my heart and I was ugly crying by that point ngl]

[yae-energy]

ysl productions presents… wheel of fortune: episode one

“what’s in your fridge?”

synopsis: y/n takes a look in gojo’s fridge, and… it’s interesting to say the least

cast: rich nigga gojo! x high maintenance black fem reader! , (megumi is mentioned briefly)

universe: modern au! no curses (i don’t like the canon v much rn so imma pretend she doesn’t exist 😁)

cw: cursing, usage of the nword, gojo and reader are in a situationship? | wc: 883 wrds, 4,823 characters (hc’s at the end are not included)

a/n: y’all this is my FIRST piece of work in a loooonnnggg time, not too much on my rusty ass

[11:11]

was the time displayed on your phone the moment your groggy eyes fixated on the screen. it felt like a scene straight out of a disney movie with the way birds melodically chirped outside the condo, silky, white sheets creating a luxurious sensation on your skin. it's been a while since the last time you even stepped foot inside gojo's place. he's a busy man, you're an even busier woman, it is what it is. but that doesn't mean he won’t make time for you, though!

late night drives in his '22 rolls-royce ghost (his favorite out of his many, many cars,) expensive dates at michelin star establishments, first class flights whenever he wants to treat you to a vacation. whatever you want, whenever you want,

you need it? he got it.

and that's what you absolutely adored about him.

despite you guys not being exclusive or anything, he never fails to show you off. he's your favorite out of your roster, (cause he be feedin you pasta and lobster) so why not try to treat your “man” to a homemade breakfast? - at least… that's what the plan originally was.

upon dressing yourself in the pink, fluffy, satin robe you packed in your “overnight bag” (ignoring the fact you planned on hanging around his place for more than just ONE night.) and freshening yourself up in the bathroom, you head out to the kitchen. pink fluffy slippers clacking against the hardwood floor as 40in water wave bundles swayed against your back. (courtesy of gojo.)

it's been so long you almost forgot how nice everything was. expensive furniture decorating the living space from left to right, with the most notable piece being the fat ass grand piano you weren't even sure he knew how to play. a small framed photo of him and megumi sitting cutely on top.

. . .

it was always so easy for you to get starstruck from all of the shiny trinkets gojo had displayed around his home. you damn near forgot what you even got up to do, leaving you scrunching your face in confusion before you stopped in your tracks. the sudden remembrance of breakfast shaking you out of your daze.

you hadn’t even decided on a dish yet, chicken and waffles had always been a go-to for you- however this was your first shot at proving your “wifely skills.” with the kind of money he was making you didn’t mind being a lil stay at home boo. your boring ass 9-5 wasn’t gonna just hand you a birkin at will.

fuck them jobs.

perhaps something with a little more…elegance then? you were definitely in the mood for waffles so- ….

“now this nigga know damn well…”

you muttered under your breath, sucking your teeth in the process. gojo was a lot of things: loud, obnoxious, an occasional dickhead, the list could go on. but broke was certainly not one of them. so it was a wonder to you on…

WHY IN THEE HELL.

his fridge was empty.

dead empty.

not a speck of food in sight. the only edible thing in there being an old ketchup bottle and 3 mustard packets.

it took you by surprise so bad that you almost didn’t feel the warmth of his hands caressing your waist, the scent of YOUR rose water sugar scrub grazing your nose.

speak of the devil.

“i know you ain’t been in my shit again” you mumbled out. relaxing in the feeling of his arms while he leaned down to your cheek, peppering you with kisses before responding to your comment.

“whatt?? nooo…never…”

making you smile helplessly at his attempt to play coy. he was always so cute with you whenever you two were alone. as much as he wanted to be all nonchalant and suave in public he was a whole ‘nother person behind the scenes.

“mmhmm” you answered, making sure to direct the conversation back to the original concern at hand.

“by the way… do you wanna tell me why your fridge looks like who did it and why? there’s nothing in there. like nothing. like none at all-”

“i- ok, no need to emphasize. you’ve judged my poor fridge enough…but, if you must know, i was spring cleaning.”

“gojo, it’s summer-”

“not the point-…now before you rudely interrupted me, i was spring cleaning- or since you’re getting your panties in a twist about it, *SUMMER* cleaning. i’m not home super often so i had megumi go through and throw stuff out- i didn’t think he’d throw EVERYTHING away so…yeah. now we’re here.”

“so you mean, MEGUMI…was ‘summer cleaning’ then. gojo stop getting that boy to do your dirty work…”

“i- wow you’re just full of assumptions this morning. i didn’t ‘GET’ him to do anything. he volunteered- which!! i personally think is very sweeet, and lovinggg of him to do for his beloved guardian.”

“right, right. my bad…” you chuckled quietly, shaking your head as you did so. “i was trynna be cute n’ shit and cook breakfast, but i guess i gotta lay that dream to rest for today.” you explained. a shallow sigh leaving your lips.

“what? no you don’t. grocery stores exist, i have a car, boom. problem solved.”

“…grocery trip it is then?”

“grocery trip it is”

. . .

grocery trip with gojo! headcannons

forgets he’s even there for groceries and goes straight to anything sweet

touches EVERYTHING

does that thing where you push the cart and ride on the back of it LMAOOO

gets a shit ton of orange juice because he claims it’s for megumi (megumi likes apple juice)

this is the first time you’ve guys have been out together in a more domestic manner so bro is NERVOUS

it makes him smile cause he feels like y’all are a real couple

“whatcha’ smiling at?”

“nothin’ ”

forgets where he parked

carries all the bags inside in one go 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

a/n pt2: yall i did not mean to make it so long 😭 its wtv tho. i hope this don’t suck LOL, i actually had a lot of fun writing this like i was lwk kicking my feet and giggling fr

[happyk44]

i started writing this in my drafts weeks ago but didn't continue much farther than the first sentence - probably put it down to do something else and then passed out lmao. anyway after scrolling past last night wanted to continue it but can't be effed to scroll through my drafts rn (i save everything to my drafts to tag and queue later and my drafts ar like over 250+ rn)

anyway percy who becomes obsessed with finding this grim reaper he saw the night his mom killed his step-dad. he was an abusive asshole and percy helped his mom stage the scene to look like someone gabe owed money to came knocking. they don't have much in terms of expensive shit - just the TV and playstation. it's an old old model that one of percy's classmates was going to throw out as he wasn't into the games he had with it anymore and was getting the latest version for christmas.

it was nice that he gave it to percy with only a fraction of the cost in hand and a promise to give him the rest over time. percy paid him off every monday. it took sally weeks to pay it off, percy chipping in by donating cans and glass bottles he found lying around. the games were old and a little childish, but it was the only entertainment percy had aside from sally's old and crappy laptop that gabe hogged with online poker games.

so it sucked to watch sally dump it into an empty trash bag. it's small, she'd said. the tv would be too big to carry out without causing suspicion, even in mind-your-business new york city, but the playstation, her shitty laptop, and gabe's cell and wallet were things that could be dumped into a bag with no one giving a second look. percy crawls out the fire-escape grateful their shitty apartment building doesn't have cameras. he has to use a couple boxes to really rise himself enough to stuff the bag under the other bags. sally walks out the front door and they go have a late dinner at a nearby cafe.

then go home an hour later and scream in surprise at gabe's dead body in the bedroom, still warm from the heater in the corner boiling up the room that sally promptly unplugs.

percy doesn't think much about WHY his mom was so specific about how to clean his blood off the kitchen floor, about how to stage the scene, about moving gabe's body into the bedroom, about pulling him like he had been then letting him fall flat. heating up the room to keep him warm and fresh, while keeping the window cracked open so the heat doesn't stay by the time the police arrive.

he writes it away as her being a reader, a writer. maybe murder mysteries had been on her mind lately. maybe she watched too many cop shows. maybe she'd thought about this so many times she perfected it. his mom was not a repeat killer. gabe was her first time. her only time. and it was fine.

he sucked.

it's sitting in the chair, feigning distress but not too much, talking to a cop about the scene while he stares off into the air when he sees him. the boy is young, dark-haired and pale-skinned. he's startled by the presence, cutting off in his explanation about how people often came banging on the door for money gabe owed them. how he kept his poker winnings in the now open and empty safe in the bedroom. he wants to draw attention to the boy, but no one else seems to notice him.

he watches idly as gabe is carried out the front door in a body bag. then disappears towards the bedroom.

percy stands and mutters something about wanting to see his mom. the cop guides him to where she's sat on the bed crying thick tears. the boy is there. no one else cares that he's there. the boy reaches out and gabe's body shimmers into view. he's a visage of how he'd looked right before he died - the wide-eyed shock, tensing of his shoulders, mouth open wide because he'd been shouting at percy, threatening him.

he didn't realize how much like his mom he was until gabe fell flat with a knife sticking out of his throat. his mom standing behind him breathing hard. she'd squatted beside his head, pulled out the knife. stared at it. then stabbed stabbed stabbed until gabe's chokes turned to wispy gasps and his wispy gasps disappeared.

"four stab marks," his mom had said. "hopefully that won't look like overkill. but make sure to mention how many times people came screaming at the door just in case."

gabe's white glowing form dissipates into a ball in the boy's hands. he pulls out a baggie from his shoulder bag, then dumps gabe into it with a grimace.

he does suck, percy thinks. be annoyed.

the boy steps away. his eyes catch percy's. percy's arm tightens around his mom's shoulders as he looks into the endless void that is the other boy's eyes. flashes of his own death catch his mind. lying flat on the ground, weakly asking for help, and a dark-skinned man with black angel wings standing above him whispering, i'm sorry, but it's time to go.

then the boy looks away and disappears into a shadow.

grover believes him when he tells him about it. that's the thing percy loves about grover. the mystical and paranormal are easily believed. grover's parents are hippie-like green witches. percy doesn't really get it but has surmised from grover and visiting their house it means they really, really like plants.

"grim reaper," grover calls him. "or a psychopomp. collectors of the dead."

he lists a bunch of names from various cultures until percy cuts him off. "are any young boys?"

grover shrugs. "i mean life is bigger than what the stories tell. there's more people, more humanity. atheists even. where do they go? who collects them? there's definitely more gods and spirits than we think these days. it's not like they all stopped fucking just because the stories ended. there are definitely more gods than we think."

percy doesn't know what to do with that. grover asks him a lot of questions about the boy. but it's hard to answer them. they can't find a culture he could belong to, a way to summon someone without a name. the kid was young, dressed normal in black clothes with a normal black messenger bag. there were no signs of culture, religion, belonging.

he could've blended into a primary school playground easily.

"maybe you need to kill someone," annabeth suggests. the conversation arises a year or so after they first met and befriended her - a new addition halfway through the school year, a few months after gabe's unfortunate death. following a CPS check, her biological mother decided to take charge of her. annabeth spent a lot of time grumbling about her family in california while also missing california ("it's familiar, new york is not, i don't miss my step-mom, i miss the comfort of routine") and bitching about her bio mom's obsession with her grades and extracurriculars.

it takes some campaigning but the three of them manage to create an afterschool club in the new school year for her to find some time to chill and relax and get school work done. it took a lot longer to convince her mom to let her join their "magics and mystics club" - some nonsense about how it'll make her stand-out in college applications.

percy highly doubts any college is looking too closely at middle school extracurriculars, but what does he know? he's either lasting until graduation with grover and annabeth, or getting his GED and dropping out to immediately book it to the first basic entry-level job he can find. school already sucks ass, but his barely medicated ADHD and severely dyslexic ass already twaddles the line of a C average. What's the use of hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt that's only growing frantically from interest and a degree he barely achieved with the lowest grades required to shake the hand of someone he's never interacted with?

annabeth spends most of her time in the club doing her homework, while percy gets reeducated on grover's witchy stuff. their club advisor is the drama teacher who only checked in at the beginning of that first meeting then dipped for the drama club. grover's putting together a presentation on the history of mysticism while percy glues pictures to poster board. annabeth will present their stuff. the three of them doubt anyone will care if they did anything productive with their club, but annabeth's mom will so they do their best to make it fancy as fuck.

she already doesn't like either of them.

in the spare times that annabeth isn't doing homework or studying for another class, they talk about the spiritual and paranormal, magic and whatnot. so percy mentions his experience with the reaper.

and annabeth's first suggestion is murder. it's hilarious. grover knows the truth but annabeth only knows the lie. percy makes a note of it in his head. maybe he'll hint around the truth. they're close, but there's still time needed between the two of them. the worst she's told him is about the spiders in her bedroom. but nothing about what kickstarted a CPS investigation and her subsequent arrival into his life.

"maybe he's a murder reaper," she says. she's intellectual, doesn't believe in the mystic magic stuff but tolerates it for grover. "so he only comes around when there's been a murder."

"i don't think reapers are split up by types of death," grover argues. "and even if they were, why would a little kid be sent to deal with murders?"

annabeth crosses her arms. "maybe he's not a kid. maybe he just chooses to look like that."

they get into a weird half-argument, half-civil discussion. to her credit, annabeth doesn't bring science into it. they both descend to the computers and the books grover brought in from his house to search through to prove whatever point they've landed on.

percy is too busy cutting out paper to glue to poster board. and thinking about the murder aspect. he doubts that murder matters. he's pretty sure grover's right, but he likes keeping his balls so he doesn't say. annabeth is probably right too. magical beings are always capable of changing form. maybe little kid is just easy. who would be afraid of going somewhere with a little kid. or a dog.

but death is needed to see the reaper again. percy doesn't live with anyone dying. and he's too young to volunteer at the hospital. besides death is random isn't it? everyone was convinced that their classmate who got diagnosed with stage four cancer was going to die but she returned a year and a half later missing a leg but recovering. and the gym teacher who ran marathons and was known for his obsessively healthy eating habits died of a heart attack over the summer.

and even if he hovered around people on the verge of death, it didn't mean he was going to be there when they died.

but murder? definitely. he'd be right there because it would be his fault.

at that, he dashes the thought away. murder is wrong. he can't kill people just to see a reaper he saw but never spoke to. it's not like he has any questions about his death. he'll die when he dies. dying isn't scary to him. what's scary is dying before his mom and leaving her childless and mourning. but death itself? he's unafraid.

but inside burns a deep need to see the reaper again. not even to talk to him. just to lay his eyes on that night sky hair and porcelain skin. then he'd be satisfied and the need would go away.

maybe.

probably.

hopefully.

it's on his sixteenth birthday that he sees another reaper. it's not the boy he's looking for. he's disappointed. he shouldn't be. he should be more concerned with the dead man lying in front of him.

the letter opener is sticking out just below luke's left armpit. it hadn't killed him. it was too delicate for that, and the spot wasn't vital enough. but it had shocked him enough for annabeth to shove him away in disgust. he fell back, tripping over annabeth's shoes, and smashed into the glass coffee table.

"shit," annabeth breathes. she doesn't notice the reaper - a slender arabic man appear from the darkness and pull luke's soul of his chest with thin hands. he pushes his hands together and the soul vanishes. then he turns into a dog, or... something like a dog, and disappears back into the shadows.

it's take a few minutes to figure out how to stage the scene. they get rid of the letter opener and shove a piece of broken glass into the spot. this time he doesn't escape through the window. just walks out of the room, calm and detached, and sits in his mom's car. when the police arrive, annabeth, crying thick tears, tells them that he had fallen over while she was getting her things ready after percy came to pick her up.

it's not technically a lie. the police wish him a happy birthday when he says he came by to pick annabeth up from her study session because they were going to do laser tag for his birthday that afternoon. when they don't arrest him in the weeks that follow, he relaxes. and considers his options. he googles arab dogs which is an odd search term but brings up jackals and anubis. cool, he thinks. he tells them both about it afterwards. despite the death, grover is excited. annabeth is less impressed.

"i would've noticed, i was there too," she huffs.

"maybe they don't like you because you're a nonbeliever," grover fires back.

is percy a believer? he's not sure. he knows that what he sees is real. if he was suffering from delusions or hallucinations, surely he'd be seeing them a lot more than twice over the course of four years.

"what if i asked them?" he suggests. "to make themselves visible to you?"

"planning on being around another newly dead guy soon?" annabeth asks with a laugh. grover snorts. but percy remains silent and serious so their amusement shifts to concern

grover leans in close. "percy-"

"just bad people," he cuts in with a solemn whisper.

"you can't be judge, jury and executioner," annabeth hisses. "what you think is bad is not always universal? think about jim crow laws or slavery-"

"annabeth," he cuts in before she can go on an historical tangent. "i was hoping you'd help actually."

it doesn't take long for her to click together what he wants out of her. she glares at him. "percy," she snarls through clenched teeth. "i'm not swishing my ass to entice seedy men for you to murder so you can maybe have a hallucination to process death."

"okay, okay." conceding, he raises his hands. "it was dumb, i'm sorry. i just... really wanna see this kid again. sorry."

annabeth watches him carefully the rest of the day. grover doesn't. he knows what percy is, even if he doesn't agree. so it's not too surprising to start seeing grover scrolling through the newspaper on his phone. he startles every time percy spooks him when he's reading. then laughs it off, swats at percy, and keeps reading. it's the obituaries that percy sees the most, but sometimes articles about a death.

whatever he's looking for, some kind of proof it's percy, he must not find because he doesn't say anything. but it's grover, percy's soulmate. so he's sure the slow side-eye that he gets some mornings are a knowing side-eye.

percy doesn't look at the newspapers. if he's gonna get caught, he'd rather be surprised about it other than worrying and getting sloppy.

it's hard to find truly shitty people from first glance. he doesn't have the patience to observe. just slight insomnia that keeps him up until one in the morning prowling the streets. he hovers around in his old neighborhood, where the cameras are for show and shitty people live. it's still difficult. he doesn't want to go around hurting innocent people. less so because he cares, but more because it would disappoint grover and annabeth and his mom. he can't disappoint them.

he does see reapers, including the one who will one day take him, but never the boy. percy tries to envision him older, but even then none of them match. he does try to speak to them, but they ignore him. he wonders if it's some kind of weird curse. he can see them but they can't. sometimes the ignorance seems intentional, but he can't really tell so other than a few short sentences that always go ignored, he gives up and heads home.

some days he wakes up and is certain the police will come for him. but they never do and so he gives it a few days or a couple weeks and head back out again. they're opportunity kills. random and haphazard. he keeps mittens on, which looks normal in the fall and winter, but sketchy over the summer. to counteract his want to see that reaper, he signs up to be a counselor for a summer camp. grover joins him. annabeth is dragged off to university summer classes by her mom. her emails are miserable. percy wonders aloud to grover if annabeth would be happier if her mom was dead. grover eyes him flatly and says he doubts it.

percy gets assigned to the little kids who tell him all kinds of family secrets. some are funny. some are not.

it's not that hard to get into the camp's directory and write down in poor handwriting and with tons of struggle the names and addresses of these secrets. it's not a lot, which is great. but it's more than it should be and come summer's end, he has his start for the fall.

it's clear grover knows what percy's planning. he was there after all when a little secret got whispered too loudly. but all he says is, "sometimes kids get things wrong." the newspaper on his phone comes back into play after summer ends. but he still says nothing, even when glances at percy from the corner of his eyes.

it's two years of scattered kills before he sees him again. the kid is older now. he looks about fourteen, maybe fifteen. but percy knows it's him. he's the only one who makes eye contact. this time percy doesn't see his death. but he sees the endless void.

purgatory, he thinks, before he blurts out, "i've been looking for you." the teen tilts his head and smiles, small, gentle. the sight of it slams hard into percy's ribcage and sinks messy into his heart. "what's your name?"

"what's yours?" the teen fires back, turning away from percy and collecting the pulsing orb into a little baggie like before. his voice is enchanting, smooth and crystalline. there's an edge of an italian accent in it.

"percy," he says without hesitation. "jackon. percy jackson." he shakes his head. "perseus, actually, but everyone calls me percy."

the teen laughs gently. the sound is haunting. somewhere in percy's subconscious he knows the sound should scare him. but instead he just craves it more. "well, perseus jackson, my name is nico."

nico, percy thinks. in his head, the name is surrounded by hearts like a schoolgirl writing out the name of their crush in a movie. "that's really pretty," he says aloud. mentally he slaps himself. that's really pretty? that's stupid.

but nico just laughs again. "thank you." he steps over the dead body and touches percy's face. "perseus was a quite the soul when he was collected." his fingertip ghosts down percy's cheek, leaving light phantom tingles behind. "will you be?"

then he dissipates into shadows, leaving percy with a heavy craving for his ghostly touch and hauntingly enchanted voice.

[blacklegsanjiii]

Nephew!Sanji but he has parents that aren't Zeff so it's similar to the Trafalgar!Sanji ASL+Sfriend au but somehow worse.

Like Golden!Sanji having a bunch of marines correct his form as a teenager at Baratie and Mihawk watching from his table. Sengoku is the worst marine recruiter he's seen. That new captain Kidd is really getting on his nerves and Crocodile is fine but Sanji has more important things to be doing than watching him do books as he explains things. Also why is the clown trying to talk to his kid? Wait is that the guy Shanks kept telling him about? Why is his kid smiling at the clown? Mihawk has a list of people he doesn't mind and people he minds a lot and he sends his list to Zeff regularly who updates him on who is and isn't allowed at the Baratie.

Shirohige!Sanji who comes to help out when Zeff needs it for whatever reason when Zeff needs it. Maybe the commanders switch out who it is with him depending on what's going on in the New World but one time it's White Beard himself and he's watching Tsuru correct Sanji's form kicking some dickweed across the room because he dumped food on the floor. He nods at Mihawk who nods back and is then served wine without ordering by Sanji and has head pat next time he passes the warlord. Capone Bege stays for hours and when Sanji, dead on his feet from serving all day, is stopped and Bege keeps trying to convince the thirteen year old to join his crew White Beard walks over and picks him and is like 'sorey, my kid needs to sleep he's been serving since seven in the morning and it is currently nine at night, piss off' as he takes Sanji to the ship and lets his kid fall asleep on him.

Clown!Sanji who is shone unmitigated support and care serving Garp who keeps trying to convince him to become a marine and Buggy telling him to quit because Sanji will do as he pleases. He watches Law try to tell Sanji no bread and Sanji ask him if he knows what the fuck he is asking for and disregards the guys order completely to bring the guy something he'll eat. Buggy is going to ignore the emblem the guy is wearing because woops that's too much for the clown rn if Rosinante actually adopted someone before dying too. Fucking Rayleigh comes in and Buggy hides in the kitchen and hide his haki and Sanji comes back and goes out the back door of the kitchen and screams so loudly about that fucking asshole old guy. Buggy trying to calm him down but his son catches fire so he pushes him in the ocean instead. Rayleigh coming outside as Buggy helps pull Sanji out and give him his cigarettes. Sanji going 'Dad, why' and Rayleigh going 'tf does that mean' and Buggy yelling at Rayleigh that he pissed his son off so much he set on fire. Zeff peaking out and telling Rayleigh to behave or piss off and then having a very old wanted poster put under a "banned" section of the cork board they have.

[opticfile]

hi there! i absolutely adore your writing it's so scrumptious !!!!!!!

i was wondering if i could request an alfred x depressed! gn! reader drabble? where reader has just been stuck in a major depressive episode for weeks and yeah, you can take it wherever you'd like. thank you so much! :))

✧ thank you?? for the req?? this is the first one I've gotten and its not for genshin YIPPEEEEE,,,,, also warning my only point of reference for a depressive episode is my own experience so I'm sorry if this doesn't represent what its like completely accurately!! i also didnt want to like be too heavy in "you're so sad rn!!1!!!1! and depressed!!!!1!!111!!!!" so i tried to make it like,,, moreso implied? I'm doing my best here D: also had no clue how to end it LMAO

—✦ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 // insinuations of depression, self loathing, fluff, bathtime teehee, completely sfw

1.7k words

Alfred wiped his feet on the welcome mat in front of your apartment’s door. He transferred a few of the grocery bags from his right hand to his left and fished his keys out of his coat’s pocket, humming gently to himself. The air was humid and chilly; he just wanted to see you but when he walked into your home he did not find the warmth he usually found.

Your apartment was like a warm hug to Alfred. On cool fall days, you’d have a space heater on low in your living room and a candle burning in the kitchen. He would walk in and take a deep deep breath and smile. Your couch was plush and there were countless pillows adorning your bed and no matter where he was sitting he felt encompassed by warmth.  He found comfort in your home, and in your arms.

But today, he did not hear your voice call out for him when his boots hit your crooked rug.

The first thing his eyes found was days-old take-out boxes on your coffee table. He frowned, browline creasing as he suddenly felt this unease in his soul. It wasn’t like you to leave take-out boxes just sitting on your coffee table, especially not for days at a time, and the slight smell of old, possibly rotting, food was only deepening his frown. 

He ventured deeper into your kitchen and was met with dishes piled in the sink and grains of sugar still lingering on your countertops. The kitchen towel that was usually hooked over your oven’s handle had fallen to the mat below it and was piled upon itself. He gently placed the grocery bags in his hand on your floor, turning from the sheer mess in your kitchen to find you. He just wants to see you, he just wants to see you, he just wants to see-

You were curled up in your blankets dead-center on your bed. There were pillows discarded on the floor and clothes sprawled out across it. The corners of your room were collecting dust bunnies that looked as if they were huddling for warmth and shivering in the cold atmosphere of your home. Your phone was held loosely in your hand as your chest rose and fell.

Alfred turned on his heel.

Alfred was always told he knew how to lift someone's mood. He’s been called a golden retriever, a ray of sunshine, cheer incarnate. He’s always been able to make people laugh with any old joke he threw out, and he’s always been able to have a good time no matter what obstacles stood before him. Some people thought his joy and optimism were extreme, too much, annoying, obnoxious. Alfred has always been sunny, but even the weather got cloudy for him, sometimes. 

(and for you it was storming, and he wanted to be your umbrella)

But he was always told he could make anyone smile, and for you? He would give everything to see you smile.

So he grabbed your sponge and pumped it full of dish soap and got to work.

Your eyes were reluctant to open. 

Rain pounded against your bedroom window, your phone buzzed with the sound of a random YouTube video you weren't watching as you removed your hand from it and turned over in your bed. Your legs were tangled in the sheets—the ones you probably should wash soon—and the air was musty. If it weren't for the obvious shuffling you heard in the rest of your apartment you would stay like that and wallow in self-pity.

Your feet hit the cold hardwood and you made a mental note to find your slippers after you figured out who was in your home (you already had an idea of who it was judging from the light humming). You felt the grime and dust beneath your skin and you frowned. You really needed to sweep.

Your door opened with a creek.

You hated seeing the disgusting state of your home, you were ashamed of it frankly. You needed to clean and yet had none of the motivation to do it so you just sat in your dirt and grit your teeth. The smell in the air was heavy and stuffy and only reflected how you felt inside. You had been getting nothing done, no work, no chores, not even your little hobbies you did for fun were bringing the joy they usually did. 

But by far the place you avoided the most was the kitchen. The kitchen was nothing but one big chore. Dishes piled up and stains on your counter and spills down your cabinets were the only things you could see in that disgrace of a room. You didn’t even want to cook, it's not like you even could with the messy state of your stove, either. So the takeout boxes on your coffee table (which were now missing) stood as evidence of your laziness and poor habits and frankly you were sick of yourself can you do anything right-

“Y/n?” An all too familiar voice called out from the kitchen, “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” You responded, voice groggy and mouth thick.

You rounded the corner to see Alfred drying his hands off with a fresh kitchen towel. Your kitchen was… spotless. Alfred flashed you that bright grin of his, pearly whites lined up perfectly straight, and you let yourself relax a bit as you waddled over to your lover.

You found comfort in Alfred’s smile, in his arms. In that sunny warmth of his that he always carried with him. It felt like the skies were clearing up when he wrapped himself around and nuzzled into your hair, kissing the top of your head and ignoring the fact your hair was a bit greasy and unwashed. Alfred didn't care. That’s why you loved him. Er, that’s not the only reason, but it sure did help that he could hold your hand as you puked your guts out from food poisoning and he would still kiss you after. 

“Hi.” You murmured into his chest as his arms tightened around you.

“Hey, baby,” He laid another kiss on your head, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” 

“Feelin’ ok? A little stormy?” He ran his nails along your scalp and scratched a metaphorical spot that no one else could even find in your soul as you nodded into his chest. “D’ya wanna take a bath?”

“Mhm.” You spoke weakly, eyes filling with tears at the sheer amount of care in his voice as he rubbed your back.

“Hey, look at me,” Alfred pulled back gently, hand now finding your cheek, “No crying, the hero’s here, remember? I’ll save you.”

You frowned. The hero. Alfred always was your knight in shining armor no matter what the issue was. When you got fired Alfred was the one to buy your groceries and pay your bills and help you with your resume. When you got food poisoning from a seafood restaurant he took you on a date to he was the one to buy you medicine and rub your bad when your stomach was killing you from the inside out. And now he’s the one who’s squeezing shampoo into his palms and rubbing it on your scalp while you choke on your own sobs.

He raked his hands through your hair and rubbed circles into your head and down your neck to try and soothe you as you fell apart in his hands and let everything out. It was the kind of breakdown that was snotty and ugly but Alfred still saw nothing but perfection in every part of your face. From the tear droplets caught in your eyelashes to the curve of your nose to the shape of your chin, he saw nothing but the love of his life.

He took the showerhead down and returned to his knees by the tub, water soaking through his jeans and socks as he kneeled next to you to wash your hair. He had you sit up a bit and put his hand on your forehead to shield your eyes from the water as he rinsed the shampoo from your hair and whispered nothing but love. Hiccups bubbled from your ribcage as you came down from the peak of your crying and let your nails scratch your legs, peeling dead skin away in red stripes.

“Feel better?” Alfred slathered some conditioner on your hair. 

“Mhm.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” He raked his hands through your hair gently, “I would’ve come over sooner.”

“I wanted to, I just forgot.” You frowned, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I love you.” Alfred took the shower head and started rinsing out your hair again.

“I love you too, Alfie.”

He grinned at the nickname, heart fluttering against his ribs.

He stood from his place by the tub and stretched out a hand to help you out of the bath, handing you a fresh towel. He took one of your hand towels and draped it over your head, smiling brightly at you as you wrapped the towel around yourself and pulled you into his arms. Your skin was still damp and the air was hot and foggy as he wet his t-shirt with the water dripping from your hair.

The door opened and in flooded crisp, cool air as the steam fluttered out of the bathroom and the smell of a burning candle invaded your senses. 

You rummaged through your dresser and found a t-shirt and pajama pants, pulling them on before making your way into the living room to see Alfred fiddling with your T.V. remote.

“What’d’ya wanna watch?”

“Something funny,” You responded, plopping yourself down onto your couch and laying back on it. 

“Sounds good to me,” Alfred murmured as he crawled into your arms, sprawling himself over you as gently as possible so he wouldn't smother you.

“Do you wanna order takeout?” You ran your hands through his hair as your attention was grabbed by the T.V.

“Sure.” He nuzzled into your neck and finally relaxed in your arms, “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

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