#i still don't know if i like or hate the brushes

[keithyp00]

•·.·´`·.·•• You're Lying (and other things Sam won't stop saying) ••·.·´`·.·•

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: language, mild suggestiveness, comedy, romance, light-angst, found family, slow burn payoff, excessive teasing, established relationship, Sam being annoying

Trope: Everyone thinks you're not really dating. You are. No one believes you.

Word Count: 2.0K

Author Note: Guys this is just like my last one, this is to help me mentally prep for an AP exam tomorrow morning so if this is bad I am so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

You and Bucky were dating.

Like- really dating.

In the 'he's seen you at your absolute worst and still kisses your cheek like he doesn't look at you any differently' kind of way. The 'you keep an extra toothbrush at his place and he makes your coffee how you like it without asking' kind of way. The 'he pulls you into his lap during team movie nights and smiles against your shoulder, murmuring words into your ear like it's not the most dangerous thing he could do' kind of way.

And no one believed you.

Especially not Sam.

"Oh, come one," he said, flatly, as he walked in on you and Bucky curled up on the couch. "This again?"

You blinked. "We're watching Pretty Woman, Sam."

"You're spooning."

"We're affectionate."

"You're not even kissing! He's probably just cold. You know he runs cold. Like a cyborg space lizard or something."

Bucky growled. "Cyborg space-?!"

"Right," Sam interrupted. "Sure. Keep telling people you're dating. I'll be over here living in reality."

You buried your face into Bucky's neck. "I hate him," you mumbled.

"You love him," Bucky corrected with a sigh. "You just want him to validate our relationship."

"I want him to believe in our relationship. There's a difference."

Sam, in the kitchen, called out: "I don't!"

Bucky flipped him off without looking.

~~~~~

The problem wasn't that you and Bucky didn't act like a couple.

The problem was that you didn't act like a normal couple.

You didn't post mushy selfies. You didn't wear matching shirts. You didn't coo pet names across conference tables. You just... existed. Comfortable. Quietly in sync. The kind of romance that felt more like a heartbeat than a firework.

Too subtle for people like Sam Wilson, apparently.

"You didn't even kiss when you got back from that mission," Sam pointed out, a few weeks later. "She was gone for five days, man."

Bucky, polishing a knife, didn't look up. "I kissed her afterward. In private."

"See, that's the problem! You hide it. Makes it look fake."

"I'm sorry," you snapped. "I didn't realize our love life was for public broadcast. Want us to livestream the next one?"

Sam looked delighted. "That's a strong reaction. I hit a nerve. This is faker than Tony's allergy to gluten."

Tony called from down the hall: "It's real, you bastard!"

~~~~~

At first, it was funny.

Then it got exhausting.

You weren't insecure about your relationship- Bucky made sure of that, every day, in a dozen quiet ways. He cooked for you. Kissed your temple. Held your hand under tables. Brushed his thumb along your jaw like it was the most precious part of you.

But still. No one believed it.

Not Nat, who called it "convenient physical proximity."

No Clint, who claimed he'd never seen you kiss with tongue (as id that were a valid benchmark).

Not even Steve, who offered a gentle "Are you sure he's not just emotionally dependent on you?"

It all came to a head one night at a bar.

You'd just finished a mission and everyone was letting off steam. Sam leaned against the bar counter beside you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"So," he started. "You and Barnes still 'dating'?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes."

"Hmm. Okay." He sipped his beer. "So if I leaned in and kissed you right now, he wouldn't deck me?"

You stared at him.

"Try it," Bucky said darkly from behind, voice like cracked gravel.

Sam smiled. "Still not proof."

Bucky grabbed your hand. "You want proof?"

"Bucky-" you warned.

"No, no. He wants a show. Let's give him one."

He yanked you flush against him, hand cupping your jaw, and kissed you.

You melted into it, clutched his shirt, kissed him back with something that sounded like a whimper because Jesus.

Not a polite kiss.

Not a we're-dating-I-swear kiss.

A I-know-every-inch-of-your-mouth-and-I-love-you kiss.

Hot. Possessive. Unapologetic.

When he pulled away, Sam blinked. "...Okay. Damn."

"Believe us now?" Bucky raised a brow.

Sam blinked again. "Not really."

You grabbed a pretzel stick and stabbed it into the foam of Sam's beer. "I hope you step on RedWing."

~~~~~

Even after that, the teasing didn't stop.

Because of course it didn't.

"You probably practiced that," Sam said a few days later.

"What?"

"That kiss. You planned it. Just to throw me off."

Bucky rubbed his temples. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met."

"You're just mad I cracked the code."

"There is no code!"

You yanked open the fridge, pulled out a tub of frosting, and started eating it with a spoon. "I actually cannot live like this."

Sam pointed at the spoon. "See? No real girlfriend would let her boyfriend see that."

"Bucky bought me this frosting."

Bucky looked like he was about to get up and beat the shit out of Sam if he didn't start walking away.

~~~~~

Eventually, you gave up.

Let them believe what they wanted.

You and Bucky still kissed behind closed doors, curled together on the couch, whispered sleepy confessions after long days.

Until-

One night, you got sick.

Really sick. The kind of body-aching, fever-drenched flu that turned you into a grumpy, sniffling, corpse with a bag full of used tissues beside your bed.

And Bucky took care of everything.

He brought you soup. Rubbed your back. Helped you shower when you were too weak to stand. Brushed your hair out of your face. Slept beside you even when you told him not to.

Sam stopped by to check on you and walked in on Bucky holding your hand while you slept, forehead pressed to your wrist like he was praying.

The next morning, there was a small gift basket on your nightstand.

He backed out slowly.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't tease.

Didn't breathe.

"Okay. You win. He loves you. I won't say another word. P.S. Please don't tell anyone I'm capable of this level of sincerity. I have a rep to protect."

From Sam.

With a card.

~~~~~

You- of course- showed Bucky the card.

He smirked. "About damn time."

You kissed him with a smile.

And this time, no one questioned it.

~~~~~

The peace lasted exactly five days.

Five beautiful, uninterrupted days.

No teasing, no smug side-eyes, no Sam accusing you of being part of an elaborate CIA cover operation. Just you, Bucky, some early morning kisses over coffee, and one blessed evening where you somehow convinced him to slow dance in the kitchen to 40s music.

And then Sam broke into your new apartment. One you thought would give you full time peace compared to the Avengers compound.

(he claimed he "used the spare key." You knew he just picked the lock.)

"Morning, lovebirds," he smiled brightly, leaning against the doorframe like this wasn't the worst intrusion since Ross kissed someone else while he and Rachel were on a break.

You stared at him over Bucky's shoulder, still wrapped in his hoodie with sleep-mussed hair and a mug of tea between your palms. "It's 7:13 a.m."

"I brought bagels."

"And chaos."

Sam strolled in. "And relationship advice."

Bucky looked up from the couch, dead-eyed. "Why?"

"Because now that I know you two are the real deal, I gotta make sure you stay real."

You rubbed your temples. "We're not a gas leak, Sam."

"No, but you're both stubborn and weirdly avoidant and emotionally repressed, and frankly, I'm impressed it took me this long to be needed."

Bucky mumbled, "I'd rather be waterboarded."

Sam ignored him and slapped a notebook onto the table. "Step one: scheduled communication check-ins."

"Oh my god-"

~~~~~

You tried ignoring him.

Didn't work.

("It's like Find My iPhone, but romantic," he said. Bucky installed it in twelve seconds.)

Because Sam became relentless. He started showing up with couple's quizzes.

Brought you a deck of 'relationship conversation starters.'

Installed an app on Bucky's phone called 'LoveTracker.'

And worst of all- he documented everything.

"Bucky," he'd say mid-mission, "when was the last time you complimented her non-physically?"

You stared at him. "Non-physically?"

"Yeah. Like her intelligence. Or her moral compass. Or how she hasn't murdered me yet."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I call her my girl every morning."

"That's possessive endearment, not a compliment."

"I tell her she's smarter than Tony."

~~~~~

Somewhere around Week 3 of Sam's Unsolicited Couples Therapy, something unexpected happened.

But... he also started being kind of helpful.

He stopped being annoying.

(Okay, no. He was definitely still annoying.)

Like the night you and Bucky got into your first real fight.

It wasn't explosive. Just sharp. Quiet. Full of jagged silences.

You'd been on back-to-back missions, and Bucky had started pulling away. Fewer cuddles. More brooding. Less talking. You tried to be patient- God, you tried- but when he snapped at you for asking what was wrong, it all unraveled.

"I'm trying to help," you said, voice trembling.

"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

The room froze.

You didn't cry.

You never cried in front of him.

But that night, you shut your bedroom door behind you and curled up alone.

But Sam came over first.

Bucky didn't come in.

Not until morning.

~~~~~

He found you on the balcony, hoodie pulled over your knees, cold tea forgotten beside you.

Then, quietly: "You know, when Sarah gets mad at me, I do this thing where I pretend I'm not scared I'll lose her. But I am. I always am."

He didn't say anything at first.

Just sat down next to you, offered a granola bar.

You looked over. "You think Bucky's scared?"

Sam tilted his head. "That man loved you like it's gonna be taken away from him. Like he's holding something he thinks he shouldn't have. So yeah. He's scared."

~~~~~

You didn't cry.

But you breathed.

And it helped.

Bucky apologized that afternoon.

He stood in the doorway, fists clenched, breathing hard like it took everything in him to walk in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For being a coward. For making you feel like you weren't wanted when you're the only thing I ever want."

You looked at him.

He stepped closer. "I never learned how to let myself be... this happy. It scared the hell out of me. But not as much as losing you."

You opened your arms, and he came apart in them.

That night, Bucky fell asleep with his hand on your heart.

And you whispered, "You're safe with me."

~~~~~

The next morning, Sam dropped off muffins.

"I told you you'd fight eventually," he said smugly.

You grabbed the muffins and shut the door in his face with a smile.

~~~~~

Over time, you adapted.

You didn't expect Sam to be a normal friend, he didn't know how to do that. But you did start to appreciate him as a part of your life. Your weird, overinvolved, chaotic platonic marriage therapist.

One night, you all sat around a campfire during a retreat mission. Quiet stars. Crickets. Steve snoring faintly in the background.

He became your sounding board.

Your crisis texter.

Your sarcastic but loyal brother figure who threatened anyone who looked at you funny and called Bucky 'lover boy' just to watch him twitch.

Sam looked over at you both.

"You know," he said, voice softer than usual, "you're actually really good together."

Bucky looked at him. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. But I mean it. You make him more human," he said to you. Then, to Bucky: "And you make her feel protected without caging her."

Sam threw a marshmallow at you both. "Don't get soft on me. I'll revoke my own compliment."

You blinked.

Bucky squeezed your hand.

~~~~~

Months later...

You stood at the edge of a field after a joint mission, hair tousled, laughing with Bucky as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled to yourself.

Sam walked past, muttering into comms.

"She's in love, he's in denial, and I'm still unpaid for all their therapy."

Which honestly... was kind of perfect.

You were real.

You were loved.

And you had the most chaotic friend group in the world.

[cuteandhughesy]

‘I Knew They Didn’t Actually Hate Each Other!’ | Leon Draisaitl

summary: lauren and connor mcdavid have very different reactions when finding out their best friends don't actually hate one another.

[word count] 2.8k

warnings: kissing | swearing | mature dialogue

a/n: a requested follow up part to couldn’t make it any harder! this is short and sweet but i’m absolutely certain this is how these interactions would go down if this was real life situation. ENJOY MY LEON GIRLIES 🧡💙

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

lauren knew.

okay, well, no she didn't know. but your best friend had a good incline that you were seeing some one.

it started with the smaller details. there was always fresh flowers—beautiful, expensive ones at that—on your kitchen countertop, accompanied by one of those little card holders. the note is always missing, meaning that you've put it somewhere. to which lauren says, suspicious.

less movie nights at lauren's because 'you're swamped with work.' more like swamped with sex. and you're always smiling, even when everyone is out together.

which unless lauren is fucking crazy and is completely remembering the past 7 years or so incorrectly, that was totally unheard of—especially when leon draisital is in the vicinity.

and lauren's pretty sure that she saw a hickey on your boob when your tank top shifted during hot yoga two weeks ago.

the math was just mathing, okay!

it started after the wedding. where as lauren was hungover and still wearing what felt like a million pounds of makeup from the night before, you waltzed into the room with a glow and a smile on your fresh face.

she'd honestly brushed that incident off until everything else starting falling into place like the perfect puzzle—but then lauren got to thinking. did you meet someone that night?

lauren has spent the past two months racking her brain for answers—answers to a question she wasn't going to ask you yet, because obviously she was determined to figure it out on her own before all else.

it was like the damn bachelorette in her head as lauren mentally assessed every single guy she and connor had at their wedding—trying to pinpoint which ones would capture her best friends attention enough for it to stick.

but no matter how many times lauren tried to work it all out, she came up short for answers.

you and this secret relationship are a mystery to her.

so it was this random september afternoon that lauren mcdavid decided she was going to get her answers—hold you down and physically pull them from your tongue if she has to. because your best friend is sick of being in the dark, especially when she knows….something is going on.

she can feel it in her damn gut.

so with an extra tight ponytail and her purse swinging loosely at her side, lauren knocks on your apartment door—so loud and aggressively that she almost scares herself. it's rather comical in the way she jerks her hand away from the wood at the sound.

she knows your home. wednesday's are your half days, meaning you only work in the morning. this time of year, just before the hockey season really starts up, connor's days are similar. and that’s how lauren remembers said information.

lauren was tempted to wait for her husband to get back from his suit fitting and make him come with her to your place—because like the whole good cop, bad cop idea sounded really appealing in her head—but lauren was too impatient.

she knocks again after a beat passes without any sound or sign of movement. it's only then that she hears your shaky voice through the door.

"sorry, one second!"

she squints incredulously at the door, even though you can't see her, her arms crossed over her chest like an impatient child. and sure, maybe she is impatient, but lauren feels that it's justified if you're keeping damn secrets from her like a freak.

finally, the apartment door is hastily pulled open, a gust of air pulling in the space between you and your best friend like the beginning of a storm. and perhapes lauren should've taken that as a sign.

at the sight of her, your eyes widen slightly, a wave of panic settling over your already frantic tainted features. you're slightly breathless, tank top a little askew like you've only just pulled it over the black bra lauren can see adorning your chest.

"hey," you greet, running a hand through your tousled hair, "I wasn't expecting you."

lauren's gaze narrows as she takes in your state, "I know. thought i'd drop in."

"oh," you swallow before giving a short laugh, "i'm actually just about to head out." another laugh, "yeah i'm just...I need eggs."

"eggs?"

"yeah!" you nod with seemingly panicked enthusiasm before giving a quick glance over your shoulder. you think it's discrete enough, but lauren catches it. 

she gives you a once over again, eyes trickling all the way down to your bare feet. it's then that lauren notices the shoes left hazardly by the front door. men's sneakers—men's sneakers that have been seemingly removed in a hast to be exact.

her lips part in shock, a tiny strangled gasp leaving her mouth as her eyes dart back to yours. "you're seeing someone! and he's in here right now, isn't he?"

this time, it's your turn to gasp. "i'm not seeing anyone!"

lauren raises a brow, "oh yeah?"

"yeah."

"okay, then who got you those flowers on your island?"

your jaw goes slack, mouth opening like you want to rattle off some sort of excuse, but the words never come.

lauren continues once she sees the little beige envelope still perched next to the beautiful arrangement of florals—pushing her way into your apartment like a woman on a mission. and that she is. "if you're not going to tell me, i'll just take a peek at that little card, mhm?"

"no!"

you dart past her, snatching the note before she has a chance to grab it.

and that’s the moment lauren’s knows that’s she’s been right all along. she makes a noise between a scoff and a laugh, dropping her expensive handbag to your barstool roughly. "okay, fine. i'll just find him then. 'cause I know he's in here."

"trust me when I tell you, this is not the way you want to meet him."

she stops walking, spinning on her heels as her inspector gadget brain starts up again. all half sarcastic hostility leaving her body as straight curiosity takes over—"so I haven't meet him before? because I've been trying to work out for the past few months if it was somebody at the wedding."

your eyes widen, "you've been sitting on this for months?"

"yeah! and it's been a damn uncomfortable seat because you didn't have the gut to just tell me about him," she trails off, "is he like a criminal or something?"

"no." you're quick to answer, "i'm pretty sure we'd both know that by now if that was the case." your slip up has your tongue going dry, eyes widening to a certain point that it looks painful.

"ha!" lauren points an accusing finger in your direction, "so I do know him."

"yes," you croak out, "but seriously let's just sit down and talk about this before you start searching my place like you're a FBI agent."

lauren doesn't even wait for you to finish before she's walking through your place, opening and closing closet doors on her way down the hall like a search dog. much to her dismay, the linen closet is empty, as well as the space you keep your holiday decorations.

the lack of man makes her scowl.

you're hot on lauren's heels, a blabbing mess of half strung together pleas falling on deaf ears as lauren pushes open your bedroom door.

there's a pair of jeans on the floor, half kicked under the bed like you—or whoever this man is—tried to hide them in a hurry. "is he in here?" lauren shoots you a pointed look. you wince, and she gets her confirmation. "is he in your closet?"

"i'm telling you right now, lauren, don't open the closet."

"i'm definitely going to open it."

and she does. and the sight before her immediately ignites a sound that can only be described as a wail. lauren shuts the closet door, a hand over her mouth while she blinks in a half shell shocked way.

a tense beat passes with lauren just staring off into space, and you anxiously biting the skin around your thumb nail, nervous gaze never once flickering from your best friend.

leon slips out between your closet doors a moment later, dressed in only his boxers. he has an awkward smile on his face and a hand cupping over his semi hard junk—trying to conceal all that from his teammates wife.

"hey lauren, how's it going?"

"what the fuck!" she gasps, looking between you both.

"you?"

you grimace, but nod.

"and you?"

leon nods.

“oh my god,” lauren fans her face, a dramatic flare that she doesn’t even realize she’s doing. “I think I'm going to pass out.”

you, used to and recognizing her said dramatics, don’t respond. but leon fully begins to freak out, eyes widening as he eases towards your best friends pacing form—large hands that minutes ago were down your pants, held out cautiously.

“you need sit down.”

lauren holds her hand up, halting your boyfriend in his tracks. “no, I can't—this is too much.” she begins fanning herself again, “when did this start happening?”

“what part?”

you shoot him a half stern look, “leon.”

“how many parts are there?”

“well we kissed when you locked us in your bedroom.” leon says often handily, like he didn’t just drop the biggest bomb on this entire situation.

lauren gasps again—because what do you mean you guys kissed before the wedding? before today. “what?!” she all but squawks, big blue eyes darting between the two of you like you’ve just committed a crime.

she pauses, thinking back on that moment when she’d let you and leon out of her bedroom that day many weeks ago. were your lips swollen? was leon’s hair a mess? were you guys kissing when the door was opened?

it’s hard for lauren to recall when leon’s deep, gravely voice continues—“and we hooked up in muskoka.”

another gasp, louder and sharper than ever as lauren spins on her heels, focusing her attention solely on you—which really works in her favour considering leon is still half naked.

“I knew it started at the wedding! god, I didn't even consider leon. and for good reason! I thought you guys hated each other.”

“we did!” you confirm.

“actually for the record,” leon interjects cautiously, “I never hated her.”

“of course you didn’t.” lauren lets out a disbelieving sigh, running a small hand over her makeup free face while digesting the flurry of emotions coursing through her.

she looks between you both once again, a softer expression beginning to take over her sharp features. “so you guys are..?”

you swallow, “dating.”

“like dating dating.”

you cringe at the highschool tone of it all, giving leon a wtf squint. “were in love,” you elaborate after a second, eyes slowly falling back in line with your best friend.

she makes a noise, “oh god, this is like straight out of a romance novel. I kind of feel like i've got whiplash.” lauren rolls her lips together, “why did you guys hide this from me?”

the vulnerability lacing her words makes your heart squeeze, and the way her eyebrows draw upwards like a sad cartoon character only amplifies the feeling.

regardless of the guilt rattling your bones, you and leon had good reason for keeping the beginning stages of your relationship a secret—not just from lauren, but from everyone. reasons you immediately begin rattling off, and this time the panic is in your voice.

“it was your wedding! and for the first little bit we didn't know how to navigate everything.���

leon chimes in before you can blink, coming to your defense like he’s been doing for years—since before you even realized he was doing so. “and we spent years bickering and fighting and we just wanted to keep everything in the down low until we found our rythym.”

“yeah, and it just felt good—we were just ours.” you exhale loudly, running a hand over the flat of your stomach as if to soothe the wave of nausea, your eyes never once parting from your best friends. “i'm sorry, lauren.”

she nods, a natural glint in her eyes. “you guys are some of my best friends. i'm not mad...I just wish you felt like you could've told me.”

“I was a shitty friend,” you admit gently, chewing the skin of your cheek anxiously.

it’s instantly that lauren waves your comment off, padding on the carpeted bedroom floor to close to space between you. and she just hugs you, so tightly that it almost hurts, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“no, you could never be,” she mutters, “and this will definitely take me at least a week to digest but...i'll get over it.” the playful tone that lauren usually possesses eases back into her voice. “you guys look hot together.”

you practically snort, “thanks.”

she hums before her eyes drift back towards your boyfriend. “now leon please put your pants back on.”

“don't have to tell me twice,” leon breathes, already retrieving his discarded jeans from under your bed frame, tugging them up his thick legs in a way that makes you drool.

lauren pulls back from the hug, her small hands still holding onto your arms as a excitable grin pulls at the corner of her plump lips. “okay, now, tell me how leon confessed that he loved you.”

“oh god.” leon groans from behind the material of his t-shirt, only half way over his head.

but you just match her grin, thinking back to the night under the stars and the warm muskoka air. “you're going to die!”

—

it’s only a week after lauren forcing her way into your apartment and quite literally exposing you and a half naked leon into spilling the beans about your relationship, that connor finds out.

which, you’re surprised lauren didn’t spill the beans before then, especially considering her and her husband are still in that lovey dovey newly wed phase that makes them literally do and share every single thing with one another.

not that you can really say anything about being in a honeymoon phase, because you and leon are so deep in it that it’s almost embarrassing—you can’t recall a day since that night in muskoka that you haven’t been touching or kissing leon in some way.

anyways.

you and leon both decided that telling connor needed to be more of a formal conversation—compared to the way lauren found out, for example. so, you planned a dinner at leon’s condo and invited the happy couple over.

lauren, obviously sitting on this secret was practically buzzing on the way over in the passenger seat—connor sending his wife curious looks at every red light. but lauren only just grinned back at him like a cheshire cat.

it was kind of freaky.

and you and leon tried—really tried to get it right. dinner was in the oven on the keep warm setting, consisting home made chicken and veggies and potatoes that you drizzled with an amount of butter that would have the oilers nutritionists frowning, while you waited for them.

but it all started when leon reached above you to grab the plates, his hand enclosing around your hip and giving it a firm squeeze. half hard against your ass.

so really it’s your boyfriends fault, because soon enough you were making out on the kitchen island like horny teenagers.

you’ve got your legs wrapped around leon’s thick waist, hands running through his hair while he paws at your ass and legs. kissing like it’s the oxygen you need to keep breathing. and in a way, that’s what it feels like.

because this version of leon drasitial—hell, even the version you thought despised your guts just as much as he did beer nuts—is truly your lifeline. and yeah, he is the air you breathe. he’s the sun and the moon and you love him more than anything.

and leon loves the colour red now. especially when it’s your red nails tickling his arm while you watch a movie together. when it’s your red lips kissing his cheek in the lazy morning light. your red sweatpants that you always leave on his bathroom floor.

too wrapped up in one another to hear the door open, you’re completely oblivious to the sound of lauren and connor toeing off their shoes, only a half wall between you.

all you can hear is your thumping heart.

all leon can hear is your little breathy sighs.

until—"I knew they didn't actually hate each other."

lauren half laughs, half gawks as you and leon separate. she eyes her husband in disbelief—connor doesn’t even look phased. no, if anything he looks content.

like he knew. and not in the way lauren knew. but like, actually had a real gut feeling about their best friends.

"was I the only clueless one?" lauren questions, watching as you slip off the counter top, adjusting your frilly top as you do so—previously roughed up from leon’s wondering hands.

you send her a look, wincing at her question. clearly, that means yes.

but connor just shrugs, walking further into the delicious smelling kitchen. the oilers captain picks a grape off the vine sitting in the large fruit bowl, popping it in his mouth.

"nah, they were both clueless about each other's feelings for like…7 years. you pale in comparison to that."

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Where Softness Lives

Step mom!Wanda x step daughter!reader

Word count: 3K

Summary: You grew up with an abusive mother and a cold father, mother’s day used to mean broken dishes and bruised feelings. Now, it’s different. Wanda shows you what unconditional love really looks like. Gentle hands, lullabies, and whispered affirmations when the tears come back. This year, you planned Mama & Me Day down to the glitter stickers and muffins... but when old trauma hits hard that morning, Wanda meets you with warmth instead of expectations.

Warnings: childhood abuse (emotional/verbal/neglectful), a toxic mother, and an emotionally distant father. It touches on trauma responses, including a mild panic attack, and explores internalized guilt and fear surrounding Mother’s Day. Themes of healing, reparenting, found family, comfort and emotional safety

Authors notes: I'm sorry to any others who had neglectful parents and how hard these days can be <3

You remember the sounds of dishes breaking and yelling. Of pleading as your toys got shoved into black garbage bags. 

“I'm sorry Mommy! I didn't mean it! Please! I'll be good! I'll be a good girl!” You plead and plead until your voice is raw, until you're curled up on just a mattress, shaking from the lack of blanket. 

You wouldn't get your stuff back for another week when you proved you were good.

You sat across from your step-mom, Wanda, your dad had remarried less than a month after your mom passed. What you did not understand was what Wanda saw in your dad. He was older; much older. In his eighties, Wanda was closer to you in age, her being thirty-five and you being twenty-seven. 

A scowl was covering your face, arms crossed. Your father is standing above Wanda, hand on her shoulder. He was almost as sharp as your mom. People used to, well probably do still think he is or was in the mob. A thick accent that never left him, 

“Mother's day is next month and I'll be away on a trip unfortunately. I know things have been rocky, but–” you dont let him finish your defenses coming up like walls, your voice carrying until it hits the walls with how loud it was. 

“SHE'S NOT MY MOM! I DON'T WANT A MOM! MOM WAS TERRIBLE AND I HATED HER AND I DON'T WANT TO CELEBRATE ANYTHING!” Your fists slammed the table. Then a slap to the face. It stung but you were used to it. Wanda gasped it wasn't the first time he'd smacked you, wouldn't be the last. 

You leave the table, holding your cheek, heading out the door with nothing. 

You came back hours later, cold, soaked to the bone because it had started to pour on your way back. As soon as you walked through the door Wanda was there. Towel wrapping around you before you could blink. Her hand gently cupping your cheek. The cheek your father hit. You felt like you weren't there. You weren't real as Wanda gently took you to the bathroom. 

A hot bath running as she helped you out of the clothes stuck to your body. You felt like a little doll, her doll, no maybe not a doll, a baby…hers. 

She helps you into the tub, kneeling next to it and gently washing your skin, she's using her body wash, cherry blossoms, it's grounding. You slowly look at her and she smiles gently. You try and give one back, but you can tell it's not right. 

“It's okay baby don't force it. It'll happen naturally.” Her voice is so soft and sweet. You aren't sure what to do with it. No one besides Wanda has ever treated you with this kindness. It doesn't feel real. You want to lash out again, but your energy is gone.

She helps you out, puts you in an oversized night shirt. It reminds you of being a kid, but in a good way. It makes you feel small, childlike. Your head was already a bit floaty before, but she takes you to your bed, gently brushes through the damp hair, softly sings a Sokovian lullaby, and hands you a teddy bear. 

You brush your hands over the soft fur, everything about her movements and actions help ground you back from your episode. You lean back into her. 

“I'm sorry mama…” It comes out softly and she kisses the top of your head. 

“It’s okay Milaya I understand why you did it.” You feel tears in your eyes at her words. She was always so understanding of every lash out you had. From the very beginning when you were expecting a slap or harsh words back they never came.

It had only been a few weeks since the funeral. Since the house stopped smelling like your mom’s perfume and started smelling like lavender and coffee. Wanda had started staying over not long after—your father didn't believe in waiting, and you didn't believe in him anymore.

You came home from a miserable day at work to find a gift bag sitting on your bed. Pale pink with gold tissue paper and a tag that said:

Just because. –W

You stared at it like it was a threat.

Your chest tightened as you reached inside and pulled out a soft cardigan, light gray, your favorite color. Beneath it, a little enamel pin shaped like a cat with a book in its paws. The kind of thing someone only picks out if they’ve been paying attention.

That made it worse.

You stormed out of the room and into the kitchen where Wanda stood, humming as she stirred something on the stove. She turned with a warm smile—one that melted the second she saw your face.

“What is this?” you snapped, holding the cardigan out like it was burning your hands.

She blinked. “It’s… for you. I thought it looked soft. I know you get cold in the mornings sometimes.”

You threw it on the floor. “I didn’t ask for this! I don’t need your pity presents! You’re not my mom, so stop pretending you care!”

The words came out louder than you intended. Sharper. But you didn’t stop. Your fists were clenched, your voice shaking. “Just stop trying! You don’t know anything about me! You can’t fix me with a sweater and some dumb little pin!”

And then… silence.

You stood there, braced for it—your pulse pounding in your ears. Waiting for her to yell. To slap. To throw something. Your body tensed like it knew what was supposed to happen next.

But Wanda just stepped forward.

Slowly. Carefully.

You flinched as she approached, but she only lifted her arms. Gently. She wrapped them around your trembling shoulders and pulled you into her chest.

You froze.

No one had ever hugged you after something like that.

Her fingers moved softly through your hair as she rested her chin on top of your head. Her voice came low, warm like honey. “You’re okay,” she whispered. “You’re safe. It’s okay to have big feelings.”

Your body shook as the dam inside cracked wide open.

All the anger, the grief, the guilt—it spilled out in quiet sobs against her shirt. You didn’t even notice when your hands curled into her back, holding on like you were drowning.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” you choked out, barely audible.

“I know,” she murmured, swaying you gently. “You’ve been carrying so much. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

You turn in her arms, burying your head in her chest, you hear the soft chuckle as her fingers comb through your hair. “It's all okay baby Mama's here. I'm not upset or angry, not one bit. I know why you said it to him. I understand. We'll celebrate in our own way won't we, pretty girl?” She tilts your chin up to meet her soft gaze. You get lost in them for a moment. 

“Mhmm I have the day planned out!” You reach over to your notebook and flip through the pages, opening it to a beautifully designed page with times and bullet points. The title at the top of the page made Wanda smile; Mama and me day!

“Oh look at you sweetheart planning everything out for us!” She leaned down to kiss your cheek, but you turned your head, your lips met and you melted. It was unexpected, but not the first time. You reach up to cup her cheek and deepen the kiss.

It was late.

The kind of late where the world outside the windows had gone completely quiet. Just you and Wanda on the couch, wrapped in the soft glow of the fairy lights she’d insisted on hanging around the living room, “for ambiance,” she said. You’d rolled your eyes, but secretly… you loved them.

You’d had a hard day—one of those where everything felt too loud, where the weight of grief and history pressed on your chest like wet blankets. You hadn’t spoken much all evening, just let Wanda pull you into her side, her hand running slow and steady up and down your back.

Her touch grounded you, always. And she never asked you to explain. She never demanded your pain to be pretty or palatable.

You weren’t even sure when your head ended up on her lap, or when her fingers started gently combing through your hair. But they had, and her voice had eventually started humming something soft and unfamiliar. Sokovian, maybe.

“I wish…” you whispered into the quiet.

Wanda looked down. “What do you wish, baby?”

You looked up at her, heart in your throat. “I wish I’d had someone like you… back then. When I was little. When it all started falling apart.”

She smiled, bittersweet and full of something unspoken. “You have me now,” she said, fingers brushing a piece of hair from your face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest ache. You sat up, blinking back tears, looking at her like you were seeing her for the first time. All of her: soft and strong and steady. A lighthouse in the middle of the storm.

“Can I…?” you started, but didn’t finish. Your voice barely above a breath.

But she understood. Of course she did.

She leaned in slowly, her hand rising to cradle your jaw. There was no rush. No urgency. Just patience and quiet tenderness.

When your lips met, it wasn’t fireworks. It was safety. It was breath. It was the kind of kiss that stitched something back together inside of you.

And when you pulled back, Wanda didn’t say anything at first. She just rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed.

Then softly, like a promise: “We go slow. As slow as you need.”

You nodded, the ghost of a smile forming as you whispered back, “Okay, Mama.”

You had it all planned.

The notebook still sat open on your desk, filled with scribbled hearts and bullet points written in your best handwriting. “Mama and Me Day!” it said in pink gel pen, with glittery stickers pressed carefully into the margins. Breakfast in bed. A walk in the park. Her favorite tea shop. A movie night with a blanket fort.

You even prepped everything the night before. Her favorite muffins were ready to bake. The card you spent three days making was tucked into the kitchen drawer. You went to sleep smiling.

But when you opened your eyes that morning, something felt wrong.

Heavy.

Like a shadow was sitting on your chest.

You lay still, staring at the ceiling. The excitement you’d felt for days was gone—replaced by a hollow ache in your stomach. The kind of ache that made you want to disappear beneath the covers and never come back out.

Your chest tightened. Tears welled up, uninvited.

You weren’t even sure why. It was supposed to be a happy day. Your day with her. Something you’d chosen—something she deserved.

But your body remembered other Mother’s Days. The ones filled with broken dishes, raised voices, the pressure to smile and say thank you when you were already in survival mode. The guilt. The confusion. The cold silence that followed if you didn’t do it perfectly.

You’d been up before the sun.

Tiptoeing around the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise, even though your small hands fumbled with the toaster and the eggs. You’d seen people do it in movies—Mother’s Day breakfast in bed. That’s what good kids did, right?

The toast was a little too brown. The eggs stuck to the pan a bit, and you’d spilled orange juice when you tried to pour it into her favorite glass.

But you were proud.

You’d even made her a card—cut out of folded construction paper, covered in glitter glue and crayon hearts. “To the best mom in the world!” it said, surrounded by crooked smiley faces and a drawing of the two of you holding hands.

And the bracelet—you’d spent all week secretly stringing beads in your room. Purple and silver, her favorite colors.

You carefully arranged everything on a tray and crept into her room, beaming.

“Happy Mother’s Day!” you said softly, your smile stretching wide.

She sat up groggily, eyes narrowing as she looked down at the tray. Her face changed quickly.

“What the hell is this mess?”

You blinked, smile faltering.

“The kitchen better not look like a tornado hit it,” she snapped. She picked up a piece of toast, sniffed it, and threw it back down on the tray. “It’s burnt. The eggs are rubber. Did you think this was good enough?”

You shrank back.

“I-I just wanted to surprise you…”

She scoffed and reached for the card. Her eyes scanned it for a second before she barked a laugh.

“This? You couldn’t even be bothered to write neatly. You think this is sweet? This is sloppy. You’re too old to draw like this.”

Your cheeks burned. Your heart pounded.

“And where’s my real present?” she demanded, like you owed her something grand. “Mother’s Day is my day. This is about me, not whatever crap you put together.”

You scrambled, hands fumbling in your hoodie pocket.

“I made you something,” you said quickly, pulling out the beaded bracelet and holding it out like a peace offering. “I wanted it to match your earrings—”

She took one glance, snatched it from your hand, and without a word walked over to the trash can and dropped it in.

“That’s not a real present,” she said flatly. “Jesus. You really know how to ruin a day.”

You just stood there, frozen.

And after a moment, she turned back to her bed, pulling the blankets up.

“Close the door on your way out.”

So you did.

You returned to the kitchen in silence, cleaned everything up on shaky legs, and sat at the table with your glitter-stained fingers, staring at the trash can where your bracelet disappeared.

And you promised yourself that next year… you wouldn’t try.

That it was safer not to.

A small sob caught in your throat. You pressed your palms to your eyes, trying to stop it before it spilled over.

Then—soft footsteps.

The door creaked open gently, and Wanda peeked in.

She was still in her robe, a sleepy smile on her face—until she saw you curled up, stiff and shaking.

“Oh, baby…” she crossed the room in an instant, crawling onto the bed beside you. Her arms wrapped around you from behind, warm and steady.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I had everything ready, I wanted today to be perfect, I swear—”

Wanda gently hushed you, one hand combing through your hair, the other rubbing slow circles into your arm.

“Hey… look at me, sweetheart.” You hesitated, but turned slowly. Her eyes were soft, full of knowing. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect for me. Not today. Not ever.”

You sniffled, burying your face in her neck.

“But I wanted to make you happy,” you mumbled.

She pulled you closer. “You do. Every day. Even when you're hurting. Especially when you let me be here for you like this.”

You clung to her, shaking.

And after a while, she whispered, “How about we start the day right here, just like this? My favorite girl in my arms, where she’s safe and loved. No schedule. No pressure. Just us.”

You nodded slowly, breathing her in, letting her words settle over your skin like a blanket.

Wanda didn’t let go of you for a long time—not until your breathing evened out and your hands stopped trembling against her robe. You stayed tangled together beneath the blankets, your head tucked under her chin, her arms strong around you like armor.

Eventually, she kissed your forehead. “I’m going to go start some tea, okay?” she murmured. “You stay right here. I’ll be back in just a minute.”

You nodded wordlessly, reluctant to let go, but trusting her to return.

She always did.

When she came back, it was with a tray balanced in her hands—your favorite mug, one of her muffins warmed and sliced, a small bowl of strawberries. She set it on the nightstand and climbed back into bed beside you, pulling the blankets up again like you were in your own little world. Safe. Sealed off.

You sat up slowly and she handed you the tea, careful to wrap your fingers around the warm mug like she always did when your hands were shaky.

“You remembered,” you whispered.

“Of course I did.” She brushed her thumb gently across your knuckles. “You matter to me, baby. All of you. Even the messy mornings.”

A few moments passed, quiet but not empty.

Then you reached over, picking up the envelope you’d almost left in the drawer. You held it out with trembling fingers.

“I wrote you something,” you murmured. “A letter. I wasn’t sure if I could read it out loud, but…”

Wanda took it gently, eyes soft. “Would it be okay if I read it now?”

You nodded.

She carefully unfolded it, smoothing the page out in her lap. Her eyes moved over your handwriting, and you watched her face shift with every word—tender, proud, tearful.

When she looked back at you, there were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.

“I’m going to keep this forever,” she said, voice thick. “I’m going to keep it somewhere safe, so that any time I doubt myself, I’ll remember that I’ve been the kind of Mama you deserve.”

That cracked something open in you.

You launched forward, wrapping your arms around her middle. “You’re everything I ever wanted,” you choked. “Even when I didn’t know how to say it. Even when I was mean. You never stopped being soft.”

She held you tightly. “Because you deserved softness, even when you couldn’t ask for it.”

You stayed like that for hours.

The rest of the day wasn’t about plans or gifts or outings.

It was spent in the warmth of the blanket fort Wanda built on the couch, watching old cartoons, sharing quiet laughs, her hand stroking your back whenever your body tensed. You dozed in and out on her chest, a teddy bear cradled to your side and her heartbeat in your ear.

Mother’s Day didn’t need to be perfect.

It just needed to be yours.

[mahalkitamully]

love is love 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

: dom ! ellie williams x fem ! reader oneshot !

CONTENT WARNING: very freaky near the end

INCLUDES !! dom Ellie, fingering, praise and comfort, teasing, begging, pet names (good girl, baby, mama, basic ones ik)

TW: religious guilt LMAO

summary: reader's feeling religious guilty for liking Ellie, and Ellie comforts her!! (oh she gonna comfort her another away alr..)

this is definitely more self indulgent, but I hope those struggling out there with me feel comforted a little bit :3 this is also kinda inspired by that one scene in "but I'm a cheerleader" where Megan and Graham are getting super touchy and stuff !!

again I don't proofread my writing before posting so i'm sorry if it's buns </3

ー

Ellie was never religious. she hoped there would be something up there, a reason why life was going shit but she gave up. you on the other hand, grew up in a religious household. as much as you loved God, you felt a strange attraction to girls. you knew it was wrong, but you couldn't help it. girls and their pretty lips, their eyes, ..boobsー fuck, girls are just so pretty.

which led to your current state with your friend Ellie Williams. you and her had been oddly close, your parents letting her sleep over every now and then. they just had to never find out she was gay. easy enough! you and Ellie were watching a movie downstairs in the living room, your parents already asleep. every stolen glance, scooting closer, and legs brushing that happened made your heart stutter. you didn't want to admit it, it felt wrong, but you were falling in love. with a girl. and you were falling hard.

you still had to keep calm, pretend nothing was wrong. you used that to your advantage, I mean- you got to cuddle close and yeah she'd get flustered but you got away with it. it was nice having her move your hair out the way so she could lean against your shoulder. you felt guilty using this, both because Ellie didn't know you were like this because you needed her as close to you as possible, but also because God was watching. right now. seeing you cuddle up to a girl you were thinking about so pervertedly.

here you were, sitting on her lap as she held her arms around your waist, holding you closely. her breath warm against your ear "Ellie I've been thinking.." you started, the movie playing as Ellie hummed. "God would get mad if I like girls y'know?" you continued, as Ellie chuckled. "so I've heard?"

"but- I think-" you stammered, growing embarrassed. your heart raced admitting it out loud. you turned around, wanting to look her in the eyes when you said it.. even though you didn't and ended up just looking everywhere but Ellie. "there's a really pretty girl and honestly I don't know what to do anymore because she's so so gorgeous and I wanna kiss her so bad but I can't because I'm scared God will hate me or my parents will hate me or-" you rambled on and on.

Ellie was taken aback, your sudden confession both exciting and worrying her. she waited for you to finish, before finally speaking up, her voice a little shaky.

"well.. what from what i know, God made love right?"

"right"

"then.. I think people should love who they want. you cant help who you love."

"but it says-"

"yes I know it says homosexuality is a sin but, you just can't help it. like- your crush on this girl- who even is it-??"

"..just keep telling me your advice" you changed the topic, turning red.

"fine fine.. but, love is love y'know? you will love whoever, and your heart can't help that."

you took her words in, basically straddling her lap before you hugged her tightly, your hands gripping the back of her shirt tightly. "...I think I like you." you finally blurted out, as Ellie's eyes widened, her cheeks red. "well shit.. I.. I like you too."

the movie was playing, but so were you two. what started off as a gentle kiss led to her on top of you, her knee propped and grinding your clothed sex as her hands gently trailed your body, feeling the skin under her finger tips. her kiss muffled your whimpers, your hips grinding against her knee for any kind of friction, before wanting more. you pawed at her shirt, your eyes teary as you whimpered out.

"please Ellie.."

"please what?" she tilted her head teasingly, her knee applying more pressure as you whined out.

"...I- I- want your fingers inside me.." you stuttered out as she smiled, chuckling breathlessly

"shit.. good girl.." she whispered, her fingertips slowly traveling down your chest, to your stomach, before slowly slipping into your panties, your breath hitching as her fingers circled your slit. she watched your face, seeing your brows knit together as you desperately tried to push it inside, your hips angling against her fingers. she kissed your neck, shushing you softly. "shhh.. just wait mama..."

after a few minutes of relentless teasing, she finally spoke, smiling softly. " 'ma put it in now baby.." she whispered as you nodded enthusiastically, your stomach flipping. she slowly slipped a finger inside, her lips parting in awe as you moaned softly.

her finger pumped in and out, her other hand resting on your hip. "feels good?" she whispered as you nodded. you had fingered yourself before, before having Ellie do it had your pussy stammering. her thumb went up and found your clit, circling it gently. "e- el- add- els.." you whimpered breathlessly, a smirk slowly appearing on Ellie's face. "hm? what's up mama.. use your words?"

"I.. ha.. another finger.. please.." you begged, as she smiled. "good girl.. using your manners so well." she pumped another finger inside, curling her fingers upward to hit your g-spot. as you let a slightly louder moan slip, she gently covered your mouth with her other hand. "shhh mama.. we can't have your parents find out.."

you felt your walls tighten around her fingers, gripping her tightly. "you're close? it's fine baby, I'm here ma.. don't worry I'm here.." she urged, keeping her pace as she thrusted her fingers in and out rhythmically.

she kept her hand over your mouth, her lips and tongue trailing your neck, her fingers thrusting in and out as your eyes rolled back, your thighs trembling as you came on her fingers. you leaned your head back on the couch, your breath heavy as she licked your slick off her fingers.

the two of you cleaned up and laid together on the couch, holding each other tightly. yeah. you loved loving this girl.

even after this I'm terrified of liking a girl. I'm so cooked. shes so pretty.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED DOING THE PARENT AU BUT THEIR KID COMING OUT AS TRANSGENDER🏳️‍⚧️???LOVE UR FICS BTW THEYRE SO GOOD🫶🫶

(ABSOLUTELY ALSO THANK YOUUU SO MUCH

Honestly before reading my fics—i know there are transphobic jerks. And I definitely know that coming out as trans to literally anyone its not always going to be met with understanding and care (which fucking sucks!) because Honestly trans people in general should have someone who understands and cares. I know there are going to be people who don't agree with how I write the boys in this specific scenario but to me specifically I believe these dorks wouldnt really be bothered over trans people i mean they are literally in new York (pretty sure they've seen shit) with all that said enjoy!

Epilogue Bill Dickey – When his kid comes out as transgender

When your kid first tells Bill?

It’s not a scene. There’s no big argument. He’s in the middle of a rant about “how Hollywood's killing the genre with A24-core trauma-bait garbage,” when your kid says it—quiet, maybe nervous, maybe not. Just a plain sentence:

> “Dad… I’m not your daughter. I’m your son.”

Bill blinks. Squints. Sets down his paper plate of pizza.

> “...Okay.”

That’s it.

No fireworks. No tantrum. No “you’re confused” lecture. Just “okay,” and a scratch of his scruffy beard.

> “You still do the dishes? Then I don’t give a shit. Just don’t change your name to ‘Anakin’ or some dumb crap.”

That’s his way of trying. And for a while, it feels like enough. He messes up pronouns sometimes. He forgets. But there’s no hate in it. He buys his son a thrift-store Spider-Man hoodie without a word. Doesn’t bat an eye when you cut his hair. Even argues with the school over the bathroom thing—clumsily, loudly, but with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer:

> “If my kid can recite Klingon, he can pee wherever he wants, okay? You wanna fight about it, Principal Palpatine?”

But then—

One day, he comes home. Blood on his lip. Scrape on his cheek. Shoulders hunched. Won’t meet your eyes.

Bill sees red.

> “What happened.”

Your son tries to brush it off. “It’s nothing. Just some guys at lunch. They said I wasn’t—real.”

That’s when Bill goes quiet. Like truly quiet.

Not in defeat. In rage.

> “What’d you say?”

Your son repeats it. Voice cracking this time.

> “They said I’m just pretending. That I’m still—still a girl.”

Bill stands up, slow and dangerous.

> “Gimme names.”

> “Dad—”

> “Names. First and last. If they have a Facebook I’m gonna flame ‘these fuckin jerk offs”

You put a hand on his arm. “Bill, stop.”

But he’s shaking. Not because he’s mad someone touched his kid—but because for once, he doesn’t know what to say. This isn’t a forum flame war. This isn’t a fandom grudge match. This is real, and his kid’s standing there, bleeding, trying not to cry, and Bill realizes:

He wasn’t doing enough.

Not really.

So he takes a breath. Sits down. Doesn’t lecture. Doesn’t yell.

He just slowly opens his arms.

Your son hesitates—then folds into them, and Bill holds on like he’s gripping onto the last save file in a corrupted game.

> “Listen to me,” he says, rough. “You’re my kid. You’re a pain in my ass. And you’re real. Anyone says otherwise? They answer to me. Got it?”

Your son nods into his shoulder.

> “Good. Now c’mon. Let’s go buy you a new hoodie. One that doesn’t smell like Doritos and trauma. And after that, I’m teaching you how to throw a punch.”

> “You said I couldn’t hit people.”

> “Yeah, well. I also said Firefly was overrated. People change.”

‐--

Epilogue Pete DiNunzio – When Anthony comes out as a trans girl

Pete’s halfway through folding laundry—badly—grumbling about how socks keep disappearing and why the hell does one hoodie have three sleeves? You and him had just had a brief spat about his refusal to read the laundry tags ("I know how cotton works, babe!") and now he's cooling off with busy hands and loud music.

That’s when Anthony—quiet, nervous, wearing a hoodie two sizes too big—walks in and just… stands there.

Pete glances over.

> “Hey. You need somethin’?”

Anthony fidgets. Eyes on the floor.

> “Can we talk?”

The laundry gets dropped instantly. Pete’s always on full-alert when it comes to his kid.

> “Yeah. Yeah, c’mere. What’s goin’ on?”

Anthony hesitates. Then:

> “I’m… I’m not a boy, Dad.”

Pete just blinks.

> “Okay. So what are you then?”

> “I’m a girl. My name is Lily.”

It’s so quiet for a beat, you could hear a sock fall.

Pete looks at her—really looks. At the way her hands tremble. The way she won't meet his eyes. Like she’s expecting him to yell. Like she’s braced for disappointment.

And all that attitude Pete wears like armor? It just drops.

He walks over slowly, lowering his voice in that way he only does when something matters.

> “Lily, huh?”

She nods.

> “You scared I wasn’t gonna be okay with it?”

Another nod.

Pete doesn’t ask why. He just pulls her into the biggest, firmest hug.

> “Well that’s stupid. Because I love you, no matter what. You hear me? You could come in here and tell me you’re actually a werewolf and I’d still be your Dad. I'd just buy you more meat.”

Lily laughs. It cracks mid-sob.

Pete holds her tighter.

> “Hey, you know what else? Lily’s a beautiful name. Suits you.”

He ruffles her hair gently.

> “You’re brave, y’know that? Takes guts. And you don’t ever gotta be scared to tell me stuff like this. You’re my kid. My girl. Nothin’ changes that.”

Then, after a pause, trying real hard to keep it casual:

> “You wanna go out and get donuts later? We can get your favorite and, uh… maybe hit the thrift store? If you wanna look at different clothes or whateva. No pressure.”

Lily lights up a little. You can tell she wasn’t expecting this.

> “You’d really do that?”

Pete gives her a look like she just asked if the sky’s blue.

> “Are you kiddin’? I’d wear a tutu in Times Square if it made you smile.”

> “…Can I paint your nails?”

Pete groans with mock offense.

Lily grins through her tears. Pete wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of her head, gruff but full of warmth.

> “Love you, principessa.”

And he means it—with every ounce of that stubborn, foul-mouthed, fiercely loyal heart.

And one night, while Lily's asleep on the couch, Pete gently folds up that old blue baby blanket she used to wear as a cape—and tucks it away in a box. Doesn’t throw it out.

He just saves it.

Not because he misses who Lily used to be.

But because every version of his kid is worth loving.

---

Josh levy – When his daughter comes out as a trans man

Josh is pacing in the kitchen, ranting about the latest ridiculous plot hole in a sci-fi show nobody asked him to watch again. You’re doing dishes, half-listening, until your kid—quiet, tired-eyed, hoodie swallowed around his frame—stands in the doorway and clears his throat.

Josh freezes mid-rant.

> “You okay, peanut?”

(He still calls him that, even though he’s fourteen and taller than Josh now.)

Your son takes a shaky breath.

> “Dad, I need to tell you something. And I don’t want you to yell.”

Josh's spine straightens, face suddenly serious.

> “I’m not gonna yell. I swear.”

Another breath.

> “I’m not a girl. I’m a boy. My name’s Eli.”

Josh doesn’t answer right away.

He just… stares. Processing. His brow twitches the way it does when his brain short-circuits from too many emotions at once. Confusion. Shock. Guilt. And then—pain. Because why the hell was his kid scared to tell him?

> “Wait—wait. So... you’re a boy? You’re my son?”

Eli nods, looking at the floor, bracing for something ugly.

Josh swears under his breath. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands and paces.

> “Jesus. I didn’t see it. I didn’t see it. How long have you felt like this?”

> “Forever. I just… didn’t know how to say it. I was scared you’d get mad. Or say I was making it up.”

Josh turns to him, eyes glassy, voice cracking with rawness he doesn’t show often.

> “Mad? Mad?! Eli—Eli, I’m not mad. I’m pissed at myself. You think I care if my kid’s a boy, a girl, or a freakin’ alien hybrid with a lightsaber?! You could tell me you wanna live on Mars and I’d be there with a damn helmet on.”

> “But you always talk about, like… genetics. And how people ruin the science in everything—”

> “Yeah, in fiction! You think I care about chromosomes more than I care about you?”

Josh runs a hand through his hair. He’s rambling now.

> “You’re my kid. You’re Eli. You’re my son. And I swear on every signed Boba Fett figure in my room—I will figure this out. I will screw up. I’ll say the wrong thing. But I’ll learn, okay? Because nothing matters more than you. You’re not a phase. You’re you. And I love you.”

Eli wipes his eyes, sniffling.

> “Even if I don’t look like what you expected?”

Josh snorts.

> “Kid, I didn’t expect anything. I thought you’d end up a hacker who lives off SpaghettiOs. But this? This I can handle.”

A beat.

> “…Can I call you 'kiddo' still, or is that lame?”

Eli laughs—a real one this time.

> “Kiddo’s fine.”

Josh pulls him into a fierce hug, whispering into his hair.

> “I got you, kiddo. Always.”

Then, with a sniff and a sudden shift to humor to keep from crying again:

> “Now if anyone at school gives you crap, I will show up in full Federation uniform and quote Spock until their souls leave their bodies.”

Eli chuckles. Josh kisses the top of his head.

> “Welcome home, son.”

---

Jerry – When his child comes out as a trans man

It’s a quiet, golden afternoon. The sun’s pouring in through the windows, making everything feel peaceful. Jerry’s at the kitchen table, humming softly to himself as he mixes up something strange—probably some kind of potion for the garden or one of his magical projects. You can tell he’s in his element, lost in a world of fantasy, but when his daughter walks in, her eyes soft and a little unsure, the mood shifts.

She hesitates in the doorway, looking like she's carrying the weight of a thousand secrets.

Jerry looks up, his smile never wavering.

> “Ah, my brave adventurer! What brings you to my kingdom this fine afternoon?”

She blinks, a little taken aback by the whimsical tone, but it’s a relief. Jerry’s never made things feel heavy, always keeping them light. Her nervousness melts just a little.

> “Dad, can we talk?”

Jerry stands up, immediately sensing something deeper in his voice. He walks over and gives her a gentle touch on the shoulder.

> “Of course, my child. Always. What’s troubling you?”

Nathan takes a deep breath.

> “I’m not a girl, Dad. I’m a boy. My name’s Nathan.”

Jerry’s hands freeze for a second, his eyes widening just slightly. But then, he exhales, calm and thoughtful, as though he’s been expecting this, like it was always a part of the magic that makes Nathan…Nathan

> “Nathan, huh?”

Nathan looks down at the floor, bracing himself for Jerry’s reaction. Jerry places his hands on his son’s shoulders, guiding him gently to sit at the kitchen table. He sits across from him, their eyes meeting. A soft smile tugs at Jerry’s lips.

> “That’s a beautiful name. I knew there was something extraordinary about you. Like a hidden spell that’s been waiting to be cast.”

Nathan’s brow furrows.

> “But… what about all the other stuff? Will you still love me?”

Jerry smiles wider, his eyes soft and warm. His voice drops to a gentle whisper, almost as if he’s sharing a secret.

> “Oh, my brave son… my heart is a house full of love, and it has always had a room just for you. No magic, no potion, no curse could ever change that.”

He takes Nathan’s hand in his own, holding it with tenderness.

> “You are exactly who you are supposed to be. And you will always be enough. In fact, I think you’re even more magical now. More real. Like you’ve shed an old skin and are ready to be something... new.”

Nathan's eyes are welling up now, and Jerry doesn’t shy away from it. He just leans in, wrapping his arms around his son in a soft, almost ethereal embrace.

> “I’m so proud of you, Nathan. I know this can be hard, but I promise you, together, we’ll make this journey. And I will make sure you feel safe in my kingdom, always.”

Nathan sniffles, feeling a weight he didn’t realize he’d been carrying finally start to lift.

> “You’re not disappointed?”

Jerry chuckles softly, brushing a few stray locks of hair out of Nathan’s face.

> “Mad? No. Disappointed? Never. You’re my son, Nathan. Always have been, always will be. And if you ever feel lost, just remember: there’s a whole world of adventures out there, and you’ve got the heart of a hero.”

Nathan finally cracks a smile, and Jerry beams.

> “Now, do you want to see the garden? I’m working on a little something special. I’ve got a potion brewing that might just turn the garden into a fairy wonderland.”

Nathan nods, wiping his eyes.

> “That sounds amazing.”

> “Of course it does,” Jerry says with a wink, “It’s my magic, after all.”

---

[fanfictiongirlie]

Marvel: Save me a Dance

Steve Rogers Masterlist

Pairings: Pre!Serum - Steve Rogers x Reader

Description:

Steve Rogers has never danced, until the day he does. - Something I had in my head, it's a little different to my usual writings, but it's cute. I like it, I hope you will.

Rating: General Audiences.

Warnings: None.

Words: 1,861

Completed One Shot

Steve Rogers was sat alone in his local dance hall, he felt bored and a little irritated, he loved his best friend Bucky Barnes, but when his best friend had suggested a night out tonight to drink and have fun, he thought maybe Bucky would of stayed with him. Though he should of known really, Bucky always found a girl. And Steve never did. The hall was busy, couples dancing all around him, Bucky with his random girl of the night. 

"No one to dance with?" Suddenly a voice asked, Steve snapped out of his thoughts looking up to see a beautiful girl standing by him. She looked far too pretty to be talking to him, Steve wondered for a moment if he was in her way. Though he couldn't be, he was sitting on a random bench, there was plenty of space. 

"You might say that" He answers, after a few moments when he realised the girl was still looking at him, expecting an answer. "I uh, I'm not exactly a prime candidate for a dance partner"

"No?" The girl questions, her lipstick was a bold red, Steve had to stop himself from looking at her plump lips. "And why's that?" The girl asks, she sits down by him, leaving ample space between them, it was then Steve noticed her pretty dress as she brushed it down against her legs. It was simple, and to the fashion of today, a cute pale yellow that complimented her skin beautifully. 

Steve gives a little scoff from her question, hating himself for a moment, he didn't want this girl to think him rude. "Oh, y'know, just a bit...short, scrawny, generally sickly" He lists with a shrug. "Not exactly the ideal dance partner, I'd wager"

"Oh.." The girl says, her voice a little breathless, she was still looking at him, he felt a little lightheaded. "What if the right partner came alone?"

A quiet, wistful sigh falls from Steve's lips and his gaze drifts back to the dance floor, a longing in his eyes. "Well, that'd be something" He says, he then glances back to the girl. "I'm not exactly going to get my hopes up about it, but it's real nice to think about, I suppose"

The girl lets out a short huff, Steve wondered why. He couldn't work out what she was thinking. How did women think anyway. "And, would you dance, if someone asked you?" She asked. Steve's forlorn expression fades and his cheeks flood with a soft red at the question

"I...I would. In a heartbeat" He admits, his voice quieting to a soft, almost shy response.

"Even if it's considered forward for a woman to ask a man?" She asks, her eyebrow raised at him. Steve wasn't sure why at first, but then it clicked in his mind, was she-did she.. want to dance? With him? He felt his cheeks redden, he knew he had to answer her, but he had to sound cool. All those times Bucky tried to teach him to be cool with the ladies, he had forgotten all of those times. 

"Even if it's real forward, ma'am. I... I don't mind one bit if you'd like to ask me." He responded, he wanted to shut his eyes, too scared to see her reaction, but to his surprise, she smirked, Steve felt like he might of fainted then and there. 

"Oh, I see what you did there" She says, her cheeks now a little red. Steve thought she looked adorable, god, he wanted to tell her that. A playful smile appears on his lips, he was feeling a little more confidant. 

"What did I do?" He asks, feigning innocence.

She made a little huff noise and folded her arms over her chest, though the smirk remained on her lips. "Like you don't know, you'll have to ask me yourself now"

Steve gives an exaggerated sigh as if defeated, his smirk turning even more playful. "Well, alright then," he responds in a mock-resigned tone. Clearing his throat, he gives her a dramatic, almost comical bow from where he's sitting before continuing. "I'll bite. Would you like to dance with me?"

"Would it be terribly mean if I said no?" She asks. 

With a dramatic over-the-top scoff, Steve feigns offense, his hand over his heart and a mock-wounded look on his face. He wasn't sure where this confidence was coming from, but he liked it. Liked what she was doing to him. "Oh, I'd consider it downright cruel, ma'am. Absolutely heinous even"

She takes his hand. Actually takes his hand. Steve makes a mental note at how soft she felt. He felt his heart beat a little faster as she stood up, he was only just taller than her. He didn't mind, he hoped she didn't mind. He leads her to the dance floor. He's a bit tentative and unsure where to put his hands, his slender frame standing in stark contrast to those around him. "Uh��I'm a bit rusty, so apologies in advance, ma'am."

"You should be more confident in yourself" She says, in a soft tone, not a mock tone. 

Steve lets out a small laugh at those words, his eyes meeting hers. "Confident? Me? That ain't really my specialty, I gotta admit." He places his hands on her waist. "But I'll try to not step on your feet too much. I tend to do that a lot too."

"I'll forgive you, if you do" She whispers, she then places both her hands on his shoulders. He wonders if Bucky can see him, would he believe him? Steve's cheeks color at the proximity of having her so close to him, the feel of her hands on his shoulders making his heart thump in his chest. He begins to lead the dance, his movements tentative at first, but slowly growing more confident. His hand on her waist is steady and gentle, and as they began to move together, he seems to be somewhat enjoying himself. His gaze keeps flickering between her face and the floor, always trying to make sure he doesn't accidentally step on her.

"See, you're dancing" She whispers to him. Steve feels like he's in a dream, she was a dream, this was a dream. Steve lets out a soft laugh, a genuine smile spreading across his face. The sound of the music and the chatter of the other couples fade into the background as he becomes more comfortable.

"I guess I am, aren't I?" he replies, his voice soft and tinged with mild surprise. "And I haven't stepped on you yet, so that's a good sign."

"A really good sign" She says, laughing along with him, though the noise that left his lips were more of a nervous chuckle than anything. Steve can't help but feel proud of himself, his steps following the rhythm without fail. "I think I'm starting to see the point of dancing," he responds, his voice still soft and a touch breathless.

She then tells him her name, and it's like music to his ear, he wanted to chant it forever, have it engraved into his soul. 

"I'm Steve" He replies, his voice warm and a touch sheepish. There's a moment of comfortable silence as they continue swaying to the music, the world around them fading away into the background. He glances down at her, his gaze lingering on the top of her head, a soft, almost protective feeling bubbling in his chest.

"Steve are you going to kiss me?" She then asks, he notices a few couples around them giving their partners kisses as they dance, the song was a slow romantic one of course. Steve is caught off-guard by the question, his cheeks flaming with a bright red and his steps faltering briefly. He hadn't expected that question, and the idea of actually kissing someone, kissing the beautiful woman in front of him, is both thrilling and terrifying.

"Um... I..."

"It's okay if you don't want to" She says, her voice quiet, Steve could tell she was feeling a little defeated, he hated himself, if he were Bucky he wouldn't of needed prompting at all, he would of kissed his dame by now. Steve shakes his head quickly, seeing the look in her eyes. He doesn't want you to think that he doesn't want to. He's just scared, though he would never admit that out loud. “No, no. That's not it…” *he says, his voice soft and a touch desperate. "I...I want to"

"So kiss me" She whispers again, her perfect eyes looking up into his. He decided in that moment, that was his new favourite colour. 

“Okay… I’m going to kiss you, now.” Steve whispers, he wasn't sure why they were whispering, the music was loud, the hall was full. No one could hear them anyway. Steve moved forward, finally closing the small distance between them, his lips softly pressing against hers. He could feel her smile slightly into the kiss, but he willed himself not to smile, he wouldn't ruin this moment for anything. Steve can barely believe this is happening, the feel of her lips against his sending fireworks shooting through his body. His hand on her face trembles slightly, as he deepens the kiss, his lips moving against hers in a slow, almost hesitant at first. His other hand on her waist tightens ever so slightly, pulling her closer to him. He could stay in this moment forever, the feeling of this girl pressed against him is enough to make him forget how to think.

And after a few minutes, it was over, Steve couldn't breath, he wasn't going to ruin this moment by heaving to catch his breath. Nope. He wouldn't dare. The music ended, which was enough to make his heart break. 

"I'll be here tomorrow, save me a dance?" She asks, Steve nods and watches her leave, his breath slowly coming back to him, he was in a daze, he didn't even notice Bucky standing by him until his best friend spoke. 

"Who was that?" Bucky asks. 

"My future wife" Steve responds without thinking, he curses himself, under his breath as Bucky chuckles. 

"Slow down Stevie, take her on a real date first, when are you seeing her next?" 

"Tomorrow, for another dance" Steve answers, Bucky grins, knowing he wouldn't have to prester Steve to join him tomorrow. The hall started empting, and yet Steve still watched the door you had exited, despite it having been many minutes since you had left. 

"Tomorrow" He whispers again, his thoughts on the dance, and perhaps kiss of tomorrow. He would ask you out, no matter how much it scared him. He wouldn't let you slip away. You were the one for him. He knew that. Deep down. 

[bietrofastimoff23]

It's not like John is a saint, but honestly, it’s insane to me how in a world full of failed ch1ld m*rderers, slavers and ch1ld traffickers, terr0r1sts, creators AI what wiped out an entire city, people who mind-control others and force them to suffer, John Walker is considered the worst person because *checks notes* in a state of passion he killed an actively operating 30-year terrorist who participated in an assassination attempt on his life that resulted in the death of John’s best friend, and who, instead of surrendering, made multiple escape attempts and threw a concrete block at John and civilians.

**Oh, sorry, my bad. That's not it. He killed an iNnOCeNt Ch1lD (who is a few years older than John) in c0ld bl00d (literally screaming and then dissociating).

But if seriously, Nico wasn’t actually the direct killer of Lemar, but he’s still an accomplice to the crime. He wasn’t innocent, and he knew what he was getting into. In his case, them killing John, if it had succeeded, that would have been considered cold-blooded.

Was John right in his actions? Discussions on this topic are still ongoing. I can only say with certainty that understanding him as a human is quite easy. Well, you know, attempting to assassinate you and actively holding you back while your friend was being murdered aren’t things you just brush off.

And I don't care about the sins and crimes of others heroes. I mention them not to reproach, but because I'm just tired of hypocrisy. You hate John? It is your right. But to call him the worst when his action doesn't even get into the top of the worst crimes? It's just wild.

We all know that the only reason everyone cares about this is that the captain's shield was used, otherwise you would have treated the murders of others the same way.

P.s. I'm not going to argue with anyone; it just doesn't make sense because everyone will stick to their own opinion anyway.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

The original post was more so a response and complaint to how many people will brush off Jason's account of being forced to dye his hair for Bruce in Morrison's run! While I can't say it was the intended reading of precrisis, it was very much how I read it- and what the Morrison run is going for (or at least, going for Jason believing it- at bare minimum going for jason lying with some truth but that's boring) (to clarify also i do still hate the Morrison run its just this specific moment) people tend to just brush it off as oh bruce would never do that or say Jason is being dramatic and lying, and it's the brushing off I take issue like!! There's basis!! Please!! There's basis!!!! This is not some nothing that was pulled out for edgy points!!!

Stop dogging on the most compelling part!! That as well also exists as a clear in text statement of Bruce having some failing for this! stop defending Bruce!!! Awah!!! (yelling for fun)

I understand he made every decision of his own accord! I even gave the comic a check over just now. A surface simply out of boredom. But there really is something I love chewing on about him doing it for Bruce's attention. I do fully agree that Jason acts for Bruce's attention. (And he doesn't know yet how much he hates being mistaken for Dick as this is the first Robin appearance, unfortunately for Jason, being Robin is deeply successful in getting Bruce's attention, poor guy)

He tries to distance them at first, but I think he loses his own ground once Robin permission is granted. Though very admittedly view on Bruce is nebulous and different for everyone + plus I need to reread all of precrisis again soon. It's hard to say fully i think, as this point in Jason's story does get kinda brushed off once it wraps up, and it's seeds are more focused on Jason not liking comparison versus Bruce himself. Though there is something to be said with how (post crisis i believe?) Bruce admits to Dick that he adopted Jason because he missed Dick, that also fuels alot for me

I don't think its masterminding or Bruce does it intentionally I think he just sorta does things and doesn't think of or imagine consequences for it! He's not trying, per se, to make Dick 2.0, its like... dressing your kid up in handmedowns and basking in how cute they are and remind you of your favorite and comparing while like, giving that child so many complexes about themselves. I dont think that made much sense,the important part is the first sentence where I very very do not think Bruce does this intentionally. I don't feel it too great a leap in reading either

My point is that Bruce is comparing Jason's situation (not having his own hero identity and being seen as and compared to another) and Bruce and Dick's situation (having their own hero identites that they can't reveal their civilian identities for) they're rather blatantly separate things. I do enjoy what you're saying on its Bruce trying to parent and misunderstanding Jason, I think it even fits in

It's especially bad thinking about post and Jason's death- I love mixing pre and post in my interpretations- and how outside the hero community he wasn't known as a separate Robin. Jason had no identity of his own and he died without one- he died unknown- to the outside world in these comics the robin lineup goes from Dick to Tim. It's important to me that Jason has the same costume as Dick, AND all the others get to be different later as Batman learns from that particular mistake. It. Goes without saying that this wasn't in the cards when the ego gratification speech was written- but as we have the full deck these days it's fun to play with them

Yes! Jason does alot for Bruce's attention! There is a point where when he goes back to the circus and is bored- thinking of vigilantism. The mask beckons, it is too late for him now. But absolutely absolutely I do think being a sidekick/partner to Jason is highly connected to being with Bruce. No one can be close to Bruce unless theyre apart of the nightlife, of which the comics make clear

Initially dying his hair was on his own, I was imagining Bruce making Jason continue dying his hair. And not in a way Bruce will see as intentional either, Jason is Robin now he needs to look the part- or won't people notice that Robin and Jason are showing their roots at the same time? It's for safety to keep dying. Etc etc. Or simply never encouraging Jason to stop or acknowledging his natural hair color. A whole host of things that could be that we don't see because pre-crisis itself just sorta ignores Jason is constantly dying his hair too TwT

Jason is excited about the suit, because no matter what he does look up to Robin and Dick himself, it also shows Dick's approval for him. Dick also encourages him to try it on. I dont think he was fully focused on Bruce in the moment, and There's not really a moment to breathe and deny it. But I do see you

I feel you put too much stress on Jason choosing Robin, as one was to prove himself and other was a gift. But it's fair enough to say. I do think my reading here still exists on the surface as the combination of Jason seeking approval and Bruce outright comparing Jason to Dick n having such ease on the first official outing. I mean Jason saying he wants pants whenever he's out in the cold can easily just be a throwaway line and not mean Jason is under a belief he's not allowed to change the suit, but its so much juicer to make it deeper

I see you I understand on how my view may not really be an outright and textual thing, certainly not anything in panel. (But I made this post because people already throw out the very IDEA of Bruce forcing Jason like this at all 😔 I'm fighting for it to not be talked about as some baseless Morrison garbage)

I cannot stress enough that Bruce did make Jason dye his hair like that IS a thing it wasn't completely out of left field made up by Morrison. I love complaining about Morrison's Jason but that aspect is literally from precrisis as many details about that Jason are

No, there is not an explicit panel of Bruce going "well hey you have to have black hair to be my son, fuck you". But the whole thing is that Jason is not allowed to have his own hero identity and that the general public and villians arent supposed to know there's a new Robin, which, pretty heavily implies he's meant to look like Dick as Robin. If Jason isn't allowed to give the costume pants (or at least, made to feel like he can't change that aspect), then yeah, he's gonna have to keep up dying his hair too

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Hey love! I've been in a bit of a depressive slump recently, it's just been hard to feel motivated to do things like get ready for work, or even to just feel joy some days. Would you be open to writing some hc's for the Stan twins comforting/taking care of their SO going through a depression slump?

I like to think that Stan would completely empathize with his SO, so to make sure you'd get out of bed and actually eat something he'd make a great smelling breakfast filled with your favorite foods. He sits next to you at the breakfast table instead of across from you so you can lean on him if sitting upright is too tiring. He's creative in his comfort, basically finding ways to trick you into doing things so they don't feel like Work on the days where just existing takes twice the amount of energy it normally does.

Ford would probably be more of a "problem solving" kind of partner. While he's had rough days, he's never really had an issue with motivation, but while he doesn't exactly understand what you're going through he'd still do anything to help. Making sure you're taking your meds, drinking enough water, opening the windows in the house if it's nice out enough so you get some natural sunlight and fresh air, etc. He'd track your bad days, keeping note of how long these periods last and how bad they get. He keeps a list of anything and everything that brings a smile to your face and will use it as a reference for when you feel like this and are in dire need of a pick-me-up!

STAN & FORD TAKING CARE OF YOU DURING A SLUMP

tags: hurt/comfort, depression mentioned, sfw

hi angel, im so sorry it’s taken me this long to answer your ask. i really hope you’ve been feeling a bit better lately. if you see this, please feel free to send me another ask just letting me know how you’re doing, no pressure at all but i hope you're alright there

STAN

you’ve gone quiet in the way that scares him most. Stan remembers it from his worst years, that ugly feeling made him start sleeping with the TV on just to hear a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. and now you’re here, looking like a hollowed-out version of the person he adores, and he’d do anything just to bring you back into yourself.

he knows what it’s like to disappear into a place so deep and gray inside yourself that you forget what your own voice sounds like. and it kills him to see you there, honestly. he’d rather take a punch to the gut than hear you say “i don’t know why i feel this way” with that sad look in your eyes which used to be so bright and alive before

he starts sleeping lighter, checking if you're still beside him, brushing his hand over your back, making sure you're close. you catch him sometimes in the middle of the night when he's sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Stan looks guilty. and you hate it because it's not even his fault. “you’re scaring me, baby,” he'd say with a sigh

and he touches you because he wants to let you know he's near. tugs your legs over his lap while you’re curled on the armchair, tucks his big calloused hand beneath your jaw. Stan kisses you to show his presence, not lust

if you’re shaking and can’t explain why, he’ll crawl into the bathtub with you fully clothed, he’ll cradle your head to his chest and just rock you, kiss your temple again and again, tell you about some dumb scam he pulled when he was twenty, whatever, just something to make you at least chuckle. anything to hear your laugh again. even a tiny one.

and when you finally sleep, soft hiccups fading against his chest, he doesn’t dare move. not even to wipe the tears that rolled down his face while you weren’t looking.

Stan doesn’t knock anymore. when your bad days stretch into bad weeks and the shower hasn’t been touched and your clothes are the same ones from thursday, he just pushes the door open and sits down with you on the floor, doesn’t say anything, there are no questions too. Stanley just lowers himself beside you, groaning because he's an old man with bad knees, and leans his weight against yours. “you don’t have to talk, but if you do, i’ll listen. if you don’t, i’ll still listen.”

he becomes a little sneaky in his love. that’s how he helps. you can’t get out of bed? fine. he doesn’t say “get up” he says “i need you to taste-test something” and appears five minutes later with a plate he’s poured his whole soul into, eggs and bacon just the way you like them, toast cut into triangles, sausage shaped into a smiley face. “don’t look at me like that, it’s just leftovers” although it's obvious that he tried too hard. if you sit up even a little to take a bite, that’s a win in his eyes. next thing you feel is him tucking his arm around your back and pulling you against his chest

when showering feels like climbing a mountain, it's never “go wash up” because Stan knows it doesn't work like that. but i think he might suggest taking a bath together, he will warm the water, light a candle if you’re into that kind of thing, and get in first so you don’t feel like you're doing it alone. he’ll wash your back with those huge hands, humming some old song under his breath. if he catches you crying into the crook of his neck, he’ll kiss the top of your head and say, “yeah. i know. me too sometimes.”

you could scream at him, go silent for hours, beg him to leave, but that won't work. he’d just shake his head, curl tighter around you, and mumble, “not leavin’. sorry, tough luck. you’re stuck with me.”

he protects you from yourself, on the days you haven’t left the house in too long, he’ll say “hey, we’re outta beer and i ain’t going alone, what if i get mugged by a bear?” and suddenly you’re walking with him to the corner store with the bright sun on your face. Stan is proud of himself he made the world a little bit less hostile just by standing next to you

if that doesn't work anymore, he won't try to cheer you up. Stan isn’t that stupid, he knows better than to try to outrun depression. “this ain’t forever, sweetie,” he whispers against your hairline, “but even if it was, i’d still stay.” but underneath all of that, he’s scared. he’s really fucking scared. because he knows what it felt like, to stare at the ceiling and wonder if anyone would notice if he didn’t wake up. and now it’s you, and he doesn’t know how to keep you above water except by climbing in with you, over and over again, until your fingers stop shaking.

and the sensuality feels different now. “still the most beautiful thing i ever laid eyes on,” he rasps, kissing your neck while you cling to him. “even when you feel like nothing.” he lays his forehead, resting against your belly like a man praying for spring.

and if you ever apologize “sorry i’m like this, sorry i’m not better, sorry i’m so much work” he really gets mad, not at you, but at the voice in your head feeding you that lie. will hold your chin so gently in his palm, look you dead in the eye and tell you that you ain’t broken, sweetheart. you’re just tired, and Stan gets that. but he got enough love for the both of you today, so don’t you worry

FORD

Ford is used to solving problems with equations but none of that works here. not when your eyes don’t meet his and Ford gets scared. so he adapts.

at first, he watches from the doorframe while you lie still in bed, not sleeping and not moving, Ford bites his nails, thinking what it can be. he writes down a dozen theories. sleep deprivation? serotonin imbalance? post-traumatic stuff?

Ford becomes gentle, so, so gentle his voice softens around you. he reads more psychology books than he ever did during his college years and. . . he tapes sticky notes around the Shack that say things like “drink water. you matter.” and “five minutes of sunlight counts. i’m proud of you.”

he learns to stop asking if you’re okay. instead, he says, “can i stay with you in this?” and he’ll lay with you all day if that’s what it takes.

Ford is more methodical in his concern, but don’t mistake that for coldness. he doesn’t pretend to understand exactly what you’re going through but he’s listening and taking notes. literally. it starts as a notebook he keeps tucked on his desk, where he logs things like “they smiled after i mentioned sea otters today” or “worse symptoms following three days without fresh air”

he builds little rituals for you, every morning, he places a glass of water by your bedside so you don’t have to ask. he opens the curtains enough so the light reaches your beautiful face and reminds your circadian rhythm that life still exists out there. he gently nudges vitamins toward your palm while rambling about something else entirely, about anomalies or some interdimensional cephalopods so you won't get suspicious and feel like he’s watching.

and when you haven’t smiled in days, oh Ford gets anxious, so damn anxious he starts pulling out old journals, flipping through dusty pages, looking for any weird magical object in gravity falls or psychological theory that might fix it, because he’s terrified of standing by and doing nothing. you might wake up one morning to a bouquet of ethereal flowers that he picked from the devil knows where, or a tiny blue creature in a jar because “oh this? i read that this species has calming bioresonances. thought it might help.”

Ford’s presence is consistent, he won’t overwhelm you with affection when you're not ready to accept it, but you’ll find signs of his care in every corner of the house, a heated blanket turned on before you wake, your favourite book left unfinished on the chapter you like, a softly played record from a time when things felt easier. and on nights when your brain feels loud and you can’t sleep because of these dumb thoughts, Stanford will climb into bed beside you. glasses off and hair still damp from the shower. he'll read aloud until you drift off by his side and he'll kiss your forehead whispering good night, darling

and in the weeks that follow, it’s not your smiles he celebrates but the creak of the bed when you sit up because it means you got a little bit more energy to move today. the way your fingers twitch when you reach for water. the rare days you touch him first. he treats them like astronomical events, writing them down. sweet heavens, it's the damn planets aligned today just because his darling looked him in the eyes, the stars must’ve thrown a celebration today, the whole universe tilted in his favor, Ford is happy.

he’ll play a song on the piano, pulling you toward him until you sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder, not having to say anything at all. the music is soft, beautiful, just like his six fingers, and Ford doesn’t ask for anything in return. he just wants you to feel safe, in whatever way you need.

when you finally kiss him again, he goes quiet because it means you're starting to feel better. your eyes soften again and you reach out for him, you know he’ll be waiting, as always. “you’re my priority, and i’ll be here. always.”

Ford pulls you into his lap, runs his fingers over your skin, and tells you about the stars, how even the coldest ones still shine. how light travels farther than sadness. how you, in this moment, exhausted and barely holding on, are still the brightest thing he’s ever seen. always ends up with you sobbing into his chest

Ford would travel to every version of this world just to find the one where you're happy

[lheslie]

Toji meeting your parents

He didn't want to meet your parents, he didn't even want to think about it.

Just like any kind of boyfriend, He felt tensed and nervous about it.

Ever since you brought that topic, he kept telling you he was busy with missions.

He made sure that his missions collided with the days your parents either visit or when you bring up him meeting your parents.

He knew for sure your parents would never like him, he's a old man who gambles and kills people. AND he lives in the streets before he moved in with you into your apartment.

After some time you noticed that Toji had really become avoidant about the topic of meeting your parents, you wanted to talk to him.

"Toji, Can we talk?" You spoke as he froze in his spot, It can only mean one thing to Toji.

And that is headaches, He hates talks like these it stresses him out.

He sighed as he followed you to the bedroom.

"Toji-" "Yeah, I don't wanna meet em." He interrupeted you.

"Why?" You asked, "You know why." He replied.

You sighed, "Don't be like that Toji"

"But, I am like this." He said

"Toji, I'm the one with you, not my parents I love you for who you are. The reason why I want to introduce you to them is because, I want my parents to meet the man I love. And even if they don't like you, I do and I don't care what they say, If it makes you uncomfortable I understand it, I won't force you." You said as you hugged him.

"No one can stop me from loving you." You whispered to him as you kissed him goodnight.

After that talk Toji stayed awake that entire night thinking about your words, it gave him a huge headache.

No one, had accepted him for who he is except you and his ex wife. He knew he was hard to love, especially since he doesn't know how to recieprocate any kinds of feelings except anger and contempt.

He still doesn't know how to stomach having a relationship with you.

But your words got him thinking, after a few weeks, he had thought about it.

"I'll do it." He spoke while he was eating his breakfast.

"Do what?" You questioned him as you think of the things he might mean, then it hits you.

"You'll meet my parents?" You smiled in glee.

"Yeah, don't expect me to be nice and shit, or them to like me. Because clearly you know who I am." He said as he continues to eat.

The day came, where he's about to meet your parents.

He tried fixing himself, he bathed, brushed his teeth, changed into acceptable clothes and then he hid his weapons.

He was anxiously waiting inside your apartment feeling tensed, sweating.

"Fuck this is harder than killing Special grade curses and sorcerers." he grumbles as he heard the door knob open.

He felt his heart sank as he stood up walking to the door as you introduced your parents he stood quiet.

You all sat down at the dining table as your parents introduced themselves.

"Toji Fushiguro..." He introduced himself

Your parents didn't think much about it, since you already told them about him so your parents were adjusting in this case.

"So Toji, I'm happy you've met our daughter, we've never thought she'd find someone." Your mother joked.

"She was rotting on our basement for long as I've remembered" Your Father added.

"Mama! Papa!" You yelled

"What? It's true." Your mom said as you all laughed.

Your parents didn't need to know anything more about Toji. They already heard alot from you.

You were already old enough to make your own decisions and they're just there to guide you whenever you need them.

Toji was shocked that your parents weren't disgusted at him.

Your parents told stories about you to Toji so Toji would ease himself with them.

Which ends up you being embarrassed you knew that Toji would tease you all about it later. But you were happy that you noticed that Toji was being at ease.

You stood up and excused yourself at the bathroom.

Toji knew that there might be a confrontation in this period, since you weren't here anymore.

"Toji let me be frank, I don't know who you are or where you came from. All I know is that you make our child happy, that's what matters, but hurt her you'll regret it I promise you that." Your Father said

After that you came back.

The meeting went well as you exhaled sitting on the living room clearly tired.

"I hope they didn't give you a hard time." You said as you looked at him.

"It went better than I expected." Toji said

"Why do you think so?" You curiously asked him.

"Met my ex wife's parents, didn't go well. Her parents asked lots of shit. They found out that I'm a piece of garbage not fit for their daughter. They wanted us to break up." He said as he was pouring water on a glass.

To be honest, it also went unexpected on your side as well. Usually your parents would also interrogate.

But you knew they'd understand you and your decisions because you were already an adult and you were thankful for that.

But it was probably because you've already told your parents about him.

*Flash back*

"Mom, I love him. I know you think that he isn't good for me, But I don't care I'm a grown adult who can make her own decisions."

*End of Flash back*

You and your parents argued alot about Toji that made you really stressed out that you had to drink meds.

But you didn't care, you'll stand your ground.

[iwantmochisoup]

so, salt shared a 'salt brush set' with me, have some i liked while playing around with them :3c

[plutonious]

experimentation is forever and ever and emmet is guinea pig

[ishikawayukis]

obviously they won't say anything about it because they only comment on things that are nonsensical, but even kcarats are mad about this collab so i do wonder if they'll end up saying anything or will just act stupid lmfao

[ghost-living-downhill]

i hate that everyone has suddenly stopped caring about me >:(

[ninikrumbs]

The look of love, the rush of blood

Sukuna x reader. est relationship. down bad Sukuna

BoyfriendSukuna wasn't clingy or needy. He's not the type to cry over a day without seeing you, nor is he the type to pester you with constant messages or calls about your where abouts and annoying you to come see him. A simple text about your plans for the day or even a post it note on the fridge -for the days you slept over which was almost everyday - was enough for him. He was possessive, but he can survive a day or two without you.

Or so he thought.

BoyfriendSukuna was dropping you off your best friends house for an impromptu sleepover. Your best friend just got dumped and now you need to be her shoulder to cry on or whatever. That was fine or at least it was until you mentioned that you didn't know when you'll be sleeping over his place cause apparently these things "take time" and are "unpredictable."

Surprising even himself, he didn't like that. He didn't like that at all. He realized if you weren't sleeping over his apartment, he'd usually crawl into your bed late at night. Still he thought it wasn't a necessity, that falling asleep next to you was a want not a need. Yet now that he doesn't have that option..

Vein throbbing, Sukuna can give your best friend tonight, but tomorrow you will be back on his bed where you belong.

You were saying your final goodbyes in front of his car window. Eyes bright and laced with a warmth he believes you only reserve for him, "Bye, Kuna! Ill give you updates everyday!"

He grits his teeth. Why did it sound like you were going on a month long cruise?

"Oi." He calls out before you could turn around.

Tilting your head, "Kuna?"

For a moment he kept quiet. Carmine eyes taking their time drinking you in, having his fill of you as if he won't see you for weeks. They snap to back to your pretty face, tracing every slope and curve. "Come closer, brat."

And you do which makes his lips curl a bit. Always so obedient for him.

With his left hand, his touch firm yet gentle on the back of your head as he pushes your face towards his.

Soft lips against his rough ones, kissing you long and fervently, devouring you whole in one kiss. He feels you melting into it, whimpering such pretty sounds into his mouth. The tension finally eases out of him and it takes everything in him to pull away.

"Ill pick you up tomorrow," He murmurs against your lips, breath mingling with yours.

You blink. Once. Twice, "But Kuna-"

He cuts you off with another kiss, but softer this time. Gentle even. "No buts, brat. Ill pick you up tomorrow evening at the latest. She gets no more than that. You can visit here everyday for all I care, but you're sleeping with me."

A knowing smile teases your lips, "Are you gonna miss me that much, Kuna?"

"Shut up." He grunts, rolling your eyes at how pleased you look.

You burst out laughing and he hates at how pathetically melts at the sound. How it makes his insides warm like some love sick fool.

After brushing a imaginary tear from your eye, you lean back to his face and press a soft kiss on his cheek. "Don't worry. Ill have one of our other friends sleepover tomorrow night."

"Whatever."

Your smile widens into a grin, "I'll just tell them my big bad boyfriend can't sleep without me."

"Don't you dare-"

You run towards the door before he could do anything, laughter ringing out the driveway. And the way you smile makes his chest tighten in the most pathetic way.

The moment you disappear from view. He groans, dragging a hand down his face.

Fuck.

He didn't realized he was so down bad that going home without you felt like a life sentence.

So pathetic. So damn pathetic for you.

[sleepdeprivedfrfr]

obsessedbf!toji who loves when it’s cold outside because he knows you won’t try and push him away for being too clingy because he’s so so so sooo warm.

obsessedbf!toji who loves when you curl up to him or wrap yourself around him at night in the middle of your sleep, he thinks it’s so adorable.

obsessedbf!toji who doesn’t go to bed until you do, even if it means he’ll wake up grumpy the next morning for work.

obsessedbf!toji who complains to you one night about your sleeping schedule, “Why the fuck are you still up?”

“I’m watching asmr.”

“Turn that shit off and c’mere.”

“Shh this is a good part.”

He snatched your phone out of your hands and turned it off, “Toji what the fu-”

“Pay attention to me ma, not the fucking phone.” He whispered in a gruff sleepy voice as he pulled you to his chest and engulfing you completely. You huffed into his chest. "Stop acting like you don't love this," Toji grumbled lowly, you could hear the smirk in his words.

"Your tits are suffocating me Toji. No complaints though."

"Fucking freak."

He couldn't help but smile though after hearing your sweet little giggles.

obsessedbf!toji who picks up extra missions just so that he can spoil you, he literally refuses to let you work and truly believes that he should be the sole provider while you don't lift a finger. Also having you care for him when he comes home exhausted is a plus :3

obsessedbf!toji who lets you do skincare on him when he comes back home, he claims he hates it but he loves how relaxing it is and how much attention you put on him while doing it.

obsessedbf!toji who constantly teases you for watching asmr but slowly starts getting into it once you do it to him.

You were propped up against the pillows on the bed, while Toji walked out of the bathroom. He was moody from being at work all day, only to come home to you already showered, leaving him to have to shower alone. "C'mere baby," you patted your lap signaling for your big grumpy boyfriend to lay in it.

He let out a soft grunt and quickly placed himself into your embrace, his head on your lower stomach and hands resting on your hips while his body between your legs. You began tracing patterns up and down his back with your nails, and up and down his large biceps.

"Fuck that feels good ma." he whispered, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

"You still mad at me you big baby?" Your hands moved up to his scalp.

"Tch, whatever. Jus' keep doin’ what yer doin'." Was all he said while his thumbs lightly brushed back and fourth over your hips. His breathing began to slow and he let out soft snores.

obsessedbf!toji who surprising plans really romantic dates for you two, but as soon as you walk out of the bedroom all dressed up his hands are all over you, making you guys late to whatever reservation he booked.

"Babe we're gonna be late."

"Fuck you look so good mama, I can't help it." He says between kisses. Safe to say y'all were definitely going to be late again, that is if you even left the house.

another toji drabble/oneshot bc y'all loved the last one sm, might do an nsfw ver soon so yuh. Also thank you guys so much for 500 followers, I know im behind on a lot of stories rn so js bear with me pls 😭

also I’m so tired of seeing people canon toji as a bad husband/bf bc like y r we acting like he didn’t take his wife’s name?!? Like sure he may be broke in the show but that’s js bc his ass was gambling all his money away, anyways hope u enjoyed ;3

Likes, comments, and rebloggs appreciated!!

divider creds: @cafekitsune