#she doesn’t feel sad about it going to waste

[wendichester]

Can i request a deanXsamXreader and she’s just in need of comfort from them because she’s going through a bad depressive episode?

⊹ ࣪ ˖ where the light gets in,

summary. you've been feeling down lately. sam and dean are not about to let that slide by.

pairing. sam + dean winchester x reader genre. comfort

wordcount. 427

notes / warnings. depression, emotional numbness

It’s not even raining, but the world feels gray. Not the dramatic kind of gray—just dull, like someone turned the saturation all the way down and forgot to put it back.

You haven’t gotten out of bed all day. Not really. You tried once, made it to the bathroom, then crawled back under the covers like a ghost slipping back into the dark.

There’s no specific reason. That’s the worst part. No demon attack. No cursed object. No bloody hunt gone sideways. Just… a weight. One that settled on your chest last week and hasn’t moved since.

The knock is soft, careful. Dean’s voice even more so. “Sweetheart?”

You don’t answer. You want to. You want to say “come in” or “I’m fine” or even “go away,” but all of it gets stuck somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

The door creaks open anyway. You don’t mind. It’s Dean. And Sam right behind him. You’d know the way they fill a room even with your eyes closed.

Dean doesn’t ask questions. He just kneels beside the bed, one calloused hand smoothing your hair back, thumb brushing your temple like he’s checking for fever. Like maybe he can fix it if he just touches you gently enough.

“You’re here,” you croak. It’s pathetic. It’s everything.

“Of course we’re here.” Sam’s voice is low, grounding. “You didn’t answer our texts. We got worried.”

You almost apologize. You want to. But what spills out instead is, “I feel like nothing. I feel like I don’t matter. Like I’m just taking up space and wasting air.”

Silence. A beat.

Then Dean says, “Well, that’s bullshit.”

You blink.

“You matter,” he says firmly. “You’re not a burden. You’re not invisible. You’re family. You hear me?”

Sam crawls into bed behind you, wrapping himself around your back like a giant human heater. His arms circle your waist, his breath warm against your neck. “You don’t have to pretend. Not with us.”

Dean slides in on the other side, tugging the covers back over you all. It’s a pile of limbs and worn-out love, and it shouldn't work—but it does.

“You don’t have to fix it today,” Dean murmurs, nose brushing your cheek. “Hell, you don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. We just want you here.”

“You can be sad,” Sam whispers. “You can be messy. We’ll hold you through it.”

And so you cry. Quiet, ugly tears that soak Dean’s shirt and make your chest ache. You cry because it hurts, and because they’re here, and because somehow you’d forgotten what it felt like to be seen.

They don’t rush you. They don’t flinch. They just hold you tighter.

And for the first time in days, you believe them.

Maybe you’re not okay yet. But you're not alone. And that counts for something.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[chriscolfxr]

i don’t usually post on tumblr but i need to vent for a second. first of all, let me take my buddie goggles off for a second, okay? okay. what happened this season was atrocious. it was sad. it was a lot. cause i felt like i was on such a high. even the episodes/things people complained the most (hotshots/brad) i decided to put it past me. gave them a pat on the shoulder saying “we can’t ALWAYS be perfect. still, you’re doing a good job”. and i mean, considering they’re on their EIGHTH season, they really were. they had so many people tuning in, tweets that would blow up occasionally would get 3k likes at most and now they were getting 15/20k. so yeah, i’d say that even if most episodes since s7 haven’t really felt like og 911, they were doing a good job.

and then it all fell apart.

so many inconsistencies and choices i don’t think i’ll ever understand. let’s start with henren. and mara. cause even back in s7, i got mad that 911 didn’t show mara’s ever evolving relationship with the wilsons. one day she was catatonic and wouldn’t talk to anyone, the next she was talking, smiling and happy hen was winning a medal. and then she was taken away. i was like “okay, we only had 10 episodes to tackle this issue, maybe we’ll see more of that next season”. episode 4 is focused on hen and karen trying to win mara back, i thought it was great. okay, now we have time to explore mara and her feelings. nada again. we see her getting officially adopted in the season finale, which was sweet, but also bittersweet, cause we just don’t get to see her and denny a lot of the time, if not in the background with one or two lines. i actually had a lot of fun w the episode where they forget it’s hen’s birthday, i know a lot of people got mad and said it was ooc, but i do think this kind of stuff happens sometimes, and it was at least a silly storyline they had that didn’t involve family drama.

now… bobby nash. i could write so many things about this storyline. WHY????? this is something i’ll never understand. “to move the plot forward” you can’t think of anything else? and okay, you did that. at least write an emmy worthy farewell episode. what the hell was episode 16? so disrespectful to his legacy and the work peter krause put into playing him for 8 years. you wasted what could be an incredible tribute episode into almost making a mockery of the people who still believed he was alive. and mind you, i didn’t think he was, but i understood people who still had faith in it. the show will never be the same and i mean that in the most negative way. this doesn’t feel like any other departure. i watched 18 seasons of grey’s, i know how to say goodbye to a character. to be quite honest, i think killing meredith grey back then wouldn’t leave the same bitter taste on my tongue as killing bobby did, and her name is in the title of her show. episode 18 showed the 118 showing up for each other, and that was beautiful, but there was something missing. i don’t think time will make this feeling disappear. you can’t live without a heart and that was what bobby was in the body of work that is 911. why did athena sell their dream house? where is she going? what’s gonna happen to her? why make her lose another man? how is that gonna move the plot forward? how are you gonna keep the GA invested if they watched it for them?

eddie. oh god. i can’t even say everything i want to say about him here. it just boggles me that his life got blown up at the end of s7, he was given the most ridiculous and outrageously bad storyline that have ever been given to anyone on the show (besides maybe… bobby death) and you’d THINK s8 would be dedicated to addressing the elephant that decided to enter and stay in the room. but it wasn’t. his relationship with chris got increasingly better from what we saw in 8x01 to 8x08. not great, but better. but we don’t know how that happened. we didn’t see it. then eddie decides to move to texas, i wonder how chris feels about it since he decided to move there to get away from him essentially. oh. he’s happy? he’s proud and loves his dad? that’s so great. except we didn’t get to see how that change in his heart happened. well, what about the elephant? kim? shannon? well, that was also resolved offscreen. WHAT? WHY? i wanna know too!!! we don’t know why!!! he’s miserable in texas but he’s there for chris. he comes back for bobby. he gets an offer from el paso fire station and now he needs to choose: stay with the 118 or go back there? we don’t get to see him making this decision, he accepts the job offscreen. he decides to help the 118. but then, as they’re getting back to the station, he’s looking up flights back to texas. “you’re not going anywhere” says chim. so he stays. and chris? stays too! but how was this conversation? we don’t know, we didn’t get to see it. but they’re moving back. what about him choosing his family? THE MUSTACHE??? THE JUICE OF IT ALL??? WHAT WAS THE POINT OF IT ALL??? let me not even go there.

and buck? well, he’s back at the hamster wheel. the one he’s been stuck since maybe season 2. i don’t think he ever left actually, his wheel just got changed to a pink, purple and blue one. and good for him, that wheel is bigger, more beautiful. but it’s still a wheel. what the hell was happening with him this season? he got dumped, overbaked, went crazy cause his best friend was moving to texas, started living in his house, got accused by two people including his ugly ex that he was in love with said best friend, fought with his best friend a little, lost his father figure, seemed to be doing “okay” about it - but he wasn’t at all - asked for a transfer cause “the 118 was just a number now” as if he also didn’t have other family there also going through grief (and okay, maybe that was his grief manifesting itself but still…) and ended up moving out cause he was “just subletting. that was never really my place” okay.

madney baby… jesus. storyline completely sidelined and then out of nowhere the baby was born. robert nash han. lol. okay?

i like the idea of captain han but it’s still odd to me that they’ve built for years that hen was bobby’s substitute (and that chim was not… the best leader hdjsjdjs) and then not follow through. traumatizing chim the way they did is also so cruel. how can he ever move forward knowing bobby sacrificed himself for him. just so so so cruel.

and now… putting the goggles back on. look. i don’t fucking care whatever it is the reason you decided to not follow through with buddie, you shouldn’t have written episodes 9 and 11. don’t put the IDEA of buddie in the show if you’re not gonna do anything with it. what happens outside of the show, it’s our own fault. what happens inside of it, it’s tim minear’s. maybe one could argue “there’s still season 9” but it’s season NINE. people are tired. just say it with your full chest tim. “it’s never gonna happen”, “it’ll happen but it’ll take time”. stop giving vague answers. queerbait isn’t cute. queerbait isn’t nice. especially in the year of 2025. stop stringing queer people along, we’re already going through a lot as it is. DON’T WRITE EPISODES LIKE 8x11 AND THEN DECIDE TO DO NOTHING ABOUT IT. OR WORSE, KILL A CHARACTER IN THE PROCESS TO DERAIL THE DEVELOPMENT OF OTHER TWO CHARACTERS. the buddie press tour is also something if nothing’s ever gonna happen… i knew from the beginning they were trying to do damage control after everything with bobby but wow. that’s gonna be a new low. no conversation between them in 8x18 even if the longing looks. eddie doesn’t decide to stay for buck, buck moves out. the only thing i was certain of was that they were gonna be roommates. and maybe that might still happen. maybe season 9 will start with buck still not finding a new place, who knows. i doubt it, but let’s see.

in short, this season could’ve been amazing. hell, episode 17 was pretty good compared to 15, 16 and 18. we needed that type of energy. i don’t know what’s gonna happen to this show. this is sad. this is CRAZY. i’ve never seen a downfall quite like this, because like i said, they started off good. loved the beenado, the plane thing, the new cinematography. would even dare to say that bobby alive and buddie canon all in the last episode would’ve been DIVINE. actual masterpiece. but what do i know. let’s see where they’re going in s9, but god, i’m terrified of it rather than excited for it.

[tangledstarlight]

apparently it gets to the last week of october and all i want to think about is being human uk and how i can turn it into an au for whoever is living in my head rn

[jackietaylorsghost]

im ngl im actually so gutted im not going 2 eras like it just would. have been such a fun ass night.

[dior-luxury]

Hi! I really like your headcanons! I was wondering if I could make a request for sebek, azul, jade, trey, and rook? Or whichever you want! The prompt: they forget they had a date with you and stood you up accidentally

Accidently Standing You Up On A Date

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] trey . azul . jade . rook. sebek

- [𝐩:𝐬] nothing rlly

Note: Thank you so much for enjoying my hcs!! ＞︿＜

Trey Clover

Trey is usually responsible and dependable, so when he realizes he completely forgot your date, he feels a wave of guilt wash over him. It probably hits him when he's in the middle of baking or helping out with a club activity, and suddenly, it clicks: he was supposed to meet you an hour ago.

Panic isn’t usually Trey’s thing, but right now, he’s scrambling. He quickly wipes his flour-covered hands, grabs his phone, and sees several missed messages from you. His heart sinks. Trey knows he’s messed up big time, and he doesn’t waste another moment.

Rushing over to where he was supposed to meet you, he spots you sitting alone, looking a mix of sad and disappointed. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves before approaching you.

“Hey...” he calls softly, guilt heavy in his tone. As you look up, he’s already beside you, his usual calm smile tinged with regret. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I completely lost track of time. I know that’s no excuse. You must have been waiting for a while.”

Trey would be the type to offer a heartfelt apology without making any excuses. He’d carefully listen to you vent your feelings if you needed to, never once interrupting or brushing it off. When you finish, he gently takes your hand.

“To make it up to you, how about we go out right now? I’ll take you anywhere you want—no distractions, just us. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. And... I’ll bake your favorite treats tonight. Please let me make this right.”

Trey’s sincerity and his gentle, caring nature would shine through. You know he genuinely didn’t mean to hurt you, and seeing him so remorseful makes it hard to stay mad for long.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on his organization and punctuality, so when he realizes he’s missed the date, his reaction is a mixture of disbelief and sheer panic. Maybe he got caught up in an overwhelming amount of work at Mostro Lounge or was drawn into an elaborate scheme. Whatever the reason, once he notices, his stomach twists painfully.

He fumbles for his phone, muttering curses under his breath, and when he sees your unanswered messages, he nearly drops it. Azul’s mind races, already imagining the hurt expression on your face. He feels sick with guilt, but Azul’s pride prevents him from sending a rushed apology text. No—he needs to do this in person.

He fixes his tie and tries to compose himself, but his nerves are shot. When he finally finds you, he hesitates, seeing the disappointment in your eyes. Azul straightens his posture, but there’s a rare, unguarded vulnerability in his gaze.

“Angelfish... I have no excuse. I failed to keep my promise, and I know I’ve hurt you. I cannot begin to express how regretful I am.” He pauses, voice softer. “Please, allow me to make it up to you. I’ll do anything you wish. A special evening at Mostro Lounge? A dinner prepared just for you? I just... I can’t stand knowing I’ve made you feel this way.”

Azul’s usual eloquence is laced with genuine worry. He hates feeling powerless, and the idea of losing your trust makes his chest ache. He’s prepared to offer you anything, but what really matters to him is hearing that you forgive him.

Later, he’d spend days planning something extravagant—a private dinner at the lounge with a dish named after you, symbolizing how important you are to him. He’d also be more careful about balancing his commitments, never wanting to repeat the mistake.

Jade Leech

Jade is usually composed and meticulous, so forgetting a date with you would be unusual for him. It likely happens when he’s out exploring the mountains, captivated by a rare mushroom species, or when he’s helping Azul at the lounge. Time tends to slip away from him when he’s fully absorbed, but the moment he remembers, his eyes widen just a fraction—an uncharacteristic break in his calm demeanor.

Jade takes a moment to assess the situation, letting out a small, almost amused sigh at his own mistake. Despite his outward composure, he feels a twinge of guilt. He quickly makes his way to the agreed-upon meeting spot, already calculating how to smooth things over.

When he finds you, his smile is warm but slightly apologetic. “Ah, there you are, my dear. I must apologize—it seems I lost track of time. I didn’t intend to keep you waiting.” His tone is calm and sincere, but he’s carefully observing your reaction, those heterochromatic eyes studying every flicker of emotion on your face.

If you express your disappointment, Jade’s smile softens. He steps closer, his hand brushing against yours. “It’s quite unlike me to be forgetful. I must have been too engrossed in my tasks... but that’s no excuse. Allow me to make it up to you. Perhaps a private dinner at the lounge? I’ll prepare something special myself.”

Jade is surprisingly gentle when making amends, and though he’s skilled at charming his way out of situations, this time, his apology is genuine. He doesn’t want you to doubt his intentions, and he’ll be extra attentive during your rescheduled date, showing that he values your time.

Rook Hunt

Rook is often poetic and passionate, but his passion can sometimes lead him astray. He probably gets caught up tracking a rare beast or observing the beauty of nature, completely losing track of time. It’s only when he notices the setting sun and the quiet of the forest that it hits him—he was supposed to meet you an hour ago!

Immediately, his heart pounds with both excitement and guilt. How could he, the ever-attentive hunter, forget his most beloved prey—you? Rook rushes back to campus, all the while crafting apologies in his mind. When he finally finds you, his face lights up with relief and regret.

“Mademoiselle! Mon trésor!” he calls out dramatically, dropping to one knee as he takes your hand, his green eyes sincere and almost pleading. “I have committed a most grievous sin! To leave you waiting, unknowing of my whereabouts—it wounds my heart! Forgive me, for I am but a fool who let himself be enchanted by the wild’s siren call!”

He listens attentively as you express your feelings, never once interrupting, and when you finish, he holds your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Your forgiveness would be a treasure I would cherish. Allow me to make amends! I shall devote myself entirely to you for the evening—whether a serenade, a meal, or a grand hunt! Whatever your heart desires, I shall deliver!”

Rook’s apologies are grand and sincere, and his poetic nature makes it hard to stay upset. He’s genuinely remorseful and will likely spend the rest of the night showering you with affection and compliments to make you smile again.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek prides himself on his loyalty and punctuality, especially when it comes to his duties—or anything related to Malleus. So, when he realizes he missed your date, it’s like his entire world comes crashing down. He was probably caught up training or attending to Malleus, and when he remembers, his reaction is explosive.

“What?! I—IMPOSSIBLE! HOW COULD I—” Sebek’s voice booms as he panics, his brain trying to comprehend his mistake. He’s frustrated with himself and mortified at the thought of letting you down. Immediately, he sprints to the meeting place, not caring about the curious stares from fellow students.

When he finds you, his loud presence precedes him. “HUMAN! I—” He stops abruptly, seeing the hurt on your face, and his usual loud demeanor softens, his ears lowering slightly. “I... I failed to keep my word. There is no excuse for such negligence. You have every right to be upset with me!”

His fists clench at his sides as he struggles to maintain his usual proud posture, but you can tell he’s beating himself up inside. “I... I was training. I thought I’d be back in time, but I was careless. I do not deserve your forgiveness!”

If you tell him how you feel, Sebek’s frustration with himself only grows. “To fail both you and my own standards... I will accept any punishment you deem fit! But... I will not let it happen again! You are important to me, and I should have prioritized our time.”

Sebek would spend the next few days making up for his mistake, offering to accompany you everywhere, carrying your belongings, and trying to be extra attentive. He doesn’t quite know how to express affection as gracefully as others, but his efforts to make it up to you are both endearing and earnest.

[holylulusworld]

Longing

Summary: You won't give up on him.

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Warnings: fluff, grumpy x sunshine trope (kinda), sweet reader, a/b/o, scenting, true mates

Written for @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grumpy, Stabby! Oh, My! Challenge

Trope: Grumpy (and Sunshine)

Prompts: ☀️ A: “Stop coming around here… “ B: “No!” A: “I mean it… I’m just going to end up hurting you if you don’t stay away…” *glaring at each other until one of them grabs the other in a bruising kiss*

He smells you the second you step toward the cell. The alpha dips his head, listening closely to your heartbeat. Your heart always beats a little faster the closer you get to his cell.

He inhales deeply, basking in your scent as you are unaware of his longing for you and your presence.

If only for a few fleeting moments, you make him feel human again.

“Hi,” you shyly say as you stand in front of the cell, carefully touching the bars parting you from the alpha. “I got cupcakes for you and plums.”

His features soften for a second hearing that you remembered he told you about the plums he bought after he was finally free of Hydra.

“I told you to not talk to me,” the alpha grumbles as you place a basket filled with cupcakes, sandwiches, beverages, and plums on the ground.

You unfold the blanket you hid under your jacket, smirking as Bucky watches you with curiosity. “I had to smuggle it inside. They wouldn’t let me bring one last time.”

“Did you hear me?” The alpha asks, waiting for you to finally leave him alone. He’s been on his own for too long and doesn’t know how to handle kindness.

“I have biscuits too,” you say and sit down, cross-legged. “What do you want to eat first?”

Bucky sighs deeply. He mirrors you and sits down in front of the bars. Once again, the alpha gives in to you. “Did they tell you to come here? Is this their newest way to interrogate me?”

You shake your head. “I sneaked in,” you proudly say. “The Avengers are not as smart as they think they are.”

“Doll, you…” Bucky can’t help but grin when you tell him that you outsmarted Tony Stark and Spider-Man. “So, you outsmarted the spider boy?”

“Cupcakes or biscuits? I have sandwiches too.” You move the basket closer to the bars. “Plums maybe?”

While you talk to Bucky, wanting him to eat the food you brought to him, Steve, Tony, and Bruce watch you with worry.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to let her see him?” Tony is still not convinced that Bucky is no threat. “What if he freaks out and hurts her?”

“He’s calm around her. Did you see how he looks at Y/N?” Steve argues. “She’s his true mate. If anyone can stop him from going feral and losing himself again, it’s her.”

“If you say so,” Tony huffs, but watches your interactions with the alpha with interest. “Let’s see.”

“Good, right?” You happily ask as Bucky grabs one of the plums. He hums while eating the juicy fruit. “I got the best for you.”

“Why do you still come back?” Bucky asks. “They’ll never let me out of this cage. You’re wasting your time on me.”

“No, I don’t,” you grumble, not accepting any arguments. “I will come here until they release you. You didn’t hurt me. One day, they’ll see you’re a good man and alpha.”

He takes another bite as you slowly get back up. Bucky watches you with sad eyes, believing you want to leave so soon.

“I stole something from Spider boy,” you giggle and wiggle your fingers to show Bucky the keys to his cell.

“Doll,” Bucky warns. He scrambles to his feet and steps away from the bars. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret. What if I cannot hold back?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you confidently say. Holding Bucky’s gaze, you push the key into the lock, unlocking his cell.

“Doll…no.” He takes another step back when you enter his cell, reaching out for the alpha you’re longing for.

“It’s okay. You won’t hurt me.” You assure him. “Please, alpha…”

“Stop coming around here… “ He says, pointing toward the open door as he does.

“No,” you stubbornly reply while stepping closer to Bucky. “I won’t.”

“I mean it…” He pants heavily when your scent hits him with full force. “I’m just going to end up hurting you if you don’t stay away…”

You glare at Bucky for the first time since you met him. Back then, they brought him here in chains made of vibranium. Princess Shuri from Wakanda accompanied him, telling everyone he was free of the programming and the code words.

They didn’t believe her, though. Instead of welcoming the lost man home, he got tested on and thrown into a cell.

Pursing your lips, you hold Bucky’s gaze. He glares back at you, waiting for you to cave in. He’s an alpha after all.

“Fine, have it your way.” You shriek when Bucky grabs you to press you up against the wall. He looks at you for a second, waiting for you to fight him before capturing your lips in a bruising kiss.

You wrap your arms around him, melting against his body as his lips devour your mouth. Moaning against him, you let Bucky sling his arms around your body, lifting you off the ground.

“What the fuck, Capsicle!” Tony exclaims loudly as you are heavily making out inside the cell. “She… and then.”

“Uh—I think the kid shouldn’t see this.” Bruce clears his throat and covers the monitor with his hand to stop Peter from watching you wrap your legs around Bucky’s waist. “I think they are fine, though. No sign of aggression.”

Tony is not amused. He scrunches up his nose and makes a retching noise. “They can’t just make out in my cell! Maybe I shouldn’t have given him a comfortable bed with soft cushions.”

Steve grins because his friend is more interested in kissing you than escaping the cell. He knows that if Bucky wanted to, he’d have left the cell a long time ago. One flick of his vibranium wrist and he would have been long gone before anyone noticed his absence.

Something kept him from running away as so often before. His omega and true mate.

Tags in reblog.

[aubvrns]

lose the attitude, darling

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

Synopsis - When Wanda comes home distant and cold, your quiet evening turns into a silent battle for her attention.

Tags - Hurt/Comfort (Because, yes), Light Angst (Just light, don’t worry) Eventual Fluff (Happy endings for sad people), Mentioning something that tastes better than your cooking (Because I am, in fact, a freak)

Note - Notice a certain pattern for the titles of my works for Wanda? Hehe.

It started with the thud at the door.

You thought Wanda had accidentally banged her head on it because she was too tired to notice that there was, in fact, a door. But instead, you weren’t even greeted as the witch walked right past you.

No greeting, no surprise kiss to your cheek, nothing.

You knit your eyebrows, contemplating if you should run after her and beg for her to tell you what's wrong. Unfortunately, you were glued to finish cooking her favorite food. The faint scent of her favored pasta and the silent hum of the stove filled the air, basking in the silence.

After you set the table, you walk towards the living room, seeing a certain brunette with a frown on the couch, scrolling on her phone.

“Hey, dinner’s ready.” You spoke softly, leaning against the doorway. Your brows raise in anticipation, waiting for her response.

But instead, she doesn’t even look at you. It was as if she didn‘t hear you at all. Your fingers drum against the door, waiting patiently.

“Wanda?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Wanda gave you a short glance, before resuming the typing on her phone again. You tilted your head, knowing she just came home from a mission and is probably hungry, offering the smallest of smiles. “Are you okay?”

She let out an irritated sigh, “I’m fine, just need to finish something for work.”

You feel skeptical, biting your lip, trying to figure out what could be wrong. “Wanna talk about it or should I start drafting a resignation letter?”

Rolling her eyes, “Not in the mood.”

That was her warning, but you ignored it. Stepping behind her, your hands find their way to her tense shoulders. You kneaded gently, easing her annoyance.

“I can save you a plate, or you could join me— if you’re done with the attitude.” You say softly this time, smiling even though she couldn’t see it.

She scoffs, “Don’t baby me. I’m not a child.”

You’re acting like one right now.

Your arms are still on her shoulders. The tone wasn’t new, but it was still oddly unfamiliar. Being incredibly distant was her brand, until it convinces you that she's okay and she doesn’t need you hovering.

You weren’t going to give in to her attitude, instead, you give her one last rub on her shoulder before walking away. “Whatever suits you, then.”

The kitchen welcomed you quietly as you put Wanda's plate away. You stared at it on the counter as you eat your pasta, taking small bites. You lost your appetite, but you can’t let the food go to waste.

Minutes of quiet had passed, the wicked witch of the couch finally decided to join you. She opened the refrigerator, getting herself a bottle of water before sitting to the chair across you.

“Hey, you.”

You said softly. In the sweetest tone you can, but still, no response.

What could possibly have her attention when she has her insanely hot, sweet, and desirable girlfriend right in front of her?

You huff in annoyance, before standing up to get her plate. Luckily, it was still warm enough to eat. You slide it gently from her with a fork, hoping it at least make her look at you.

Still, niente.

“Wanda.”

“Mhm?”

“Please eat.”

“The food’s not going anywhere, isn’t it?”

Your eye twitched. She was like dealing with a child, moreover, an child who’s glued to their phone. “But it would be nice if you could eat it while it's still warm. I worked really hard on it all evening.”

She didn’t even flinch.

You let out a breath, “Are you really being like this?” Amidst your frustration, your tone was still soft and patient.

“Being like what? You’re the one acting like you can’t live without my attention when I’m clearly busy.” Wanda said sharply, her words like a dagger to your throat.

“Fine.” You grab her untouched plate and put it on the counter. “I’ll put it away until your royal mood swings pass.”

You put your plate inside the dishwasher, letting out a quiet sigh. Her attention was still on her phone, typing away.

You decided you’ve had enough. If she wants to ice you out, fine. You wouldn't beg for scraps of attention.

—

You gave her space. Hours of it.

And it worked. As the night dragged on, her scrolling slowed. As you sat on the couch reading your book, her glances grew longer as she sat on the opposite end of the couch. Her stubborn attitude slowly caving under. The silence felt thick, it was hard to tell if she even cared anymore.

Finally, for what felt like an eternity of silence, you hear a shift on the couch.

“Hey.”

One word testing the waters, her voice was unbearably soft. Although, you remind yourself about how she discarded your delicacy that you spent hours on.

Thinking about it, she could’ve cooked faster. But still, it’s the taste that counts.

“Hm?” You hummed, not even turning your head to look at the woman.

“I was kind of ignoring you.“ Her voice soft, but her distant eyes ignoring you.

“Kind of?”

She nudged your arm with her foot, her body now laying down with her feet on your lap. “Okay, I was ignoring you a lot.”

You stayed still, not paying her any attention. After a moment, she nudges herself right into your personal space until her chin was resting on your shoulder.

“I was mean,” she whispered, breath warm against your skin.

“Uh-huh.”

Her lips brush against your cheek, feather-light, her hands slowly draping over your waist. “And cold.”

Another soft kiss, right on the edge of your jaw, kissing up to the corners of your mouth. “Unfair and downright cruel.”

You glance at her, unimpressed. “Is this your way of apologizing? Because it’s not working.”

“Is it?” Her lips curved into a teasing smile, brushing her lips against yours, a kiss that leaves no room for denial.

You rolled your eyes, but your hand was curling into her hair, pulling her closer.

“I would appreciate an actual apology, y’know.” You mumble against her lips as her arms guide you to lay down on the couch.

She pulls away, now on top of you, and smiles charmingly enough for you to forgive her, “I’m sorry, darling,”. Frowning slightly, “I shouldn’t have ignored you.”

I smile softly at her genuine, yet playful apology. “It’s okay. Everyone has those days.”

Instead of teasing you again, Wanda lays beside you, hugging you comfortably. You lean against her and whisper, “Why were you even having an attitude?”

“Felt like it.”

You stare at her dumbfoundedly before she kisses you again. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Wanda grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to the tip of your nose. “I ate the food you cooked. It tastes amazing.”

You smile, putting your arms over her head and pulling her lips back to yours once more. After a minute of being all over eachother, she pulls away and says:

“But you know what tastes better?”

Let’s just say, she definitely made it up to you.

—

[pearynice]

Steve is too drunk. Because he doesn’t get drunk anymore. Not since-

But he’s drunk now. Because he’s sad, and acting pathetic, and thus getting fucking wasted at a high school party for a school he graduated from back in the spring sounded like the thing to do.

Because he’s fucking pitiful.

It’s not Robin’s fault. She’d dragged him here, sure, but he’d assured her- promised her- that he’d be fine. That she should leave with her other friends. Because she deserves to hang out with people who aren’t just him. To have a tiny slice of her life be normal.

He takes another sip of his drink, because he doesn’t want to think about normal, anymore. He just wants to- wants-

He doesn’t know what he wants.

“Harrington?”

Blearily, he looks up, and a guy he vaguely recognizes is standing above him.

Steve hiccups.

“Eddie,” the guy says, pointing to himself. “Doin’ okay?”

Now, Steve remembers him. He does that fantasy game Dustin likes so much. “Munson,” he says, and Eddie grins at him.

“That’s me.”

Steve hiccups again, and takes another sip of his drink.

“Where’d your friend go? The band girl?” Eddie inches closer, his Reeboks now inches from Steve’s fingertips.

Steve gestures vaguely with his beer bottle. He takes another sip, and frowns at the empty bottle. He really doesn’t want to have to go back into the house for another.

He’s still staring at it when Eddie sits next to him. 

“Cigarette?” Eddie offers. “Maybe that’s better than another drink, hm?”

Steve watches him pull out a crumpled pack from his back pocket, shaking out two.

He hands one to Steve.

The cigarettes are kind of smashed, but Eddie lights both of them up, and the smoke clears Steve’s head slightly.

“Thanks.”

Eddie shrugs.

Steve’s hands and mouth feel staticky and disjointed as he pulls the cigarette to his mouth, the effects of the multiple drinks he’s had finally making themselves known. His mouth tastes stale and puffy, and the reality of getting drunk- alone at a high school party- sours in his chest.

He groans, dropping his head into his free hand.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie mumbles, “you’re not- Harrington, if you’re about to puke, man, you gotta let me know, cause I can’t handle that shit.”

Steve, despite his wave of mortification, snorts a laugh. He might be pathetic, but he’s not about to stoop as low as hurling on the back porch. “Not gonna puke.” He promises, lifting his head back up to look out across the back lawn.“I just… can’t understand my own choices, sometimes,” he continues, quiet, chewing on his bottom lip. He takes another drag, his tongue feeling heavy and uncoordinated.

“I mean,” he begins again, exhaling a cloud of smoke and gesturing vaguely to himself, “talk about fucking embarrassing.”

Eddie’s quiet again, and nerves of a different sort begin to eat at him. Steve always shares too much, especially when he’s drunk, loose lips and all that. They’ve never spoken, really, and Eddie has more reason to hate him than most- Steve knows the basketball team was cruel to him, knows Carol and Tommy had to’ve been, too, knows this guy’s sympathy can only stretch so far before Steve snaps it-

“I gotta repeat senior year.” Eddie blurts. He’s looking down at his Reeboks, scuffed and dirty, eyes trained on the glowing embers of his burning cigarette. “Again.”

“Fuck, dude.” Steve exhales, “that sucks.”

Eddie snorts, lips twitching, and his shoulders relax as he leans back on one arm. Steve can see most of a tattoo there, some creepy puppet thing that shifts over his flexing muscle. “Yeah, well, sounds like maybe we’re both fuck-ups.” Eddie blows out a puff of smoke, and Steve watches as he does, his lips shining against the porch light. 

“I don’t think you’re a fuck up.” Steve says, then catches himself. “I mean-” he starts, backpedaling at once, nerves collecting at the base of his skull, “fuck high school. You know?” 

Eddie’s eyes, big and dark, watch him, crinkling slightly at the corners as Steve stutters through his addendum.

“You’ll know the kids I babysit,” Steve adds, a non sequitur that causes Eddie’s eyes to crinkle further. “They do that sci-fi game you run.”

Eddie dips into Steve’s space, his face scrunched in amusement. “Sci-fi game? Are you, Steve Harrington, referring to Dungeons and Dragons?”

For some reason, the way Eddie says it makes Steve flush. “Yes.”

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie says again, and Steve can smell the nicotine in his breath, can see his eyelashes despite the dark, and he knows he should shift away, out of Eddie’s personal space, but Eddie’s eyes are on him. And his shoes are close to Steve’s, and Steve’s still thinking about that creepy tattoo on Eddie’s forearm. He wants to know what it is. What it means.

“Look out for ‘em, okay?” Steve manages, the nagging worry about his little dweebs starting high school cutting through. “They’re, um…” he trails off, unsure. “I think they’ll need it.”

Eddie eyes him again, more considering, now, than humorous. 

“‘Course, Steve.” He agrees, and his tone is soft. “I’ll be their big bad protector.”

It shouldn’t feel as comforting as it does. He doesn’t know Eddie. And what he does know is that he sells a lot worse than weed behind the school, and yet-

And yet Eddie’s smiling at him. Warm and friendly and something like kind- and Steve- Steve thinks he might trust him, anyways. 

“Harrington?”

It’s a different voice that says his name, this time. Steve turns, squinting against the light from the house, and a stone forms in his gut.

Eddie starts, pulling up from his relaxed position to bring his arms to his sides.

“Carver,” Steve greets, with a nod. He takes another drag, hoping his tone reads as dismissive as he intends.

He must miss his mark because Jason comes closer. 

“Am I interrupting?” Jason kicks a black lunchbox by Eddie’s side, not far, but far enough that it’s no longer within Eddie’s reach. “Needed to make sure you’re not ripping off my friend, here, freak.”

Steve’s gut churns. “It’s all good, man.” He’s still trying to sound friendly, doesn’t want to start something, especially not now, five beers deep and in the dark, but Jason’s still staring at Eddie, that wicked smile still on his face. “Eddie’s not ripping me off.”

But Jason takes another step towards the two of them. “Well, it’s always good to take preventative measures, Harrington.” Jason grins, gaze flicking to Steve, and Steve knows that smile. Has seen it far too many times from people like Carver. Like Tommy. The look that’s asking him to join in on the fun.

Steve stands. He feels unsteady, and his head spins, but he doesn’t sway.

Even here, a step below Jason, Steve’s taller than him. “I said we’re good.” He drops his voice, verging on threatening, taking a half step towards Eddie to block as much of Jason’s gaze from him as he can. “Go back to the party.” 

Jason’s eyes find his once again. He narrows them, like he’s assessing just how big of a threat Steve really is. Jason’s shoulders tense. His jaw muscles flex and Steve balls his fists at his sides, ready, ready-

Jason smiles. “Right.” He says, and takes a half step away. His cold smile is directed as Steve, now, and he clicks his tongue. “See you around, Harrington.”

The porch door closes behind him, and Steve exhales. Unclenches his fists. He walks over to Eddie’s lunch box.

“Thanks,” Eddie murmurs, when Steve hands it to him. He’s not looking at Steve, but he’s white-knuckling the box, now, his elbows locked in against his sides.

Steve, a little sloppily, sits back down next to him. “Sorry.” He offers, and Eddie looks back up. 

Steve smiles a little, goes for reassuring, dipping back into Eddie’s space. “He’s always been an ass.”

Eddie’s lips twitch. “Don’t know why you think those kids need me, Steve. Looks like you’re a big bad protector all on your own.” His smile turns tentative. “Even for someone you barely know.”

And Steve- Steve’s never been one to think things through. Not when it comes to feelings and relationships and the giddy feeling he gets in his chest and in his gut when someone he likes smiles at him. He dives in head first without thought to consequences or repercussions or any what ifs- and Eddie’s smiling at him. And there’s pop rocks in Steve’s chest. And he thinks, maybe, there’s pop rocks in Eddie’s chest, too. 

Steve nudges his foot forward. Knocks it against Eddie’s. “Wouldn’t let him mess with you. That’s not-“

Not who I am. Not who I want to be. It’s the person I’m trying so hard to grow out of. 

“-what I’d let happen. Anymore.”

He knows it’s not enough. That standing up to Jason goddamn Carver doesn’t make up for Steve’s lifetime of sitting on the sidelines, of letting people like Eddie- of letting Eddie- get teased and pushed and worse and so much worse, but it’s something. It’s something, and Robin’s always telling him to forgive himself. 

And Steve’s pretty sure he’s not imagining it when he sees a blush on Eddie’s cheeks. Rosy against the yellow light of what’s emanating from inside the house, and he’s definitely not imagining it when he feels Eddie’s foot tap against his.

“You should probably get out of here.” Steve adds, and jerks his head to the house. “Don’t want to give him another opportunity to come back.”

Eddie pulls his foot away. “Right.” He says. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” But Eddie feels tense again, feels like he’s moving much more away than just his shoe. 

“D’you think-” Steve hedges, and he risks sounding more pathetic, because he doesn’t want Eddie to move away, not his shoes or his eyes or his anything else, and Steve was planning on walking, it’s 15 minutes tops, but- “think you could give me a ride? Robin’s friend drove us here.” He crawls his hand forward, just a little. Just enough for Eddie to see. 

Eddie’s eyes flick to his hand. And when he meets Steve’s gaze again he’s smiling, a little, his eyes crinkling. “Sure, Stevie.”

✨✨✨

Truly- I don't know what this is? Let me know if it's worth a part 2!

Part 2

[luvsupa]

‘SHE’S BUSY.’

tags: roommate! choso x fem!reader, choso has a tongue piercing, smut, ōral (f. receiving), choso is needy at the end, mdni.

a/n: the way this was supposed to be a short hc… w.c: 1.2k

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated 💜

roommate!choso who is madly in love with you but never wants to tell you because he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship you have.

roommate!choso who goes absolutely feral when he sees you dressing up to go on a… date?

“oh,” choso says, defeated, as you mention you’re going on a date with some guy you met through a mutual friend.

“do you think this is fine, cho’?” you ask, giving him a twirl of the dress that nicely hugs your figure. choso gulps at how stunning you look, feeling his heart beat faster.

“yeah, you look really good,” he says, continuing to eye you. oh, how he would treat you much better than that guy.

“i’ll show you the other dress- i can’t decide,” you say, returning to your room and shutting the door to switch between dresses.

roommate!choso who sits patiently in the living room, waiting to see your other outfit. should he make you show up late to the date or—

ding!

choso’s attention shifts to your phone that lit up twice. he wants to look so badly at the text but doesn’t want to invade your privacy, but—

ding!

choso looks around his surroundings as he picks up your phone to see the texts. he feels even more upset when he sees you saved the guy’s contact name as ‘j♡.’

‘ima call u’

just as choso finishes reading the message, you get an incoming call from him, and choso nearly panics. but he starts thinking about how badly he wants you to himself. he answers.

“hey beautiful, i—”

“sorry bro, she’s busy.” choso calmly says as he ends the call.

roommate!choso who knocks at your door as you’re still getting dressed to break the news to you, telling you that your date was spam calling to the point choso had to answer and said, “he canceled last minute.” you didn’t question choso because you knew you could trust him. little did you know…

roommate!choso who comforts you as you feel sad that he flaked on you. choso prepares a mini movie night, getting your favorite snacks and drinks while playing your all-time favorite movie. he makes sure you’re comfortable as he holds you tight in his arms on the couch as you lay on his chest.

“cho,” you say as he continues to rub your head, almost making you sleepy. he hums, “did you lie about him canceling?” you ask, feeling his heart beat quicken.

“yeah…” he says, not having any excuses as you giggle at his honesty.

“do you have feelings for me—”

“so fuckin’ bad,” he quickly answers as you both rise from your position, looking into his pretty brown eyes. at this point, the movie is just background noise as you two forget about it.

“do you want me?” you purr, and he nods rapidly, already getting up from the couch as he drops to his knees, parting your legs to make room for his broad figure.

you stare down at him as he pulls down your pajama shorts and panties, lifting your hips as he quickly throws them behind him. your legs are spread wide, resting on his shoulders, giving him full access.

choso moans as he sees your pretty cunt, giving your folds soft kisses. he’s about to lose his mind as his filthy dreams finally become reality.

you’re growing impatient as he’s basically teasing you, taking his time when you need him now. you tug at his silky hair, pulling it up to make him look at you. “cho—i need you,” you desperately say, and he feels himself grow hard at your neediness.

he doesn’t waste any more time as he dives into your cunt. your whole body jerks forward when you not only feel his tongue enter you but also the metal piercing on his tongue. the cold ball unexpectedly adds more stimulation, making you squirm as he snakes his arms around your thighs to keep you in place, growling into your cunt.

he brings one of his hands to your achy clit, rubbing tiny circles as you arch your back from the couch, moaning loudly from the double stimulation. it’s so fucking messy as choso loudly slurps your arousal, drool mixed with your juices coating his mouth and chin.

“f-fuck, cho, ’s too much,” you shakily say as he pulls away, arousal dripping from his chin as he looks up at you, his expression drunk on you. you unconsciously buck your hips closer to his face, wanting more as he chuckles darkly at your desperation.

he stares at your wet heat and slaps your cunt. your body jolts at the feeling as he repeatedly does it, hypnotized by the way your hole clenches at nothing. choso is starting to lose all sanity as your juices splatter all over his face and the couch. oh, how filthy this was.

“so fuckin’ good, baby, y-you’re so good,” he whines as he lays his tongue flat on your clit, your mind buzzing at the cold metallic ball. choso sucks hard on your clit, the piercing making you cry out in pleasure as it drives you to ecstasy. he slips two fingers deep into your pussy, knuckles deep as he curls them, thrusting in and out, loud squelches of your sloppy cunt echoing in your ears.

you’re already dumb from the intense simulation—the metal ball, his long fingers, his tongue. oh, how he loves your facial expression.

your legs begins to shake uncontrollably, feeling intense waves of your orgasm approaching rapidly as you shudder at the foreign feeling.

“‘m so c-close, cho,” you sob, tears streaming down your face as choso sucks harder at your clit. at this point, he doesn’t hear anything you say—he’s so caught up in his own head, only wanting to pleasure you, forgetting about his raging hard-on pulsating within his briefs.

your orgasm comes intensely as you feel yourself gushing arousal all over his face and the couch. your legs shake rapidly as you continuously spray his face. your vision is blurred as tears flood your eyes, crying out as your climax takes over you.

choso, on the other hand, kneels there, face covered in your cum, everything messy and lewd as his face and your cunt glisten in your arousal. fuckkkk, he thinks as he loses his mind.

“f-fuck, you’re a squirter,” choso moans as he watches your cum dribble down, leaving a pool of your mess soaking into the couch. “mmh, my pretty boy,” you manage to say as you bring a hand to pet his damp messy hair. but choso cannot seem to take his eyes off your sloppy cunt.

after a short tug, he finally looks up at you, quickly rising and smashing his lips onto yours, twirling his tongue around yours as you wrap your legs around his body, grinding his bulge against your bare cunt. you moan into his mouth at the friction, messily making out, tasting yourself on his tongue, your arousal from his face smothering onto yours.

“mhm, i-i’m your pretty boy,” he says as he pulls away from the kiss, looking at you, his face hazy from eating you out. “c-call me your pretty boy again,” he whines, blushing at the thought of being yours.

“my pretty boy—”

you’re interrupted as you hear your phone loudly ring and vibrate beside you. you both groan at the caller id: ‘j♡.’

roommate!choso who sends ‘j♡’ a selfie of both your fucked-out expressions, followed by text,

‘i told u she was busy.’

[gojosconsort]

Saw the requests are open and thought I’d drop something just a tad bit self indulgent🙂. Sukuna, in like a school au, 18 year old. Girl is very timid, and the most sensitive motherfucker ever. Very insecure and anxious. Something that doesn’t really match Sukuna’s personality, his words come out harsh or he seems cold most of the time. He is pushy, he is just how you write him, I guess¿?,. He really loves reader tho. He sometimes gets too frustrated by the reader’s reaction to his needs (ikyk), she’s the type to go home and cry because he said something harsh that he seems to find so normal, but he can figure her out, he knows he made her sad, so how will he react? Things like that.. reader also loves him, but he makes it really hard to stay with him, maybe she decides to break up with him? You write him real good, enjoy your writing so much, I tried being specific with the request but to summarise it angst because Sukuna is an ass but just can’t be away from reader:)))

SUKUNA’S FRAGILE GIRL ♡ // HEADCANONS

⁀➷ CONTENT. you’re the shy, anxious girl who somehow caught sukuna’s eye— he’s the school’s untouchable king but he loves you in his own way. problem is, his harshness keeps breaking you.

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x school-tyrant!sukuna (both legal age)

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. angst, emotional distress, toxic relationship, harsh language, bullying tendencies, possessiveness, implied needs, but nothing graphic, kinda breakup, gaslighting vibes, sukuna being an asshole but soft in his own way

♡ AUTHOR’S NOTE. ohhh not typical what i’d write but i tried and hope u like it! ty for being so specific with the request, that helps A LOT <3

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who’s the guy everyone avoids—built like a tank, tattoos creeping up his neck even in this dumb uniform, and a glare that could kill. you’re the opposite—timid, always fidgeting, voice barely above a whisper. he spots you dropping your books in the hall one day and instead of walking by like everyone else, he picks them up, shoving them at you with a gruff, “watch it, brat.” you mumble a thank you, and he smirks—because something about you sticks in his head.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who doesn’t ask you out—he just decides you’re his girlfriend. corners you after class, leaning against the wall, “you’re with me now, got it? don’t waste my time saying no.” you’re too scared to argue, nodding even though your stomach’s in knots. he’s pushy from the jump—grabs your wrist to drag you to his spot under the bleachers, snaps at you to stop “acting so damn nervous” around him. you love him, though—his rough attention feels like a spotlight, even if it burns.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who doesn’t get why you’re so sensitive—says shit like, “quit looking so pathetic all the time,” when you flinch at his tone, or “what, you gonna cry over that?” when he ditches you to hang with his boys. you do cry, though—lock yourself in your room after school, sobbing into your pillow because his words cut deep, and he doesn’t even seem to care. he’s cold, harsh, like it’s nothing to him, but you can’t stop replaying it, wondering what you did wrong.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who gets frustrated with your hesitance—leans in close one day behind the gym, voice low, “you’re mine, so fuckin’ act like it—stop freezing up.” he wants more—hands on you, lips crashing into yours, rough and demanding—but you’re a jittery mess, too anxious to keep up. he pulls back, pissed, “what’s your problem? i’m not gonna wait forever.” you stammer an apology, but he storms off, leaving you there, heart pounding, tears prickling your eyes.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who knows he fucked up—he sees it in the way you avoid his gaze the next day, how your hands tremble when he’s near. you go home and cry again, harder this time, because you love him but he makes it so damn hard. he texts you late that night, blunt as ever, “you pissed at me or what?” you don’t reply, and it eats at him—he’s not dumb, he can tell you’re hurting, but he’s shit at saying sorry. instead, he shows up at your window, shouting, “open up, dumbass—i’m not leaving.”

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who climbs in when you let him, scowls and sharp edges, but there’s something softer in his eyes. “you’re too fuckin’ fragile, y’know that?” he mutters, sitting on your bed next to you. you snap—voice shaky but firm—“i can’t keep doing this, ‘kuna. you’re mean.” he freezes, jaw tight, then grabs your wrist, not rough this time, just desperate, “you’re not breaking up with me. i���ll figure this shit out before you’re gone.”

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who doesn’t apologize outright—he’s too proud—but he tries in his own way. starts sitting closer in class, not saying much, just watching you like he’s afraid you’ll bolt. when he’s horny and pushy again, he catches himself mid-snap, grumbling, “fuck, fine—tell me if it’s too much, alright?” it’s not perfect—he still calls you “weak” or “brat” when you tear up—but he’s learning, and you see it. you stay, because even when he’s an ass, you can’t shake how much he means to you.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who fucks up big one day—yells at you in front of his friends after you flinch at his grip, “stop being such a damn baby!” you don’t cry there—you just turn and walk away, done. that night, you text him, “i can’t anymore. we’re over.” he reads it, doesn’t reply, but an hour later he’s at your door, banging loud enough to wake your parents, “open the fuckin’ door—i’m not losing you over this shit.” you let him in, tears streaming, and he’s pissed but wrecked too, “you’re mine, okay? i’ll fix it—just don’t go.”

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who doesn’t let you leave—not really. he’s still harsh, still sukuna, but he holds you tight that night, muttering into your hair, “i’m an asshole, yeah, i get it—just don’t fuckin’ run.” you’re a mess, sobbing into his chest, but you don’t push him away because you love him too, even if it’s a jagged kind of love. he kisses you rough, needy, and it’s not soft or sweet, but it’s his way of saying he’s not letting go.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who wakes up the next morning after your breakdown next to you in your bed and stays there, staring at the ceiling, muttering to himself, “fuck, i’m such a dick.” when you stir, he’s awkward as hell, brushing your hair back with a clumsy hand, “you good, brat? no more crying, alright?” it’s not poetry, but it’s him and you decide to stay once more, caught between his cruelty and his care, and he’s too hooked to ever walk away.

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

[riality-check]

Steve, realistically, shouldn’t even be at this show. He doesn’t care about the band, he didn’t want to make the drive, and he had to bring Anna along because he couldn’t find a babysitter.

But he was going to suck it up to go with Dustin, who immediately bought tickets to see his favorite band when they went on sale. Who called Steve this morning to inform him, somehow both solemnly and frantically, that he had the worst food poisoning known to man, and, that until he stopped puking and shitting at the same time, he could not leave the bathroom.

Steve very much did not need to know that.

With Dustin went the rest of the Babysitters’ Club, all of them having eaten the same shady pizza and suffering the consequences. The only exception was Mike, lactose intolerant but cursed to take care of his idiot friends.

He texted Steve to ask if he had extra bleach. Steve dropped it outside the house because no way in hell was he entering that building.

Dustin assured him, amidst too much detail and shockingly disgusting background noise, that both tickets shouldn’t go to waste, and with no one able to babysit Anna, Steve should take advantage of both.

So, here he is. Standing in the first level - Dustin couldn’t get floor tickets, thank God - of a show for a metal band he has no intention of ever listening to and holding his four-year-old daughter, who has bright pink ear defenders looped around her neck in preparation for when it gets really, really loud.

“When are they starting?” she asks for the fourth time in as many minutes, with a sigh too big for her little body.

“In a few minutes,” Steve says, keeping an eye on the stage, where he watches the crew set up. Mad respect for them hustling so hard. He could never.

The seats are slowly filling up, and Steve feels a little sad for the first opener, a little sad that they don’t have a full house for their set.

A group of four guys takes the seats right next to Steve, with a pale, long-haired, big-eyed guy right next to him. He’s got tattoos on his arms and rings on all his fingers and a silver bar through his upper ear.

And he’s arguing emphatically with his friend next to him.

“I’m telling you, American Psycho is more recognizable!” he says, hands flying. Steve discreetly makes sure he and Anna aren’t within striking distance. “Not to mention cheaper!”

“A prop chainsaw,” his friend - a short white guy with shorter but equally wild hair - says, “can’t possibly be that hard to find by tomorrow.”

“We already have the axe!”

“I’m with Eddie,” the big white guy at the end of their group says. “I’m a sucker for American Psycho.”

“Okay, but I’m the guy who has to use the props,” the fourth friend, a Black guy with short braids who looks annoyed at this conversation, like they’ve had it before. “And I think I’d have more fun with the chainsaw.”

Eddie - the guy with long hair and heavy jewelry and hands with a mind of their own - rolls his eyes. It’s a full body movement, one that has him spinning to face Steve. When he does, his face cycles through a myriad of emotions too fast for Steve to really track.

“Hi, pretty boy,” he says. His eyes then dart down to Anna, who stares at him with her head cocked to the side. “Pretty dad. Dad. Pretty. Hi.”

“Eddie,” the short guy cautions.

“Yeah, sorry, anyway, can you be a tiebreaker for us?”

“Sure,” Steve says. Anna squirms, so he lets her out of his lap to stand, holding her hand all the while. “What do you need?”

“American Psycho or Texas Chainsaw Massacre?” the big guy asks.

“You gotta give him context.”

“No, I don’t, Jeff.”

The guy who said he’d be using the props - whatever that means - rolls his eyes and stops fighting.

“What’s American Psycho?” Anna asks, choosing the best time to pay attention to the conversation, like always.

“A movie you’re too young to see,” Steve says. “And the one I’m picking out of those two.”

“Oh, thank you,” Eddie says, using a tone that better fits Steve saving his drowning dog or something. He then turns to the rest of his friends and says, “I fucking told you!”

Anna gasps. “You’re not s’posed to say that!”

Jeff smothers a laugh behind his hands, while the other three guys stare at Anna, half confused, half admiring.

Eddie clears his throat, looking significantly abashed. "Sorry, Miss-"

"Anna," she says.

"Anna," Eddie finishes. Then he turns to Steve. "And you are?"

"Steve. No Mister for me though. I might be a dad, but I'm not that old."

"You are old, Daddy," Anna says.

Steve frowns down at her, where she stands at his feet. She's smiling, mischievous like she always is when she says something along these lines. "I'm not that old."

"Yeah you are! You're like, you're like, like, fifteen."

Jeff gives up on hiding his laughter.

"I'm older than fifteen," Steve says gently, trying not to laugh.

Anna’s jaw drops. “You are?”

“Thank God for that,” Eddie mutters, then shuts his jaw with an audible click.

Steve tried to come up with an answer for that, but someone comes on a mic and starts playing the drums, so he moves the defenders over Anna’s ears and pays attention to the show instead.

It's... fun, he guesses. Fun if he were into it, maybe. The first opener has a lot of energy, even if the music isn't melodic enough for Steve's taste. He finds himself tapping along to the steady beat, moving slightly in his seat to the music.

It's nice background noise. He'd put this on while he grades papers. It's steady enough to fill his head but doesn't have a whole lot of lyrics he could get distracted by and sing along to.

Eddie and his friends, meanwhile, are having the time of their lives. The short guy - Gareth, Steve thinks his name is - mimes the drum part of each song with startling accuracy. Archie jumps up and down, Jeff absolutely screams along, and Eddie-

Anna stares up at Eddie, eyes wide and jaw slacked as she watches him bang his head to the music.

Steve almost snaps a picture of it, this little moment, before the second song ends and Eddie snaps out of his zone.

He shakes the hair out of his face, then looks down at Anna, who's still staring at him. "What?"

She cocks her head to the side in a mirror of his. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"The," she pauses, then starts shaking her head really hard, side to side. Steve puts a hand on her shoulder before she slams into the chairs in the row in front of them.

Eddie laughs. "The headbanging?"

"Yeah," Anna says, nodding.

"It's a way I move to the music," Eddie explains.

"Like dancing?"

"Sort of," Eddie says. "It's easier. I look stupid when I dance."

"You're not s'posed to say that," Anna tells him solemnly. "Right, Daddy?"

Steve meets Eddie's eyes. Even with the lights down, they're big and pretty and reflective, and Steve is going to kick himself so hard if he chickens out before he can get his number.

"Right," he says, still looking at Eddie. "We're not supposed to call ourselves stupid."

"Sorry," Eddie whispers.

"Don't be."

Anna tugs on Steve's hand, then Eddie's. "Teach me."

"Anna," Steve cautions.

"Can you please teach me?" she corrects.

Eddie glances down at Anna, then back up at Steve. "If it's-"

"Go ahead," Steve says because Eddie has more than passed the vibe check at this point.

Eddie crouches down as a new song starts up, and while Steve can't hear what he's telling her, he sees her smile, bright as day.

By the last song of the first opener, Anna is headbanging along with Eddie, off-beat in the say little kids always are but more than making up for it with effort.

Steve gives into the impulse to take a picture.

When the first opener finishes, Steve picks Anna back up and takes her ear defenders off.

"Woah," she says. "Can I keep them-"

"Nope," Steve says. "They stay on when the music is on. You heard it fine, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but you-"

"I have my earplugs in," Steve says, pointing at them.

"So do I," Eddie says, and when he moves his hair back, sure enough, there are black earplugs nestled in his ears.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy to wear earplugs," Steve says.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy to come of a metal show," Eddie counters.

Anna climbs out of Steve's arms and onto his back, where she loops her arms around his shoulders and just hangs, like she does sometimes when she gets bored.

Weirdo kid, Steve thinks affectionately.

"That's because I'm not," Steve says. "I was supposed to come with a friend, but he got sick."

"Yikes," Eddie says. "You coming tomorrow, too?"

"I am," Steve says. "Are you?"

Eddie raises his eyebrows, like he didn't expect Steve to ask that. "Yeah, we'll be here. Not in these seats, though."

The lights go back down before Steve can ask what he means by that. He reaches behind him, scoops Anna back down on the ground, and puts her ear defenders on by the time the second opener strikes a scary-sounding opening chord.

Anna doesn't look scared at all. From the moment the music starts, she looks up at Eddie, and when he starts headbanging, she does, too.

Yup. Steve has effectively created a monster.

He contemplates, if Dustin is fine by tomorrow, skipping out on the show and giving his ticket to Anna, but that means not seeing Eddie again.

He really wants to see Eddie again, even if he won’t have the same seats.

Whatever that means.

Steve decides not to focus on that. He decides instead to focus on the moment. He listens to the music. He lets Anna take his hand and dance with it. He bops his head along with hers, but not too hard because he can’t risk aggravating his whiplash.

He enjoys the show, even if it’s not his cup of tea. It’s easy to enjoy the show, with Eddie next to him. It’s easy to enjoy his wild hair and pretty jewelry and big eyes and contagious enthusiasm.

It’s easy to see the way Eddie looks at him.

It’s also very easy, after the venue clears and Anna falls asleep in the car on the way home, to forget to ask for his number.

Shit.

(Part 2 is alive!!)

[barnesandwilsons]

Maybe, Just Maybe

a/n: yess guys i watched thunderbolts and i had to do something about it. lovedd the movie sm so here’s a little something i wrote… idk if i should write more because it’s literally just an introduction..??? didnt even bother to proof-read before i end up deleting everything

pairing: bucky x reader

tw: really bad thoughts from reader, bucky being sweet, walker being semi-mean, Red Room mentioned, bucky gives reader his clothes.

word count: 2k+..?

summary: you're a new recruit to the thunderbolts, only knowing yelena from your old days, you struggle to find your place in this new environment.

---

You stepped off the black transport van, keeping your shoulders tense with your eyes scanning everything. A special thanks to your time at the Red Room –giving you paranoia forever. The cold air immediately greeted you as it pushed past your thin ass jacket, you didn’t shiver at all. You’re used to these types of climate, you couldn't afford to look weak in front of your new team. The Thunderbolts.

Behind her, Yelena dropped down from the van and gave her a light push with her arm. “You good?” she asks, in a low volume for only you to hear.

You gave her a curt nod and looked ahead of you, Yelena led the way towards the New Avengers tower. You notice a buff man with a metal arm standing in front of the doors, his arms crossed over his chest. 

One thing about the Red Room – it traumatized you. You were conditioned to have no fear. But, after years outside that hellhole – thanks to Yelena and Natasha – you started to feel things. Emotions. Fear. Distrust. Sadness.

Many people will describe you as always uncomfortable; in other terms you were uncomfortable around people you didn’t know. Coming back to the States, you realized some people truly are evil assholes. 

Yelena greets the man with the arm, “Hey, tin-man.”

He looks at her and nods his head towards you in confusion. You immediately grow nauseous.

“She’s with me.” Yelena reminds him.

He looks at you for a beat too long, your fingers twitch at your sides. You hate this feeling – actually being seen, a strong contrast to your old ways – disappearing in a flash. You turn your gaze away, fixating on a crack on the floor near your feet.

“Right,” the big guy said – Bucky Barnes, you remembered, the Winter Soldier, without his long hair he looks like a new man, he steps aside and realizes his harsh demeanor as he fixes it with a small smile, “Welcome.”

You say nothing as you walk past him with the blonde. Yelena says, “Y/N keep walking straight to the elevator and wait for me.” You continue walking as Yelena turns to Bucky.

“She’s not great with people.” Yelena says protectively, “So, don't take it personally.”

Bucky scoffs, “Didn’t notice.” Bucky really doesn’t blame you. He hasn’t met you for longer than 4 minutes and he can already tell you were damaged. In the nicest way possible, you reminded him of his old self.

Yelena tuts and walks to where you’re standing really awkwardly. You give her a smirk. “Nice digs.”

Yelena smirks, glad she finally has a place to call home, “You should see the kitchen, totally worth it.” She hits the button for the elevator, causing it to immediately open as you both step in.

—

NEXT WEEK

The mission didn't go exactly as planned. Many more bodies were wasted than anticipated. Bucky and You were partners in the same sub-division, meanwhile Walker and Yelena were on the other side of the building.

As the team made it inside the Avengers tower, Walker yelled, “Are you guys really that incompetent you can’t follow simple procedures?”

You frown, jaw tense, you know you messed up but he was being a tiny bit harsh. He turns to you and immediately frowns, “And you! The fuck is your problem–”

Before he says anything else, Yelena steps between you silently, face held up, like a shield. 

Walker’s sentence falters – because let’s be real who isn’t a tiny bit afraid of Yelena.

“She made a mistake,” Yelena says, her voice even.

Walker scoffs, clearly done with this shit, “Whatever. Next time, keep her in check.”

No one moves until he storms out the room, his footsteps finally fading away to his room. Bucky then turns to you, “You okay?”

You’re about to answer, but Yelena does that for you, “She’s fine.”

Bucky looks to Yelena, then to you, then back at her and nods awkwardly, “Alright then.” Then he makes his way to the kitchen, probably to get himself some much needed coffee. Yelena follows him and you can’t help but feel helpless, you know you made a mistake, but it isn’t your fault. You did seem a bit kill-hungry, maybe it was the way the Red Room had embedded this hunger into you. Or maybe it was the coping methods you used to relieve yourself from the never-ending weight of the world on your shoulders.

After they leave, you exhale a breath you didn’t even know you took. You make your way into your room and look around. You curse yourself for thinking you can do this —- because you can’t.

Not with how your hands won’t stop shaking once you’re alone. Your heartbeat trying to claw its way out your chest, and certainly not with that terrible voice in your head whispering that you’re shit, and that you always will be.

You sit on the edge of your bed and dig your fingers into your stomach, hopefully trying to drown out these thoughts with pain. Repeating that you’re fine and this is totally normal. 

Add that to the list of the many things that's wrong with you.

You sit in the dark for a while, the warmness of your room seeping into your bones, the soft hum of the compound being the only sound. You think about how Walker’s words sting, you think about the 4 bodies that happened to die by your hand today, you think about how Bucky looked at you as if he was trying to understand you. 

You almost chuckle at the thought because you're still trying to understand yourself. You hated that he looked at you so gently. How his blue eyes tried to unravel your soul and purpose of being here. You hated it because it made you want to spill your secrets, on why you’re like this, on how the Red Room forged you into this fucked-up piece of shit who can barely form a single thought without thinking about the blood on your hands.

You dig the fingers against your stomach harder. 

Oh the unnecessary deaths.

You hate that part of you still flinches when someone raises their voice, even if it is Walker being a jackass. You hate that you aren’t normal enough to love the fact that someone as sweet and kind-looking as Bucky motherfucking Barnes even looks your way. Because what if he sees your worth? What if he finds out that you truly are damaged and unfixable?

You’re not good. You’re not a hero. Hell, if the perspectives were turned, you were a villain. You’re blessed to have Yelena fight for you because you’ve done immeasurable things. You don’t even count yourself as a person anymore, you were forged and made into a weapon. Someone who was kept on a leash from an early age, you have to pretend you’re healed from it. No emotion and no hesitation showing; just how it was back in the Red Room. You’re not even sure about how you didn’t snap yet.

You press your forehead into your knees, maybe staying this way will dull away the pain. Just for the night. You need to find a way to deal with this before it gets worse, because you can’t afford to fall apart now. Not when you can feel something good within these four walls. A family. The Thunderbolts didn’t turn you away when Yelena brought you here. You have to prove to them that you belong here.

A knock raps gently on your door.

Once. Then Twice.

You freeze. You don’t answer. Silently praying to any God that can hear you that whoever it is will go away. As you hold your breath you hear a voice,

“It’s me.” 

Your face cringes. Fuck. You blink, once, then twice, then again for good measure.

Bucky.

“I–” He pauses, careful about his choice of words, “I know you’re probably not in the mood. I just wanted to – I made you a sandwich.”

You frown, tilting your head to the left. He made you a sandwich?

You don't speak yet. You don’t even move from your spot.

But he doesn’t leave, he continues, “It’s a peanut butter sandwich.”

You stare at the door. You hate how sweet this man is. His kindness feels as if you’re using him, like if he offers you a sliver of kindness, you’re taking something that you don’t deserve.

You get up from the bed, because now that you think of it. You are hungry. You open the door and see that he has changed into a much comfier set of clothes; a black shirt showing off his metallic metal arm, along with gray sweatpants. You can’t lie, he looks good right now.

As soon as you open the door, he looks down at you and notices you still in your gear. But before he even mentions that, you say something, “I’m allergic.”

He looks confused. “Huh?”

“To peanut butter.”

He blinks, “Allergic?”

You nod sadly, “Deadly, even.”

Silence. Another beat of silence passes as you guys share eye contact. Then, Bucky chuckles, “Yelena literally made you a peanut butter sandwich yesterday.”

You freeze. Oops. “It was my cheat day.”

“Yeah, okay,” His lip twitches, almost like he’s fighting a smile. You’re funny, he’ll give you that. “Well besides your allergies, I can make something else?”

You cringe. Maybe Bucky Barnes is something good. Maybe he is the light at the end of the tunnel. Or maybe you’re spiraling to have something good in your life. Either way, it doesnt change the fact that he’s practically begging you to eat.

You glance down at your tactical boots, you still see remnants of blood on them. “You don't have to.”

“I know,” he says simply, “But, I’m still here.”

Your eyes flick back up to meet his. Warmth. He’s not trying to push. Just offering.

“I dont know what, I would like to eat,” You admit softly as you cross your arms across your chest.

But that doesn't faze him, “Good thing, we have a big ass kitchen, with an even bigger food selection."

You snort under your breath softly, he smiles at your response. Grateful that he’s finally seen you smile ever since you got here. He’s about to turn to lead you back to the kitchen but he remembered you’re still in your gear.

“Go on and change,” He started, “I know you’re uncomfortable right now.”

You look back into your almost empty room. Kinda embarrassed you admit, “The few clothes I came with happen to be in the wash..”

He pauses, brows furrowing slightly before his expression softens, “Hold on.”

He disappears back into his room at the end of the hallway, leaving you at the doorway, half regretting that you opened the door and the other half grateful that you did. When he returns he’s holding a black hoodie and gray sweats – which looks incredibly too big for you.

“Here,” He offers you, as he holds it out to you as if he’s giving you a high five.

You hesitate. “Isn’t that yours?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s clean though.” He smiles awkwardly. Maybe he’s coming off too strong. He doesn’t wanna scare you off.

You take it. “Thanks.”

He nods. No problem.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” He says, before heading off.

You watch him go and as soon as he’s gone from your vision, you look down at the clothes in your hand… and smile.

You quickly change out your clothes and immediately wear Bucky’s. It’s soft. A nice alternative to the previous clothes you’ve worn. It smells so warm as well. You look into your bathroom mirror and see yourself, you look tired and worn out. Setting a quick reminder to yourself that after your meal, you need to sleep for about 12 hours.

Bucky’s hoodie easily covers your whole torso and is almost too long for your arms. The sweatpants are almost dragging the floor, but they are soft and warm, so who are you to complain?

You couldn't believe it. Just a few hours ago, you were taking lives. But now? Now you are in a new home. With people who might become your new family.

With another quick glance at the mirror, you walk outside making your way into the kitchen.

Not because you’re fine. But because maybe, you’re starting to believe that you could be.

[chuellas]

Midnight City | Growing up with Chuuya and then being separated for years leaves a stain on your relationship that’s hard to navigate. Luckily, maybe unluckily, you have a shared ally (if that’s what you can call him) to help steer the two of you in the right direction, even if he’s the worst driver in the world.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, former Sheep!reader -> ADA!reader, mentions if alcohol, possible minor spoilers for SB and Age 15, use if the terms “Doll” and “Baby” and “Belladonna”, a lot of cussing and name calling, depictions of anxiety/insecurity, edited but who knows how well LOLOLOL, WC: 6.3k (yes i did add that extra scene 💀💀)

A/N | HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY HUSBAND EVERYONE WISH CHUUYA THE HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS PLS I PROMISE HE DESERVES IT 💖💖 I am actually so incredibly excited and nervous for this one because this is our official introduction to my beloved Sheep!reader who is very dear to me. I hope you guys love her as much as I do :((

“When’s Chuuya’s birthday?” The party goes quiet as everyone stares between you and the ginger with caution.

You were all gathered together for Yuan’s birthday, she’s the first one since your own birthday, which turned out miserably. You, Shirase, Chuuya, and a couple of the other Sheep that are your age put together this small party in one of the semi-destroyed buildings that was left behind in Suribachi City. Everything had been going well and even Chuuya seemed to be having a good time, which was a feat since he never really seemed to let himself relax.

Yuan likes to say that for some reason your presence puts him at a certain ease he’s never seemed to be able to reach before knowing you.

You’ve always waved off the notion with a dismissive laugh. Surely, it can’t be all your doing, that’s ridiculous and whenever you would push Yuan for her reasoning she would always just shrug in the most irritating manner that sometimes almost set you off and left your blood boiling irrationally. However, her reaction leads you to believe that she doesn’t even know the logic behind it herself and that was enough to settle it for you. She was simply incorrect.

But now, you think maybe her words hold some weight to them as Chuuya looks at you with an amused grin while everyone else looks like they’re ready to run at the drop of a dime in anticipation of a negative reaction from him. “C’mon guys, loosen up, she didn’t know any better. I don’t have one.”

Oh…Now you understand the hesitation coming from the others.

That’s right, you remember him mentioning that he doesn’t recall much about his past, before the Sheep took him in. His life didn’t really start for him until he was eight years old. He never told you this part himself, but according to Shirase, Chuuya didn’t even know what a piece of bread was. The only thing he clung onto was his name and the number of years he’s been on this earth, all other knowledge had to be relearned. 

The thought always fills you with a certain sadness that you can’t quite seem to place, or even begin to explain. It’s certainly not the same sadness that you’ve been plagued with since the incident. This one is different from grief, it’s an empathetic type of sadness. Not pity, but maybe something akin to it?

“I- Sorry, I forgot…” You suddenly feel embarrassed at your confession, something as important as Chuuya not remembering a single thing about himself shouldn’t be so easily forgotten.

Chuuya is impatient, you’ve caught on to that quickly. He is outwardly annoyed when someone wastes his time or makes him repeat himself. But he’s never been that way with you, he is always patient with you and you’ve never understood it. You noticed it for the first time pretty early on in your friendship with the three slightly older sheep. Maybe Yuan had noticed it too and that is what she always meant when she said you put him at ease.

Just as you expect, Chuuya shakes his head and waves you off with a light hearted smile. “Nah, you don’t gotta apologize. We usually celebrate my birthday in December. The twenty seventh was when I was found by these guys. So it’s my…Substitute birthday. At least I guess that’s what you’d call it.”

You perk up at the mention of a “substitute” birthday, the idea of the Sheep still celebrating him for a day filling you with an unfamiliar warmth that you decide to ignore for the time being. Chuuya works hard for all of you, constantly on patrol and taking down any goons that try to fill the pockets of any trafficking ring. It’s common to find in Suribachi City, desperate men snatching children just to get a quick buck. Chuuya found that part of his duties the funnest, especially if it’s the Port Mafia’s ring he’s messing with.

Most of the Sheep had a hatred for the Port Mafia in common, but it was still something you and Chuuya have been able to bond over.

“Talking about someone else’s birthday on my own is illegal. Major party foul you guys!” Yuan chimes in and instantly the atmosphere goes back to the way it had been previously.

You let out a snort at the pink haired girl’s outburst and roll your eyes with a smile plastered on your face. You pretend to listen to whatever tangent Yuan decides to go on about her own birthday and the plan she has for the rest of this party. You try your best to pay attention and take her seriously, but you find yourself distracted. Your eyes keep flickering back over to the ginger and in the back of your mind, you’re wondering if there’s any way you could ever figure out when Chuuya’s real birthday is. 

Dazai is pissing you off, his usual obnoxious persona amped up all the way to a ten today. It started with a seemingly innocent little question that he now refuses to answer after seeing your puzzled expression. His snide remarks all day are making you want to rip your hair out and shove your foot in his mouth because he’s clearly getting off on your utter confusion, something he never seems to elicit out of you so easily. So, when he is able to get a rise out of you he seems to revel in it, proud of himself. He’s been relentless the entirety of the day, probably to use it as an excuse to not do any of his paperwork that’s been piling up. 

You just need to get him to shut the hell up if he isn’t going to clue you in on what he’s been going on about all day. You have to keep reminding yourself that you’re at the agency and murder or maiming is usually frowned upon — depending on who you ask at least. However, as of right now, you don’t think you could handle a lecture from Kunikida on staining the carpet with blood or a disapproving look from Fukuzawa.

You sigh heavily when the same annoying presence once again sits itself next to you. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear, “I can’t believe you haven’t figured out what today is!” Dazai sings out, clearly pleased with your ire.

“It's Tuesday, April 29th, Dazai. I told you the first time you asked, and again when you asked later in the morning and again after I came back from my quick patrol. My answer has not changed. Clearly I'm missing something that you aren’t telling me. So if you aren’t going to, could you please—for the love of God—leave me alone and go do your work?” You swear your eye twitches as his eyebrows shoot up and mouth forms into a circle in what is clearly faux shock.

Your hunch that he’s mocking you is solidified when he lets out a scandalized gasp. “Don’t tell me…did that slug never tell you what today is?”

Your stomach drops. This is no longer funny, nor just annoying, your stomach churns at the mention of Chuuya. This is just plain cruel of Dazai at this point, somehow he always manages to show off just how much closer he is with both you and Chuuya than the two of you are with each other after all these years apart from one another. Dazai knows, you have never told the brunette how you feel but you know that he’s aware that you see Chuuya as more than just a childhood friend. What you don’t know is that Dazai is also aware of the way Chuuya feels similarly about you as you do about him. 

The former mafioso’s intention isn’t to be cruel, it’s to gently guide you and Chuuya in the right direction. The moment you gave him that puzzled look, he had texted Chuuya calling him an imbecile. Of course the executive blew up his phone with several texted insults and expletives but the brunette was happily ignoring all of them.

Dazai’s attempts in steering you in the right direction were futile, failing miserably — his definition of steering definitely being skewed, he’s admittedly never been a very good driver.

The detective frowns in an uncharacteristically serious manner and then whispers out, “Do you really not know?” so softly, almost as if you weren’t supposed to hear it at all and the words confuse you so much that you don’t even know how to respond to that.

So instead, here you are, wallowing in self pity. It stings to think there is something you aren’t privy to, something clearly important, just because of how much closer Dazai seems to be with the ginger than you are. You can’t help the insecurity that begins to bubble up inside of you. It’s an ugly, gross feeling, a feeling of envy. You want to throw up at the thought of admitting to yourself that you’re jealous of Dazai.

You swallow your pride, as well as various other emotions related to the color green, mustering up the courage to finally utter the questions you know Dazai has been waiting for you to ask. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you please tell me what today’s importance is and what it has to do with Chuuya?”

You don’t know why you hadn’t noticed it before — Dazai was previously tense but the moment you ask him the question to explain himself, he seems to relax. The change is so slight that if you hadn’t been watching him so intently and didn’t know him better, you definitely would not have caught it at all. Knowing him he is probably relieved that he didn’t have to give up the information before you conceded. The thought kind of pisses you off though, because that means whether you gave in and asked or not, he always planned on telling. You know Dazai has his suicidal tendencies, but you’ve always been under the impression that he didn’t care for dying by your hands

“I’m glad you asked!” His tone is overly excited, back to being eccentrically unserious, and you roll your eyes at his theatrics. “Today is a very special day because…” 

Dazai claps his hands together and sings out, “Today is Chuuya’s birthday!”

You sit there, dead panned as you stare at dazai. Maybe murder isn’t that bad of an option after all and you shouldn’t let Dazai dictate whether he dies by your hands or not, that’s not really his decision to make anyways. What's a little scolding from Kunikida? Compared to the daily headaches you get from the brunette sitting next to you it was nothing.

You’re baffled, completely gobsmacked, for three reasons.

The first reason being why the hell would dazai have kept this pertinent information from you? He knows how you feel about Chuuya, he was regrettably the person you went to when you came to the devastating realization that you still had feelings for the now Port Mafia executive. He also knows how important birthdays are to you, so he should have told you sooner. Hell, the eccentric detective should have told you several days earlier. You suppose there’s nothing you can do about that now and should be happy that he didn’t let you go the entire day being ignorant.

The second reasoning is a little trickier. Why didn’t you know today was Chuuya's birthday? Yes, it’s true he had no idea when his birthday was back when you were both still a part of the Sheep. So, the question is when did he figure it out? How the hell did Dazai know when it was and you didn’t. Had it really never come up in conversation? You’re sure you would have remembered it if it had because that’s a pretty important detail, although you did manage to forget he didn’t have a birthday all those years ago, but you think you should get a pass for that considering those were different circumstances. You remember the date December twenty-seventh, the day he used to celebrate as his birthday. The day you have celebrated with him in the past. Dazai knowing Chuuya’s real birthday is just another glaring example showing just how little you know each other now in adulthood.

The last reason is what has you scrambling out of your seat and checking your phone desperately to find last minute gifts. Suddenly all knowledge you have of the Port Mafia executive vanishes. What are his favorite things? His favorite food, his favorite wine, his favorite flowers, even his favorite movie. All of the things you can possibly think of being easily obtainable escape you at this moment. 

You think you might actually cry. 

Dazai, who was watching in amusement, furrows his brow in slight concern as he watches the way your anxiety spiking manifests physically. He can see it in your unfocused eyes — you’re spiraling. Something in the pit of his stomach twists. Guilt, most likely. He was just trying to have a bit of fun with you but now he has to face the consequences of his actions and suddenly he’s not having fun anymore. The realization that you hadn’t just forgotten the slug’s birthday but never even knew when it is decidedly not funny.

Dazai has forgotten one crucial detail, he forgot how important birthdays truly are to you. Which he thinks is so featherheaded of him when you had made his birthday last year only one out of a handful he’s ever actually enjoyed. Maybe he was being greedy. Maybe even a little spiteful, he had a penchant for doing things out of spite, one trait that has stuck with him even now that he’s with the ADA. Maybe he didn’t want Chuuya to experience the same thing, he didn’t really deserve it after everything he put you through, but then again neither did Dazai—not really and especially not after he kept so much from you when you had trusted him.

“I can't believe you, Dazai. I really thought you couldn’t surprise me anymore. Why the hell would you wait until the very last minute to tell me that?” You curse under your breath as you simultaneously search up vintage wines that are up to chuuya’s taste and begin to pack up your belongings to leave for the day. You groan as you realize all of the wines are wildly expensive. “Jesus Christ, how well does the mafia pay? These prices can cover at least a year's worth of groceries.”

The cheapest of the labels you’re looking at are a mis-batch from a few decades ago that had been bottled incorrectly and mislabeled. Even then they are still well out of your price range and probably taste awful. Sure you have savings but you aren’t even sure of what type of red wine Chuuya prefers. 

You have to switch tactics, but before you can, Dazai snatches the phone out of your hand and starts pushing you towards the exit of the agency. “Dazai- what-!?” 

“Hush, Belladonna. I’m going to help you out just this once.” You struggle to keep your feet planted but it’s no use because Dazai has always been deceptively strong.

You glance back at him over your shoulder with an exasperated expression, “What have I told you about call-“

“Yeah yeah. Let me have this. I am helping you after all.” He waves his hand dismissively and you narrow your eyes back at him, because he says that as if he isn’t the reason you’re in this mess to begin with. “We'll be back later Kunikida-kun.”

“Dazai- what the hell- where are you taking me?!” Dazai ignores your protests and shoves you out the door.

Chuuya has been checking his phone almost obsessively all day. He's not even sure what it is exactly that he’s waiting for. The executive has received birthday wishes from everyone that’s already aware of what today is. So why the hell was he still hoping for one more?

As if he didn’t just convince himself no one else is going to text or call him, Chuuya picks up his phone from the center console in his car and checks for any new notifications. The ginger chuckles humorlessly at himself. It’s almost pathetic how worked up he is over a single birthday greeting from a single person. He hadn’t even told you when his birthday was—he’s actually pretty sure you’re not even aware that Chuuya now knows when his birthday is. So, why would you just happen to know? 

Maybe that damn bandaged freak clued you in on what today was. Chuuya scoffs at the ridiculous thought, as if. He climbs out of his car shaking his head. Dazai is ever the self serving bastard, there is no way he would do Chuuya a favor like that. Still, there was a pang of hope because despite Dazai being Dazai, the ginger was well aware of just how much you mean to the detective and he thought just maybe that mackerel would have told you as a favor to you.

The trek up from the parking garage to his apartment is agonizing. He couldn’t help himself, he’s been checking his notifications methodically every thirty seconds. Each time he’s disappointed by the absence of your contact icon and name. 

Chuuya really only has himself to blame, he should just put aside his damn pride and give you a call to ask for you to come over and spend what’s left of his birthday together, but he can’t seem to bring himself to do that.

It’s so pathetic.

The elevator dings and the executive steps out only to instantly realize something is off. Chuuya is quick to activate his ability, the smell of food being cooked and the noise of pots and pans being sifted through in his kitchen instantly have him on high alert. How the hell did someone get into his apartment? This complex is a high security building with Chuuya not being the only executive nor the only person from the Port Mafia living in this building. 

Chuuya quietly rounds the corner to his kitchen, careful not to make a single sound as he uses his ability to just barely hover over the floorboards, fully ready to subdue whoever found it smart to enter his home without permission when he recognizes the figure humming over a pan of food. 

“God damnit, Doll, I thought you were an intruder- the hell are ya doin’ here?!” You let out a startled yelp and Chuuya quickly releases his ability not wanting to scare you more than he already has.

You stare frozen at the ginger wide eyed and mouth agape for a few moments. Chuuya watches as your mouth flaps open and close while you try to form a sentence but your words seem to get stuck in your throat after the start he gave you. Before you can force out an explanation, your timer goes off and you perk up. Chuuya can barely keep up as you don his oven mitts and begin to pull something out of the oven. You move so naturally around Chuuya's kitchen that he can almost imagine this was just a regular thing you did with him. 

The executive can feel his face heat up as he lets his imagination run wild and he tries desperately to shake the thought off altogether but the sound of you humming and still running around his kitchen with ease is not helping.

The gravity manipulator clears his throat and tries to coax any information out of you so he wasn’t so damn confused. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

“Ah…Well…You see…” You finally stop to look at him, finally finding your voice, you point your spatula at one of his bar stools where a tan trench coat is draped over it.

Chuuya glares at the article of clothing, almost practicalling snarling at it. “Don’t tell me you let that freak roam around my apartment?”

“Who do you take me for? No, absolutely not. He said he was just going to the bathroom.” 

Chuuya doesn’t seem satisfied by that answer. “How long ago was that?”

A look of realization crosses your face and you both know what your answer is going to be. Too long, he has been gone for too long and probably started snooping around just like Chuuya was worried about. One look at your face and the ginger knows that you’ve come to the same conclusion. You’ve become too trusting of the brunette, Chuuya knows that you knew better, that you probably should have kicked dazai out the moment he had served his purpose of getting you into this apartment. Although Chuuya does know better than anyone else just how convincing Dazai can be, it’s hard to argue with him.

You stand there sheepishly, guilt written all over your face and Chuuya lets out a sigh of defeat, because how the hell is he supposed to blame you for Dazai’s schemes? “It’s fine. I’ll look for him in a minute. First, you never told me what you’re doing here.”

“Ah- I wanted to cook you something special. You’re always doing the cooking and as much as I appreciate and adore your food, I thought I’d return the favor today.” You fiddle with the oven mitts in your hands, twisting them anxiously and the sight makes Chuuya’s heart swell so suddenly that he has to look away before he bursts. “I also got you a present…But you don’t get to open that until after dinner.”

It’s funny how one small gesture from you makes Chuuya’s worries disappear in an instant. “Why would you do all this for me?”

The executive doesn’t want to get his hopes up but he’s pretty sure he has an idea as to why you’re doing all this. Why Dazai helped you break into his apartment. Why you’re putting together a home cooked meal for him. You know, Dazai must have actually done Chuuya a favor and told what today’s significance is. No, that’s not it, the detective did it for you. Either way, the ginger is grateful for it.

“What do you mean? It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” You tilt your head at him in puzzlement, like it’s simply the most obvious thing in the world.

Chuuya swears you steal all his breath with just one look. His chest tightens even more than it did previously and a fond smile creeps up his cheeks and settles in his bicolored eyes. He probably looks like a fool, but he just can’t really bring himself to care how he looks right now. His focus zeroed in on you. 

The ginger manages to let out an astonished chuckle. “It is, yeah. It’s my birthday.”

Chuuya can’t help how elated he is, this is what he’s wanted all day. He couldn’t bring himself to just outright tell you it was his birthday, he didn’t want it to seem like an obligation. But, god, did he want to hear the words fall from your gorgeous lips. Your voice drips in honey like always as you softly speak the greeting.

“Happy birthday, Chuuya.” Your smile is warm, igniting a fire inside of him and creating a heat that pools in his chest.

Chuuya lets out another chuckle, this one far more breathier than the last one, his cheeks hurting from just how widely he’s smiling. “So, I guess Dazai told you then? Thank you, Doll. Whatcha’ makin’?”

“Yeah, Dazai told me, he thought I already knew and just forgot…He also told me that after all these years, your favorite food is still rice?” You scrunch up your nose at him. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard by the way. C’mon Chuuya. rice? After all these years of being with the Port Mafia, you’d think you’d have a better palate than that.”

Chuuya lets out an almost giddy laugh. He can’t help himself, having you here doing something like this for him makes him feel light. It’s much like a feather floating, being carried by a gentle breeze and what a soothing breeze you are. More than just a breath of fresh air.  But it’s not just like a feather, it’s also like the light that shines down on someone, a ray of sunshine blanketing one in warmth. That’s what you are, what you have always been to Chuuya. 

He’s never been able to explain it, he’s never been able to explain why you’ve made him feel this way since day one but regardless of that, you just do.

This whole scenario is all so domestic, although Chuuya would much rather be making the food with you, he’s also not going to complain about you making him dinner. Maybe next time you come over, because no way is this going to be the last time you come over. Maybe you two can cook one of your favorite dishes next time. The idea alone makes his stomach flutter, somehow the thought makes him feel even giddier than he was when you told him what you were doing for him and why.

Chuuya can’t keep denying the power you hold over him anymore. 

He shrugs at you, a smile still plastered on his face. “It's diverse. There's a lot you can do with rice. I bet we aren’t just having rice, am I right?”

“Well…no. Of course we aren’t. That would be psychotic. Eating plain white rice for your birthday dinner? Absolutely not. I'm making Oyakodon. I hope that’s ok…” Chuuya watches you intently as your expression shifts back into an anxious frown. 

The ginger thinks he can figure out what the sudden change in your demeanor is about. You know that he’s used to fine dining, being in the Port Mafia it’s common for meetings with allies to be hosted over dinner. You’re worried about your cooking not fitting to the standards of fine dining. He understands your hesitation but rice is not a dish someone can really mess up.

The executive watches you as your hands falter in plating both of your meals. You had finished cooking not long after he entered the apartment, solely focusing on getting everything mixed and prepared. It all smells absolutely divine. He can’t imagine he won’t enjoy the meal you’ve made and even if he didn’t like it, he would never tell you so.

Chuuya walks over to you and presses his gloved finger between your brows and rubs it in circles to massage the crinkles away. “Don’t worry so much. It smells exquisite, I love Oyakodon. I'm sure it’ll taste delicious. Do you need any help?”

“No. Not from you, this is your birthday dinner. No work for you—Well, actually maybe some work for you. Can you go get dazai? I made him a to-go plate. He tried to invite himself to dinner and this was the only thing I could think of to make him happy and still get him to leave.” You pick up a disposable tupperware container filled to the brim with the most delicious looking and smelling food Chuuya has ever laid his eyes on. 

You’re too good to that lazy bastard.

The ginger chuckles and shakes his head. “Sometimes I think you spoil that bastard too much, y’know that?”

You hum, barely listening to him while shooing him away. “Yeah, yeah. Now shoo. Go get him so we can kick him out.” 

Chuuya puts his hand up in defense as he walks out of the room to find the unwanted guest. His first stop is both hallway bathrooms but, just as chuuya predicted, no sack of bones to be found in either. Naturally the executive checks his own room next. Empty, again and he’s starting to wonder if the brunette is even still here. He moves on to the next room, a guest bedroom that’s been collecting dust for a while now.

The executive doesn’t even need to walk through the threshold to know that he’s found Dazai finally. The lanky figure laying in his extra room has him breathing out a sigh of relief. It's strange to find dazai, of all people, sleeping so soundly. Chuuya still has half a mind to rudely wake up the detective as he notices the unopened expensive bottle of whiskey being tightly held in his clutches, clinging onto it like a child would with a stuffed animal.

The gravity manipulator lets out another sigh, this time in resignation. If it wasn’t for dazai, you wouldn’t have known about chuuya’s birthday. He supposes that he could cut the damn mackerel a break just this once, God only knows how long it’s been since Dazai has gotten some decent rest. The ginger still can’t help but to roll his eyes as he closes the door, only leaving it slightly ajar, knowing Dazai doesn’t care for the dark.

He turns on his heel to make his way back to you only to start at the sight of your figure.

“What was that about spoiling him?” Your tone is teasing but the soft smile on your face is enough to tell Chuuya you appreciate his decision in letting the brunette be.

What the hell were you doing to him? You were making him go soft, normally he wouldn’t think twice about barreling into that room and snatching the bottle of alcohol from that bastard's hands and kicking him out. Now he was letting him get away with it because of your fondness for Dazai.

He wonders if you realize just how much of a hold you have on him, you could easily bring the Port Mafia executive to his knees if you wanted to.

Chuuya would let you get away with it too.

He clicks his tongue and looks away in embarrassment at being caught. “Yeah, well who knows when that jackass last slept. It would take me forever to wake him up and kick him out. Easier to just leave him there.”

You smile at him in amusement and the ginger can feel the way his cheeks heat up, a blush dusting his cheeks and ears in a reddish-pink hue. He wants to say he hates this, the way you make him feel like that fifteen year old boy all over again. He wants so badly to deny it to himself but he can’t bring himself to do it. He enjoys the nostalgic feeling he gets when he’s with you. He loves getting to watch you now as an adult and still have some of the same mannerisms you had back then. He loves that he gets to see you grow with him again once again.

He loves you.

Chuuya thinks he always has. It would explain why you made him feel so comfortable. He can’t believe it took him this long to figure it out.

The ginger shakes off the thought, not ready to tell you what he just discovered quite yet, so instead he rolls his eyes at your amusement and starts pushing you back towards the dining room. “Forget it. C’mon, let’s go eat that delicious meal you prepared.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever the birthday boy wants, he gets.” 

Chuuya almost trips over his own feet at the notion, his mind wandering to places it really ought to not wander to. He’s sailing across dangerous waters, his mind on the verge of drowning if he doesn't tread carefully. You’re partially to blame though. Wording it in such a way that you had to know just how suggestive it sounds. 

But as he looks over at you, your smile is warm and your cheeks rosier than usual.

Oh. You did mean yourself, but Chuuya something in his chest tightens and he thinks it means something deeper than just his previous inappropriate thoughts. How deplorable, Chuuya is truly a bastard that doesn’t deserve someone like you but he’s also selfish and doesn’t know when to stifle an impulse this strong. 

“Really? Anything he wants?” Chuuya’s breath hitches when your response is almost instantaneous.

You look up at him earnestly and repeat yourself, this time it comes out softer as you nod your head. “Anything he wants.”

A year later you lead a blindfolded Chuuya to the roof of the nicest hotel in Yokohama, far more prepared than last year. You made Dazai help with putting this whole thing together. You both spent a month planning this party and it was going to be perfect. Everyone Chuuya cared about was here. You even pulled some strings to invite a couple of old friends.

You smile proudly at your hard work paying off and you haven’t even gotten to the best part: Chuuya’s reaction. 

“Okay, stay right here and no peeking until I say so, got it?” You let go of the executive to join the crowd waiting quietly to greet the guest of honor. Dazai has made himself front and center, slinking his arm around your shoulder and leaning into you with a satisfied smile.

Your nerves overtake you for just a split second, much like they did the year previously when you cooked for him for the first time—which he ended up loving and now when he’s asked what his favorite food is he always answers by saying it’s anything you cook for him. Then you hear it, a reassuring chuckle comes from the person you were always meant to be with, light as a feather like it always has been when he’s with you. Your cheeks flare up at the noise, knowing that it’s a side of him only you really get to see. A rare sight for anyone else that’s here. 

His smile is relaxed and he tilts his head, somehow looking directly at you whilst still being blindfolded. “The last time you surprised me on my birthday, you got me a bottle of wine that you definitely couldn't afford on that detective salary of yours, Baby. I’m kinda scared for your wallet to see what it is this year.”

Your cheeks heat up even more and Dazai has to stifle a giggle of his own. He had been the one to loan you the money for the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine. Where he got the money, you have no idea and frankly you think you’re okay with that. He only let you pay him back for half of it, he claimed he was letting the rest of it slide as his way of making it up to you for not telling you about the ginger’s birthday sooner. Who were you to argue with that logic? Especially when you fed him that night too.

“Just take the blindfold off, would you?” You try to sound annoyed but you’re too excited for him to see it all that your voice comes out a little too eager.

Time seems to slow down just a little when Chuuya reaches up to lift up the blindfold. At the same time all of the lights are being turned on and fireworks are being set off, courtesy of that one lemon guy who’s name you can never seem to remember, his eccentric appearance is always far too distracting for you to ever pay attention to his name. The sky is lit with various color combinations and you all shout surprise at the gravity manipulator. 

You watch him with a wide smile as he lights up with almost a childlike glee at the multitude of love being cast his way. This is the first time in a long time that he has actually looked younger than his—still young—age. His bicolored eyes twinkling in delight as they take in everything from the decorations to the fireworks to the overwhelming amount of people that have shown up for him. 

The moment he sets his eyes on you it’s all over. It’s almost as if you can feel the fireworks igniting in your stomach with the way he is looking at you in utter adoration, knowing exactly who put in the most work to make this happen. He’s moving towards you before you can even react—before you can even comprehend what’s happening he’s right in front of you, sweeping you off of your feet and twirling you around while laughing like an idiot in love. You didn’t think moments like this would ever exist for someone like you, they’re usually reserved for fairytales and happy endings, but maybe this was the start of your own.

Maybe after everything, you deserve this.

Everyone naturally disperses to give you and Chuuya your space before socializing and wishing him a happy birthday properly. 

The ginger is holding your cheeks in his hands gently, still smiling brightly at you. “You did all of this for me?”

You smile at him just as warmly and nod your head. He lets out an incredulous laugh, He scans his surroundings once again, this time noting the people in attendance. His gaze falters when he notices two figures anxiously watching from the edge of the party. Eyes widening his head whips back over to you.

“Is that-”

You nod your head again. “Yeah. I tracked them down for you. You wanna go say hi? Because I definitely would love to catch up.”

Chuuya lets out another laugh but this one cracks in the middle, clearly overtaken by emotion and you think he knows he’s about to burst because he leans down and connects his forehead with your own — suddenly it’s just the two of you standing in the middle of this rooftop. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y’know that? I couldn’t ask for a more perfect gift than your love. I love you so much.”

“I love you, Carrot top. Always.”

RBs are always appreciated <3

[biggesthomuradefender]

kinda long homura rant/analysis

“homura doesn’t care about anybody but madoka !!!!”

literally homura:

originally tried to save all of the girls before she eventually gave up bc it was literally impossible,

literally ran like hell to get sayaka’s soul gem back after madoka chucked it off the bridge and even closely inspected it w such care to make sure it wasn’t damaged at all,

admitted that she has hurt people (most likely the magica quartet, aka all of her friends, bc who else?) and feels immense guilt abt it and wishes she could erase it all (she literally says that hurting mami hurt HER),

can’t bare to kill mami (she looks so conflicted and sad when pointing the gun at her) and can’t even look at her when she shoots her in the leg bc she rly doesn’t want to hurt her,

subconsciously created a desired reality that she brought all of her friends (even kyosuke and hitomi, implying that she even cares for them as well) into where alive, happy, and together (ppl seem to forget that homura’s labyrinth was literally what she’s wanted deep down before it started to fall apart as she realized it was fake; sayaka literally points out how a witch who just wants to keep everyone happy and out of harm can’t be that bad, and kyuubey points out how homura would have most likely preferred to stay in this fake, happy world instead of realizing the horrible truth),

apologizes to kyoko for “getting her involved in this” after she realizes that she herself is the witch, aka most likely apologizing for wasting kyoko’s time when she asked her to go to kazamino city w her and for calling her,

rewrote reality in order to bring sayaka and bebe back to life and give everyone the happy life they always desired and deserved (she is literally willing to proclaim herself as “evil” and “the devil” and be unhappy if it means that madoka and everyone else gets to be happy and alive, safe from all the pain and the incubators who are still trying to prey on them and all magical girls)

… but she only cares abt madoka?

[runninriot]

If You Want It Good, Get Yourself A Bad Boy

written for @steddiesongfics april prompt and as fill for the @steddiebingo main card prompt: high

song inspo: Backstreet Boys, If You Want It to Be Good... | rated: E | wc: 6.037 | tags: recreational drug use, drinking, sexual content, pre steddie, hook-up, Eddie is a little shit and Steve falls fast and hard for it | full tag list and fic on ao3

Tommy’s party sucks, as usual. They can never compete with the ones Steve throws at his house but at least that means Steve isn’t the one in charge for once.

It’s nice not being responsible for what goes on, not having to stay somewhat sober in the likely case the cops make an appearance. Or having to deal with the aftermath of the party – waking up in a trashed house, having to clean all the mess by himself, hoping to God his dad won’t notice the fancy liquids missing from the cabinet in his office.

Tonight, he can let himself go without having to think about tomorrow. He can get wasted and maybe even repay Tommy for what he did to him last time, when he locked Steve out of his own goddamn bedroom just to let Carol fuck his brains out.

Wouldn’t take much to find a girl willing to go upstairs with him for some one-on-one time, that’s for sure. They never say no to him, are too easily impressed by his... reputation. But he’s not drunk enough yet, not in the mood for boring, meaningless sex just for the sake of it. And he might never be, not tonight, because the shit Tommy bought won’t get him far.

The cheap beer and that disgusting pink-coloured concoction Carol mixed into a big bowl earlier aren’t doing it for him; he needs something stronger. Something to blank out his mind and get him going. Something to counter the dull feeling inside.

He downs the rest of his drink, scrunches his nose in disgust when he swallows the too sweet punch that barely tastes of booze, and carelessly throws his plastic cup in the general direction of the sink (he knows where the trash can is, he just doesn’t care) before making his way from the kitchen to the living room.

There, he lets his eyes roam around the room, offering nods and fake smiles to anyone passing by doing the same. One of his team mates comes up to him and immediately starts talking his ear off. On the far end of the room, a girl catches his eyes – long legs peeking out from a tiny skirt, big tits squished into a tight shirt that looks like it’s barely holding on at the seams – and yeah, maybe she could be the designated one, later.

Later, because right now he doesn’t care about the girl or what Alex is talking about because he’s looking for someone else.

   “Hey, uh, have you seen Munson?” Steve interrupts Alex mid-sentence, doesn’t care that he’s being rude.

   “Munson? Don’t think he’s invited.” Alex snorts, seems proud of his useless comment.

Of course Munson isn’t invited. He doesn’t need an invitation, is the thing. Because while no one wants to be associated with The Freak, everyone’s always happy to shake hands with him when he shows up at parties. Selling his weed and the occasional pill or powder to anyone with a bit of spare cash in their pockets. And that’s exactly what Steve’s aiming for. He just has to find him first.

   “Sorry, gotta go. Talk to you later, man,” is all Steve offers before he leaves Alex standing there and makes his way to the back door.

The backyard is empty, no people loitering or one-night-couples making out, not like they would do if this party was back at his place. This backyard isn’t very inviting, so Steve gets it. No patio, no pool, no recliners to get cosy on - it’s nothing more than a sad patch of dry grass with a few bushes and a rose bed.

The Hagans might carry themselves like they’re part of the Hawkins upper class, but Steve knows they could barely afford a house in this part of town. Knows it because his dear old dad loaned Mr Hagan a nice sum of money for it. It’s none of his business and he couldn’t care less, but it still makes him chuckle every time he watches Tommy act like a like a wealthy brat, copying Steve’s behaviour to disguise his insecurities and play the role he inherited from his parents.

Whatever makes him feel good.

Steve doesn’t really give a shit about his parents’ money, although he does appreciate what it can buy him. Like drugs. To hopefully make this awful night worth his while.

-----

   “Do my eyes deceive me or is that really you, Harrington?” a voice comes from somewhere around the corner of the house, and when Steve squints his eyes to look at the moving shadows, he finally finds what he came for.

   “Don’t get too excited. One might think you’ve been desperate to see me.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh and when Steve steps closer, he sees him leaning against the wall, smoking.

   “Didn’t think his Highness would grace me with his presence tonight. Don’t you have your lap dog Hagan to do business for you? Wouldn’t get your royal hands dirty on a peasant like me.”

Steve bites his tongue to prevent the smile tugging at his lips from fully forming, doesn’t want to give Eddie the satisfaction of making him laugh.

The guy is always so… weird. Has these strange manners that often get him in trouble. Steve’s seen him more than once with a black eye or a bloody nose; he knows people treat him like shit sometimes and he never really understood why but again, none of his business. They’ve talked maybe a handful of times, never about anything deep, mostly about weed. Except for that one time where Steve helped him pick up his books after some childish asshole decided it was funny to shove him down the hall. People, man. Anyway, he’s not here to ponder about useless shit. He’s here for Eddie’s goods.

   “How much?” he asks, pulling out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.

   “Well, depends. How much you want?”

Eddie pushes himself off the wall, crushes the cigarette bud under his heavy boot, and pulls out the familiar tin box from his unzipped jacket.

   “Give me whatever. I just want to smoke, man. Hopefully that’ll get me through the night.”

   “Party’s not living up to your standards, huh?” Eddie asks with a teasing lilt to his voice as he opens the lid and pulls out a pre-rolled joint.

   “Party sucks ass, but what’s new.”

Eddie considers him with a look that is hard to read in the dark, and it makes Steve equally annoyed and impatient that the other man seems to be in no rush to get this thing over with.

   “Tell ya what. How about you put your daddy’s precious money away and let me light one up to share. My treat.”

Steve contemplates. It’s not like he has anywhere to be, so what’s spending a few more minutes outside. But something about the offer seems off. Not because he doesn’t trust Eddie – he’s got no reason not to – but Eddie isn’t exactly known for giving out free smokes. Especially not to the likes of Steve. Those, he usually charges double, which- he should, to be honest. They can afford it. Or, well, their parents can.

   “What’s with the generosity today?” Steve asks, but agrees wordlessly by putting his wallet back in his pocket. “Is it your birthday or something?”

Eddie scoffs, curls falling into his face when he shakes his head.

  “Nah, man. You just seem kinda bored. Thought I could lighten your mood.”

He flicks on his lighter. Orange light reflects in his dark brown eyes, illuminating his face for a short moment, and Steve only realises he’s been staring when the flame dies and Eddie hands him the joint.

   “Thanks. So, tell me something. Lighten my mood,” he quotes Eddie’s words back at him, smiling around the burning fumes slowly filling his mouth.

   “Oh, of course Mylord. I’m nothing if not a humble jester to the king. How would you like me to make a fool out myself for your entertainment?”

Eddie bows down before him, low and dramatic, and that’s enough to make Steve laugh and nearly choke on the lungful he was just inhaling.

   “Hah, fuck!“ he coughs, “You’re so weird, dude. Anyone ever told you that?”

He passes the joint back to Eddie, ignores the way their fingers brush and how that sends a warm tingle through him.

   “Every damn day someone tells me. And they’re right.”

Eddie smiles self-satisfied and Steve wonders if this is just an act or if Eddie is really this content with himself and how others perceive him. Wonders what that must be like, to just- be unpretentiously okay with yourself.

   “So, you like being called the Freak?” It comes out less jokingly than intended, but Eddie answers with a wide grin.

   “Oh, I am a freak. Just not the kind everyone thinks I am.”

They keep passing the joint back and forth and Steve already feels a little lighter, a little better. Not quite high but less tense, less bored. A little giggly, but maybe that’s just because of Eddie’s ominous words.

   “People sure have a lot of opinions ‘bout you. Are you telling me that none of the rumours are true?”

They’re side by side now, shoulders brushing where they are both leaning against the wall. Steve can’t remember when exactly they’ve gotten so close, but he doesn’t mind. It’s kind of comforting, keeps his slightly swaying body steady.

   “Which ones?”

   “I don’t know, man. All of them? Like-“ His brain is getting a bit fuzzy so it’s hard to remember the exact phrases written on the bathroom stall walls of Hawkins High or the things he’s heard people say, but he tries anyway. “Like, that you’ve been to prison? Or that you worship the Devil. Oh, and that you sucked Carver’s cock behind the bleachers! You know, those things.” Steve laughs, shakes his head at how ridiculous it sounds to say all that out loud.

   “Huh, well. One of those might be true.”

Steve snaps his head to the side so fast it makes him dizzy, wide eyes searching for the hint of amusement he fully expects to find in Eddie’s expression. But there is none. He’s still smiling but not in the ‘I’m just fucking with you’ kind of way.

   “You’ve actually been to prison? Fuck, man! What for?” His heart is racing, excitement mixing with fear-spiked curiosity at the thought of standing next to a real-life convict.

   “Ouch, Harrington! Out of all of those, this is the one you think is true? You’re hurting my feelings, man.”

Eddie clutches his heart and puts on the saddest puppy eyes Steve’s ever seen, even makes his bottom lip wobble like he’s abut to cry and- it’s stupid, really.

Munson looks like a dork with his big, round eyes and his softened features, his messy curls hanging into his face, giving off this sad and pathetic wet cat energy that makes Steve almost gives in to the urge to lift his hand and tuck Eddie’s hair back behind his ear. But thankfully, Eddie drops the act before he can make a fool of himself.

   “Nah, man. The only Munson in prison is my dad. And I’m taking much pride in being nothing like him.”

There’s a sincerity in his voice that Steve doesn’t miss, instantly feeling bad about the false accusation. He knows too well what it’s like not wanting to be like your old man.

   “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- Wait. Which one is it then?” Steve’s head is swimming; he tries to focus, looks deep into Eddie’s eyes trying to read the answer in them but comes up empty, so he resigns and asks again, “What is it, Munson. The dick or the Devil?”

It was meant to come out as a joke but something about the way Eddie’s eyes darken and his smile turns almost devilish makes him choke on his words. Makes his breath catch in his throat as he watches Eddie move closer, one shoulder pressing against the other.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The low, teasing tone of Eddie’s voice sends a shiver down Steve’s neck and back, spreading through his entire body.

Steve must be high as fuck.

There’s not really any other explanation for how he feels right now. His arms and hands prickle like there’s an army of ants crawling beneath his skin. And what’s even worse is that all of a sudden his mind provides him with flashing images of Eddie with Devils’ horns kneeling in front of Jason, whose pants are down by his ankles, plush lips wrapped around his-

    Fuck.

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continue reading here

[robinsgrl]

FEARLESS

chapter four. doors and burgers

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pairing ⇢ rafe cameron x plus size!reader

word count ⇢ 2.2k

warnings ⇢ fatphobia, insecurities, panic attack, boobies lol, Scarlett should be her own warning, daddy issues,

authors note ⇢ sorry that i messed up on my last post yall!! i confused scarlett with heather. she was supposed to be Heather but i was like….. heathers get too much crap thank you conan 😒 and i forgot to change it lol sorry!!! also i rewrote this like five times and i this was the one i was most satisfied with, so enjoy!!

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Scarlett leaves from what you can tell. People are talking about the kitchen debacle and there are mixed reviews. Some are still kissing Scarlett’s ass, others don’t like her any longer. But it doesn’t seem anyone’s on your side. You’re still invisible. You’ve since taken off your jacket that was drenched and Rafe has given you his. It’s big but it doesn’t cover you entirely, and that makes you feel so damn embarrassed.

Despite your mission being to get Jonah to see you, neither of you can find him anywhere. Kiara and Sarah had their eyes out for him as well but they’ve since lost the mission at hand. Now, you’re all sat in the living room where there are a few people dancing around Sarah who’s singing obnoxiously bad on the karaoke machine. No one has any idea where it came from but everyone is loving it.

You’re clapping along with Kiara, laughing when Sarah messes up another lyric and blames the song. For the first time in what seems like a long time, Rafe isn’t drinking. He isn’t doing much of anything but staying by your side. He’s sitting beside you, watching his sister with amusement. He refuses to clap though, only doing it when you reach over to lift his hands and make him clap.

It’s Kiara’s turn to sing when you get up off the couch and look for the bathroom in the huge figure 8 house. The home has photographs scattered, a happy family shown in them all. It might just be the beer in you that makes you want to cry. You’ve seen the kid around school before and he isn’t anything to you. Anything at all. But you’re wishing him the best. Yeah, you realize it’s the beer.

You stumble into a random room and let out a screech when a body gets up from a bed.

“What are you doing here?” Jonah’s voice sends a flutter through your belly. Your belly. Your stomach. You take a hold of Rafe’s jacket and tighten it around yourself, hiding your body from the guy you want badly.

“Oh… uhm…” you wipe the tears from your eyes that had bled out at the family pictures. “I’m looking for the bathroom.”

He’s immediately up on his feet at the sight of your tears. Your eyes widen when his hands take a hold of your round face and examines you carefully. “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Your breath hitches at the feel of his warm hand. It’s soft. Far too soft for a man who puts his all into the gym and football. “Oh? I… uhm… haha, what? Yeah? I'm… I’m fine. Just…” you sniffle and gently move his hand from your face. You’re refusing to meet his eyes,shy about your sadness. “The pictures… they look so happy.”

The look on his face makes you want to run away. And then, he laughs. “You’re crying because Tommy and his family look happy?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, stuck. “It’s not a bad thing.” Are his words when he seems to realize how stunned you feel. “It’s… adorable.”

You fumble your words, “oh, I, uhm, yeah, okay, that’s… yeah.” To have the guy you’ve been into for years call you such a word is a rush. A scary one. But you like it. And whatever it is you did, you wish you could keep doing it until he saw you as you saw him. Perfect.

You’re still standing by the door of the random bedroom and it’d be easy to just run off. But you can’t. Making a fool of yourself in front of Jonah will only make your plan harder. And Rafe would kill you for letting his effort go to waste. “What are you doing in here?” It comes out more abrasive than you wished, internally scolding yourself.

But he doesn’t seem to mind. Rather, he takes his seat back on the bed and shrugs. “It’s noisy.”

You understand. You really, really do. And you want to say it aloud but your tongue is tied as you watch him throw his head back, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows gently. After a moment, you semi-gather yourself. “Did you leave cause of Sarah?” You joke lightly. “That’s what made me leave.”

This garners a soft laugh out of him and you want to jump up and squeal. But Rafe told you to act nonchalant. “Yeah, she’s certainly… singing.”

You take one step away from the door. Just one. You were going to sit beside him. You were going to talk to him. Really talk to him.

The door behind you swings open and hits your head. Hard. “What the fuck?” Jonah’s quick on his feet, rushing to you in a panic. You turn to look at the culprit and your frown turns into a glare. Rafe.

“What the fuck, Rafe?!” You hiss, sending a punch to his shoulder.

“Why were you standing so near the door?!”

“Why would you swing it open like a maniac?!”

“It’s not my fault you were standing there—“

“Maybe don’t open doors like that—“

“Oh, shut up, do you ever not complain—“

“Says you! You’re, like, the king of complaining—“

“King? King—“

“Should I leave?” Jonah’s soft voice speaks and you shove Rafe’s face as you look at him and smile.

“N-no, you shouldn’t have to. He was just leaving.”

“I was? I don’t— ow, fuck, okay, I’m leaving.”

The mood was ruined. Whatever mood Jonah was in was gone. And so was your confidence. It's awkward as you sit next to him on the bed. The palm of your hands are on your knees, anxiously rubbing at them. He’s laid back on the bed, arm crossed over his eyes, the only thing telling you he’s up is the soft twitch of his fingers.

“Does it hurt?” His voice cuts through the thick silence.

Panicked, you glance over at him with wide eyes. “Does… does what hurt?”

“Your head. He opened the door pretty hard.” He still doesn’t move from his position and you’re grateful he’s not looking at you. You do better when people can’t perceive you.

“Oh, my head… yeah, it’s fine, doesn’t hurt. I-it’s a little sore but I’ll make him pay for it.” You shrug, fixing Rafe’s jacket on your body.

“You two are close.” It’s supposed to be a question. It doesn’t sound like one.

You shake your head despite his eyes being covered up. “Not really. I… he’s nice but we’re not like friends.”

He sits back up and this makes you tense up, looking straight ahead at that damn door you hate now. “Just never seen him with anyone but his same three friends.”

“I’m friends with Sarah. We’re just… around each other more.” It’s a lie. But you don’t believe Rafe would want people to know just how much time you’re really spending together. The less people that know, the better.

“You and Scarlett are really done?” He questions, eyes on you. But you can’t look over at him. You’re stiff and awkward and unsure of how to act around him.

You nod softly, “y-yeah… she’s, uhm, not a very nice person.”

It’s quiet for another moment. “She’s been running her mouth about you. Calling you names. Really bad names. And all you can say is ‘she's not nice’?”

Hearing that she’s still talking about you is a punch to the guy and suddenly you don’t care about your crush. You don’t care that you two are sitting so close to each other. All you can think is how horrible she truly is. How blinded you were. And how stupid you feel for missing her. “Well… just because others are doing bad things, doesn’t mean I should. Be the bigger person and whatnot.” You let out a small and awkward laugh to try and shrug off what you’re really feeling.

“Wow.” Are his words as he gets up off the bed and walks to the dresser of the bedroom and picking up a magazine. “You’re really not like other girls.” An even bigger punch to the gut. Logically, you know he’s trying to be kind. He’s only saying this to make you feel better, your feelings on Scarlett written all over your face.

You don’t wear makeup, not like other girls do. You don’t dress up, not like other girls do. You don’t giggle over guys, not like other girls do. You don’t go out and have fun, not like other girls do. But you want to do it all. You want to be like other girls. You never felt worth it. Lipstick on a pig. You’re too big to fit trendy clothes. You don’t giggle over guys because they’d be disgusted that you’re into them. You don’t go out because you’d be the biggest out of the group of girls that are around you. You’d be an eyesore.

In a frantic move, you get up off the bed. “Right. Well, I, uh… I have to go.”

“Huh? What—“ but you don’t pay any attention to his words as you rush out of the random bedroom. There are kids littering the hallway. The steps are being used as seats, shoving people slightly as you go. The music is loud. Too loud. You can feel it bouncing in your eardrums and filling your already muddled thoughts. Theres nothing you can think about other than getting out of that damn house. And in your panicked stupor, you can’t find the damn. The house is too damn big.

There’s a couple making out in the bathroom when you rush inside and when they see the fear in your eyes, they rush out, leaving you to be.

The drive isn’t awkward. Not like you thought it would be. He didn’t question you. And despite his last text, he didn’t bring it up. And you’re grateful he didn’t.

“Where are we going?” You ask when you realize you’re headed downtown. “I want to go home, Rafe.”

He shrugs, hands on the wheel. “I’m hungry. We’re just stopping by The Wreck real quick.”

He doesn’t ask you to get down with him. He parks, heads inside, and he’s out fifteen minutes later. But he doesn’t start driving. In fact, he immediately takes a bite out of his burger, your food untouched on your lap.

“You’re not gonna eat?” He asks with his mouth full, but you don’t grimace like you should. You grab a napkin and hands it to him but he shakes his head refusing it.

“You’re dirty.”

“And you’re not eating.” He swallows his food.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re lying.”

“So because I'm fat, I must be hungry?” It’s a joke but the look he gives you tells you he’s not amused in the slightest. “Tough crowd. Seriously, I'm not hungry.”

“Is this that thing where you don’t eat in front of people cause you’re with a guy? Sarah told me it’s some shit she does.”

“It’s that thing where I’m not hungry, actually.” But it smells divine. Usually, you’d happily eat this but after tonight, you’re not sure if you’ll ever eat greasy foods again.

He scoffs, putting his burger down and holding a fry up at you. “Try the fry.”

“You try the fry.”

“I already did. Seriously, my mom had this trick while we were growing up. Sarah always swore she wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t get anything to eat but she’d make her try something from the plate to realize how hungry she really was.”

“How old was she?”

“My mom? She was pushing forty.”

You glare at the proud look on his face at his joke. “Sarah, stupid.”

“I don’t know… seven?”

“You’re treating me like a seven year old?”

“Try. The. Fry.” He swipes it across your lips and this gets a laugh out of you, shoving him away.

“Okay, okay! I’ll eat a fry. But that one has lipstick all over it now.” You pick a fry from his and he squints his eyes at you.

“You have a perfectly good batch.”

You pop the fry into your mouth with a content smile. “Not as good as yours.” And he was right. The salt and buttery soft fry proved to be true— you are hungry.

With a sigh, you grab your burger and say— “okay… just… don’t look.”

This amuses him. “Don’t look at you eat your burger? Well, there goes my spank bank.”

“Ew, Rafe!” You laugh, nose scrunching at his crude words.

You take a bite of your burger. And it’s absolutely delicious. Just like you knew it would be. Instead of worrying over stuffed up cheeks or looking fat while eating, you share laughs, mouths full and not a single care.

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