#write it out and tape it to your wall and read it every night before bed and every morning because you are worth so much more than this

[mrsmangi]

found - luigi mangione

♡ summary: luigi spends his nights haunted by dreams of you—vivid, tender, and impossibly real. each morning, he wakes with the ache of losing you, over and over, with no foreseeable end. how much more can he take? ♡ w.c.: 6.3k ♡ a/n: hi. this is a continuation of my fic, past life. it was absolutely devastating to write, but i will post this with pictures of luigi in his red sweater (again) to make myself feel better because it's my favorite outfit of his thus far. hope you guys enjoy!

♡ trigger warnings: this work contains themes of depression, grief, and suggestive content. please proceed with care.

—

The soft click of the apartment door echoes in the stillness as Luigi steps inside, his hand lingering on the cold metal doorknob for support. The familiar scent of perfume drifts toward him, engulfing him in a warmth that feels too good to be true. He pauses, a faint flicker of awareness settling in his mind. 

Luigi is dreaming, again–he knows it. The clarity of the moment, the way every detail feels sharper than reality feels unmistakable, but he knows this isn’t his world. 

These dreams had become more frequent since the first–when he had met you. He felt each of them pulling him into this world, further and further down the rabbit hole, where you waited for him. Although he was beginning to become acquainted with it–his abnormal awareness in his dreams–, it never stopped feeling strange to him. It was as though he continuously existed in two places at once: as the man in his dreams, showered with intimacy from his lover, and the man outside of it, alone. 

He is unsettled. Not just by the vividness of his illusions, but how natural it all feels, as if this version of his life is just as real as the one he always returns to in the morning. The longer Luigi stands, the harder it is to ignore the whispers of longing plaguing the back of his mind. Despite knowing it isn’t real, he can’t help but wish it were. 

So, he chooses to stand and take it all in. It feels like home. 

That’s when he sees it. 

Streamers criss-cross on the ceiling in haphazard lines. Balloons floating lazily in corners of the living room. Taped to the wall in large, uneven letters is a banner that reads: “WELCOME HOME, LUIGI! ♡” Glittery, colorful, slightly crooked letters–but perfect. He blinks, heart dropping to his stomach. An overwhelming sensation; one that pleasantly surprises him. 

You stand in the center of it all, clutching a poster board almost as tall as you, the word “HI” scrawled across it in colorful marker and uneven glitter glue. Your grin (that beautiful grin he just adores) stretches wide. You are sunshine personified, he realizes fondly, a dazzling beam of joy. You only grow brighter the moment your eyes lock. 

Immediately, you burst into laughter, poster board slipping from your hands and clattering to the floor as you sprint toward him. 

“Luigi!” you call out, voice bursting with excitement and relief. 

Before he can react, you crash into him, arms wrapping gently around his waist. He stumbles slightly, caught off guard, body stiff and protesting the sudden movement. He doesn’t care. Dropping his bag to the floor, he folds himself around you, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair. The warmth of your body against his is almost enough to make him forget the ache in his back and the heaviness of his legs. 

Your lips find his in a kiss so tender, he thinks his knees might buckle from beneath him. For a moment, Luigi feels no pain. The accident never happened and he was never escorted to the hospital, or bedridden for over a week. There’s just you, soft and warm and impossibly close. He leans into you, hands curving around your waist, melting into place. 

When you finally pull away, your hands cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you study him. “Hi,” you whisper cheekily. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

“I missed you so much,” you sigh. “You have no idea.”

Luigi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. His chest swells with gratitude. “I missed you more,” he confesses softly. Luigi knows this won’t last. It never does. 

The welcome banner, the streamers, your smile–none of it will follow him when he wakes. He’ll wake up, alone in a bed half empty because you won’t be there. But even knowing all of it, Luigi lets himself savor every moment he has with you, holding onto you like a lifeline. 

He will let himself believe it’s real, even if it’s just for a fraction of a second. The pain in his spine becomes more pronounced, and he can’t tell if it’s just because he’s post-recovery or because he knows this is only temporary, especially when he wants it to be permanent so desperately. 

“Are you still with me?” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He snaps out of it, looking down at you as you smile up at him, teasingly. You always seem to know when his mind begins to wander. You are so patient. He likes that about you. 

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking,” he pauses, arms still hooked around your waist. He looks over the room once more. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble just for me.” 

“Don’t be silly. It wasn’t any trouble and even if it was, yes, I did,” you say. “You’ve been stuck in bed for over a week in that awful hospital room. I just couldn’t wait for you to come home. I wanted so badly to remind you how loved you are.” 

Luigi swallows hard. There’s a lump in his throat that makes it impossible to speak. Instead, he tightens his hold on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You only laugh and run your fingers through his curls. For however long it lasts, he wants to lose himself in you. Pretend this fleeting world of light and warmth and all things good will last forever. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs into your skin, quietly.

“Stop that,” you scold gently, pulling back to meet his eyes. “You deserve everything, Luigi. I’m just getting started.” 

You take his hand and lead him to the couch, guiding him to sit down. He winces slightly as he lowers himself onto the cushions, a strain in his back reminding him of his limitations. You notice in an instant, as perceptive as always. Your hands flutter over him as though you could soothe his pain with sheer willpower. 

“Are you alright?” you ask, worry etched into your features. “How is your back? Do you need a pillow? A hot pad? Water? Anything?” 

He chuckles despite himself, shaking his head. “I’m okay,” he reassures you, although the throbbing of his spine indicates otherwise. “Better now that I’m home. With you.” 

You kneel between his legs, resting your hands lightly on his knees as you tilt your head up to look at him. “Bedridden for over a week and still handsome as ever,” you tease. The tone of your voice is playful, but there’s something in your expression that feels darker. He releases a shaky breath, clearing his throat subtly. 

“Talent,” he replies dryly, a small smirk curving across his lips. 

You laugh. It sends a pang of languish straight to his heart. It hasn’t hit him just how much he’s missed hearing that sound until now. It’s only been a few days since the last dream, but to him, it’s felt like years. 

“Seriously, though,” you say, eyes softening. “How are you really feeling?” 

He hesitates, smile faltering. “I’m getting there,” he admits. “It’s still difficult. The pain isn’t great, and I’m not exactly thrilled about having to take it easy for who knows how long. But…” He gazes at you, then around the room. All the effort you had put into making this moment as special as possible. All for him. “Coming home to this? To you? It helps so much more than you know.” 

His heart skips three beats at once when you grin, leaning forward and resting your cheek against his knee. “Good,” you say gently. “I’m so excited to have you home. It’s so boring without you.” 

He breathes out another laugh, but before he can reply, your hands slide upward. Your fingertips trace the pattern of his jeans–slowly, deliberately. He feels his breath hitch as you gently pry his legs apart, movements unhurried but undeniably calculated. There’s a lustful glint in your eye that sends a jolt of heat through him. He doesn’t find it in himself to look away, entranced by your movements. 

“You’re stuck with me now,” you whisper, kissing the inside of his lower thigh gently. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

Luigi’s breathing becomes heavier as you work your way up his thigh, and he opens his mouth to reply, but the words never come.  

—

When he awakes, Luigi stirs in discomfort. His eyelids feel heavy as they open slowly. The emptiness of his apartment hits him like a tsunami. The silence washes over his body, drowning him. His legs feel sore, his chest throbbing as he lays motionless, staring at the ceiling.

He rubs a hand over his face, as if he could chase away the remnants of the dream, but it’s done in vain. He knows he couldn’t erase you from his mind, even if he tried.

“Are you even real?” he wonders aloud, eyes boring into the plain paper of the ceiling above. 

When no one answers, he sighs. He sits up and the pain returns. In his head, in his back, in his stomach, and within his heart. His mind feels foggy. 

It’s not just the dream that haunts him, but the life within it: the life where you exist, where he isn’t so fucking miserable and alone. 

The day unfolds sluggishly, each hour stretching longer than the last. Reluctantly, Luigi forces himself out of bed, his body protesting every movement. He spends the morning shuffling through small, mindless tasks–folding laundry he forgot to put away, wiping down the counters in his kitchen, and clearing the clutter off his nightstand. All things that should distract him, but in reality, it does little to lift the weight pressing down on his chest. 

Even as his apartment is neater and cleaner, he feels no real sense of accomplishment nor satisfaction, only a quiet, gnawing emptiness eating away at his being. His thoughts always seem to drift back to you. 

By midday, he stares blankly at his computer screen, shuffling through emails he has no intention of answering. A notification from a friend briefly catches his eye, but he hesitates to respond. What could he even say? There’s nothing to say, he tells himself. The words feel distant, unreachable. Instead, he closes the laptop and sits in silence. 

The hum of the fridge in the next room is the only sound that breaks the stillness. When his stomach eventually growls, he throws together a half-assed sandwich, eating it mechanically while staring at the muted television. The show he puts on–once a comedy that made him laugh–fails to hold his attention. The afternoon drags on. Luigi drifts from task to task with no real purpose, his movement more on autopilot than anything else. He tries to focus on a book he’s been meaning to finish, but the words blur together on the page. 

“Fuck off,” he groans, setting it aside and leaning back into the couch he sits on. The ceiling stares back at him. 

The evening settles in. He makes another half-hearted attempt at cooking dinner, though the plate ends up sitting untouched on the counter. The hours stretch endlessly, and all he can think about is how desperately he wants for the day to end. He misses you. 

He needs you. 

He needs to feel tethered to something real, even if it’s only fleeting. 

Luigi’s eyes drift to close, the corners of the room growing hazy and darkening as he dozes off.

—

“You don’t have to push me away, Luigi.” 

Something is different about this dream, Luigi notices. He can hear it in the way you say his name: unbearably frustrated, but somehow still gentle. He feels it in the strange sense of detachment that ties him to his spot before you. Although he knows this is just a dream–just another insufferably short dream–, the words manage to make him flinch, as if he’s a match struck against sandpaper. There’s a fire catching in his heart before he has the chance to smother it, and the flame is your voice.

His body reacts before he even has the chance to register that it’s your voice. He feels like a passenger in his own skin when it hits him: he’s not in control. 

He feels his hands curl into fists at his sides, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. There’s a familiar tightness in his back sending sharp, burning pulses of discomfort through his body down to his legs, one he can’t simply ignore, but it seems painless in comparison to the throbbing of his stomach.

Are you two fighting? He doesn’t want to fight. 

“I–” Luigi begins, but the words get caught in his throat, trapped by the weight of his shame as he gazes at your confused expression. He can’t look at you like this, so he doesn’t. He shifts his gaze away. 

“You’re shutting me out again,” you say. Your voice is steady, but he hears the tinge of pain it carries. It’s familiar, it’s recognizable; a pain similar to his own. “I know you’re hurting. I know this feels absolutely frustrating and impossible to overcome, but do you really think I would leave you because of something like this?” 

He hears himself release a sharp, harsh breath, turning his face away as his jaw tightens. He runs a hand over his mouth before holding his head in both hands. “It’s not as simple as that,” he hears his voice mutter. There’s a bitterness in his tone that he can see startles you from his peripheral vision. It startles him, too. He pretends it doesn’t bother him. He sees the flicker of hurt in your expression; he wants to reach for you, to tell you that he’s not in his right mind, but his hands remain motionless. He keeps talking. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then help me get it,” you urge him, stepping closer to him. 

He’s sitting on the couch. You kneel before him and take the hands that carry his head into your own. 

“Luigi,” you breathe, eyes scanning his face for a sign of understanding. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Please, let me be here for you. I want to stay.” 

He can’t look at you. He trains his eyes to burn holes into the carpet rug of the apartment floor.

There’s a numbness that he feels settling in, brushing against the nape of his neck, crawling its way down his chest and curling upward to his temples. His heart churns and twists beneath his skin. He’s caught between his desire to let you in–let you hug him, console him, reassure him–and the fear of his inescapable reality: he will drag you down with him if he allows you to remain with him any longer. 

I don’t want to hurt you, he thinks. The words you hear instead are: “You have no idea what it’s like.” His voice is low, tremors racking his throat. “You have no idea what it feels like to wake up, knowing I can’t be everything that you deserve.” 

“Luigi,” you plead. “Luigi, you are everything to me.” 

“You say that now,” he laughs bitterly, shaking his head, “but what happens when it’s too much?” He finally looks up at you. He feels the word vomit creeping up his throat. This doesn’t feel like him. He can sense it–he’s about to say something he’s going to regret, but he can’t help himself. You need to know. 

“I can’t do the things I used to,” he says as a matter of fact. “I’m 24-years-old. I’ve barely lived. I can’t surf or hike or go to the gym like I did before. I can’t even fucking sit for too long without feeling like my spine might shatter. It seems like every single, miniscule movement I make fucks with the way my entire body feels. My friends are getting sick of hearing how depressed I feel–” He pauses, making eye contact with your broken gaze before continuing. “And you,” he breathes, watching your nostrils flare as tears well in your eyes. “You’ve been so fucking patient with me, baby. You’ve been so damn good, and you know, I can’t even fucking make love to you,” he hears his voice crack. He sees your eyes glint with indignance and he knows you’ll attempt to protest. He continues. 

“Do you know what that’s like? To look at you and not be able to give you that part of me anymore.” His hands twitch on his lap, fists clenching and loosening.

Luigi sits in horror of himself. He wants to take the words back, to silence the voice coming from his mouth, but he can’t do anything but watch. It’s torture. Can’t he just shut up? 

No, he can’t. The person in charge of his body keeps going.

“It might be a stupid thing to be worried about, but I know I can’t pleasure you like I used to. You can sit here and deny it all you want, but you and I both know ever since that stupid, fucking accident happened, everything has been different and it’s not just about the sex. You drop everything for me to go to doctor’s appointments, pick up my prescriptions, you don’t go out with your friends or see your family anymore. I mean, for fuck’s sake, baby,” he places emphasis on your name, tearing his hands out of yours to grasp your face. 

His thumbs brush your cheekbones, holding your face as if it was made of porcelain. They wipe away your tears. Tears he’s responsible for prying out of you. Luigi has never hated himself more. 

“Your whole life has been placed on hold for me,” he whispers. “You’ve given up so much. How am I supposed to live with myself knowing that? I’m a burden to you.” 

You’re staring up at him, helpless. He knows the words hang in the air, igniting an overwhelming silence to suffocate the two of you. The thought that he’s pushed you too far, teetered your state of being over the edge, crosses his mind. He desperately hopes that isn’t the case. 

As your tear-filled stare searches his face, he has a feeling it isn’t, but there’s something unreadable in your expression. There are hints of perplexion, hurt, and confusion, but something else. Something healing: tender, unrelenting love. 

Slowly, you reach up and he feels your small hands over his own where they hold your face. 

“Luigi, I love you,” you say softly, “I love you so much. That’s why I’m here, not out of obligation. You could never be a burden to me, Luigi. You never have been and never will be.” 

He feels his hands falter, dropping from your face as his shoulders sag. I believe you, he wants to scream out. His body won’t allow him to. There’s doubt that lingers in the back of his mind–doubt he refuses to claim as his own. 

For a moment, Luigi thinks his body will finally relent. That, by some kind of miracle, he’ll collapse into you and let the heat of your body consume his own. But instead, he feels himself pull away from you. His hands fall completely, weight shifting as he pushes himself up from the couch. His legs feel as heavy as ever, but they move him away anyway, carrying him to the door. 

“What are you doing?” he hears your voice rise, panicked. “Luigi–where are you going? Please, let’s talk about this.” 

He hears the steps of your feet against the cold, wood floor, the quick catch in your breath as you follow after him. 

Stop, Luigi pleads. Turn around. Don’t do this.

When Luigi realizes he doesn’t, a scream builds in his chest, desperate to escape. He feels his jaw tighten, shoulders tense, and his steps are automatic. Then, you do something that makes him falter–you throw your arms around him, wrapping yourself tightly against his back. Your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt to anchor yourself to him, refusing to let go.

He freezes as he feels the warmth of your body pressed to his, your trembling breath against his shoulder. 

“Please,” you beg, voice raw and breaking. “Don’t do this.” 

He feels it then: a tender, desperate kiss pressed between his shoulder blades. The warmth of it burns through the layers of fabric resting on his back, searing into his skin like a brand. Your lips linger there, trembling, and it feels as though you’re willing him to stay. He feels every ounce of love and hope that you’ve poured into a single touch. 

This is what you want, he hears his own voice urging him to accept it. To stay. This is what you need. Don’t let her go. He feels nauseated when his hands reach down and pry yours from his torso. His movements are gentle but firm. To Luigi, it feels like the cruelest betrayal. He’s a prisoner in his own skin. 

“I can’t make you happy anymore, (Name).” Your name rolls off his tongue without him even having to think about it. Luigi can feel defeat ruminating in his soul, causing him to tremble. He finally knows your name and it’s come to him in the worst way possible. It’s wrong, it’s unfair. He can do absolutely nothing to console you or wipe away the tears that continue to spill from your cheeks because his asshole body won’t let him. His voice sounds muffled, distorted and distant, yet unmistakably his own. The words spill out like they belong to someone else. He doesn’t recognize himself. “This isn’t the life you deserve.” 

He steps forward, heading for the door, slipping out of your grasp completely. He misses your warmth already. Your arms fall to your sides. He feels a sense of relief that isn’t his own wash over him when you don’t move to follow him, but an overwhelming sense of grief overcomes him.

“Luigi,” he hears you call out to him. 

Stop.

His legs halt with his hand on the doorknob. He doesn’t dare to look back.

“I’ve never cared about having a perfect life,” he hears you say, voice mirroring his own defeat. “Ever since I met you, I,” you pause to release a shaky breath, voice cracking with each syllable you verbalize. “All I’ve ever wanted is you.” 

Luigi’s heart plummets, the weight of your words settling heavily in his chest. 

Luigi has never loved anyone the way he has learned to love you. It was ridiculous of him to believe he could love someone the way he loves you–relentlessly, unconditionally, and all-consuming–without consequence.

The phrase still punctures him right to the core, like a knife being plunged into him, over and over. The tremble in your voice, your unmistakable sincerity, cuts him deeper than any pain he’s ever known. All Luigi truly wants to do is turn around. 

To fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness, to tell you you’re everything he’s never known that he’s always wanted. 

But his fingers only tighten around the doorknob, legs trembling as they continue to push him forward. Slowly, he pulls the door open. The hinges creak softly, the sound piercing through your shared silence. 

Once he steps into the threshold, the warmth of the room behind him–your warmth–slips away, right between his fingers. The cool air of the hallway bites at his skin, but it’s nothing compared to the chill in his chest. He feels himself hesitate, shoulders falling under the heaviness of it all. 

Say something. Anything. He screams at himself, but his lips remain shut. 

He closes the door behind him. When the latch clicks gently, its sound feels deafening. A symbol of the finality of his choice. He only stands for a moment, just as he did before, when the warmth of your love came over his body. He ruminates in the cold. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding when the stifled sound of your muffled sobs bleeds through the wood of the door behind him. 

He nearly breaks, right then and there. Nearly. 

He turns and wills himself to walk down the hallway, each of his steps feeling heavier than the last. The fluorescent lights above cast long, harsh shadows upon him, but he pays them no mind. He ignores his vision blurring, head spinning with grief, helplessness, and anger. Your words only ring in his ears, growing louder with every echo of his heels. 

All I’ve ever wanted is you.

It becomes a chant in his head–a mantra playing on a constant, never ending loop in his mind. Everything else becomes drowned out. He feels his fist clench at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms as if the pain might awake him. It doesn’t. He reaches the elevator, feet dragging. He presses the button, the weak ding of the elevator arriving and pulling him from his haze. 

The doors slide open, he steps inside. The metallic chill of the space envelops him. The light of the elevator reflects off its stainless steel walls, making him feel small. 

He reaches for the button for his floor but hesitates, hand overing over the button, mid-air. 

Don’t.

He does anyway. He presses it with the sharp exhale through his nose. 

Just before the doors slide shut, Luigi feels his legs finally give out, and he leans against the wall. His head falls back as he stares up at the metal ceiling. His chest heaves, breathing uneven, legs numb, vision blurring even further. 

All I’ve ever wanted is you. 

It begins before he processes what happens. The tears fall from his eyes quicker than he can manage to wipe them away. Luigi heaves a gut-wrenching sob as the pain in his chest blooms. His body shakes with the force of his anguish, raw and irrepressible. 

As the elevator doors close with a dull thud, he’s finally able to scream. 

The dream shatters.

—

When Luigi wakes, the tears are already falling, hot and heavy against his cheeks, flooding his ears. His chest wracks his being with silent sobs. His fingers brush against his damp face as if trying to wipe away the echoes of your voice and leave them behind him. But it doesn’t leave him. He has a feeling it never will. 

He lays there for what feels like hours, unmoving. He feels like a corpse. 

It takes him longer than he would like to admit to realize something is missing. The realization doesn’t hit him until later that evening, when he’s standing under the steady hot stream of the shower. The water pelts his skin, but does nothing to soothe the ache of his entire body. He runs a hand through his curly, wet locks. He tries to scrub away the fog in his mind, scrub you away, but it’s no use. The fog and the memory of you cling to him like a second skin. 

He steps out of the shower, towel tied loosely around his waist, he stops in front of the mirror. The steam blurs his reflection, so he wipes away the condensation of the mirror when something catches his eye in its reflection. In another mirror behind him, there’s the trace of a mole on his back, faint. 

A mole on his back, in the exact same place you had kissed in his dream. He freezes as the fragments of the dream rush back to him. 

The name–your name. It was there, in that horrendous God-awful dream, vivid and sharp. It echoed in his mind just moments ago. Now, it’s slipped away from him, gone as quickly as it came. It’s there, on the tip of his tongue, he can feel it but he just can’t remember. The harder he tries to hold on to it, the faster it disappears and fades farther away. He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the glass of his mirror, and exhales shakily. 

You were gone.

After that, so were the dreams. 

Days without dreams blurred into weeks. The dreams that had once been a cruel comfort had abandoned him entirely. The rest of his life drags on in a haze of monotony, each day more dreary than the last. He wakes up, gets himself out of the house, comes home, and repeats the cycle. 

There’s an emptiness gnawing at him from the inside out. 

The flowers of the corner stand he passes when he leaves the house used to catch his eye–the bright daffodils and carnations bursting with life–but now, they’re dull. The colors of their petals muted by the overcast sky of New York. Luigi finds himself stopping to stare at times, hands buried in the pockets of his coat. He gazes at them as if they will remind him of something, anything. They don’t. 

When the silence of his apartment is insufferable, Luigi goes out to eat instead of cooking at home. Yet, every coffee he orders tastes bitter, no matter how much sugar he adds, and every piece of food he shoves into his mouth leaves a bland aftertaste in his mouth. 

Occasionally, his friends text or call, asking him to meet up. He finds himself declining more often than not. It’s not that he doesn’t care, really, it’s not. It’s simply because he can’t find the energy to fake being “okay.” On the rare instance that he does go, however, he finds that their laughter and lighthearted conversations–that should be comforting–feel static in his ears. So, he sits silently, nursing a drink he can’t muster the willpower to finish.

He takes midnight strolls to avoid resting, wandering the city aimlessly. He lets the cold air penetrate his skin as he searches for something he can’t name. Perhaps a purpose, maybe a sign, an indicator of your presence. Anything to fill the empty pit in his stomach that has grown every day since you’ve been gone. It all feels so futile.

 When Luigi is home, the clock ticks loudly. The hum of the fridge grates on his nerves. The TV drowns out his silence, but the dialogue of the shows he plays are nothing but meaningless background noise. 

The ache in his chest persists.

—

Months pass before Luigi begins to convince himself he is moving on. Slowly, reluctantly, but moving on nonetheless. The dreams never returned, and with them, the constant emptiness in his gut that made him feel hollow. The name–the one he couldn’t bring himself to remember–had grown quieter in his mind.

His days filled with monotonous routines ground him. Errands, nights out with friends, light exercise, reading helps him from thinking about you for too long. He’s forced himself to return texts more regularly, forcing himself to engage. 

He tells himself it’s progress. That he’s healing, maybe even healed completely. Deep down, he knows better. 

The ache hasn’t disappeared, but he’s learned to live with it. It’s only buried itself deeper, settling into a quiet part of his mind he tries not to pay any mind to. Though, it sometimes resurfaces in unexpected ways: in the warmth of sunlight creeping through his blinds or in seeing signs with bright, colorful lettering as he walks through his neighborhood. Small things. Things that should be insignificant to him but now, because of you, aren’t.

Still, Luigi tells himself it’s enough–that the progress he’s made, however small or hollow it feels, is better than being stuck. For a while, it is. He believes it. 

Until he sees you. 

It’s a quiet afternoon, the kind he’s found usually blur into the rest. Luigi wanders the streets without purpose, allowing his legs to move him along wherever they please. Then, through the fog of his rumination, you appear. 

You sit in a coffee shop, your head bent over a book, a mug of coffee settled beside your hand on the table. The gentle glow of the afternoon light spills through the window and catches in your hair. Just like in his dreams. 

For a moment, the world stops and all Luigi can do is stand there, across the street, frozen on the sidewalk, staring like a deer caught in headlights. 

It was you–unmistakably, indubitably you. 

His breath hitches. He wants to look away; convince himself this is some cruel trick of his imagination. He can’t. There’s no mistaking you. The gentle curve of your face, the way your lips press together in concentration as you turn a page. He could cry. 

Without realizing it, his legs begin to move, carrying him across the street, weaving through the bustling crowd. 

The bell above the coffee shop door chimes as he steps inside. The cheerful, bright sound cuts through the muffled conversations and clinking dishes of the shop. 

It’s fate, his heart says. The universe rings a bell, just for him, to tell him this is exactly where he needs to be. 

You look up at the sound, your eyes scanning the room briefly before they land on him. Everything else fades away. The noisy hum of the coffee shop fades to a distant murmur, the busy streets outside a blur of motion he can no longer see. All that exists is you. 

Your eyes lock onto his, your expression shifting into something resembling recognition–or maybe confusion. But then your lips part slightly, and the smallest hint of a smile forms as your eyes soften. The smile he’s seen so many times in his dreams, now real. He can feel it: that familiar flick of a flame igniting itself in his heart, spreading across the space between you. 

Luigi steps closer, the weight he had been carrying on his back for weeks giving way to something lighter. He focuses on making his way to you without his legs giving out, heart thrumming against his ribcage like a trapped animal. 

As he reaches your table, you close your book gently, placing it on the table beside your coffee. Your head titles slightly, eyes never leaving his as the faint smile on your lips grows just a little wider. His chest tightens, his mind racing to find the words he’s always wanted to say to you, but now that you’re here–now that you’re real–they vanish. 

Once he’s before you, he stops stupidly. You stare up at him, expectantly. 

What does he say now that you’re here? Do you even know who he is? He must look like such a freak right now, but still, you manage to look as beautiful as ever–even more so in person. 

“Hi,” your voice rips him away from his thoughts. The single word carries more familiarity than he thought possible. 

His throat tightens as he swallows, sound barely audible over the pounding in his ears. His lips part, and for a moment, nothing comes out. He panics but masks it when he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, managing to find his voice. 

“Hi,” he whispers breathlessly.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask gently.

He tenses. The truth gnaws at him. You don’t recognize him, don’t feel the connection he had spent months dreaming about. The world feels like it’s been tilted on its axis. He stares at you, breath catching in his lungs, unable to comprehend the realness of it all. Every detail of you: from the way the light frames your face to the soft curve of your lips, all down to the bridge of your nose. Every detail of your figure he had spent all those weeks dreaming about, every part of you he memorized with meticulous care, it’s all here. He can’t look away, can’t tell himself it’s an illusion. 

“I,” his voice comes out softer than he expects. He clears his throat gently, to steady himself as he speaks. “My name is Luigi,” he says. “I just wanted to say…” He pauses, looking you over from head to toe. It’s you. The girl of his dreams. “How beautiful I think you are,” he breathes.  

He watches your confusion melt into bashfulness. Your face quickly softens into a flustered smile.

“Oh,” you say, heat blossoming in your cheeks. “Thank you so much, Luigi. That’s very sweet of you.” A pause before you laugh–a melodic, gorgeous sound. “I’m (Name).” 

“(Name),” he repeats. It tastes sweet on his tongue. It feels good, it feels right. “You’re very beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” you repeat, laughing once more. Luigi knows at that moment, he’d dedicate himself to making you laugh for the rest of his life if you’d let him. 

He lets out a small, shaky laugh of his own, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I should let you get back to your book,” he says, gesturing awkwardly toward the table. He forces a smile and takes a step back. “That was really all I wanted to tell you.” 

What a lie, but you don’t recognize him. What more can he do? 

“It was nice meeting you, (Name),” he says gently, and he sees your mouth open to speak, but it feels like too much.

Before you say anything, he turns to leave, moving for the door. The bell above it chimes as he prepares to step out. Just as he reaches the threshold, your voice stops him. 

“Luigi?” 

This feels like deja vu. He makes sure to turn this time, though, meeting your gaze. He watches you hesitate slightly, before gesturing to the chair across from you. 

“Would you like to join me?”

Luigi stares at you, his mind struggling to process what you’ve just said. Then, something shifts within him, just as it did all those months ago as he laid in bed, before the first dream had ever occurred. It eases the ache that has lingered for so long.  

He nods, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he takes a step back toward you. He sits in the seat across from you and you smile once more. He is whole. 

For the first time in his life, Luigi feels the fullness of a love that is unwavering. He has found everything he never knew he needed, and it’s more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. 

[supernotnatural2005]

Cherry Pie

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean's feeling blue when he believes you have forgotten his birthday... or have you?

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Swearing, SMUT!! (18+ONLY) fluff.

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAN WINCHESTER!! 🎉 in honour of @scoobydoodean 's birthday party for Dean 2025 post, I have wrote a little something for our favourite hunter. Boy it's a ride 😅 but I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy. ☺️

Masterlist

Dean wasn’t one for birthday celebrations. To be honest, he’d never truly experienced one—not in the way most people did. Growing up in the life of a hunter didn’t leave much room for cake, candles, or balloons. Birthdays were just another day, marked by a new set of scars, another hunt, or a quiet night spent patching himself up. 

In his adult years, if he wasn’t in the middle of a case, he’d spend the night nursing a beer in some dimly lit bar, convincing himself he didn’t care. If he was lucky, he’d even find someone to warm his bed for the night, a fleeting distraction that never really filled the void. Birthdays were hollow, just another tally to another year alive.

But then, everything changed when he met you.

You’d stormed into his life like a hurricane, dismantling his defences and staking a claim on his heart before he even knew what hit him. At first, your insistence on making every occasion special baffled him.

He’d brush off your plans with a dismissive shrug, insisting he didn’t need all the fuss. But you were relentless. You made it your mission to show him he was deserving of celebration—of love—and you did it with such conviction that, slowly but surely, his walls began to crumble.

It wasn’t easy for him to accept at first. The scars of his past ran deep, and the idea that someone would go out of their way just for him felt foreign—almost wrong. But you had a way of breaking through his stubbornness with a smile, a laugh, or a simple touch that reminded him he wasn’t alone anymore. Over time, you turned his scepticism into something unexpected: anticipation.

However, as he shuffled into the kitchen that morning, seeing as you weren’t in bed when he woke up, he couldn’t help but glance in your direction, half-expecting some grand gesture or, at the very least, a good morning kiss. Instead, you barely looked up from the coffee machine, murmuring a quick “morning” before heading out, muttering something about reorganising supplies, leaving him confused beyond comprehension.

The rest of the day was no different. Every time Dean tried to strike up a conversation, you were already onto the next task—cleaning, organising, cataloguing. By lunchtime, he’d given up entirely, retreating to the war room with a beer in hand.

Dean told himself he didn’t care. It was just another day, after all. But the lack of acknowledgment, at all, from you stung more than he wanted to admit. He kept replaying moments from the day, wondering if he’d done something to upset you. Maybe he’d said something stupid. Maybe you were just tired of him? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

By the time evening rolled around, Dean was nursing his third beer and wallowing in a cocktail of self-doubt and resignation. “Figures,” he muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair. “Not like it matters anyway.”

But the ache in his chest told a different story. Maybe it was childish to sulk, but it was you who had made him this way. He was happy going on not caring, he didn’t need it. But you had somehow made him want it.

He eventually dragged himself to the kitchen for another drink. However, when he opened the fridge, his eyes landed on a folded note taped to a bottle of beer. Frowning, he pulled it off and read it:

“Beers on me, birthday boy. First clue: Where you pretend to ‘hit your mark’.”

Dean blinked at the note; it took him a minute to realise you’d been playing a game this whole time. He released a scoff of disbelief as well as slow smile creeping across his face. Boy did he feel dumb. Of course you wouldn’t forget.

A jolt of giddiness as well as warmth sparked in his chest, until he reread the note. “Okay, smart-ass,” he muttered, pocketing the paper.

He made his way to the armoury, scanning the shelves until his eyes landed on a second note taped to a shotgun.

“Nice work. Next stop: The place where you steal my snacks.”

Dean chuckled, especially at the hand drawn angry face. Shaking his head, he headed toward your bedroom. Sure enough, another note was waiting on the little snack box you stashed in your top draw.

“Getting warmer. Now, find the place where you brood the most.”

“That’s a low blow,” he grumbled, making his way to the war room. The next note was tucked under a stack of books on the table.

“Last one, Dean. Head back to where you lay your pretty little head at night.”

Dean laughed outright this time, pocketing the final note before heading to his room. When he pushed the door open, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The room was transformed. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the walls, casting a warm, intimate glow. On the desk to his left sat a cooler of his favourite beer, what looked to be a homemade baked pie. Apple, from the sweet and cinnamon’y scent, and a small box wrapped in colourful paper with a neatly tied with a bow. 

You stood in front of the bed, dressed in a pretty silk robe; your smooth legs bare, leaving him wondering if the rest of you was underneath, with your hands clasped nervously in front of you, a shy smile on your face.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” you said softly.

Dean stepped into the room, his eyes taking in every detail in awe. “You did all this?”

You nodded. “I… uh, baked the pie early this morning. That’s why I wasn’t here when you woke up. And I know it’s small but, here.” You handed him the gift, a nervous tick in your movements.

Dean took the box from your hands, his calloused fingers brushing yours. He turned it over, examining it with curiosity before shooting you a questioning look.

“Open it,” you scolded playfully, a giggle slipping out as he raised the box to his ear and gave it a testing shake. He smirked at your reaction but obeyed, tearing into the wrapping paper. He set the crumpled remains aside carefully, revealing a plain box underneath. Sliding off the lid, he pulled out a cassette tape.

It was labelled in your handwriting: ‘Dean Winchester’s Playlist.’

“I compiled all your favourite songs onto one tape… you know, for the longer drives. I figured it might come in handy,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly, though your insides churning with anxiety.

Dean’s smile was soft, almost reverent, as he looked at you, then back at the tape, cradling it like it was something precious. You always found new ways to surprise him. “I love it.”

“Wait,” he said suddenly, as a thought came to mind from a few days ago. “Is this why you ‘borrowed’ my box of tapes to reorganise them?” he asked, making air quotes with his fingers.

You grinned. “Guilty.”

Dean chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your heart flutter. “I thought it was strange when you returned them, and they didn’t look any different.”

You bit your lip, the memory of sneaking around to plan this flashing through your mind. It had been no easy feat keeping it a secret, especially when you were together so often. And then this morning, when you kept up the facade not acknowledging his birthday, all in a ploy to get things ready.

You were thankful for Sam helping you place the notes whilst you got the room ready.

“Unorthodox methods had to be taken,” you said with a teasing glint in your eye.

“And here I thought you forgot,” Dean murmured, shaking his head. A pang of guilt crossed his face, knowing now how much effort you’d put into this.

“Forget your birthday?” you teased, though your tone was soft. “Not a chance.”

Dean’s smile softened as he took a step closer to you, setting the tape back on the table. “You didn’t have to go through all this, you know.”

“I wanted to,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, everything else faded. His green eyes shone in the glow of the fairy lights, filled with an emotion so raw it made your breath hitch.

“You’re something else,” he said, his voice thick with feeling as he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His hand lingered, cupping your cheek as his thumb gently traced your skin.

And when his lips met yours, it was soft, almost tentative, as if he was savouring the moment. But as you responded, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

The kiss deepened, a slow-burning fire igniting between you. Every ounce of tension from the day melted away, replaced by the warmth of his touch and the passion that simmered just beneath the surface.

You were lost in the moment, captivated by the way he held you, kissed you, made you feel as though you were the only thing that mattered. His free hand found your waist, anchoring you to him as he poured every unsaid word into the kiss.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and dazed, you managed a soft laugh. “I have one more surprise,” you mumbled, though it was hard to form a coherent thought when he was looking at you like that.

Dean’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your jaw and trailing to your neck. “And what’s that?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky.

You giggled, placing your hands on his chest to gently push him back just enough to speak. “You’re going to have to let me go first.”

He groaned dramatically but stepped back, his hands lingering on your waist. “This better be good,” he teased, a playful grin on his face.

“Oh, I’m positive you’ll think so.” You grinned over your shoulder as you pulled out a small box you had hidden behind the bedside table. Dean raised a surprised brow, only now just realising now how cunning you actually were. 

You opened the box and dumped the contents onto the bed. Dean walked over and stood behind you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he examined what you had. Various bottles of scented oils and lotions spilled across the mattress, and he frowned in confusion.

“What’s all this?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

You turned to look at him, your grin widening as you leaned back slightly against his chest. “It’s for you,” you said simply.

“For me?” His brows furrowed further, though there was a hint of amusement and wonder in his eyes.

“It’s the next part of your surprise,” you murmured, your voice soft and teasing as your hands glided up his chest and over his broad shoulders. Your fingertips pressed into his muscles gently but with purpose, kneading just enough for him to feel the hint of your intentions.

Dean’s eyebrows lifted, his lips curving into that familiar boyish grin that always made your heart flutter. “A massage?” he asked, his tone tinged with playful curiosity but unmistakable enthusiasm.

“Mmhm,” you confirmed, stepping back with a bright smile. You moved toward the bedside, gathering a neatly folded stack of towels he hadn’t even noticed sitting off to the side.

Dean watched you with growing intrigue, his eyes flickering between the towels in your hands and the way you were now spreading them out across the middle of the bed.

“Just making sure the sheets don’t get ruined,” you replied with a sly grin at his questioning look. “These oils might smell good, but I don’t think they’re exactly laundry friendly.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head with amused disbelief. “You’ve really thought this through, huh?”

“Damn right I have,” you shot back, your grin widening as you pointed toward him with playful authority. “Now, Winchester, off with the layers.”

Dean’s grin turned roguish, a familiar spark of mischief lighting up his green eyes. Slowly, he shrugged off his flannel, letting it fall to the floor before pulling his T-shirt over his head. His broad, toned chest came into view, the scars scattered across his skin telling stories of battles fought and survived. You bit your lip, letting your gaze linger a second longer than you intended.

Dean noticed—of course, he did. His smirk deepened, and the heat in his gaze was unmistakable as he kicked off his boots and slid his jeans down, leaving him standing there in nothing but his boxers.

“Face down,” you instructed, your voice steady despite the flutter of anticipation in your chest.

Dean tilted his head, giving you one last cheeky grin before doing as you asked. His strong, bowed legs carried him toward the bed with an easy saunter, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his muscles flexed and shifted with every step.

He stretched out on the bed with a low, satisfied groan, his back muscles contracting briefly before settling into the soft towels beneath him.

“Man,” he muttered, his voice muffled slightly by the pillow. “This is already shaping up to be the best birthday ever.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you grabbed one of the bottles of oil laying on the other side of the bed. With a quiet squeeze, you poured a generous amount into your palm, rubbing your hands together to warm the liquid. The rich, earthy scent of sandalwood mixed with the comforting sweetness of vanilla, filling the air between you.

Carefully straddling his hips, you started at his shoulders, your hands gliding over his skin in slow, deliberate movements. The tension in his muscles was evident immediately, knots hardened from years of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders—both literally and figuratively.

“Damn, Baby,” you murmured, pressing your thumbs into a particularly tight spot between his shoulder blades. “How are you even walking around like this?”

He groaned at your touch, his head turning slightly to the side. “Years of practice. That, and the occasional beer.”

You chuckled softly, your movements becoming more purposeful as you kneaded the stubborn tension from his shoulders. “Not tonight,” you whispered. “Tonight, you’re going to relax.”

Your hands moved with intention, gliding down the curve of his spine, pausing to work out each knot and tight band of muscle. The scars beneath your fingertips were rough reminders of everything he had endured, but you treated them with reverence, your touch gentle yet firm.

Dean let out a deep, contented sigh, his body visibly relaxing under your hands. “Where the hell did you learn to do this?” he asked, his voice heavy with gratitude.

“Spent some time watching videos,” you admitted with a grin. “Figured I’d need to bring my A-game if I wanted to impress you.”

“You’ve got nothing to prove, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and full of affection.

Your hands moved to his arms next, massaging the strong muscles there before returning to his shoulders for another pass. The sound of his deep breathing filled the room, a clear sign that he was letting himself fully unwind.

As you leaned down, your lips brushed against the shell of his ear. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice rich with warmth and sincerity, the emotion swelling in your chest as your hands continued their devoted exploration of the man beneath your fingertips.

Dean turned his head slightly, his eyes still closed, but the slow, genuine smile that spread across his lips told you he’d heard you loud and clear. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way you said them, with a love so deep it felt like it wrapped around him, soothing the cracks he’d hidden from the world.

Although he was a man of very little words when it came to it, more of a shower than a teller, you knew he felt the same.

The tension seemed to melt away beneath your touch, replaced with the softness of surrender. You lingered at his shoulders, sweeping the area one last time, before sitting upright with a satisfied smile.

Dean’s eyes blinked open at the absence of your hands, his brow furrowing slightly before he rose onto his elbows with a deep groan, rolling his shoulders as if testing how light they now felt.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice a little rough. “Didn’t think I could feel this loose.”

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, his green eyes narrowing with curiosity at the sly smile playing on your lips.

“On your back,” you instructed, your voice soft but laced with an unspoken promise that made the air between you hum with anticipation.

Dean’s brows lifted slightly, his lips twitching into a grin as he rolled onto his back, letting you slip off him to make space. His movements were deliberate but eager, his gaze never leaving yours. His eyes were hooded, glinting with both wonder and heat as he watched you, waiting for your next move.

You trapped your bottom lip behind your teeth, your gaze smouldering as you reached for the belt of your robe. Slowly, you untied it, letting the fabric part and glide down your body to pool in a crumpled heap at your feet.

Dean’s breath hitched audibly, his chest rising sharply as his eyes roamed over you, drinking in the sight. You were clad in nothing but a satin night-dress that skimmed every curve, the soft fabric clinging in all the right places and leaving little to the imagination.

“Sweetheart,” Dean rasped, his voice thick with admiration and desire, “you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You stepped closer, your bare feet silent against the floor as you leaned over him, your hands finding their way back to his chest. “Not tonight, Winchester,” you murmured, your lips curving into a teasing smile as you pressed your palms to the solid planes of his body.

“Tonight, I’m going to take care of you.”

Dean’s heart thudded in anticipation, licking his lips as you once again climbed aboard, this time settling snuggly against his crotch. 

He moaned his approval as he realised you’d forgone underwear, the warmth of your slick heat seeped through onto his hardening cock. 

“Fuck.” He cursed at the sight of you. His hands instinctively running along the flesh of your thighs.

“Look at you, all tense again.” You tutted disapprovingly, your lips twitching into a sly smirk. You leaned over to the side of you again, making sure to grind your hips into him as you did. 

His responding moan sent a bolt of heat straight to your core, his hands tightening on your thighs just enough to leave a dull, thrilling ache. The unspoken tension crackled in the air, thick and heady. You shifted slightly, settling back into your previous position, pouring another generous amount of oil into your palm.

You never broke eye contact as you rubbed your hands together, warming the oil between them. The heat wasn’t just from the friction—it radiated between you, an unspoken promise that left your breaths shallow and synchronised.

Then, slowly, you pressed your palms to his chest, letting them glide over the firm, taut muscle beneath. The oil slicked his skin, making your movements smooth and deliberate as you traced the hard planes of his chest and shoulders.

Dean let out a deep, gravelly moan, the sound vibrating through your hands and sending shivers down your spine. His head tipped back slightly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before they reopened, hazy and half-lidded. He stayed still, patient for once; his hands resting on your thighs, his grip firm but reverent as though grounding himself in the moment.

Your touch shifted between soft and purposeful, your fingers digging into the knots buried deep beneath his skin, ones he didn’t even realise he had in those places. When you reached more tender spots, your pressure softened, your hands moving with care.

All the while, Dean’s gaze was locked on you, flickering between your concentrated expression and the curves of your body. His eyes were dark with desire, but there was something more profound there—adoration, reverence. He was utterly captivated, wholly yours in every possible sense.

To him, you weren’t just beautiful; you were his safe haven, his sanctuary. Every touch of your hands, every gentle motion across his skin, reminded him of how much he was loved, how much he belonged to you.

His chest rose and fell beneath your palms, the rhythm steady but deep, a testament to how completely relaxed he was under your care. For a man who’d spent his life fighting, carrying the weight of the world, and never allowing himself to fully let go, this moment was a rarity.

His heart felt impossibly full, warmth flooding through him in waves. Watching you, feeling you, he was entirely at your mercy. And there was no other place he’d rather be.

His body was sinking again, your, almost professional, hands lulling him into a state of pure blissful relaxation. He’d almost forgot about the feel of your bare pussy, separated by only a thin piece of fabric, against him until you shifted back on your hunches. 

“Hmm.” You frown in though, your expression almost serious. “I think there’s still a part of you that’s not quite as relaxed as I’d have liked.” You punctuate with a role your hips.

Dean groans and drops his head back, his hands quickly finding your hips, feeling rather than guiding the grind of your pussy against his stiff cock. 

“Dammit.” He huffs, both amused and incredibly turned on. “You really are try’na kill me.” 

“I told you.” You smile as you slide off of him again, only to remove his boxers, which he’s happy oblige as you glide them down and off of his legs, dropping them unceremoniously to the floor. You climb back onto the bed, but this time settle between his spread thighs. “I’m going to take care of you.” 

With that you tenderly kiss along his inner thigh, suckling gently at his hip bone before repeating the action the other side. Dean gasps and gawks at you, his hips twitching upwards every time you get near to his aching length. 

Just as he’s about to beg you for more, he feels your lips seal around his leaking tip. He all but cries out. The slow torture of watching you touch his body with so much care and tenderness, all the while feeling the wetness between your legs soak through the front of his boxers, because of that. He’s about ready to burst. 

However, you take your time to suck and lick at the reddened tip, welcoming the salty tang of pre-cum on your tongue with an appreciative moan. Dean fists the sheets beneath him as you work him over with your mouth this time. The sensation is too much and not enough all at once, but again, before he can whine - because that’s what you have resorted him to - you engulf him into your mouth. 

It’s warm and wet and “oh so fucking good”, Dean thinks. You build a steady rhythm, taking him as far as you can go whilst your hand, which was still slick with oil, caresses his balls. 

Dean was a moaning babbling mess, his skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat, his chest heaving, back arching slightly as he fucked up into your mouth. You welcomed it with encouraging moans of your own, sucking him harder, deeper until he was shouting out his climax and spilling down your throat. 

You swallowed everything he gave you, softening your movements as you gently sucked him clean. He hissed at the sensitivity when you finally pulled away, his body going slack and weightless against the mattress. If his heart wasn’t beating so wildly, he was sure he could easily pass out. 

“Relaxed?” you murmured softly, settling against his side. Your hand moved in gentle, soothing strokes over the heated, flushed skin of his chest as he lay there, catching his breath and slowly returning from the blissful haze you’d pulled him into.

Dean let out a shaky chuckle, his chest still heaving slightly. “Holy shit,” he finally managed, turning his head to look at you. His green eyes shone with a mix of awe and disbelief, like he couldn’t quite process how someone could make him feel like that.

You smiled bashfully, your heart swelling with pride at his reaction. “Good?” you teased lightly, though your voice was warm and tender.

“Incredible,” he corrected, his tone reverent. “That was just… wow. I don’t even have words right now.” He let out another breathless laugh, and you couldn’t help but join him, the sound of your shared laughter filling the room with a lightness that made your chest ache.

When the laughter faded, you found yourselves locked in a quiet moment, your gazes tangling. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; it was charged with the raw connection you both shared. Dean’s face was still painted with the glow of his post-orgasmic bliss, his features relaxed and open in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

Even as a dull ache thrummed between your own legs, you ignored it, content in the knowledge that tonight wasn’t about you. Tonight was for him.

One of his hands reached up to cup your cheek, his calloused thumb brushing tenderly over your flushed skin. The gesture was so intimate, so full of unspoken love, that it sent a shiver down your spine.

His gaze softened further, the warmth in his eyes making your chest tighten. “How the hell did I get so lucky?” he whispered, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of his sincerity.

You didn’t have a chance to respond before he leaned up slowly, his hand guiding you down to meet him. His lips pressed against yours in a kiss that was achingly slow and sensual, the kind of kiss that spoke volumes without needing words.

His lips moved against yours with deliberate tenderness, savouring every second of the connection. The kiss wasn’t rushed or demanding—it was deep, filled with raw emotion, gratitude, and an overwhelming love that poured from him into you.

You sighed softly against his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair as you melted into him, feeling like the entire world had narrowed down to just this moment, just him. However, things quickly began to heat up again.

The kiss grew more needy, more desperate. A new surge of wetness coated your thighs as Dean trailed his lips from your mouth, jaw and to your ear, nibbling on the sensitive lobe until you were a whimpering mess. 

He grabbed your thigh and lifted it to rest against his hip, pulling you flush against him as he did. You gasped in both surprise and pleasure at the feeling of his hardening length pressing against you. 

“Already?” You breathlessly asked, your tone laced with awe and giddiness. Dean hummed in acknowledgement against your neck as his lips sucked and nipped at your most sensitive spots. 

You tugged harshly at his hair as a hand slipped between your bodies, long, thick and callused digits pressing against your swollen clit. You cried out desperately as he began a slow circling motion, tiny shocks of pleasure jolting through your body with each sweep of his fingers. 

Just as you were building, that coil inside you winding tight, his fingers suddenly retracted and you were pushed onto your back. Dean hovered above you, his eyes dark and hooded as he gazed down at you. 

“You know. I have one criticism to make about tonight.” Dean confessed and leaned down to peck your lips once, then your jaw, your neck, your collar bone. You frowned, confused but curious. 

“And what’s that?” You asked a little breathless at his ministrations, and he pulled his head back up to look at you again, a devilish twinkle in his eye. 

“My favourite flavour of pie.” He said almost nonchalant, before he slowly returned to kissing down your body, keeping his eyes on yours as he pulled down the top of your night dress, exposing your tit to him. 

Your mouth opened in a silent moan as he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud and sucked, hard. You arched into his mouth, shivering at the pleasurable pulse travelling down between your legs. 

After lavishing both breasts with his talented mouth, he released you with a soft pop and looked at you again, gradually slipping down your body until his broad shoulders were forcing your legs to part to accommodate him. He slowly slid the hem of your dress up your waist, exposing your soaked pussy to him with a deep hunger in his eyes.

“You’ve always known my favourite is cherry.” He winked, licking his lips before diving in for a taste.

AN: This was so much fun to right. I wish Dean could have really been shown this much love on his birthday. 😭 As always let me know what you think and thank you for reading ❤️

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @lyarr24 , @nancymcl

[em1989ts]

𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒏

ghostface! steve harrington x reader x ghostface! eddie munson

word count: 2.7k

main masterlist.

summary: after a long night of slasher tapes you'd picked up from family video, you get a couple eery phone calls, leading to a frightening break in from two masked figures.

warnings: strong language, knife, suggestive content, honestly i might just make a part two of this where it's just smut cause i totally set it up

author's note: i'm so back in my steve harrington era so here's the fic i've been wanting to write for like two years now

~

It was a windy Saturday night in the middle of October, 1986. You heard your house creak with every chilly gust that hit its walls. It was getting colder and colder in Hawkins. 

You were laying on your side on the couch, wearing an old pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a loose fitting t-shirt, with a throw blanket covering you from your shoulders to the tips of your toes. The light from the television set illuminated your face as you stared intently at the screen, rewatching Friday the 13th for the hundredth time. A stack of tapes you’d picked up today from Family Video adorned the coffee table in front of you as you reached the end of your horror marathon. 

It had been a few days since your parents had left for their business trip, leaving you as their free-of-charge housesitter. As they were heading out the door, they had given you a firm set of rules: 

Lock the doors and don’t leave the house at night. 

You didn’t exactly have the most exciting nightlife so that rule was easy to agree to. Lazy horror marathons were your favorite activity this time of year. You had already carved two jack o’lanterns and placed them on your front steps, one displaying a toothy grin whilst the other grimaced with a fangy frown. You had toasted the pumpkin seeds as a snack but those were gone halfway through A Nightmare on Elm Street which you had seen previously in the night. 

As you lay sideways on the cushion of the couch, your eyes drooped with exhaustion. You unraveled yourself from the blanket and sat up to turn your head to read the analog clock on your wall which let you know it was now one thirty in the morning. A dark blur quickly entered your vision as you looked out the window behind the television. The streetlights lit the quiet neighborhood as leaves blew down the road, nothing else in sight. Although you could’ve sworn you’d seen a coyote or something.

Deciding to call it a night, you stand up to shut the television off but you didn’t see the remote anywhere. Sticking your hand between the cushions, you felt around for the plastic device yet it wasn’t there. You picked up the bundled blanket and shook it around which caused the remote to fall to the floor and under the couch. Tipping your head back in annoyance, you signed and crouched down, getting on your knees and sticking your arm under the couch to fish for the remote. After a few seconds, your hand felt the warm remote and pulled your arm back and as you were still on your knees, you leaned against the couch and pressed the power button on the remote. As the screen faded to black, you stood back up, placed the remote down on the coffee table, folded the blanket neatly and placed it on the couch.

The living room was dark except for the warm lighting that peaked through from the connecting kitchen. You walked across the cold tiled floor with your warm wool socks to make yourself a cup of tea before heading up to bed. Placing a small kettle of water onto the stove, you turned around to reach for the cupboard handle as a sharp ringing gave you a fright. 

You jumped and turned around quickly, although you already knew the noise had come from the yellow telephone hanging from the wall. 

Who could be calling at this hour? 

You picked up the phone and immediately put it back down to stop the ringing. Whoever it was could wait until the morning. Maybe it was just Nancy asking about an assignment due this week, surely she could ask you in homeroom on Monday. 

Turning back around, you went over to the cupboard and pulled two bags of chamomile tea from a box then went over to the cabinet that held glassware as you grabbed a mug you made freshman year in art class. You picked it out specifically for its orange and red glaze, matching the autumn foliage. 

The mug in your hands almost went crashing to the floor as another ring from the telephone reverberated through the kitchen. You tightened your grip after the initial scare and placed the mug gently on the countertop as you went over to pick up the phone. 

Two calls in a row, this must be urgent. 

You weren’t exactly thrilled to have to converse with someone at this time of night but if this was an emergency then you’d have felt awful for ignoring it. You picked up the phone and leaned against the wall.

“Hello?” you asked into the speaker by your chin.

“Hello, sweetheart,” a low voice snickered into your ear. 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. What kind of joke was this? 

“Why are you calling so late?” You were too tired to be playing any games.

“Why are you answering so late?” The voice worried you. It didn’t even sound real, yet the lack of a serious tone made you feel like this phone call could have waited till morning. 

You could hear the kettle of boiling water start to whistle as you started to lose your patience. 

“Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you want but I really don’t care,” you said into the phone, hanging it up back onto the wall as you turned to the kettle to take it off the stove to pour it into your mug. 

As you ripped the tea packets open to begin steeping your chamomile, the phone rang once more. In your mind, the ringing almost sounded more aggressive than the last two times it rang. 

You dropped your tea bags into the mug as you stomped your way to the phone as you ripped it off the wall and held it by the side of your face.

“What the fuck do you-” you started angrily into the phone before you were abruptly cut off. 

“I’ll tell you exactly what we want, sweetheart. Once we get you.” 

“What?” You said into the receiver. Your shoulders slumped with fear as your heart rate quickened. That was not the response that you were expecting. 

You looked towards your front door. You had remembered to lock it right? No, of course you remembered. You double-checked it. Triple-checked it. 

Then why was it cracked open? 

And who was that figure visible through the fogged glass? 

“You might want to run,” The voice suggested. 

Abandoning your tea, you dropped the phone, letting it hit the wall and swing by its curly cord. 

You didn’t know where to run, you were frozen. How could they be calling you from your front door? Who was this person and what were they after? Were they going to hurt you?

As you quickly tried to come up with any plan for evacuation, you heard a creak coming from the door. You looked over to see the figure reach out a gloved hand and grasp the edge of the door, slowly opening it until it was wide enough for them to step in. 

You now saw them in full. A tall, black-cloaked figure wearing a white mask with drooping eyes and a long, open mouth stepped in and stood staring at you. Not making any advances, but not looking friendly either. 

That mask.

Shielding the identity of the intruder, the horrified ghastly expression perfectly reflected the way you felt as your heart sank into your stomach.

Your flight instinct finally kicked in as you skidded down the hallway trying to get away. Since the invader was blocking you from exiting through the front door, you could try to run out the back door, or possibly a window if you had no other choice. 

As you quickly turned the corner at the end of the hallway that led to your dining room which had a door to the back porch, the tall figure suddenly appeared in front of you as you crashed into their chest. The wool socks on your feet caused you to lose your balance and crash land onto the wooden floor in front of them. Your head ached as it smacked against the hard planks. As you regained vision and remembered your situation, you dizzily lifted yourself up enough to lean on your elbows as you looked up at the figure who was now standing menacingly above you. The hallway was dark except for the small nightlight which illuminated the horrific expression displayed on the mask which mocked your lower position.

Before you could scramble away towards the other end of the hallway, the harsh force of a boot stomping down on your hair caused a yelp to escape your lips. Your scalp was on fire from the pain as you looked up with teary eyes to see a duplicate of the masked figure. 

A glint of silver caught your eye as a blade was slowly brought into your line of sight. It made your heart sink further. A blade that was spotless and clean, which meant they either took great enough care to properly clean up after themselves or it had never been used, meaning it was just for show. 

The scuffed leather boot was lifted from your hair which released the sharp tension on your scalp, yet your head still throbbed with pain. Your vision was blurry and your heart continued to beat rapidly and unevenly, causing you to worry whether you could stay conscious to fight for your life. 

The figure with both hands free lifted you up off the ground, grabbing you by your upper arms, and standing you up on your feet. The neck of your tee shirt slipped off your shoulder as you tussled, revealing the skinny strap of your bralette across your shoulder. They turned your body forcefully to have you face their companion as they pressed their chest against you, pinning your left arm behind your back whilst wrapping a bicep around your neck tight enough to keep you in place. 

A gasp left your lips as their muscles closed you in. Your right hand was free which you used to try and pry their arm away from your throat enough to allow you to inhale without a struggle. The mask in front of you stared down at you, inching closer, almost mocking your pathetic position. When the arm would budge, you brought your hand out to rip that smug mask off, you couldn’t take that look any longer. A rough, gloved hand wrapped around your wrist to stop you from revealing their face but it was too late. Your fingers wrapped around the long chin and as their reflexes snatched your hand away, the mask went along with it. 

Steve. Fucking. Harrington. 

Was this a fucking joke? 

His brown eyes gazed into yours with a dark look yet he wore a smile that would forever taunt you. He leaned in closer till his face was inches from yours. 

“Gotcha.”

Your eyebrows scrunched in utter confusion before your expression turned to one of annoyance and anger. You couldn’t believe this. You tried thrashing around in the arms of the unknown accomplice before you remembered your legs were free and started kicking. His face turned impatient as he pulled his hood off, the unknown figure moved their bicep from around your neck and let your arm free from behind your back, only to hold both of your arms to your sides and wrap their own around you. 

You were seething, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Harrington? Do you seriously think this is funny?” 

“Oh definitely, but don’t give me all the credit,” he chuckled as he looked over your head and winked to whoever was holding you in place, giving the okay to unmask. 

An arm left from its place around your torso as it was lifted to remove the ghost mask, revealing Eddie Munson, who placed his grinning face on your shoulder. 

You were disgusted. Why did they even think it was okay to do this, even as a joke? You could have gotten seriously hurt, the cops could have gotten involved. If your parents found out they did this you’d never be allowed to be left home alone overnight ever again, even though you followed their rules perfectly. It was now two in the morning and you were two tired to deal with their antics any longer. 

You knew Steve and Eddie had been getting closer recently, courtesy of Dustin trying to get his two older male friends to bond, which clearly might now have been a good idea. They were both whispering with each other over the counter yesterday when you went to Family Video for your movie night. You had been friends with the both of them individually for a while now but you’d never thought they would pull this shit on you. 

You sighed and tilted your head back, pursing your lips in annoyance as you tried to pick the right words to gently parent them from the angry scoldings in your mind. 

“Okay, you got me,” you said in the most unamused tone you could muster, “Guys, this really isn’t funny. I don’t know what made you think it was okay to do this to me but you can both go home now.” 

You tried to escape Eddie’s hold but he only held on tighter, before nuzzling his face into your neck. Sure, Eddie was very comfortable around his friends, but this was new. 

“We can’t go now, sweetheart. The fun was just getting started,” he mumbled into your neck. 

“What?” you said quietly, confused at what he meant. 

Steve quickly brought the knife up to your face, causing you to flinch and lean your neck further into Eddie, prompting him to lightly bite. 

He traced the silver, curved blade across the silky skin along your chin as he peered down at you with a look that made you shrink. 

“We came here to scare you,” he said darkly, “hoping to get a little more than a laugh.” 

You looked up at him, cautiously aware of your slight movements as to not knick yourself with the edge of the blade. You’d never have thought either Steve or Eddie would think of you like that, yet you couldn’t say you’d never thought of them. 

Eddie removed his face from your neck as he matched Steve’s persuasive look. 

“Come on, sweetheart, you feeling something other than fear? Maybe a heartbeat somewhere else?” He joked with a dark laugh, his hands going lower as you scoffed. 

There was no way you were considering this. Breaking into your home, the frightening phone calls, the knife, the slasher costumes. It was just too ridiculous. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued, weren’t enjoying the attention. The knife on your face with just enough pressure, daring to draw blood, was a thrill you weren’t used to but you weren’t opposed to it either.

Biting your lip as you consulted with your pride, the boys watched you with anticipation and a growing need. 

You lightly laughed at yourself, entertaining the idea, as you gave them a look and nodded. Eddie smirked widely, placing his mask back on before he threw you over his shoulder, Steve following suit. 

They made their way back into the living room before Eddie roughly tossed your body down onto the couch. As you landed, you looked up at the two masked men who stood tall, staring down at you which was quite intimidating but you definitely weren’t as mad as you were five minutes ago. 

In fact, you were looking forward to continuing your slasher marathon, even if it was a little different than what you had in mind. 

~

author's note: i'm finishing this up right before i go to sleep so it's not editing so please ignore any grammar/spelling mistakes lol i tried to get this out as soon as possible, thank you for reading!! hope you enjoyed!! comments/notes/reblogs are soooo appreciated

[wadewnstonwilson]

quiet times;

summary: Logan often goes on walks to clear his head, while Wade secretly prepares for his return, leaving humorous, heartfelt notes around the apartment. Wade’s chaotic personality draws Logan out of his solitude, and Logan’s calm demeanor gives Wade a safe space to unwind.

word count: 1k.

Logan and Wade weren’t the type of people who made sense together—not on paper, not in theory, and definitely not in the kind of world where people paired off neatly into couples with picket fences and matching dishware. They were jagged, broken pieces, barely held together by sheer stubbornness and a touch of gallows humor. If their lives had been puzzles, they wouldn’t have had matching edges. And yet, when they came together, somehow it just… worked.

Logan was all gruff stability. He didn’t say much—never had—but his presence was grounding in a way that cut through the noise in Wade’s head. When Wade’s mind spiraled, spinning up into a chaotic whirlwind of hyperactive thoughts and relentless energy, Logan had a way of pulling him back down to earth without even trying. Sometimes, it was the way he looked at Wade—calm, steady, and utterly unfazed by his antics. Other times, it was his voice, that low rumble that could somehow be both a growl and a reassurance.

“Easy, Wade,” his words a quiet tether as Wade ranted or rambled or paced the room for the fifth time in an hour. And somehow, it worked. Wade would slow down, his shoulders relaxing as he let himself lean into the stability Logan offered. He didn’t like admitting it—hell, he’d rather die than admit it—but he needed Logan more than he cared to acknowledge.

Wade, on the other hand, was chaos personified. He was loud and brash, throwing himself into every moment like he had something to prove. He dragged Logan into his world of ridiculous antics and inappropriate jokes, poking at his brooding exterior until he got the reaction he wanted. He had a knack for breaking through Logan’s walls, his humor chipping away at the darkness Logan carried like a second skin.

“Hey, Claws,” Wade said, leaning over the back of the couch with a grin that promised trouble. “When are you gonna quit brooding and join the land of the living? You’re like if Eeyore fucked a lumberjack and made a baby that didn’t understand how to smile.”

Logan would grunt, shooting him a look that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re in love with me,” Wade would shoot back without missing a beat, winking at him before flopping onto the couch. Logan never denied it, and Wade always took that as a victory.

They both had their coping mechanisms, their ways of handling the shit they’d been through. Logan, when the weight of his past got too heavy, would disappear for hours, going on long walks to clear his head. Wade, of course, couldn’t let him do that without giving him hell first.

“Where you off to, Logie Bear?” He'd call after Logan as he grabbed his jacket. “Gonna go write sad poetry about your feelings? Maybe find a secluded cliff to brood on like the world’s most depressing Disney prince?”

But the second Logan was out the door, Wade would start prepping for his return. He wasn’t the sentimental type—or so he told himself—but he had a habit of making sure the place was ready for Logan when he got back. He’d order Logan’s favorite food, grumbling about how much he hated the smell of it. He’d set out a bottle of whiskey with two glasses, because he knew Logan wouldn’t drink alone. And sometimes, he’d leave little notes for him to find, scrawled in his messy handwriting and taped to random objects around the apartment.

One night, after a particularly rough mission, Logan came back to find a note taped to the door. In Wade’s handwriting, it read: “Miss you, stabby hubby. Don’t get eaten by bears, but if you do, make sure you take one down with you. Gotta keep the Wolverine rep alive.” There was a crude drawing of Wade punching a bear in the face at the bottom, complete with exaggerated muscles and a speech bubble that read, “Take that, Smokey!”

Logan shook his head, a low chuckle escaping him as he pulled the note off the door and tucked it into his pocket. He wouldn’t admit it—hell, he’d rather stab himself with his own claws—but he kept every single one of those notes. They were ridiculous, sure, but they were also… Wade’s. And that made them worth more than anything else he owned.

Inside, he found another note taped to the bottle of whiskey on the counter. This one read: “Cheers to my favorite emo lumberjack. Try not to brood too hard tonight. You’re only allowed two grunts and one sigh. Any more than that, and I’m coming over to kick your ass.”

He poured himself a glass, smirking as he muttered, “You’re a pain in my ass, Wade.”

Right on cue, the door burst open, and Wade strolled in like he owned the place. “Miss me, claws?” he said, grabbing the glass Logan had just poured for him and downing it in one go. “Damn, that’s good. You’ve got taste, I’ll give you that.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Wade shot back, flopping onto the couch with all the grace of a drunk octopus. He sprawled out, his legs thrown over the armrest as he glanced back at Logan with a smirk. “Come on, babe. Sit your broody ass down and tell me all about your sad-boy walk. Did you find enlightenment? Meet a wise old turtle who taught you the meaning of life?”

Logan sighed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he joined Wade on the couch. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” Wade said, sticking his tongue out at him before grabbing the whiskey bottle and pouring himself another glass.

They sat there, side by side, the silence between them easy and comfortable. Wade didn’t push him to talk, and Logan didn’t try to fix him. They just… existed together, two broken pieces that somehow fit.

At one point, Wade reached into his pocket and pulled out another note, tossing it into Logan’s lap. “Here. For your collection.”

Logan unfolded it, his eyes scanning the messy handwriting: “Love ya, asshole. Don’t go getting all soft on me.”

He looked up at Wade, his expression softening despite himself. “You’re impossible.”

Wade grinned, leaning back with his arms stretched out across the couch. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Logan didn’t respond, but the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth was all the confirmation Wade needed.

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Would it possible if you can write a Lost boys(poly if your comfy with it) with a Carrie!Reader (2013 ver) who like, is bullied severely at school, crappy parents and discovers they have telekinesis. they run into the lost boys on the boardwalk, hangs out with them and stuff? But they don’t tell them the bullying or anything about their home life because reasons(make some up if you want lol) or their powers until they run into their bullies in a empty part of the beach and they terrorize them and they snap? And the boys watch and fall in love and kick their feet and twirl their hair? David wants them to turn now even more (falling in love aside) because ✨Power✨ Dwayne wants them because ✨Safety✨ Paul wants them to turn because ✨Sexy✨ and Marko because ✨Crazy✨. Basically their dream girl who is as soft as silk but a lil fucked up?🥺🥺🥺

Also how’s your day been? How you living? You drink water today?

Hi! Yes, this would absolutely be possible! First off, I have to say, I am so sorry for the incredibly long wait. I was busy with work (multiple jobs and only 7 days a week aren't an easy thing to combine with free time), and I prioritised finishing Changes. But now that Changes is finished and all the chapters are written, I finally have time for this request because I've read this several times now and I just think it is so much fun! Anyway, I hope you'll forgive me for not writing this sooner and that you like what I've written! Have a nice day/night/holidays!💜

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

The alley was silent. Three bodies laid on the ground, blood splattered everywhere from the ground to the walls on both sides. One body, a female no older than twenty, came without a head. Or at least, it used to have a head, but what was left of it was barely recognisable as such. There were two male bodies, one twisted and turned as if it were moulded in clay, the other drained as if all liquid inside the body spontaneously decided to evaporate.

Needless to say, it was a mess.

I stood between those three bodies, not knowing what to do. In all honesty, I was still not entirely sure about what happened. One second, they began to call me names - again, like they always did - and the second I felt my anger flare up and poof - there they were gone. Dead. I shook my head as I stared at the blood, unable to keep a single tear from falling down my face.

I blinked, a small frown on my forehead. I was terrified. Not of what scene laid before me, but because of what had happened. I had done this, and I didn't know how. I had killed them, somehow.

"That's quite a mess."

I jumped, turning around. My heart was beating in my throat as I saw David, Marko, Paul, and Dwayne standing behind me. I frowned slightly. It was the closed off side of the alley, so if they'd walked past me, I would have noticed it, right?

"We flew," was Dwaynes answer to my questioning look. I nodded, remembering how they'd told me what they were a while ago.

I had known the boys for quite some time now, running into them once while they were in the videostore. Marko had just grabbed the tape I wanted, talking - well, there's no other way to put it - shit about it. When I had asked for the tape, he had refused to give it to me, instead opting to give me a better alternative. He had been right. Where I had initially wanted to see a B movie called Zombies from Mars, he had given me Return of the Living Dead. It was awesome. The next night, I searched for them on the boardwalk to thank him for the suggestion, and they invited me to hang out with them. Ever since I did so, every night, whenever I could. I told them everything, I was closer to them than anyone else I knew. Well, everything - i couldn't help but chew the inside of my cheek. I had never told them about being bullied. It felt silly when I hung out with them. It was silly when I could deal with it. It was calling names, being pushed into the showers, locked inside rooms, and losing my lunch sometimes - it could have been worse. Some other kids in school were bullied worse, and they didn't complain, so why would I?

"What happened here?" Paul asked as he looked at the bodies.

"I don't know," I said quietly, my voice weaker than I'd liked, "I got angry and then they were just like that."

"They bothered you?" Marko gave me a pointed look, and I knew that I had no choice but to be truthful now.

"They bullied me."

"Bullied? Why did you never say anything?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, not looking at Marko, "it felt silly, and I could handle it."

"Yeah, that much is obvious," David answered, a sly grin on his face. "Has this ever happened before?"

I shook my head. "It scares me. I just killed three people and didn't even notice it."

"Just a regular night for us, am I right?" Paul chuckled, earning himself some glares. "Sure, it's a shock that it happened, but honestly, Babe," he grinned, "it is kind of hot."

"I killed someone, Paul."

"So? We do too."

"And you're certain you've never done anything like this before?" Marko asked, and once again, I shook my head.

"If you can do this without practice..."

"Practice? This was an accident, I don't even know how it happened or -"

I stopped when I felt myself panic, and slowly but surely, I saw the droplets of blood rising from the ground, floating in the air. I stared at it with wide eyes. "Am I doing this?"

"Yeah," Dwayne appeared behind me, taking my hand in his. "Calm down, alright? You're fine, and you're going to stay fine."

"I don't understand..."

"You're telekinetic," Marko grinned, "you could burn this whole town to the ground if you wanted without lifting a single finger."

"I- I don't think I want that?"

"But you could!"

I couldn't help but smile a watery smile at that. "Why are you four not freaked out?"

"Vampire." Was all David said as he looked at me. "Which you could still become, the offers still up."

"I don't know..."

"As a vampire it would be easier to control your powers."

"And we'd be able to keep you safer if they get out of control."

I sighed, looking between David and Dwayne, not knowing what to do.

"But what if I loose control and hurt you? Any of you?"

"You won't," Marko answered, "besides, I never shied away from a bit of pain."

I blushed, shaking my head. "You're incorrigible."

"You know it," he grinned. "You should go home, well clean this up for you."

"I- i can't really go back home, my parents, they are eh-"

"I meant the cave."

"What?" I frowned, looking at Marko and then at Paul and the others.

"You'll live with us," Paul said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You're one of us," David said, his voice holding more kindness than I'd heard before, "so come with us."

I smiled softly, nodding as I let David and Dwayne lead me away from the crime scene. Paul and Marko stayed behind, cleaning up the bodies and the blood, neither of them minding the sight of it.

"Pretty damn cool, this power of theirs," Marko grinned, as he swept some brain matter off the wall.

"Definitely. Makes you wonder what else they could do with this gift," he chuckled with a smirk, causing Marko to roll his eyes.

[nightmare-writes]

Succubus Soulmate pt.2

Wanda x Succubus!Reader

Hello everyone! Long time no see. I apologize for the unintended hiatus, life got in the way of me writing on here. I found this sitting in my drafts and I felt like some of you might have wanted to read it. I can’t guarantee that I will write another part of this soon, but if enough people want to see it I can write a part 3. Anyway! I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: masturbation (Wanda) it’s mostly very fluffy and domestic otherwise.

Summary: Your first few days on earth!

You stared at Wanda as she sat huddled up against her wall for a moment or so. You’d never been in this kind of position. You’re used to having some sleeze bag summon you, use you for two minutes, and then go straight back to the underworld while said sleeze bag knocks out in his post nut bliss. With this being your usual, you had no clue what you should do in this situation.

Eventually you fell asleep curled up on the couch with Wanda sitting awkwardly right next to you.

The more Wanda sat there, the more she started to think over logistics. What was she meant to do when she goes into work tomorrow? She couldn’t call out sick so she would have to leave you alone for a few hours. She couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t try to do anything silly while she was away, so she got to ‘succubus proofing’ her apartment.

She didn’t have any baby locks for cabinets so she assumed duct tape would have to do for now. She duct taped all of her cabinets shut, along with the fridge doors, the oven, the microwave, and anything she thought you could get into. She duct taped the cabinet in her bathroom with all her cleaning supplies in it and then went around to every window to duct tape the locks so you couldn’t access them. It felt like she had just gotten a new, untrained, puppy that she needed to ensure wouldn’t accidentally kill itself by drinking bleach thinking it was milk. It took her a few hours but she felt like she had successfully ‘succubus proofed’ her home. She rewarded herself by going to her bed and passing out for the night.

It felt like the moment Wanda closed her eyes, she had to open them back up. Her blaring alarm clock gave her no reprieve as it woke her up. She shut it off before getting ready for work as she usually did.

When she got out to the living room, she saw you were still curled up and resting. She felt a bit guilty as she gently shook you awake, but she needed to talk with you before she went off to work.

You groaned as the movement of your body got you out of your dreamland and forced you back into reality. Rubbing your sleepy eyes, you looked up to Wanda and mumbled “Mornin” almost too quiet for her to hear. She had to admit that you did look cute all sleepy, but she couldn’t be distracted from the task at hand.

“Look, I have to go to work so I’m gonna lay down a few ground rules for when I’m gone.” She says firmly while crouching down to be at eye level with you. “You’re not allowed to leave apartment unless it is burning down or someone broke in.” She starts and you interrupt by saying “If it was burning down I’d stay right where I am, I finally wouldn’t be freezing to death. Do you like living in an ice block?” which garners you an eye roll from the red head. “Second rule, don’t touch any of my things unless it is this remote or-“ she says while looking around for something for you to eat. She spots the cheerios she had set out and decided that that would be a sufficient food source for you before she could go grocery shopping. She scampers over to grab the box from the kitchen along with a water bottle before returning to your side and placing the box and bottle on the coffee table. “- this cereal and this water, got it?” She added. “What if I don’t like the way it tastes?” You ask while poking at the box.

“Well it’s just for now, I’ll be back with more food for you. What do you even eat?”

“Souls of the damned” you say with a straight face before laughing at the disgusted and slightly horrified expression on Wanda’s face. “I usually just eat meat, but now that I’m stuck as this flesh sack I guess I’d eat whatever humans would.”

“Okay, noted.” She says while looking around to see if she needed to say anything else. “You can watch whatever you want on the tv, I have a few streaming apps if you wanna look through those too.” She says and you look at her like she was speaking a whole other language. “What the fuck is a tv.” You deadpan and Wanda thinks you’re joking again until she realizes that you’re serious. “What did you think the remote was for?” She asks and you simply say “A vibrator”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh while saying “Why in the world would I give you just the remote to a vibrator?” You shrug as Wanda sits down next to you and explains the wonders of the television to you. When she turns it on, you were absolutely terrified at first. You yelped and hid behind her while she giggled at your antics. “It’s not going to kill you, here let me show you how it works.” She says softly while gently coaxing you out of hiding. She didn’t want to put on anything scary since she didn’t want you to think it was real, so she went to her disney+ account and put on some kids show that her coworkers kids absolutely loved. “You can watch this while I’m gone, okay?” She says while gesturing to the colorful dogs that were dancing on the screen. The moment your eyes hit the screen, you were entranced by what you were seeing. You didn’t look away from it as you nodded.

Wanda gave you a small pat on the head before setting the box of cheerios next to you so you’d actually remember that they were there. She moved her hands in front of your eyes when you didn’t turn to look at her and you immediately swatted her hand away so you could continue to watch. She just giggled to herself before saying “Have fun, I’ll be back soon.” and heading off to the office.

You quickly learned that your first favorite thing on earth was a show called Bluey. You’re second favorite thing were the delicious crunchy circles that Wanda gave you. You had devoured the entire box of cereal after about 10 or so episodes of bluey and you wanted more. You figured out how to pause the funny dogs on the television so you could go find more crunchy circles.

Your quest begins in the place where Wanda brought the box from in the first place, the kitchen. You were greeted by a collection of places where the sugary treat could be, but when you tried to open up one of the cabinets it was stopped by something. You let out a low growl at the offending silver strip before your short nails grew into fierce claws that tore through it. The first cabinet you opened was filled with random white disks. You grabbed one and tried taking a bite to see if it was tasty like your crunchy circles, but it didn’t break in between your teeth so you gave up on it.

You spent a few more minutes tearing through all the tape in the kitchen and looking for snacks. You eventually stumble upon a heavy bag that was easy to rip open. It was filled to the brim with tiny white crystals that looked edible, so you gave it a lick. You were instantly hooked. It tasted so yummy, kind of like the crunchy circles but this time it was just the sweet tasting part.

You returned back to the couch so you could keep watching the silly dogs while licking your delicious new treat.

———————————————————

Wanda was thankfully able to get off of work early and was able to convince her supervisor to let her work from home for a few days by giving some excuse about having to take care of some relatives child while they were in the hospital for a bit.

She returns home to see you, still sitting on the couch watching the show she put on earlier, but now you were eating something that was definitely not cheerios. “Hey, what are you- are you eating my sugar?!” She exclaims while taking the half eaten bag away from you. You whine and try to take it back from her but she hold it up above her so you couldn’t reach. “How did you even get this?” She questions while shutting the tv off. “I wanted more of this but there wasn’t any in the tiny compartments in the food room so I found that and ate it.” You say while picking up the box of cereal and holding it up. Wanda’s gaze moves over to the kitchen to see all the ripped up duct tape. She sighs and says “I’ll get you more cheerios, okay? No eating just sugar, it’s bad for you.” before giving you a reprimanding bop on your head. She almost changes her mind when she sees the adorable pout on your face, but she stays strong. You give in with a small nod while mumbling “No more… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’ll do better next time.” She says softly while sitting down next to you and hesitantly rubbing your back. You let out a soft purring sound before leaning against Wanda’s side. “More bluey.” you say while pointing to the television. She just chuckles to herself while switching the show back on. “We have to work on your manners, a please would be appreciated.” She says half jokingly.

————————————————————

After you went to sleep, Wanda went about making preparations for the next day. She went back and decided to hide the sugar bag somewhere else in the kitchen. She also put back another layer of duct tape just in case you got any ideas of stealing again.

She went on a late night trip to the supermarket to get a few boxes of cheerios for you and some general groceries since she was running low on practically everything. While she was browsing, she noticed a cute pair of pink mittens and got an idea to stop you from tearing through the duct tape again.

When she got home, she put the groceries away before making her way to her bedroom to make a few modifications to your new mittens. With a bit of ribbon and a lock for each hand, she successfully made a way to keep your hands locked in place. Was it a little evil? Maybe, but you did break a rule that she explicitly said… and the thought of you needing her to do everything for you was too tempting to pass up. She imagined your cute pout as you looked up at her and begged for her to hand feed you your cereal, or having to help you drink your water, or having to beg her to touch you since you couldn’t touch yourself…

Her mind began to wander towards the delicious sounds you would make. Would you whimper and whine while not using your words or would you be begging for more the entire time? Would you be quiet or loud just for her? These questions were burning her mind and sending a certain undeniable heat to her core. As she laid on her bed, her hand slowly crept down her stomach and into the waistband of her panties. She was soaked just from her little fantasy of you. She was desperate to feel your soft, supple skin under her fingers. She wants to squeeze and mark every inch of her body for herself. Her fingers make feather light touches around her clit before slowly speeding up. She was doing it just the way she liked it, but it didn’t feel right.

It didn’t feel right cause you weren’t the one touching her.

While she wanted to keep going, she knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere. She pulled her hand out and inspected her fingers that were dripping in her arousal. Her thoughts immediately went to you sucking her fingers clean before she shoves them down your throat so you’d gag on them.

“Get yourself together, Wanda” she muttered quietly to herself while rubbing her face. To stop herself from getting too carried away, Wanda forced herself into the bathroom to take a cold shower and then straight to bed.

——

“You want me to wear what?” You questioned while pointing towards the offending objects in Wanda’s grasp. “I told you not to touch anything and you did it anyway. So until I can trust you enough with your own hands, you’ll be wearing these.” She says while showing you the pretty pink mittens she made for you. You knew she was getting a kick out of this. A part of her wanted to humiliate you and that was clear from the way she was trying not to smile or the way her hands were slightly shaking. The tell tale sign though was the distinct scent of arousal wafting off of her. You knew she had no clue that your sense of smell was leagues above her own, but what she didn’t know didn’t matter. What did matter is that Wanda was starting to express her sexual interests, while indirectly, with you. You felt some weird sense of pride that she was maybe more of a pervert than you thought.

You sighed and held your hands out for her. “Alright, get ‘em on me.” You acquiesce and almost instantly Wanda gets your hands into fists so she could fasten the mitts. When they were both padlocked, you couldn’t stretch your fingers out so it was impossible for you to rip them. “Happy?” You say while waving your imprisoned fists up towards her. “Very” Wanda states before getting the next episode of Bluey on for you. “I’m going to be in the other room doing some work, you stay here and watch your show. I’ll come back in an hour for lunch.” She explains while going to the kitchen and returning with a bowl of cheerios for you. She sets the bowl on the couch next to you before giving you a small pat to the head. “No trouble while I’m working.” She reminds you before going off to work in her room.

——

You could tell that the redhead was distancing herself from you. Whenever she could, she would work in another room than you. She would come check up on you occasionally to make sure you had food and that you were drinking water since “Humans need to drink water to survive.” While it was odd, you did enjoy being doted on even if it was for a few moments. You could tell Wanda was enjoying herself too, but she was too nervous to fully let herself go.

After the fifth time of noticing Wanda checking on you from her bedrooms doorway, you decided to put matters into your own hands. You fiddled with the remote to turn it off before tip toeing over to Wanda’s room. You give it a soft knock and ask “Can I come in? I’m bored.”

You could sense the hesitation from the other side of the door. Wanda was anxious to have a real conversation with you. It was safe to keep your conversation to a bare minimum. The sokovian couldn’t imagine the things she’d admit if she spoke to you for longer than five minutes. However, she had to rip the bandaid off. She couldn’t just leave you to waste away in front of her tv all day. “You may.” Wanda pipes up and you fumble with the door handle until it opens up. “Stupid cloth hands.” You whisper while glaring down at the pristinely pink fabric that was still tightly locked around your hands. “You can sit on the bed if you’d like.” You barely heard Wanda when she said it. You didn’t want to tease her about her nerves since it was easy to tell it might’ve made things worse. You sat down on the edge of the bed closest to her, bouncing a bit on the springy surface. Wanda didn’t look away from her laptop and continued to type away at it as she sat next to you. You scooted closer to her until your cheek rested against her shoulder. You looked over her laptop screen to see a collection of tabs open while Wanda’s cursor was frantically switching between all of them. Her logic was that if she could overstimulate her eyes then she wouldn’t have to think about how close you were to her.

“What are you doing?” You ask while nodding towards the chaos unfolding on the screen in front of you.

“Working.”

“Working?”

“Mhm, this is what humans do for money.”

“What’re you doing to the screen?”

“Important technological stuff. You wouldn’t get it.”

“It doesn’t look that hard, you’re just looking at different pictures.” You point out while putting one of your mitts to the screen.

She sighs when she realizes she’s been caught before closing her laptop. “You got me, you’re more clever than I thought.” Wanda praises you before giving your hair a quick ruffle. You lean into the touch before Wanda could pull her hand away which leads to her giving you a few soft pets. “Now why did you come in here? I thought you’d want to sit and watch your show.” She asks while slowly moving her hand away from you. You whine quietly as she does and Wanda has to resist the urge to play with your hair. “I told you I was bored. I wanna do something.” You reiterated while turning your gaze up towards Wanda’s face. She sits there for a moment thinking about what she could do with you since she was also rather bored. “Why don’t we watch a different show together? I’ll make you a new snack to try.” She suggests and you eagerly nod your head at her idea.

——

“Here, try this. It’s called popcorn.” Wanda says while sitting next to you with a bowl filled to the brim with a new treat for you. You examine this ‘popcorn’ and after giving it a few sniffs you decide that it was good enough to eat. You try to pick up a few pieces but your mitted fisted could barely do anything. Wanda noticed your struggle and giggles to herself. You could tell that she wanted you to ask for help since she was too nervous to offer it herself. “Can you help me eat this?” You ask the redhead and you immediately notice a spark of an idea in those bright green eyes of hers. “You have to ask me nicely if you want help.” She says smugly while watching your face to see if she might’ve stepped over the line. You groan but give into her. “Can you help me eat this popcorn… please?” You ask again and she happily takes a few pieces in her hand and up towards your mouth for you to start snacking. Your face lights up as you’re hit with a completely new taste. “More! Please- I want more popcorn.” You blurt out before opening up your mouth slightly as Wanda feeds you some more popcorn.

——

Wanda soon put on one of her favorite shows, Malcom in the middle, for the two of you to watch as she continued to feed you. You could feel Wanda’s tension start to ease as more episodes went by. She hasn’t had anyone to watch shows with in forever. It’s always been something she did with her family, but since she moved countries that was near impossible now. It felt blissfully domestic, which was something that Wanda didn’t know she wanted until now.

After some time, you fell asleep curled up next to Wanda as the show continued on in the background. Wanda wasn’t paying any attention to it though, her sole focus was on you.

I hope you all enjoyed! Leave a comment if you want to see this story continue.

[peppymintdreams]

Sakuverse Daycare: Thanksgiving Celebration

Hello my children this is peppy (pre break) I just want to say happy thanksgiving to all whom celebrate the holiday I’m extremely grateful for all of you, with the love and support you give to me for simply writing I wish you all a happy holiday and I will see you all soon

-Mama Peppy

The daycare room was buzzing with excitement, filled with crayon-colored turkeys and paper leaves taped to the walls. A big "Happy Thanksgiving!" banner hung lopsided over the snack table, where the smell of mashed potatoes, stuffing, and pumpkin pie made little noses twitch in anticipation.

In the middle of it all, a kid-sized table stood ready, with brightly colored plates and plastic forks. Each chair had a wobbly nametag written in messy crayon. At the head of the table sat Xanthus, who somehow always ended up in charge, even though he never asked to be.

Elias was already squirming in his seat, his legs swinging wildly under the table. His eyes kept darting to the cookies on the counter. He had a plan. A very sneaky, not-at-all-obvious plan to get one before everyone else.

“Do we have to do the thankful thing?” Elias groaned loudly, flopping forward onto the table like a very dramatic starfish. “Can’t we just eat already?”

Across the table, Isaac adjusted his tiny glasses with a sigh that was far too grown-up for a four-year-old. “Yes, we have to. It’s a tradition, Elias.” He said tradition like it was the most important word in the whole wide world.

“But it’s so boring,” Elias whined, flopping his arms for extra effect.

Andrew, sitting perfectly still beside Isaac, crossed his arms. “You can sit still for two minutes, Elias. You’re not gonna die.”

“I might!” Elias shot back, sitting up and clutching his chest. “Two whole minutes! That’s like…forever!”

Luca, at the far end of the table, giggled softly into his stuffed bunny’s ear. He liked watching Elias be silly. It made the room feel a little brighter.

The teacher clapped her hands. “Alright, kiddos! Let’s go around and share what we’re thankful for before we eat.” She gave Elias a pointed look. “Then we can have cookies.”

Elias perked up instantly. “Cookies?” His eyes sparkled with renewed energy. “Okay! I’ll go first!”

He didn’t even think for long. “I’m thankful for… recess! And cookies! And not having to take naps anymore!” He grinned, clearly proud of himself.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Very important stuff.”

Elias stuck his tongue out. “It is!”

Isaac went next. He sat up straight, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I’m thankful for books. And for my mom. She reads with me every night.” His voice got quieter when he mentioned his mom, and he glanced at Andrew, who nodded like he understood.

Andrew’s turn came, and he didn’t need any time to think. “I’m thankful for quiet. And… organizing things.” He paused, sneaking a look at Isaac. “And friends who help me with puzzles.”

Elias leaned over to Luca, whispering loudly, “He means Isaac.”

Luca giggled again, squeezing his bunny tighter.

When it was Luca’s turn, he looked down at his bunny, then up at everyone else. His cheeks turned pink. “I’m thankful for… Bunny. And… everyone being nice.” His voice was soft, but everyone heard him.

Elias reached over and patted Luca’s arm. “We’re thankful for you, Luca. Especially when you share your snacks.”

Luca smiled shyly, his heart feeling warm like his favorite blanket.

Finally, it was Xanthus’ turn. The table got quiet as everyone waited. Xanthus didn’t speak right away. He sat with his hands folded, staring at the ceiling like he was thinking about something way bigger than Thanksgiving.

“I’m thankful for… stars,” he said finally. His voice was quiet, but everyone listened. “Because they stay up there, even when you can’t see them.”

Everyone was quiet again, even Elias, who looked like he was actually thinking for once.

Then Elias broke the silence. “Stars are cool,” he said, tilting his head. “But cookies are cooler.”

Everyone burst into giggles, and the serious moment disappeared like bubbles popping.

The feast began, and little hands grabbed for mashed potatoes, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. Elias stacked his plate as high as he could, sneaking a cookie when he thought no one was looking. Isaac carefully scooped small amounts of everything, making sure none of his food touched. Andrew cut his turkey into perfect, tiny squares, like a little grown-up.

Luca took small bites, occasionally offering his bunny a pretend piece of pie.

Halfway through the meal, Elias leaned over to Xanthus. “Hey. Do you really think stars are better than cookies?”

Xanthus didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

Elias gasped like Xanthus had said something completely outrageous. “No way! Cookies are way better. You can’t eat stars!”

Andrew smirked. “You have no taste, Elias.”

“I have great taste!” Elias said, stuffing a cookie in his mouth for proof. “See? Delicious!”

Luca giggled so hard he almost dropped his bunny. Isaac shook his head, a tiny smile on his face.

As the teacher brought out pumpkin pie, Elias reached for the biggest slice before anyone else could. “Thanksgiving is the best,” he declared, crumbs already on his face.

Isaac looked around the table, Andrew sitting quietly, Luca hugging Bunny, and Xanthus watching the group with that faraway look.

“Yeah,” Isaac said softly. “It really is.”

Xanthus looked up at the ceiling, thinking about stars and cookies and friends, he thought, Maybe it’s not just the stars that stay. Maybe it’s friends too.

[blurbios]

Starstruck [rockstar! reader x tomura shigaraki]

cw: obsession(?), cursing

other: fem! reader, modern (quirkless) au, format is a bit funky bc i didn’t intend it to reach this length

wc: 3k

synopsis: tomura didn’t plan on falling for the frontwoman of some band he’s never heard of before, but once he saw you something changed. 

✦ Tomura’s favorite band was in town and he wanted to have a good view of the stage, so he made sure to queue up early. Like most people, he was solely going for the headliners, without any real knowledge of the openers. 

✦ When doors finally opened, he managed to snag a spot close to center barricade. He was already annoyed at how close everyone was to him and he knew it would only get worse as the night went on. 

✦ The first openers went on and they didn’t catch his eye nor did they distract him from the bodies pressed against him. Their music felt too generic for his taste and the band members were dressed like every other person in the venue. Once they finished their set, he pulled out his phone to check how many songs the next band would be doing. He read that they would do anywhere from 5-8 songs depending on the night and he impatiently drummed his hands on the barricade and let out a sigh. 

✦ The crowd cheered as each member walked onto stage and he clapped along half-heartedly. That was until his eyes fell on you as you strutted out on stage towards the mic with your guitar in hand. He felt his chest swell with excitement as you introduced your band to the crowd. He took note of your name and watched eagerly as you began to play. 

✦ A couple songs in and everyone and everything else in the room disappeared in his eyes. All the bodies pressed against him faded, the murmurs of the strangers beside him were drowned out. Hell, even the other members on stage weren’t there to him. He was simply hooked on you, he found your presence alone intoxicating. 

✦ Tomura was so focused on you that he hadn’t noticed how he excitedly clapped his hands at the end of each song or how loud he yelled when you hit your high notes. You took note of him and made sure to flash him a smile. He felt his own smile on his face as he cheered you on. You sang some lines as you looked at him and again he felt something in him, a tinge in his chest. 

✦He had been to tons of shows in the past, but never had he gained so much interest so quickly. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself with such confidence or the way your eyes closed when you sang, clearly giving it all you had, or maybe it was the way the stage lighting hit you perfectly. Tomura couldn’t quite place it, but he wasn’t complaining. He was happy to have his eyes glued to such a beautiful girl like you, especially when you interacted with him so much. You made him feel special, and in his eyes, he was. It didn’t take that long before he was convincing himself that you thought the same things about him. 

✦ Before he knew it, you were announcing your last song and he frowned. You saw this happen in real-time and even gave him your own little pout and mouthed a little “I’m sorry.” 

✦ You were used to crowds writing you off as an opener and not really caring. You were also used to people who knew all the words by heart. The silver haired boy stood front row lay in a weird grey area. You could tell he didn’t know the words, yet you could hear him above all else. You wanted to win him over and unbeknownst to you, you already had. 

✦ You were sweaty and tired as you told the crowd that you’d be at the merch table after the show. You made sure to make eye contact to hopefully coax him to come by after, you saw his eyes light up as you did so. You and your band mates thanked the crowd. You pulled up the setlist that had been taped by your mic stand and saw a wall of hands fly up when you held it above your head. You watched as your bandmates tossed their setlists and picks into the crowd, but you already knew who you were giving yours to. 

✦ You walked to the edge of the stage and stretched your arm as far as you could to give it to your biggest supporter of the night. You thanked him with your hands over your heart and a little bow. You saw him smile and nod at you as he held the setlist in his hands. You walked off stage waving at the other attendees with your smile shining bright, head held high. 

✦ He held it in his hands astonished that you handed it to him. Most times artists just crumple it and throw it to someone, but you made the effort to come over to him. The way you smiled at him made his head spin, he looked at the paper in his hands and saw that it had kiss marks on it. The shade matched the lipstick you had been wearing and he assured himself that it was a sign. 

✦ The energy in the crowd grew as the minutes until the headliners came on stage edged closer to zero. Tomura’s energy grew as the minutes until he would get to see you dwindled down. He heard the first chords of their opening song start and immediately perked up. He had waited all day for this and he couldn’t believe it was happening. But, whenever there was a pause in between songs he found that he couldn’t keep focus on the band on stage. He loved their music, but he felt something different when it came to you. He zoned in and out when the music would play through the speakers, bass booming through his body. He jumped around and sang, he was having the time of his life. 

✦ When the band announced they were on their last song, Tomura froze. He felt a jolt of electricity through his body, he was nervous because the set ending meant he would meet you soon after, he wasn’t ready. He shook himself out of his head and lost himself in the music once more. 

✦ The drummer had thrown and drumstick into the crowd and Tomura ended up catching. When he turned to make his way out of the pit, his eyes fell on a young kid. He overheard the kid’s brother say something along the lines of “next time you’ll get it, buddy.” So without any hesitation he tapped the kid on the shoulder and extended the stick to him. The kid turned and squealed excitedly. “What are you supposed to say?” The brother chirped. “Th-thank you!” Tomura smiled at the two boys and went about making his way to you. 

✦ Most people would’ve kept it for themselves, but Tomura had a soft spot for kids at gigs. Reminded him of when he was young and all he wanted to do was go to shows. Plus, he already had the setlist from you and as far as he was concerned that was better than a drumstick from a drummer he didn’t even know the name of. 

✦ He saw the line at the merch table and his heart sank, no way you’d stay that long. He wasn’t going to give up though, but he figured he had enough time to fix himself up a bit. He wormed his way through the crowd and slipped into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head in disbelief. He combed his hands through his shaggy hair and tried to make himself presentable. He took off his hoodie and wiped the sweat from his body best he could. He took a deep breath before returning to the line, which was even longer now. 

✦ You looked at the line in between meeting people and signing things. You were amazed the line was this long, usually you were lucky if there was a handful or two waiting for you guys. Your members were visibly tired and they could tell most people only wanted to meet you anyways. You heard them mutter something amongst themselves as you posed for photos. One of them settled behind the merch table to take over sales, whilst the others walked off to help move the stage equipment to the trailer. 

✦ Shortly after, a worker from the venue came over to and said you had to pack up and get out of the venue. You looked at the people in line and frowned. You walked over to the merch table and told your fellow bandmate what the worker said. “What about these people?” You said. They proceeded to stand on the table and shout to the line that you’d be finishing the meet and greet in the parking lot since security was kicking you out. 

✦ Tomura heard what they had said and checked his phone for the time, it was already past midnight. His phone wasn’t even halfway in his pocket before a security guard came up to him and ushered him out. He looked at you waving to the line and smiled to himself. When he neared the doors he felt the cold air and quickly pulled his hoodie over his head. 

✦ He thought about the weather and how cold it was. He was hit with a wave of guilt, you would be waiting in the cold because of him. He saw the line form near the back of the venue and contemplated just walking to the subway station. He realized how silly it would be to leave after waiting this long and he had himself convinced that you’d be upset if you didn’t get to meet him. 

✦ You put on a jacket, but felt it ruined your outfit. You dug through your suitcase and found a flannel, you figured it was better than nothing and its colors matched your fit well. You walked out and saw the line, it was significantly shorter than it had been, but you didn’t blame them for going home. Your eyes trailed down the line and at the end you saw him, the boy that had looked up at you with such adulation during your set. You smiled and waved at him and he waved back sheepishly. 

✦ Tomura’s cheeks flushed when you waved at him, he was hoping that he could just play it off as the cold when he spoke to you. His hands felt tingly and his stomach was doing flips. With each step he took, the reality set in more and more. You were right there mere meters away from him. He saw how you smiled with the others and brought them in for hugs. He heard your laugh and nearly fell to his knees. He couldn’t believe how pretty it was. Your voice grew louder as he was the next person, and the last person, in line. He completely froze up as your kind eyes met his, he was starstruck. 

✦ You waved goodbye to the girl whose album you’d just signed then turned your attention to him. You smiled in his direction and opened your arms for him. He didn’t move and you pouted. “Come on, I don’t bite.” You tried to lighten the mood and cocked your head. 

✦ Slowly he walked into your embrace and wrapped his arms around you. Your warmth felt so comforting that he let the hug linger for a couple seconds before breaking it off. He mustered up all the courage he could to speak. “You were amazing tonight.” You held your head high and smiled before thanking him. “I’m glad you think so…” You trailed off trying to get his name. 

✦ “Tomura. Sorry, I should’ve led with that. I’m Tomura.” He looked at the ground when he spoke, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, nervously twiddling his thumbs. “Well it’s nice to meet you Tomura, I’m y/n. Thank you so much for waiting, I know it’s cold.” You could see redness on his cheeks and felt bad for the poor boy. 

✦ “I’m sorry for keeping you out in it.” Tomura was beating himself up mentally. “Don’t worry about it, being with you is enough to warm my heart.” You tried not to cringe at your words, but you figured artists said things like that all the time. This time his face went red and you could tell it wasn’t from the cold this time. You let out a little laugh and he felt the warmth in his chest return. 

✦ Your words just affirmed his delusions. He took his hands out of his pockets and reached them out to you. To his pleasant surprise, you took his hands in yours. He was ecstatic that he didn’t have to ask, it’s like you knew what he wanted. “y/n, I’m so glad that we got to meet. Next time you tour, I’ll make sure to come cheer you on.” He spoke whilst holding eye contact this time and saw your doe eyes staring back at him. 

✦ His hands were warm as they held yours, you didn’t want to let go of the warmth. You took in his words and were touched. “Thank you, it means the world to me. I feel so lucky that I have someone like you.” You meant a supporter like him, but to Tomura it meant that you were lucky to have him in your life period. His thoughts began to spiral, but he held his tongue hoping you would continue and you did. “I’ve got to get going so we can make it to the next city on time. I look forward to seeing you again. Next time we come through, I’ll make sure to look for you, Tomur.” You gave his hands a slight squeeze before letting go. 

✦ Hearing his name fall from your lips felt heavenly. He was so drunk off the feeling that he hadn’t realized you let go of him, his hands still hovered empty in the air. Once he felt the cold, he was brought back into the moment. “Thank you for taking this time to be with me.” He opened his arms for a hug goodbye and you stepped into his arms. His eyes shut and he took in the moment. The way your hair smelled, the warmth of you against his body, your little hums of whatever song was stuck in your head. He was assured he was in heaven.  

✦ Again, he was sucked back into reality when the cold returned in your absence. You took a couple steps back and waved. “Get home safe!” You said with a smile. He waved back and nodded before turning about-face and heading towards the street. 

✦ You knocked on the van door before opening it. “God, you took so long with that guy. You think he’s cute or something?” One of your members said as you climbed in. You hadn’t really thought about it, you took a second to process it. He had red eyes that you’ve never seen before, his hair was fluffy, bangs were cute, he was visibly nervous, and he had that little mole under his lip. “Maybe.” You wondered if he would actually show up at your next gig in the city. You had heard it so many times before, part of you hoped it would be different this time. You couldn’t tell if it was because you wanted a fan to stay for once or if what you really wanted was to see Tomura again. 

✦ He sat on the subway and swiped through the videos and pictures of you he had taken. He was still in awe of you. He admired your lyrics, loved the passion you emitted when you performed, and the sound of your laugh made him feel something he hadn’t felt before. But most of all, he was enamored by the way you looked at him. The way you smiled at him as you sang, the way you scanned the crowd to find him with the setlist in your hands. The little look of excitement when you saw him in line. The way your face seemingly lit up when you spoke his name. Your words played on repeat in his head. 

✦ When he got home he couldn’t help, despite how tired he was, but hop on his pc and look you up. He saw that your band’s instagram had already posted crowd photos of the night, he clicked through and stopped when he saw one with him in it. A photographer had caught the moment you handed him the setlist. Immediately he set it as his desktop photo, tracing your image with a finger on his monitor. He pulled out his phone and checked your instagram. A smile grew on his lips as he saw you had posted that picture on your story. He took note that you had drawn a heart over the photo, you drew one on the center of the photo, right where he just so happened to be. 

✦ He felt a tinge in his chest, it felt nice to have his feelings validated. He opened up your band’s website and made sure to buy all your merch, he streamed all your music and promoted you however he could. He loved you and as far as he was convinced you loved him too. He opened up a ticketing app to see if he could get a ticket to another stop of the tour to see you. He frowned when he saw that every stop was sold out. 

✦ He pulled up the tour poster to see which date was the last one you were doing then headed to a reseller site. He didn’t care about the price, he was seeing you again. Once he confirmed his purchase he created a countdown on his desktop. Tomura leaned back and it hit him how tired he was. He didn’t even bother to shower, partially because of the aforementioned tiredness, but mostly because he wanted your fragrance to stay on him as long as possible. Tomura settled into bed and thought about the two of you together, hoping it would help him dream of you.

a/n: PLEASE LMK WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS BC I CANT TELL IF ITS CORNY OR NOT BC ITS LIKE ONE OF MY CHILDREN okay sorry for yelling,, depending on how this is received i have an idea for a follow up <3 this was supposed to get posted a month ago but uni ate my ass before i could edit lmao but we are back in business baybee !

[small-sinclair]

Hi! I love your writing and I had an idea

So, imagine Bo x reader where they get into an argument. (It's over something stupid, they were both mad for different reasons and it just happens) or something like that and then No goes to his shop to find that his S/O organized all his tools and labeled the drawers?

(I like organizing when I'm stressed so this is very self projection)

Thank you for reading my request and I hope you have a great day/night,

PhantomCat 💜

I feel this. I clean like a mad man durning a mental breakdown.

Anyways,

The Organizer

Bo x gn!reader

After a 3 hour fight, you storm out of the house, living Bo to his own anger.

Honestly, he thought that was it: you’re leaving him. And that made him more pissed.

Bo comes to his shop after destroying the garage by the house. Maybe fixing a car would help him?

As he enters, he’s shocked to see a neatly cleaned front area. Magazine’s organized by size and thickness, chairs from cleanest to dirtiest, floor swept and May cleaned, and register polished.

In the shop, Bo sees you by the lose screw box and bolts, your hands moving items into piles.

In front of you, he sees the wall of tools in different sizes, thicknesses, and usages.

Then he saw the drawers, they’re closed. He’s never seen them closed before! Labels and lists of tools outside on tape…

Then he sees in the center side a polaroid selfie of him kissing your cheek. You’re smiling in that one.

On the white under the photo, it reads in a dark blue:

“Forever Yours❤️”

Bo couldn’t help but blush. You were so mad that you cleaned his shop and organized his shop.

He leans against the shop and asked, “Ya ain’t mad at me now, are ya, darlin’?”

You don’t answer him as you finished the organization. You spare him a glance.

So, he moves. His boots click on the cement until he stands behind you. He wraps his arms around your waste and leaned on you. “Sweetheart? Talk to me.”

“I thought you hated me and wished me dead, cowboy.” You huffed, “Because that wasn’t nice.”

He nuzzled into your neck as he watched your hands organize the sizes of the screws and bolts. “Didn’t mean it. Was mad ‘bout somethin’ else.”

Then he’ll lay his kisses on thick to show he means it, that he’s sorry for everything. His words haunt him as he laid on every apology.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers deeply. “Truly.”

You finished organizing the screws and bolts and placed them in little dishes. “Okay… I forgive you, Bo.”

“I gotta get ya more mad if ‘at means you’ll organize shit.”

“Don’t push it, lover boy.”

He turns you and gives a sweet kiss. “Dance wit’ me, honey?” He kisses you again. “Le’me prove it?”

You roll your eyes but end up dancing in the shop light to a slow song on the radio.

Maybe you’ll find time to organize his heart, he wonders. Organize his hate and throw out his anger along with the little scraps your found.

Until then, he’ll hope you stay in his arms and forgive him every time, everyday.

…

…you didn’t heart to tell him that you also color organized his screwdriver handles, hammers, knives, car parts, and oil rags.

[kotonoba]

TWAY (Jushiro/F!Reader) Ch. 1

Pilot chapter, I changed the title from Inside Look to The World Around You. It's a modern AU, an immediate follow-up with the epilogue from ISYT.

I forgot to post yesterday, I was exhausted after class, sorry.

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

Heavy panting, trembling legs as footsteps sounded behind you, warm streaks of tears mixed with salty sweat and a sweet taste of rain as you ran away from a pursuer. You hid behind a wall in an alleyway, your chest moving up and down frantically as you struggled to catch your breath. A light touch from your bruised digits unto your neck where heat and pain radiated off of a sizable hand-sized grip mark. 

You glanced up at the looming dark clouds as the rain continued to pelt down on your vision, a soft breeze brushing some rain into your eyes. You flinched and pulled away quickly from the contact, rubbing your eyes clear of the water. You retracted your stance of looking upwards as you covered your ears reflectively and saw a streak of lightning snap into view. But you counted the seconds before you heard the crack of lightning: 8 seconds. 

You pulled your hands away from your ears as the grumbling of the strike faded into obscurity. Your eyes were drawn to something shiny on your ring finger: an engagement ring. You smiled at the fond memories that flooded your senses. You recalled the memory of going ring shopping, seeing if the meaning behind the gems meant well for you and your fiance. You remembered the writing etched in the ring – “in sickness and health.” It was pretty cheesy; everyone used it, but it made you smile. 

You took note of the bruises and skin breakdown on your fingertips, recalling the act of scratching at a wooden door until it pried away at your skin and muscles until it gave away for your escape from an odorous, pitch-black room. Fear resonated through your legs. 

Fear immobilized you as the flash of lightning was blocked by a looming shadow; fear froze you, but you. You had a job to finish. Bravely, against the body’s will, you turned to face the shadow: a man with darkened pupils, & a sinister smile splattered with watery blood running down his skin from the rain. The man had short, spikey, jet-black hair. 

“Night, night,” the man spoke, raising the knife. His voice was high-pitched, prepuberty-like. A voice slipped out your mouth as you mouthed his name before the knife plunged & you were met with darkness. 

You took a sharp breath in before opening your eyes, greeted by bright skies – cloudy but bright – sirens sounding around you with the area taped off with yellow caution tapes. You were on one knee, holding onto a sword stabbed into the ground, and your left hand on a severed victim’s hand, “my condolences.” You whispered gently before getting up slowly with the support of your sword. 

Your partner leaned in with hope in his eyes that he would be promoted if this case went well, “so? Did you find the killer?” 

You smiled confidently at him, “Let’s go catch ourselves a killer,” as your partner happily celebrated, hurrying to the vehicle. You saw a man in a black outfit and a white haori; long white hair graced his presence as he watched you work. 

Your eyes furrowed a bit, and as you were about to head over, you felt a tug from your partner, who returned to rush you. " Where are you going, y/n? The killer isn’t gonna catch himself,” you laughed, turning to follow him to the police vehicle. With one last turn towards the wooded area, the figure was gone. 

You reasoned it was a lack of sleep and asked your partner to drive back to the police station to identify the suspect first. But the figure didn’t leave your thoughts on the drive back.

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

This will probably be posted at most bi-weekly. At least once a month because I need to finish Daybreak. TMLS (The Mundane Life of a Shinigami) will be posted every now & then for people who just wants to read, it's in no relationship to any ongoing writing, just short stories with inspirations.

The stories in TWAY is, by no means, related to any true crimes/unsolved mystery. Just ideas I have, they could be from my nightmares, for all you know.

Aries' AO3

[alwaysmoncheri]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐑𝐒

pairings ❧ steve harrington x reader

summary ❧ will byers goes missing in the small town of hawkins, indiana

warnings ❧ female!reader, cheesy & sappy steve, shit writing

word count ❧ 1.9k

additional notes ❧ the first chapter of my first story — it’s not great | thank you for reading ´･ᴗ･`

“No, absolutely not! No!" I giggle, snatching the unfinished mixtape from Steve's hand. "You can't add that!"

Steve and I are leaning up against his bed, shoulders, and knees touching, as we assemble a mixtape of our favorite songs from '83.

"Why not? It's perfect!" Steve reaches for the mixtape, but before he can take it, I swiftly pull my hand above my head, out of his reach.

"Because it's creepy, Harrington! It's basically a song about stalking!" I reply as Steve leans closer to me in an attempt to grab the mixtape again.

"Is it a little strange? Sure, but it's also romantic. When I heard it for the first time, it reminded me of you." Steve argues.

My cheeks heat up and I'm suddenly unaware of how close we've gotten. I notice Steve looking down at me, our noses almost touching. As we maintain eye contact, I can't resist glancing at his soft lips. I mentally scold myself, he's your best friend, damn it.

Get yourself together.

Unable to hold back an awkward cough, I turn my gaze away from Steve, sighing, and reluctantly hand the tape back to him. Steve smirks at me triumphantly and adds "Every Breath You Take" to our mixtape.

"See, I knew you'd come around eventually, Henderson. It's hard to resist such persuasive charm as this." Steve flashes me one of his famous "King Steve" smiles, and I can't help but shake my head and give into my urge to laugh.

Steve and I spend all night making our '83 mixtape, enjoying each other's company, laughing and teasing as we go.

In the midst of our playful banter I glance up at the clock on Steve's wall, I realize that I'm late for my meet-up with my brother Dustin. I was supposed to be meeting him at the Wheeler's so that after the boys' campaign ended we could ride our bikes home together.

"Oh shit," I whisper double checking the time on Steve's watch by grabbing his wrist. "Shit, shit, shit!" I say louder this time.

I quickly stand up, snatching my jacket and shoes, which were scattered around Steve's room. Steve abandons the rest of the mixtape, hot on my heels as I swiftly exit his room and hurry down the stairs towards the front door.

"(Y/n), it's late, why not just stay the night?" Steve suggests as we both rush down the stairs.

"I wish I could Steve, but I have to meet up with Dustin," I say softly before I arrive at the front door.

I whirl around one last time to face Steve, my body close to his, as I wrap my arms around him and we exchange a brief hug. I savor our warm embrace, wishing I could stay but knowing my obligations to my brother, I let Steve go.

"We'll finish the mixtape another time, I promise," I say before opening the door. As I finally step out the front door, I turn back with a smirk to bid Steve a final farewell. "I'll see you around, Harrington! Don't miss me too much!"

"In your dreams, Henderson!" Steve returns my smirk with a certain fondness in his eyes, before turning and shutting the door behind him, leaving me to face the dreary bike ride ahead.

I take a deep breath, mount my bike, and set off in the dark cover of the night to the Wheeler's.

When I'm nearing the house, my mind inevitably wanders to Steve. We've been best friends since he found me sitting alone in the first grade, but something changed as we grew older. He became "King Steve" and friends with Tommy H. and Carol. Total assholes. Despite that, we're still best friends, but things aren't the same. Especially now that he's dating Nancy Wheeler, who I consider one of my closest friends. Even though I try to be happy for them, this pang of jealousy stirs in my chest when I think of them happily in love. But I'm nothing more than Steve's best friend, so I swallow my feelings and accept the reality that they're together.

When I approach the driveway, I dismount my bike and spot Dustin and his friends bickering. As I draw closer, I start to make out what they're saying.

"She's got a stick up her butt." I hear my brother say plainly as he munches on what looks to be the last slice of pizza.

"Yeah, it's because she's been dating that douchebag, Steve Harrington," Lucas says picking up his bike and getting ready to ride home.

"Hey!" I say defensively as I finally reach the boys, "Steve's my friend, you know!"

"Hold on, where were you?" Lucas questions with a quizzical look on his face.

"She was at Steve's" Dustin answers plainly before returning to his conversation with Mike.

"Oooh, Steve" Lucas teases adding a suggestive tone to his voice. "You love Steve," Drawing out the "o" in love and then making kissing sounds for added effect, clearly amused by his own antics.

I narrow my eyes at Lucas, but I can't help the smile that sneaks its way on my face. My lips curling in a pleased grin.

"Piss off Sinclair," I roll my eyes with a grin still firmly plastered across my face, "Like you even know what you're talking about." Denying Lucas's ridiculous accusation, letting my faux annoyance show.

"Whatever you say, (Y/n)" Lucas responds, his skepticism radiating from his tone and the look on his face as we both mount our bikes.

"Yup," Dustin says to Mike as he climbs on his own bike, "She's turning into a real jerk."

"She's always been a real jerk," Mike adds, not bothering to hide his disapproving tone as the rest of us flick our bike lights on.

"Nuh-uh, she used to be cool," Dustin argues as we start our way down Mike's driveway, "Like that time she dressed up with (Y/n) as an elf for our Elder Tree campaign."

"Four years ago!" Mike shouts at us from across the dimly lit driveway.

"Just saying!" My brother shouts back in response, having the last word, just as we reach the end of Mike's driveway.

"Later," Lucas says to Mike before catching up to Dustin and me making our way home.

As we're riding home under the stars, I close my eyes for just a second, enjoying the cold breeze flowing past me. It's such a refreshing feeling, with the wind in my hair and my bike zipping along the dark and empty street. In this moment, the world seems to slow down, a pang of nostalgia creeping to the surface as I'm reminded of a simpler time in my life when I was Dustin's age. Those carefree days with Steve by my side seemed so distant now, now that things have changed between us. Tonight, being with Steve in his room had been the closest thing to returning to the way our friendship was in the past. It was nice to relive those memories, even for a moment, to remember what we once had.

"Goodnight, ladies," Lucas teases with a sly smirk and his attention now firmly focused on me. With a wink, he adds, "If you get tired of Harrington, you know I'm always available." With a roll of my eyes at his antics, I suppress the grin threatening to escape onto my lips.

"Kiss your mom 'night for me," Dustin teases back as Lucas departs from our group to his house. Dustin then turns to Will and I, "Race back to my place?" He asks, "Winner gets a comic." I raise my eyebrows, questioning my little brother's statement.

"Any comic?" Will asks with wide eyes displaying his disbelief.

"Yeah!" Dustin says confidently.

"Let's do this, little bro." I say with a mischievous smile.

I lock eyes with Will and give a confident nod, both of us thinking the same thing. We take off, pedaling as fast as our legs will let us in attempt to get a lead on Dustin.

"Hey, Hey!" Dustin calls after us, "I didn't say go!" Dustin tries to catch us, not succeeding in the slightest, "Get back here!!" Will and I burst into laughter as we race ahead of Dustin, exchanging a quick high five. "I'm gonna kill you!"

"I'll take your X-Men 134!" Will shouts back as he speeds up and quickly getting ahead of me. I giggle at my brother and his friend as we approach my house.

"Bye, Will!" I call out watching him pass my house and cruise down the road.

"See you later, (Y/n)!" Will replies before I make the turn into my driveway, and head inside.

As I walk through the door, I notice my mother and our cat Mews curled up on the couch together, with a soft smile I place a blanket over top of the two. When I go to give my mother a good night kiss on the forehead Dustin obnoxiously opens the front door.

"Son of a bitch," Dustin says clearly frustrated from his loss, I jerk my head over to where he stands by the door.

"Shh!" I whisper-yell placing my finger to my lips, nodding to our mothering sleeping soundly on the couch.

"Oh, sorry," Dustin softly murmurs, making a grand display of tip-toeing across the floor to his bedroom. I roll my eyes at him, but follow closely behind. Before we split off to our separate rooms I turn back around to face Dustin, and notice he already turned too.

"How was Steve's?" Dustin asks awkwardly averting his gaze to the floor.

"Good," I whisper with a soft smile, my hand resting on the doorknob to my room, "Really good."

"Good night sis," Dustin says before opening his bedroom door and stepping inside, "I, uh, hope everything works out between you two,"

“Good night, Dustin,” I say softly, stepping into my own room, closing the door behind me, “Me too.”

I shrug off my jacket and carefully place it on my chair, then I kick off my shoes. With a little sigh, I cross over to my bed and plop myself down. I take a moment to reflect on todays events, my mind wandering as I let out a content breath. I reach over to my dresser and grab my Walkman, placing the headphones over my ears. I turn on, “Time After Time,” and slowly drift off in a comfortable sleep as the song fills my ears.

next chapter . my masterlist . my taglist

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[bee-saucee]

Hello, again~!

I've been doing all I can to not bombard you since last time, so now here I am. I love seeing men and people in general being able to show their ability to cook and nourish their loved ones through food. What does that look like for Shinso and Denki? Are they adventurous in their cooking? What kinds of dishes and foods are always in the fridge? Snacking? Who cooks the most? And when is a time that they would eat food outside the house? Anyhoo, hope you're doing well this first month of the year. And go bonkers sksk wherever your thought train takes you. ^-^

summary: ShinKami’s habits with eating, snacking, and cooking!

word count: 496

warnings: eating/food centered content

a/n: Hello again, friend! I’ll start with the important thing: This request is split up into three separate ones. I have a headcanons (this post), a short oneshot, and a longer oneshot. They have different vibes so I didn’t want anyone to not be able to read something or be put off because of one of these pieces. I’ll link the other posts at the end of this piece as well!

Anyway, I am so sorry I’m getting this back to you so late. I started my new semester at University when you sent this so I’ve been reeling trying to get back into the swing of things. That being said, I wanted to try and write something substantial for you to make up for the long wait. I’m also taking two writing courses the semester for fun so hopefully you see a bit of improvement here!

Hope you’re doing well. Thank you so so much for the request. I’d love to write something for you again.

I think that ShinKami has a lot of fun in the kitchen! When they met, they weren’t the savviest in the kitchen. They’re the type to know how to make maybe 3 dishes well but when they got together they decided to start on the journey of learning how to cook together! Cooking along with YouTube videos every night is a time that brings them together and they love cooking a homemade meal for date night

Even before learning how to cook for one another, Shinsou grew up on homemade soup when you’re sick so he always always makes Denki some chicken noodle soup when he’s sick and it never fails to make Denki cry a bit and get even snottier from the tears

Denki knows he’s not the best chef but he likes baking because the steps and measurements are a lot more clearly defined so he has an easier time with it. For just about every holiday, Denki will make some cookies for his loved ones. They come out lopsided and aren’t fully cooked a lot of the time but it's the thought that counts for these and he’s gotten better over the years.

From watching so much food content on YouTube to learn how to cook they have become hardcore sauce people

Shinsou is by far the more organized between the two of them so he keeps everything in the fridge in Pyrex tupperware they got as a housewarming gift from Aizawa. He also writes the date they made the food on masking tape he slaps on the tupperware because the thought of eating expired food makes his toes curl

They are busy pro heroes so while they like fresh food (especially Shinsou, see previous bullet point), they tend to keep rice ready to go for each night and they usually have pasta sometime during the week because they can never finish it (Denki swears you have to use the entire box of pasta each time. He’s working on scaling it back)

For snacks, I think that they always have peanut butter pretzels and apples in the house but they also love going to the store and trying out new snacks, especially those chips with with odd combos

They really do try to cook together but Shinsou will wind up picking up cooking by himself a bit more than Denki does because he tends to forget about things or tag along for hangouts last minute while Shinsou is a homebody

Shinkami also LOVES eating out! Of course for celebrations but they also love going out to a restaurant for date nights to slow down and get a chance to just talk. They’ll also stop at hole-in-the-wall type places near their work at the end of the day when they don’t have the energy to cook. They’re not super big takeout people because they hate the delivery fees but they will get it occasionally!

Lots of eating batter off the spoon when they bake

Check out the other posts based on this request: short oneshot | longer oneshot

or see my masterlist for more!

[lauvra]

I shot guns in a videogame. I abstained from sex and masturbation. I quit caffeine. I wrote your last words, painted over them then turned them into an acrostic poem. I smoked one cigarette every ten minutes to fill a rental apartment with smoke and my lungs with tar. I sugar-soaped the walls and moved into the crawlspace of a place by the beach. I ushered the wrong people into forgiveness and said far too much to curious folks who didn't care. I wouldn't watch romance in movies or hug men. I danced in gay clubs and bought drugs. I walked on the opposite side of the street from the bar. I screamed while my friends apologised to strangers, laughed and corrected chairs in my path of destruction. You messaged a day later, asked how I was doing, "fine," I said. I drank coffee 'til 2am and sold my car. I leaned over the rooftop facing Luna Park, looking for you in happy strangers on the street below. I put the link in bio. I took on debt to move farther from you but ended up in a studio beside a skate park. Yikes. With each move I refused to let others carry your painting, fearing they'd damage it. I tanned, stretched, lifted iron and listened to subliminal sleep tapes for self esteem. I quit smoking and stopped answering calls. I caught planes not caring whether they'd land. I underlined text in A Lover's Discourse in Prahran square. I bought a piano and passed you in the rain. I convinced myself I caused the earthquake. I had a second ocean baptism and got a new job. When I panicked in the second week, my boss said I had stuff to resolve. I watched milestone fireworks and felt nothing at all. I grew sharp claws, painted them cherry red. You walked past me standing with a friend, caught the wrong end of context. Karma, I guess. I lived by your perception and treated everybody with suspicion. I got a gym membership and therapist. He dropped me, said "maybe you aren't ready to change yet". I touched a petal on every roadside flower and thought about something you said. Mouthed thank-you in silence at pedestrian crossings remembering, "they can't hear you!" I got a new job and two cherubs tattooed on my forearm. They did not bring love. Cops checked my welfare again. I went on a date to a jazz bar, then an open mic poetry night and fled before the end. I wrote you bad, I wrote you fair, I wrote you real. I had sex with a divorcee. I sang sad things and sought religious experiences at gigs. I met with a deployed American soldier thinking maybe he'd kill me, a mercy, then didn't give him an opportunity. I searched up, beneath and inside. I bought a gold ring to feel a little like you at the end of each day. I wished the non-follower view was you, knowing it wasn't. I got a new job, moved to the other side of the city and said I was free. Two weeks later you tagged down my street. My bad, another Goliath mishap. I brushed my hands against the paint, drank four bottles of wine in a week and wrote in recollection. I moved once more. Quit the workforce. I had Penny's teeth cleaned, mine pulled and stumbled through the city in a borrowed jacket. I wondered what exactly you were afraid to say under general anaesthetic. I forgot I, then remembered again. I put a painting in an exhibit, got a new therapist and joined a support group. I've walked you off, taken over a thousand showers, laughed, cried, scowled, searched obituaries and whispered sorry too quietly for the wind to carry. I've read, turned you into art, prayed for and ignored you, envied people you moved onto, forgiven but still can't walk past the stranger I loved on Rose Street without my knees weakening. But really, when I write to you it's another brick wall spoken to. It's as Steinbeck once said: money removes the charge of insanity. At least I gained one penny for my grief. It was real for me but you were right, we have nothing to say to one another. I've felt, thought and written it all. You were more precise: "All good, I'm out."

[chorusfm]

Snarls

This past weekend, I was able to schedule an in-person interview with Snarls before their show at DC9 in Washington, D.C. The tour stop was during the band’s first headlining tour of their young career, and was in support of their critically acclaimed sophomore record, With Love. In this interview, I asked the band about key moments during the writing/recording process of their new album, the songs that are translating best to the live setting, and much more. So thank you so much for your time this evening. I believe this is your first headlining tour?  It is! That’s awesome. So what decisions or goals were made by your band before you embarked on these dates?  We want to play the best show possible, which isn’t always possible every night. I mean, it’s always hard to keep the highest spirits every single night. But I know that I just, even on my bad nights, I try to just keep my smiling, performing face on, because I want to put on a good show for people. That’s a personal thing that I’m really working on this tour. With people coming out to see us, headlining a big focus for me was definitely engaging with our fans a lot on this tour. Making time to say hi to everyone after shows and get all the pictures we possibly can. Definitely looked forward to connecting with them.  Awesome! So With Love, has garnered great, well-deserved praise from several different media outlets, including us. What were your ranges of emotions when you first saw that Rolling Stone feature?  It doesn’t get old, is all I’m going to say. Yeah, it’s really cool. I completely agree. I have a very personal connection to Rolling Stone. I subscribed to the magazine as a kid, read every copy I possibly could, cut out pictures, and hung them on my wall and stuff. Yeah, I mean, they’re huge. It’s just a huge accomplishment for us. I’m super happy about that. It’s always wild to see that, to have that kind of recognition from that kind of name. It really doesn’t get old. It’s always surreal. You can never shake that.  Were there any other gut check reactions when the album was starting to be announced that you guys were kind of amazed by the reaction from the fans?  I had a really fun time at midnight when the album dropped. There were a bunch of fans at a listening party. Yeah, it was like, I thought that was super, super cute. We’ve never had something like that before. I mean, just from the second it came out, it was positive energy. I think it’s very common amongst musicians, because everyone is just living their life, right? I always just feel like Snarls is this hobby, this thing that I do, and it starts to feel kind of small sometimes. And then, yeah. But not in a bad way. It’s just a thing I do. It’s just one of my everyday things. But then when Rolling Stone talks about it, it’s like, wow, we’re really getting some pretty serious recognition. So it’s just really cool. And I’m glad the album’s getting some good traction for you guys too, because you guys have been at this for a while. So speaking of the new record, which songs were the most challenging to create, and put to tape with Chris Walla? And I think it was recorded in Norway too, right?  Yes! “Ur song,” I’m just thinking of the miracle challenges. I feel like we had a time with “Star Power.” We had a time with “Moon Tides” too. We did? I think at times. Lyrically, yeah. Yeah, like all of the instruments and like the forms of the songs came together really well. It’s just our biggest hunks were with lyrics and like finishing all the lyrics out. That’s what I feel. I think with the instrumentation being a little more interesting on this record, we were just kind of struggling with syllables. And I was like, oh, I want to say this, but it’s like two syllables too long. It’s very nitpicky stuff. Especially when I referenced “Moon Tides.” It’s like the concept was there. We had a lot of words we wanted to use. It’s just, as Chlo said, fitting them in exactly, perfectly . Locking in, as they say. But yeah, as… https://chorus.fm/features/interviews/snarls-2/

[soracities]

i started crying when i read all of your kind words, thank you so much. this might be the first time someone told me that a failed exam doesn't matter in my life. i'm just scared at being yelled at by my teacher in front of everyone.

- 15yo anon.

(cont’d /2) its 10pm right now, and i have school at 7am tomorrow. i'm sorry for this ask, it's just that i sat down and realised no adult has been kind to me in the way i need. your responses are still making me cry tears of joy and hope.

that being said-

i'm scared since it's the first time i'm going to in-person school in a long time, it's the first time i've failed an exam, and i know my tuition teacher will later yell at me in front of twenty other kids and i don't know.... maybe my scholarship is being taken away. i'm terrified.

i don't even plan on taking math next year and i'm furious at how my bad grades in math dictate whether i get a scholarship to study liberal arts and social study next year. i was so excited to study at my new school next year.

i don't know what i'll do when i get yelled at, because crying means i'll only get scolded harder or slapped.

 i just want to go to art school or syudy history when i'm 18 i hate the way this one exam is making me thinking whether i'm a dissapointment and should have died at birth or something.

and it's even more fucking silly, because i got a 47% in math last time, had to take a retest and then i got 89%. i barely even remember that. i'm certain i won't remember my bad grades in a few years, and yet right now i'm just.... so scared.

 i'm really, really, really sorry for these three asks. i hope i didn't take too much of your time/effort. i'm sorry for being a bother.

/3) also it felt nice when you called me a kid in the tags. everyone tells me fifteen is so grown up and adult-like. i've always known that fifteen is nothing compared to 26, 30, 39, 50 etc etc, but being called a fully grown teenager and young adult by everyone made me forget i'm just a little kid who's trying his best.

i don’t know where you are in the world or what your education system is like there in that your teacher can get away with something like this but i am telling you right now that under no circumstances does your tutor (or anyone) have the right to yell at you or physically assault you in any way whatsoever no matter how they try to justify it or how much the environment you’re in allows it: your teacher is an asshole. pure and simple. and absolutely no part of how they respond or treat you is your fault in this and i really, really, really need you to believe this and tell yourself this over and over if you have to until you believe it as readily as your own hearbeat because it is absolutely, entirely true. their responsibility here is far bigger than yours. if your student is struggling it is your job, as a teacher and also as the actual literal adult to address that appropriately, not punish and belittle and berate for something as simple as a bad grade my god.

i don’t know if anyone has told you this yet, maybe they have because it seems like such an obvious thing but it was something i know would have made my life so much easier if i had learnt it earlier: but if you are going to get better at something, if you are going to grow and learn anything, you have to fail--you need to fail -- so you can know where and what to improve on, what to do and what not to do and crucially, move beyond the familiar and comfortable spheres you’ve already made a home in. this is what will make you better, more confident, more resilient and capable in the long run, whether its in academics or anything else. your failures need to become far more valuable to you than your successes because of all the potential they are holding for you, all the things you can learn from them and the person you can become as a result. and these failures need to happen in an environment where you are not punished for them. any teacher who actively makes you feel like you, as a human being, are a disappointment and not worth anything because of this (which happens to literally everyone at some point) is someone who is, once again, an utter Asshole, and someone who is actively sacrificing your growth as a student and your very wellbeing for the sake of some warped and dehumanizing excuse for an education that assigns merit to nothing else except for how well you can tolerate stress you do not deserve to be put through in the first place.

again, i don’t know where you are, or what your school system is like, so i don’t know what or who will be available for you to go to and talk to so that you can at least get some practical and immediate information or advice that might give you perspective and help make this less frightening because you don’t deserve to be put through all this. like, i can’t stress enough how entirely out of line your teacher is here and i’m so so sorry that you haven’t had adults around you to give you the support, protection, and assurance you need and should be getting in what it sounds like such an unbearably stressful and traumatising environment. all i can really say to you that i hope can help and comfort you a little is that since your ask i’ve had a few others send their own experiences in which i’ll publish as i get the chance to, and if you get nothing else from all this please, please know that you are not alone and not a failure -- not ever a failure -- and that even if it is coming from nameless and faceless strangers, you are sharing a space in this world with people who understand what you are going through and have come out of it or are coming out of it and sending love and support to you so that you know, or at least can hopefully see one day, that you will come out of it, too.

and also, yes, you are absolutely a kid and the idea that you are adult-like at 15 is laughable to me like oh my god...yes you are gaining more responsibilities and expectations which are important to learn to navigate but you are also still very much a kid, and i literally do not know a single person my age who thinks of themselves as anything other than that at 15; i see a photo of myself from school and am immediately in Mom Mode so believe me: you are so, so, so young and you have so, so, so much yet to learn and see and you are absolutely trying your best, you are, you are, you are. and even if you feel that no one around you believes it, i believe it for whatever that is worth and i’ll keep on doing so. sending you oceans of love, anon. i hope you can feel it ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

[11thsdoctress]

“my point is...” [reader x Doctor]

Fandom: Doctor Who

Ship: 11th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 1144 words

Summary: After countless adventures with the Doctor, and an incident that left you mildly injured, He orders you to stay at home, but you kinda disobeyed, since you had nothing to do, which leads to a surprise when you get home.

Warnings: none that I can think of

(a/n: it’s my first fanfic after literal *years* of not writing stories and I have been on multiple brainrot runs, and I thought, might as well write one for one of my favorite characters of all time, hope what i wrote isn’t too terrible, happy reading!)

Your adventures with the Doctor were never described as “normal”, truth be told it’s far from the norm, and most of the thrilling adventures were fun, some of the time they were dangerous, but both of you and the Doctor knew that.

Being with the Doctor would also include some near-death experiences, and meeting otherworldly beings, but what you weren’t prepared for was the emotional bond with the Doctor, you thought it wouldn’t go further than a platonic friendship, but yet, here you are, slowly developing more feelings for him, caring for him, more than a friend would care. You admired the Doctor after all, but unsure of what would happen or how would he feel if or when he finds out, and afraid of the change that could happen and what would he say to you.

However, after a certain incident that happened last week, where there were claw marks on your arm, and some cuts on your neck and face, it sounded serious for a bit, but thanks to the Doctor’s medicine and supplies in the TARDIS, your wounds were almost fully healed.

You wanted to go on more adventures out there, insisting and trying to convince the Doctor that you were completely fine, and the wounds you had were not that serious at all, but He was still adamant in his decision that he told you to stay at home, without any further explanation aside from the incident last week, It was “Doctor’s orders” apparently.

This made you question if you were still needed by him, or if you were just a burden to him, after all, it was your fault for being careless while helping the Doctor, all you wanted to do was help but you got injured in the end, and there was a pang of lingering guilt by making him worry about you when he was patching you up in the infirmary. You hated this feeling every time it came into mind, but it was worse today, considering the length of action he had to do, which ended up with his decision for you to stay at home.

It’s been a couple of days since the Doctor left to go on some space adventure without you, it was unusual for him to go on adventures solo, and insisted for you to stay behind in your house.

A few minutes passed since midnight, and you were on the way back from working late, obviously kind of disobeying the Doctor’s orders but you couldn’t help it, you had nothing to do, and it’s extra cash, so why the hell not?

These thoughts wander as the night during the walk home seemed darker than usual as you were trying to get your mind off the Doctor, worried that he was going to be gone for another day, or worse, something bad had happened to him. 

Fumbling your hands in the pockets of your coat, looking for the keys to your house, as you were a minute away from the front door, there was a certain feeling in your gut that something was different. 

You stopped at the front door of your house, and saw a folded piece of paper taped on the door, a bit concerned, you grabbed the paper carefully, before looking around, making sure no one watching. Opening the paper, there were only two words written on the paper,

“Missed Me?” 

Nervously, you rush to grab the keys, and as soon as you tried to insert the keys into your door, it suddenly opened and you were pulled in and pinned against the wall by the Doctor with some mild scratches and cuts on his face, accompanied by his messy, disheveled hair.

It took you a while to calm down and catch your breath, but after you do so, your faces were inches away,

“I thought I told you to stay at home,” he says as he looks into your eyes.

“I’m a grown adult, I can take care of myself.” you retorted as you rolled your eyes

“Still, I can’t have you running around and potentially lose you when I’m not with you.” He leaned his forehead against yours as he relaxes a bit, “At least I can relax now, knowing you’re safe and sound here, with me” 

“What do you mean?” you ask, confused by his sudden sentiment and bravery, you weren’t used to him telling you that he wasn’t relaxed when you were not around.

“Look, ever since last week, I regrettably put you in harm’s way and I realized I can’t live with the fact or bear the thought of losing you because of my irresponsibility.” he explained, “And because of that, I decided to tell you to stay here, even though it hurts every single time I had to leave to venture off out there without you, and I also regret that decision.” He looks down and you could feel the pain and guilt that was in him. “I hated the fact that every time I found something or the times I wanted a second thought or someone to share ideas, I turn around and forgot that you weren’t there.”

“So what’s your point, Doctor?” you look at him and cupped his cheeks, making him look into your eyes, looking at his, there was a hint of nervousness in his mind.

“My point is..” he sighs and closes his eyes before closing the distance by placing his lips onto yours, he was gentle but there was a mix of aggression like he was waiting for this moment for a long time. After a moment of processing, you slowly kissed back, and he was continuing this kiss by going deeper and letting his hands roam from your wrists to your waist, slowly caressing and pulling you closer even more, before snaking one of his arms around your waist and the other hand holding the back of your head.

After a while, you both pulled away, both trying to catch your breaths after the moment, he looks at you again, “the question now is, are you okay with this?” he asked, wanting confirmation, “This being, You, and Me, together.” He said as he held your face.

“You should know by now Doctor, I would like this, you and me together.” You repeated his line as your hand played with his hair, making him release all the tension he had built in him.

“I love you so much.” He says as he smiled and looks at you before kissing you on your forehead, cheeks, lips, and neck.

He pulls away but still held your hand as he planted one more kiss on the top of your hand, “Shall we?” he gestures to the TARDIS that was parked in the living room. You nodded and smiled as you followed him to the next adventure, wherever and, or whenever.

(a/n: again, i hope it’s not too terrible, i wanna try writing more again, since i kinda rediscovered why i liked storytelling, but yeah, hope you enjoyed this read!)