#vent!fic

[moondirti]

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

[hellfire--cult]

Alpha!Eddie Munson x Omega!Reader

+18 hurt/comfort, angst, depression, omega dropping, mean!eddie, rejection, abo dynamic

Not proofread, just needed to put my hurt into words. i was sad this morning and this came out.

Dropping is a self defense mechanism for Omegas when their needs aren't met. That could be rejection from their alpha, having no pack, having no pups, not being able to scent, etc. They induce themselves in a non responsive state, sometimes comatose until they feel safe once again.

wc: 4k+

Plot: Eddie is the reason you drop.

SCENT

Eddie Munson wanted to be your mate back in Hawkins when he had presented a courting gift. It wasn’t out of nowhere, he was very much sure you were his mate because well, you had spent your heat with him, as well as he spent his rut with you. You also met with him every so often to mess around and just stare at the stars above his trailer. He was sure you were going to be his mate, because you two had confessed to each other even.

But you rejected him.

You never gave him a reason, never gave him the motive for your rejection and why you led him on the way you did, but that’s what made Eddie greatly despise you. Now, you had a reason for the rejection. Your father had realized the relationship you had with the Male Alpha, and he had dimmed Eddie a worthless suitor. You would have eloped of course, you were ready to do so, but your father wasn’t an ordinary man at all. 

Your father threatened to kill Eddie if you were to run away with him.

He promised you he would find you both and you would become a lonely Omega with a bitten mating gland and that would probably make you spiral into absolute madness. You didn’t care about what happened to you, but you did care about Eddie. You were so happy when he had presented a courting gift to you. You were so absolutely happy…

But your father’s words came back into your mind and even if your heart broke, even if your omega self was trying to claw out of your skin to go towards Eddie, your alpha, your other half of your protective and motherly omega wanted to protect him at all costs. So you stepped away without any reason, without telling him what had truly happened behind your house’s doors. His scent became bitter, so bitter that you had to scrunch up your nose at the unfamiliar smell he sent your way. He hated you.

Eddie then left Hawkins.

And everything you did to protect him was in vain, because your father started presenting possible suitors for you, Alphas that would give you everything, riches, family… But you rejected every single one of them, and your father got fed up with your nonsense after a year of trying. Your mother just stood there as your father prepared your bags and put them at the front door. He kicked you out of the house and out of his pack. 

Your friends had left for Indianapolis so you headed over there as well, trying to find comfort in them, wanting to be scented if they were still a pack. You moved, you actually found a decent job as an assistant, and you could afford rent in a nice apartment that had a living room, kitchen and a bedroom. But when you finally crossed paths with Robin Buckley after calling her on her cell phone, her scent was very familiar. Your Beta friend had a pack that was for sure, but the scent she was emanating meant that they had a particular Alpha as a protector, as a leader.

So when you finally met up with everyone once more at Robin’s home, the scent that hit your nostrils was too potent, as if there was a wildfire spreading all over the room, only to become bitter and sour in the matter of seconds because there in the middle of the room stood Eddie Munson, in his new Alpha glory. He was bigger, beard covering his features, hair tied back as he stared at you with hatred in his eyes.

Everyone noticed how your scent transformed into a humid kind of smell, meaning that sadness was present in yourself as well as fear. You weren’t welcome in the pack, and he made it clear as he forbade everyone to scent you. He didn’t want you near him, he didn’t want you to mess him up again, and now that he found his pack and he actually recovered from the pain you caused, he wasn’t going to let you ruin it with your smell.

He believes you don’t deserve it, even though he could smell you as a packless Omega, he tried to not take pity on you, but it was impossible, yet his resolve stayed the same. Steve was an Alpha as well, but since he had mated with Jonathan, his protection only served for his mate, so Eddie became the leader of the pack instantly. 

You had tried to talk to him, to explain what had happened a year ago, but he wouldn’t listen. He had screamed at you to leave him alone in his Alpha voice, which only made you close your mouth, and step away from him. His heart broke as he smelled the fear in you, and how you left a lingering sour scent as you walked away from him. 

The first heat you suffered in Indianapolis was brutal.

You had nothing to nest with. You had no possessions of your pack, scents of the people you cared about, so you had to fake a nest with your sheets, putting them all around you to create a placebo effect– But your heat was painful, trying to pleasure yourself as your slick covered your entire bed, memories of Eddie helping you through it rushing in your mind which only made the pain even worse. 

You contemplated calling Robin, asking her to tell Eddie to come to your house, to help you– But you remembered how he had ordered you to stay away, and the omega inside you, the one that still held onto him as a mate, listened. 

When you met Billy Hargrove, a very powerful Alpha in the city, you really did believe you finally found a pack. You were talking non stop, getting to know each other, going on dates together, and Robin was very happy for you. She had been trying to make Eddie come to his senses about you joining the pack, afraid of what might happen to you, but Eddie refused once again telling Robin that you could manage alone because that was your decision a year ago.

Your heat was coming up and Billy had yet to scent you, so when you finally became intimate with him you were hoping he would. But he had remained away from you as he penetrated you, holding you down on the bed as he took what he wanted from you. Once it was over, you tried to nuzzle his neck, scent him and probably rub some of his on you. He pushed you away instantly and told you that he didn’t feel the connection he thought he would, and after three months of knowing him, he left you.

The second heat you suffered in Indianapolis was torture.

There were traces of Billy’s scent in some sheets, but it wasn’t enough for your nest, and you remembered the fact that he had decided you were not going to be his mate, only making the situation worse thanks to the rejection. You weren't good enough, he didn't want you, just like Eddie doesn't want you now.

Once again, you found yourself looking at your phone in order to call Robin, to bring you some of her clothes, maybe even get help from Steve who also, with his mate’s approval, wanted to scent you. 

Eddie’s fear settled in when Robin told him you had spent another heat alone, and he had been even angrier at you the past few months for dating another Alpha. Now knowing that your Alpha had left you alone in your worst time made him feel like dying and he wanted to murder the other man.

He cared for you and he cursed at himself for the pull you had on him still. It wasn’t fair. He had suffered triggered ruts due to your rejection, painful stabs in his gut and brain for the lack of you, the lack of your touches, your smell, your voice… 

You looked lifeless after your heat. Robin noticed and was going to go against Eddie’s orders as she prepared a bag with her clothes to give to you. You declined it. You were going to make Robin lose her pack, possibly, if she did this. If Eddie smelled himself on you without him actually scenting you, he would know that it was Robin. 

So now, it was your third heat in Indianapolis.

And it was murdering you.

Your fingers this time did find your phone, tears running down your face, as every single muscle in your body started tensing, slowly and painfully. It was Eddie’s birthday, and of course you were not invited. You wouldn’t have been able to attend anyways because you knew your calendar, and you knew it was close, but you weren’t prepared for how torturous it would be. 

Your bed had slicked sheets all over it, not even caring of making a make pretend nest with them any longer. Your closet was a mess as you tried to find something that didn’t have your smell on it because you could feel your heart about to explode and your whines could probably be heard all over your omega complex. You couldn't make a nest. You didn't have a nest.

You didn't have a pack. You didn't have a mate. No one wants you. You were never going to be able to have pups. You are a worthless and useless Omega.

So why keep trying?

Your body was on fire even if you had stripped to nothing, splashed yourself in cold water, until you had finally landed on your bed, unable to move. You couldn’t even touch yourself, you didn’t have any power left in you, but your fingers and hand could still move.

“Hello?” You heard Robin call your name as music blasted behind her. You opened your mouth only for your voice to get caught in your throat, choked small sobs escaped you and that’s when Robin lost it. “TURN THE FUCKING MUSIC DOWN!” 

“I-I–” You couldn’t speak, it was painful, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt.

“Baby, please, what’s wrong?” Robin panicked, pacing around the room as everyone stared at her, including Eddie whose gut was slowly falling to the ground. 

“S–Shirt– Please– I need it–” Your cracked voice, your sobs, and the whines. Everyone in the room could hear the whines. Steve immediately took his jacket off. Jonathan took his sweater off. Nancy didn’t know you, but her inner alpha became full alert at the sound and she understood in a single second what was going on, taking her cardigan off herself as well. Dustin stared at Eddie in disbelief as the Alpha male had wide eyes, head spinning around uncontrollably as he stared at Robin.

“I’m going, I’m going, I’m getting you stuff okay?! Just remember I’m going!” The phone clicked and Robin looked down at it with shaky hands and her head finally snapped towards Eddie and for the first time, something that almost never happened could be heard in the room. 

A Beta was actually defying an Alpha. 

A small growl was shot at Eddie’s way as she started gathering everyone’s belongings. Eddie at this point, did not care for his scent to be passed over, he didn’t care any longer. You were in danger and it was his fault. It was his fault. It was all his fault. He grabbed onto his car keys, despite Robin telling him that he shouldn’t come, that he is going to make everything worse, but he didn’t listen, he didn’t want to listen. 

So when they got to your complex, Robin used her spare keys to actually get inside as Eddie snuck in. He could smell the alarmed omegas at the scent of an Alpha in the building, but he had to get to you. He had to reach you in time. You were three floors up, and in the second one he could already smell you and it wasn’t sweet like the heats you spent with him. It wasn’t something that was triggering his arousal, or his need to mate you. It was triggering his need to save you.

And when Robin opened your door, even she couldn’t handle the smell, and Eddie almost hunched over at the pain it shot inside of him. Robin didn’t waste a second as she ran into your room, only to find you naked, sweat all over, body trembling and nonsense spouting out of your mouth. She panicked as she started placing everyone’s belongings around you and she took her shirt off, leaving her in her bra only, not caring at all about Eddie entering the room.

His eyes bulged out of his skull at the sight of you. His eyes filled with tears as his body yelled at him to go towards you, to hold you, to scent you, but he knew that would make it worse for you, because he had commanded you before to stay away from him. His heart was clenching inside his chest as Robin kneeled on the bed next to you, putting her shirt over your chest so you could smell her. She was crying as she held you, cradling you up so your face could hit her chest.

“I’m here! I– I brought everyone’s scents, I put them all around you baby, I’m here–” Robin was choking sobs as you stared at the ceiling, completely gone, mumbles coming out of your mouth that she started to be able to listen and understand, only for her heart and the Alpha’s that was still shocked in the room, break in pieces.

“I-I can’t smell them, I can’t–” You lost your sense of smell. Rejection was present in your core, your mind, your heart and Robin could smell it becoming stronger. “I–I’m useless, I have no pack– n-no one wants m-my pups– No one wants me–”

Eddie wanted to yell, tell you that he does, tell you that he is here, tell you that he was a fucking idiot, tell you that he still loves you and he still believes you are his mate, that you have always been and always will despite you rejecting him.

“Baby, baby, you’re not, you’re not, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m here–” You weren’t processing Robin’s words, the word useless repeating in your head all the time, like a mantra. You were rejected, an outcast, and the only person you thought of as your long lasting mate didn’t want anything to do with you.

And then, your body stopped trembling, and Robin saw how your features relaxed, your eyes became half-lidded as if in a sleepy state, and your body weight was heavier than before. Robin looked all over you to see signs of movement, anything at all, but even your smell was gone. 

You dropped. 

And Eddie, Eddie felt like killing himself for it. 

“This is all your fault… I shouldn’t have listened to you…”

Eddie refused to leave your side, despite Robin and even Nancy wanting him to leave the room. Steve and Jonathan didn’t even look his way, and Eddie knew he was losing his pack, but at this point he didn’t care, he deserved it, all of it. His scent was almost unbearable for everyone else in the room, musky but in a very bad way, almost rotten. 

You were in a hospital room. Your whole body was connected to IVs, to machines, your beating heart still heard on the small monitor, that only made a tiny bit on everyone’s minds have some peace. They had surrounded your body with clothes, accessories, even socks just to try to make you feel safe again.

Suddenly, a sob could be heard in the room, a low groan, almost a whine but not quite because he can’t manage to do that. His head was in his hands as he stared down at the floor and Dustin, despite his friend acting wrongly, he still decided to walk over to him and crouch to pass onto him his still pup smell. He still hasn’t presented, even at 15 years old, despite his friends already done so. 

“P-Please Dustin, h-her.” Eddie choked and Dustin understood immediately, walking over to your still body and leaning down to dip his head into the crook of your neck. He whined when he couldn’t smell you, still he rubbed his face against your skin, trying to make his scent linger. 

You didn’t wake.

Days passed, then a week, and Eddie was becoming desperate, feral even and in the bad way. He was pacing back and forth in his room, and he decided to go against his pack’s orders. He started putting on clothes, shirts, pants, and in each one, he did some push ups in order for him to sweat even more than before. He had gathered almost all of the shirts he owned, his sweatshirts, pants, hoodies, bandanas, even underwear and put it all in a duffel bag. 

He rushed to the hospital like a maniac and when he entered the room he commanded everyone to get out. Jonathan flinched at his orders and immediately rushed out, but Eddie sensed the defying Beta in the room that was covering your body protectively for him to not come any closer. 

“Robin, please– Please–” He knew it was karma. He had denied everyone else to scent you, and now, Robin was out of his pack, his scent no longer lingering over her because she wouldn’t let him come close to her, and she was the one that now didn’t want his scent over you.

But Robin was desperate too. You were a great friend to her, helped her deal with her undying love for Nancy, knowing it can’t ever happen. Betas and Alphas are a rare pair, and she didn’t think Nancy would want a Beta as her long mate. She couldn’t even bite her. They would never be able to mate.

They had tried everything, switching clothes everyday, Dustin coming over to try to scent you but his pup smell was very dim due to his age. The only one that hadn’t put any clothes around your nest, was Eddie. Your past mate. Your past Alpha. 

Robin was completely desperate.

Enough so that she actually left the room. Eddie immediately got to work, taking his clothes out of the bag to put them alongside everyone else's, all around you in order to make a nest. His tears ran down his face, his head painfully throbbing as your eyes remained closed, an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose.

How could he forgive himself for this? How could he live with the thought of you stuck in a bed because of what he did? 

“Darling, please open your eyes…” His face came close to yours after many months of dying to do so, after a year and a half of doing it for the last time while you two laid on his bed back at the trailer park. You didn’t want his scent on you so you two wouldn’t be caught, but that night he couldn’t help himself, and you didn’t either. The next day, you rejected him.

His face nuzzled your neck, his mouth traced your skin, placing soft kisses as he cried for not being able to smell you. That sweet smell he remembered every night, every day, at every hour. He wrapped his hand at the back of your neck in order to lift you up slightly so he could rub his scent gland against yours, repeating the action on the other side. 

A gasp was heard in the room as the heart rate monitor picked up slightly. 

His eyes widened as he pulled away to see your eyes staring widely at the ceiling, not understanding what’s going on, why you’re here, why is his scent all over you, why does he feel so close to you? You were choking into the mask, gasping for air, and you felt arms cradle you into a chest.

Alpha. Alpha. Your Alpha?

“Hi Sweetheart.” He choked out as he felt you breathe against him, his head right on top of yours as he held you close. Your body relaxed into him, memories vividly replaying in your head, memories you’ve always wanted to repeat, memories that made you want to go back in time and not listen to your father. 

Your nose picked up various scents now, aside from Eddie, you could smell Robin. Even as a Beta she made sure to put her smell all over her clothes. You could smell Steve, Jonathan, an alpha you don’t know of but the smell was welcome either way… And you could smell the faint scent of a pup. A pup was here. A pup scented you.

You were safe. 

Eddie pulled away from you to look at your face again, and finally locked eyes with yours. Eyes that no longer held resentfulness, but guilt. Eyes that no longer held anger, but grief. Eyes that no longer held hate, but love. Pure and unconditional love. He didn’t care what happened in the past. He didn’t care any longer, but he cannot forgive himself for what he did to you. He cannot forgive himself for being the cause of all of this. He cannot forgive himself for causing you this much pain that you had to shut your brain off in order to go to a safer place. 

You smelled his bitterness, painful, making your stomach turn uncomfortably. You reached up to take the mask off your face and you couldn’t be away from him again. This time you will fight for your alpha. You will show him how much you want him, how much you’ve wanted him for the past year, how much you needed him the few months you’ve been in the city. 

So you let out calming pheromones from your body. He was hit with them immediately, making his shoulders relax as you held onto him. Clarity filled your head the more you looked at him, the more you stared at his features. His face contorted again, a frown appearing in his eyebrows as tears started spilling out of his eyes uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry– I’m– I’m so sorry–” He sobbed against you, wrapping his arms around you so he could dip his face into the crook of your neck again and his cries were louder as your scent filled his nostrils again. It was just like he remembered, but he didn’t understand why it was sweet and not sour. He didn’t understand why you didn’t pull away. He didn’t understand why you didn’t hate him.

And that’s when you told him everything as his face stayed still on your neck.

“I wanted to protect you…” You finished saying as tears rolled down your cheeks, uncontrollably so, and he pulled away to reveal his stained cheeks, a wild look on his face. He gulped as he rushed to take off his pick necklace, looking down at it only for then to show it to you in his hands, presenting it. 

You smiled at it through your tears because it was the same courting gift he had tried to give you back in Hawkins– and this time, you took it. 

Three months later, you were laughing while drinking a beer with Robin on your side while her hand was being held by Nancy on her other side. Steve had his arm around the new Alpha in the room who claimed he was going to be the next leader of the pack because the last one had already retired. Jonathan rolled his eyes at Dustin every time he said that, with a hand resting on his belly.

Eddie walked into the room with a beer in hand and sat next to you, on your other side in his couch, your couch, and dropped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. Robin rolled her eyes knowing the conversation was over now as she put her attention on Nancy while your eyes found Eddie’s. He smiled as he leaned towards you to press a deep kiss on your lips. 

You smiled in between the kiss, reciprocating it as you pressed a hand on his knee. You heard a growl rumbling in his chest and you couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction, making you pull away from his lips. 

“If I pop a knot right here, it’s entirely your fault.”

“You’re the horndog.” He rolled his eyes at you and leaned down to press a soft kiss in between your neck and shoulder, making you shiver as a smile spread all over your lips.

He kissed right over his bite mark.

I did say it was hurt/comfort.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed, sorry if I didn't get it right, this is my first time writing about an Omega actually dropping.

Also if you're new in the omegaverse thing, yes, males get pregnant because they have the secondary gender, meaning they have vajayjays and uterus as well as their shafts.

Alpha females have dicks but cannot get pregnant.

That's all.

[hai-nae]

meant to post these sketches a few days ago? a week? but, well, life.

[thedevilundercover]

I think Tim would be a little uncomfortable talking about himself to other people and that pisses people off for some reason.

People throw around words like unaffectionate and robotic at him but he really loves them. He just can’t tell them or behave “affectionately”

Someone in the family probably has had a fight with him or something (bc when the fuck are they not fighting) and they yell at him for not caring about anyone and he just like breaks down

He wants to yell at them that he loves everyone so fucking much that it hurts and he’d given up so much for the rest of them, put up with so much shit, but when he opens his mouth, the right words never come out and he just fucks everything up when it comes to emotions so he just… doesn’t talk about it.

A large part of being toxically independent/being surrounded by an environment that romanticises being really independent from a young age, sometimes, is compartmentalising your trauma and therefore your emotions.

Also, he gives off “ableist parents never let me get a diagnosis so I’m always struggling but I’ve always been held up to neurotypical standards” vibes

[babycharmander]

Weird folks: Vent art of any form is good and all but it should ONLY be between you and your therapist. Don’t share that stuff online or publish it!!!

Me, an artist/writer: *goes to therapy, talks about my trauma and mental health and how sometimes it’s hard to talk about it with others*

Therapist: Have you thought about using your art and writing to help you work through these things and share them with others?

[wildechildwrites]

Attitude Adjustment

Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Light angst, violence

No use of Y/N

Summary: Ghost beats the shit out of you no I will not elaborate

A:N: Ghost's hands are rated E for everyone

AO3 Link: Attitude Adjustment

You're sitting in furious silence during the mission debrief, Gaz and Soap shooting you sympathetic glances that you pointedly ignore, Price's anger filling the room like natural gas, smothering you. Ghost leans against a wall, shadowed and silent. 

Price finally dismisses everyone else with a bark, and you’re left alone with your fuming captain and his silent lieutenant, haunting your peripheral. 

“You ignored a direct order.” Price’s voice is gruff, leaving no room for argument. You know you should apologize, but you can’t stomach it. Not when you saved his goddamn life.

“You think I was just going to let them kill you?” You ask, indignant. Price glares at you.

“I think, corporal, that you ignored a direct order from your commanding officer.” Price’s tone is sharp and dismissive. 

"You put yourself and the rest of your team in danger. You could've been killed. You almost were."

“But sir–” You object, still trying to justify yourself. If he would just listen– Price shoots up from his desk, stabbing a finger towards the door. 

“Don't fucking argue with me," He growls, chest heaving. "Get out."

You stand, stunned, feeling your traitorous tear ducts begin to sting. Ghost has offered nothing, and you catch his cold gaze before spinning around and storming out, slamming the door behind you. 

You knew you were out of line, had vaulted out of order the moment you ignored Price, the moment you ignored every instinct the military had beaten into you, but it wasn't fair. He would’ve pulled the same stupid bullshit if the situation was reversed. You scrub angrily at your eyes, potent rage bubbling in your chest. He was singling you out on purpose, angry at you for something he would’ve excused had it been anyone else. You turn a corner, stomping down the hallway. 

Soap is lingering near your room, acting far too interested in the leaky ceiling tiles. He spins around to face you when he hears your footsteps, opening his mouth to say something, but you cut him off before he can speak.

"Just don’t Johnny.” You snarl, aiming for a biting tone. It comes out as a plea, and the Scotsman gives you a pitying look that just stokes the rage curling in your chest. He steps in front of you, trying to slow your momentum, and you purposefully slam your shoulder into him, ignoring him as he calls after you.

You make a beeline for the gym, heading for a punching bag. Your fingers are numb, and you can’t stop shaking, so you throw yourself at the bag, hurling punch after punch. 

“Price ripped into you good.” Ghost calls out from behind you. You jump, throwing him a sour look over your shoulder in response. You hadn’t heard him come in, unsure of how long he’s been standing there.

“You ripped into him right back.” He observes. His gaze is cold, prickling along your spine. You bite your tongue, landing a hard kick on the bag. 

“Heard you also barked at Johnny.” He adds, as if an afterthought, his tone deceptively casual. You know then that you’re in real trouble. You’d been a bitch to Mactavish, and now Ghost was here to defend his honor. You roll your eyes, giving yourself that small amount of defiance before turning to face him. 

He’s wrapping his hands, standing on the sparring mat closest to you. He cocks his head, eyes flat and expressionless, but the challenge is clear. You're angry enough to take the bait, abandoning your punching bag. 

Ghost wordlessly gets into a fighting stance. You mirror him, waiting for the lecture, and the first blow almost knocks you on your ass.

You’ve sparred with Ghost before, but you don't think he's ever hit you that hard. It's staggering, and you double over slightly. Simon doesn’t give you a second to recuperate, throwing another punch. You barely dodge it, sliding under his arm, aiming for his ribs. You’re sloppy, and he blocks you, adding a shove to throw you off balance. It’s a dirty move, one that pisses you off even more, and you’re back on the defensive, protecting yourself as Simon throws another punch, harder than the first. You block it with more success, then move closer, aiming low. He blocks you again. 

You’re panting, already exhausted from the mission, heat in your cheeks, anger building. Ghost has the advantage, twice your size and fucking mean, and you’re just trying to defend yourself. That’s all you’ve been doing all fucking day, defending yourself from your own goddamn team. 

You kick him hard in the stomach. Ghost seems unaffected, those cold eyes unreadable. You throw another punch, putting all your weight into it, and he grabs your arm, using your momentum against you, flipping you over his shoulder. You slam onto your back on the mat. 

“What the fuck Si-” you snap, and he kicks you in the ribs. You scramble backwards, trying to regain your footing as he advances on you. 

“Price is too relieved that you’re still alive to give you a proper punishment for insubordination.” He says. "I have no such scruples." 

Ghost’s blank expression doesn’t change, not even when he slams his boot into your shoulder, sending you tumbling onto your back again. You glare up at him, your chest heaving.

“Fuck you.” You spit.

“You need to remember who your superiors are,” Ghost continues evenly, ignoring you. 

You go to stand, and he knocks you over once again. You practically snarl at him, shooting out and grabbing his leg. Using his body weight against him, you bring him crashing down onto the floor next to you, then slam your knee into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. Your victory is cut short when Ghost grabs you and flips the two of you over, pinning you to the floor with his body weight. 

“You scared all of us,” he says. His eyes are still flat and cold. “Pull something like that again, I’ll pop your shoulder out of socket.”

You grapple against him, cursing, but he just tightens his grip, pinning your arms. It hurts, your shoulders and ribs screaming, the air being crushed out of your lungs by the weight of the giant man on top of you, but you keep fighting him.

“Get off,” you rasp. Ghost leans down, his face inches from yours.

“Are you done being a brat?” He asks lowly. You manage to twist one of your hands enough to dig your fingernails into his stomach. In response, Ghost grabs your wrist, pulling your arm behind you with enough force to wrench your shoulder. You’re completely immobilized.

It’s all too much. The exhaustion and pain, the anxiety of the mission, the humiliation of being reprimanded, the indignant rage that’s been bubbling inside of you. Everything comes crashing down, tears you’ve been fighting all day suddenly pouring out. You let out an involuntary sob, and Simon lets up, just enough to allow you to breathe, keeping you pinned beneath him as your tears build up steam.

“There’s our girl,” he says, his gravelly voice uncharacteristically soft, almost frayed. It only makes you cry harder, keening wails muffled by the large man on top of you.You're confused at the sudden switch, overwhelmed and disoriented. He rubs comforting circles into your wrist, and you’re falling apart, coming unspooled.

You sob until you run out of tears, your cries trailing off into sniffling, and only then does Ghost let you up. The anxiety and anger is gone, leaving tender exhaustion, the soreness from the fight a tangible sensation, grounding you. 

“I think a hot shower is in order, corporal” Ghost says gently, helping you to your feet. You’re wobbly, trailing after him on unsteady legs as he leads you to the locker room.

He leaves you to it, disappearing back into the gym, and you strip, letting the warm water wash off the rest of the day, standing under the stream until your eyes are drooping. 

To your surprise, Ghost is waiting for you when you get out, eyes closed, head resting against the wall. He looks tired, his dark circles a bruised shade of purple, showing through the half smeared off black paint. He opens his eyes, expression unreadable, and you sit down next to him.

“Apologize to Soap, will ya? He’s gutted. Sensitive, that one,” Ghost grumbles, rolling his eyes, but there’s real warmth behind the gruff, dismissive tone of voice. “And the next time you want a lashing, come straight to me instead of stomping about.” 

Heat rises unexpectedly to your face, and you open your mouth to protest. 

Simon holds up a finger, silencing you before you can say anything. 

“Don’t fight me on it, we both know that’s what you needed. Price would've gladly taken you over his knee, but I figured you’d bite our heads clean off at the suggestion."

Your brain short circuits, your mouth opening and closing wordlessly as you stare at Ghost. He holds your gaze unflinchingly.

“I should, um,” you stutter, stumbling to your feet, “I should go find Soap.” 

You practically run to the doors, and you swear as you step into the hallway you hear quiet laughter, echoing behind you.

[steddiehyperfixation]

not so tragic a thing after all (steddie ficlet)

Eddie has an essay due in two days. It’s a big one, the last one of the semester, of the year, the one that will make or break his grade and determine whether or not he finally gets to graduate high school. 

And he can't write it. 

As in, he's been sitting at his desk and staring at a blank piece of lined notebook paper for hours, bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers and twirling his pencil but not producing a single word. It's not that he doesn't understand the prompt or that he doesn't know what he's going to write about, because he does understand it and he does have ideas, he just can't write it. There's some block in his brain, something that keeps him stuck there and anxious, feeling each unproductive second slipping by like a physical thing brushing past him, but still unable to make himself write. 

Eddie's always struggled with essays. Out of all the subjects, he has the lowest grade and the highest number of missing assignments in English Lit. Which is such counterintuitive bullshit because that's his favorite subject, and it's because it's his favorite subject that he's failed it every year. 

It's like this: If Eddie doesn't understand a math assignment, he doesn't care, he'll just scribble in some bullshit numbers or turn it in incomplete and take whatever grade he gets with an impassive shrug and zero damage to his self-esteem. He's just not a math guy, and that's fine. Same with science or history. But he is a words guy. Eddie is a storyteller, a writer, a lyricist; words are his weapons, his outlet, his safe space, his identity. He takes pride in his ability to artfully string his words together, and a shitty grade on a shitty essay is something he takes personally. He'd rather not turn in anything at all than turn in a collection of words he's not proud of. 

Right now the words aren't coming together just right in his head and so his hand refuses to move to write them. He tries to tell himself that it's okay if it's not quite right, that something written, even badly, is better than nothing written, and that he's only guaranteed to fail if he fails to turn this in. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be done. He tries to force his hand to move, to write something, anything, but the signal isn't getting from his brain to his hand because his fingers continue to twirl his pencil between them rather than curl around it and press the lead to the paper like he wants them to. He just keeps sitting there and staring and fidgeting and not writing like he's been doing all day, all week, all month. 

Eddie berates himself for being so stuck, yells and shouts and curses at himself to get his shit together and just write. But he doesn't, won't, can't. The seconds keep pushing past him and the deadline inches closer and closer and his page remains blank and he's so goddamn frustrated he's on the verge of tears. 

There's a knock on the front door that makes Eddie jump and then a knock on his bedroom door that makes him shove his shamefully empty paper under a book and out of sight as Wayne pokes his head into the room to tell him, “Your boy’s at the door.” 

“For Christ’s sake, Wayne, he's not my boy.” Eddie rolls his eyes at his uncle. He drops his pencil and stands, grateful for the distraction. “Told you a million times, he's just a friend.” 

“Uh huh,” Wayne says, which isn't an argument but very much sounds like one, the way he drags out those syllables with a sort of deadpan disbelief. 

Eddie valiantly ignores him and pushes past him to open the front door for Steve. “Hey, Harrington. What're you doing here?” 

“Uh-” Steve shrugs, looking almost like he doesn't quite know what he's doing here himself. “Missed you, I guess? It's been a minute.” 

Eddie's been isolating himself the past couple weeks, canceling on Hellfire and band practices and hangouts, insisting he needs to focus on his essay. He didn't realize any of his friends had taken notice. 

“Oh, and I brought snacks!” Steve adds brightly, holding up the bag of chips in his hands like he just remembered it was there. “Thought you might need a break from your schoolwork.” 

“Oh.” Something warm blooms in Eddie's chest and tugs a smile from his lips as he moves aside to let Steve in. “That's sweet, thank you.” 

Steve returns the smile, stepping inside. “Anytime. So - how's the essay going?” 

“Uh, yeah, it's kind of not,” Eddie admits with a self-deprecating sigh, running frustrated fingers through his hair. He nods for Steve to follow as he heads back to his room and pulls the stupid blank page out from its hiding place to show off his failure. “Been at it for weeks and I still can't seem to get a single goddamn word down.” 

“Hm.” Steve frowns a little at the paper for a second, but his attention appears to be far more focused on the book the page had been shoved under: a well-worn copy of Romeo and Juliet. He smirks as he picks it up and reads the title aloud, teasing, “Didn't take you for a romantic, Munson.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It's what the essay's on.” He snatches the book back before Steve can start to flip through it and read anything he's written in the margins. “And it's not a romance, it's a tragedy - which is exactly what I was going to write about, actually, if I could just write it.” Eddie sits down heavily in his desk chair, glaring at the blank paper. “Was gonna argue that people tend to focus too much on the romance of it all, but they're missing the point entirely, and this tendency to over-romanticize the story completely overshadows and trivializes the actual themes of the play. It’s not about love, not really, or at least not in the ways people think. It’s-” 

His tangent stops short as he notices Steve beginning to rifle about his room - setting the bag of chips down on the nightstand, grabbing a pencil off the desk, scooping a random spiral notebook (his math notebook, as it happens) off the floor. Eddie turns sideways in his chair and looks at him strangely. “What are you doing?” 

Steve turns the notebook to a blank page and sits down on the edge of Eddie's bed, already starting to scribble words across the paper. “I'm taking notes,” he says, like it's obvious. “Don't let me interrupt you.” 

Eddie's eyes narrow. “Are you patronizing me?”

“No, no, of course not.” Steve's reassurance is quick and comes with a rapid shake of his head. He looks over at Eddie, expression earnest and genuine as he says, “I’m just interested in what you have to say. I wanna know what you think Romeo and Juliet is about. If it's not romance, what is it?”

Eddie regards him skeptically at first, answers in a measured tone and glances warily at the pencil continuously scratching ‘notes’ onto Steve's paper. But the more he speaks and the more Steve engages with such honest reactions of interest and encouragement, the more Eddie gives into the tide of thoughts in his head and lets them spill from his mouth with increasing enthusiasm: He describes the inherent tragedy of a life cut short which could've been prevented, rambles about the reality of being young and stupid and consumed by emotion, rants about the mortality rate of blind bigotry and prejudice, and waxes poetic about love itself being something tragic and dooming, occasionally grabbing the book and reading out lines of the actual poetry to illustrate his points. 

When Eddie's well of words on the subject eventually runs dry, Steve continues writing for just a few seconds longer before he glances up with a grin and stands to toss the notebook and pencil onto the desk next to Eddie. “There's your essay,” he announces. “Well, kind of. You might want to rearrange it a little-” 

“Steve,” Eddie cuts him off, staring at the open notebook covered in the scrawl of Steve's handwriting with wide-eyed disbelief. He looks back up at him. “You wrote my essay for me?” 

Steve shakes his head. “You wrote it. I mean, it's all your words exactly as you said them, all I did was transcribe it.” He shrugs. His tone and expression are still casual and light, but the hunch of his shoulders and the way he shoves his hands in his pockets now speaks to a sudden shyness as well. “You said you just couldn't get the words down, I know what that's like. I get that way too sometimes - just…stuck - where the thoughts and the intention are there but the action is just frozen. It helps to talk it through, but it also helps to kinda separate yourself from the task a little too. I thought if I could do that first step of getting the words on paper for you, it might make it easier for you to copy some of it down and then start to write it and reorganize it on your own, might get you past that block…” 

Eddie kind of really wants to kiss him right now, feeling young and stupid and consumed by emotion. He leaps to his feet and hugs Steve fiercely instead. “Thank you.”

Steve nearly stumbles from the force of the hug and lets out a startled laugh before returning the embrace. “Don’t even know if it worked yet. Thank me after you finish your essay.”

Eddie shakes his head against Steve's shoulder. “Thank you just for trying - just for being here, even. I’m sure there are much better ways you could've spent your Saturday than listening to me ramble about Shakespeare, but you stayed here anyways and made an effort to help me when you didn't have to. I appreciate it.” 

“Nothing else I’d rather do. I like listening to you talk; I like how passionate you are about your opinions, even if they are a bit cynical.” Steve pulls back with a smile, squeezing Eddie's shoulders for a second before dropping his hands. “It's gonna be a killer essay.” 

Eddie beams at him, the warmth in his expression a reflection of the glow that's unfurling in his chest again.  He plops back down at his desk and picks up his pencil, hovering it over his own blank paper as he looks over the words - his words - that Steve had written. He takes an anticipatory breath…and starts to write. 

Steve was right, restating the words once they've already been written down by someone else does depersonalize it enough to make Eddie finally able to write it and it does get him past that initial block. Soon he's able to move on from simply copying down the words and begins to add new ones and make edits. A laugh escapes him like a cheer, a short burst of something giddy with satisfaction and relief. He's writing, and writing and writing and writing, the words flowing from brain to pencil to paper perfectly and with ease, the way it should've been from the start. 

Steve hangs off to the side at first like he's trying to give Eddie space to work, but ends up slowly drifting closer. When Eddie cheers, Steve's hand goes to his shoulder again, giving it another squeeze, encouraging and proud. His hand then stays there, thumb idly rubbing across Eddie's shoulder blade as he watches the other write. Eddie feels like he's got electricity running through his veins.  

Somewhere within the next hour or so, three pages and two sheets of paper later, Eddie slams his pencil down and sighs with finality, “Done!” This earns him another shoulder-squeeze from Steve and a bright smile when Eddie looks up at him. “You are a fucking lifesaver, Harrington, I don't know what I would've done without you.” 

“Glad I could help,” Steve says, his smile turning sheepish and his hand finally dropping from Eddie's shoulder as he gives a modest shrug and adds, “I’m sure you would've managed on your own, though.” 

“I wouldn't have. I would've failed,” Eddie says seriously. “I was fighting an epic battle against my brain and I would've lost, would've doomed myself to yet another year of pointless high school existence, if you hadn't swooped in and saved me like a goddamn knight in shining armor.” He cracks a grin and stands to dip into a melodramatic bow. “I am forever indebted to you, my liege.”

Steve laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. “You're being dramatic.” 

“I’m allowed to be.” Eddie straightens and grabs his essay off the desk, holding it up and shaking the papers. “This is my golden ticket out of high school, man, you have no idea how much this means to me.” 

“Well then, we should celebrate.” 

“We can finally eat those chips you brought.” Eddie moves around him and reaches to grab the bag of chips on the nightstand, but Steve catches his hand. 

“Screw the chips,” Steve says. “This calls for a proper celebration. How about we go get dinner somewhere? My treat.” 

Eddie glances down at his hand in Steve's. “Are you asking me out, Romeo?” he asks as he looks back up, a teasing edge to his grin so he can play it off as a joke if he needs to. 

“Depends.” Steve rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie's hand, eyes flicking across the other's face almost nervously. “What would you say if I was?” 

Eddie’s smile softens and he finally curls his fingers around Steve's hand. “I'd say yes.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then yes,” Steve says, his face breaking into a bright and beautiful grin, “I am absolutely asking you out.” 

Another cheer of laughter bursts out of him, giddy now for an entirely different reason. “What are you waiting for then, big boy?” Eddie holds Steve’s hand tight, already starting to drag him from the room. “Where are you taking me?” 

Steve laughs as well and lets himself be pulled along for a second before taking the lead as they head for the front door. “You’ll see.” 

To Wayne sitting on the couch watching some game on the TV, Eddie shouts over his shoulder in passing, “Finished my essay, we’re going out to eat!”

Wayne nods in acknowledgement. His eyes flick to the boys’ joined hands, a knowing smugness in his expression as he mouths subtly to Eddie, ‘Your boy.’ 

Eddie just grins in response, and then he’s out the door. 

Steve takes him to a diner, Eddie’s favorite one, and it makes his chest warm again that Steve knows that. They grab a booth in the corner, hidden from prying eyes. Steve makes fun of Eddie for dipping his fries in his milkshake, Eddie makes fun of Steve for covering his directly in ketchup. It’s all talking and laughing and easy banter, same as it’s always been since they’ve been friends, except now Steve holds his hand and hooks their ankles together under the table and peppers smooth compliments into the conversation that have Eddie grinning and blushing like crazy. The famed Harrington charm is in full effect, moves and lines he’s sure Steve’s used hundreds of times on hundreds of girls, but now they’re just for him, woven so easily into the dynamic that already exists between them, and Eddie basks in it. 

It’s the best first date he could’ve asked for. 

Perfect gentleman that he is, Steve even insists on walking Eddie to the door when he takes him home. Steve kisses him on the porch then, soft and sweet and promising, and Eddie’s starting to think that maybe love isn’t so tragic a thing after all… 

Maybe he needs to rewrite his essay. 

[snowyquokka]

cw: mentions of s/h scars, insecurities, hurt/comfort, soft chan, 3rd person fem pov, swearing, mentions of body worship, small caps on purpose (please let me know if i missed any)

wc: 0.7k

a.n - HUGE DISCLAIMER. please please refrain from reading if you’re sensitive to any of the topics above. this is meant to be a vent post and NOT glorification of s/h, mental illnesses, ect. feel free to scroll if necessary. and if you want/need to talk my dms are always open. i love you all <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

looking at herself in the mirror, y/n sighs. she ghosts her fingertips over the lines of scar tissue littering her outer thigh, each one a reminder of every time she’s struggled.

each one proof that she overcame them. that she survived.

even though she knows this she can’t help but critique them, and herself.

how could she have been so weak, so fragile that she let her thoughts and feelings consume her life so much to the extent that she broke.

fortunately for her, there had always someone there that picked up the shards of her soul that had been scattered around. he glued them back together with his love and overtime handed her heart back in one piece, almost as if it never was broken in the first place.

“hi baby,” chris greets as rests his chin on her shoulder, dragging her out of her thoughts.

“hey,” she mumbles, continuing to run her fingers over the length of a particularly large scar. her boyfriend’s hands move to hold her hips, afraid that if he lets go she’ll slip through his fingers.

“what did i tell you about that, hm?” his voice is low and gentle as he scans over her body. the same body that he quite literally worships, always reassuring her of his adoration.

y/n sighs and pinches her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to look at him as she replies, “criticizing them is almost as bad as creating them.”

chris pulls y/n closer before whispering into her ear, as if they weren’t the only ones in the room. “exactly. now look at me, baby.” y/n shakes her head, feeling too embarrassed.

“baby girl. look at me.” chris manages to keep his composure despite feeling about a dozen emotions at once. though, it’s not the first time she’s been like this and they both know that it won’t be the last. he’s never minded it, actually, and never will. he would rather her talk about her urges then act on them. however, he’d never let that happen as long as he’s alive.

y/n lifts her gaze to meet his in the mirror, watching as his lips curl into his familiar, warm smile.

“there she is,” he murmurs, “can i?” chris’s hand creeps down from her waist to her leg where her shorts are raised, her insecurities on display for him.

she nods as she leans back against his chest. she follows his fingers as they trace over the largest scar tainting her skin.

“no matter how many times i see them, i’m never going to stop loving them. loving you. but you know this already, don’t you baby?” y/n nods. of course she knows, chris doesn’t give her a moment to doubt- or even forget his words. and he never will.

“you’re strong, y’know that? you are so very strong. and i know you hate hearing it but it’s the truth. you persevered and even though it pains me to admit it, you did it all on your own. that takes guts, baby.” chris buries his face in her neck, placing soft kisses on the column of her throat.

they stay like this for a while: his arms wrapped around her as he sways back and forth. he finally breaks the silence after he turns her to face him. he cups her jaw before placing a soft kiss on her lips.

“c’mon. let me run you a bath, yeah? i’ll make you some tea too.” y/n nods and smiles at him.

“thank you,” she laces their fingers together.

“for what, baby?”

“for loving me,” chris frowns slightly and pulls her into a comforting embrace, engulfing her in his warmth.

“you don’t ever need to feel the need to thank me for that, okay? i’ll always be here.”

whoever said that you can’t love somebody else until you love yourself was a fucking liar. chris is walking proof of this

[sysig]

You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.

Starring Role (Patreon)

[here-but-forgotten]

tolerate losing me. /Valeria/wife!reader.

part one | fight. toxic yuri. emotional not goodness. mentions of infidelity. Alejandro mention. a bit toxic.

this was the only time you were wishing she would ignore you— ever intense eyes peering to meet yours. The kitchen light is off. They’re all off. And she stands there— the woman who used to make your heart flutter like a childhood crush, who pulled you from your pain like a savior, whose eyes used to soften when they met yours like a too perfect love novel,

“you’re losing me.”

You repeat, your eyes at the counter. Her hands resting on the counter. her body leaning forward. The counter separating the two of you. and it was still.

everything was. is. valeria. you. the night. the house. the house she tried to claim was a home. but it wasn’t still like water, not like a safely ignored puddle that floated little leaves like a lake, no. it is like a too-tight sweater that would choke you if you moved wrong, a mouthful off too much food that would choke you, water going down your throat wrong.

“I know, I never give you enough time,” Valeria starts— slow, poisonous, cold— “I know it’s always my fault.”

“I never said it was.”

“You don’t have to say it, you act like it. I know you act like this whole life I’ve given you has been a waste. I know all my time I gave you has been a waste in your eyes. I know I can’t do enough for you.” Snappy. Cruel.

“I know my pain is an imposition,” You murmur.

Your eyes stay on the stone.

“I’ve slaughtered men to give you this— do you think i’ll just let you leave?” her voice cracks, words too rushed to be confident.

“Maybe it would have been more efficient if you married them.”

She breathes in, a sort of shocked sound.

“You’re actually serious?”

“You’re just never here, and when you are, I feel like I’m just a burden, like a chore you don’t look forward to.”

“With you acting like this, you are.”

Your chest twists, like pulling your leg in the wrong direction.

“I wouldn’t have married me either,” You whisper, “And I wish you hadn’t.”

Still. Again. Air thick. Night dark. Eyes locked on stone like it would be something to save you, something to get you out.

You breathe in, a shaky breath, lip trembling,

“I know you don’t understand, and I don’t really expect you to anymore,” You try to keep your voice even, throat scratching.

“You’re right, I don’t understand how you’re acting like such a brat after what I’ve given you. I’ve given you everything you could have wanted— you have money, you’re safe, you can get whatever you want— and you still bitch and whine like I don’t do anything for you.”

Your lip wobbles.

“I just wanted you. I wanted to be yours, and I wanted you to be mine. I just wanted to be your equal. I gave you the best version of me. I tried,”

You breathe in deep, finally gazing at her hands,

“I tried to be your strongest, I tried to be the best little me, I tried to take up as little space, I tried to give you all my empathy,”

You shift on your feet; her empty ring finger is tapping impatiently on the counter,

“I know I loved you. And i convinced myself you loved me. But I don’t think that’s true anymore.”

“I’ve come back in fucking stitches for you.” She hissed, seething.

“Did you tell him that too?”

“I did that for my job—“

“But you lied about that too.”

“I love you and this is what I get,” Valeria lowers her voice, speaking through her teeth.

“How can you say you love me when you haven’t noticed anything wrong?” You ask, voice soft. Small.

That’s how she makes you feel. Made you feel. Small. She takes your being and she crumbles it down until she can fit you in her pocket and forget about you long enough to forget what’s digging into her skin.

“You’re always moody.”

“I mess up and I know that, I don’t know why you can’t admit you mess up sometimes too.”

“I’m not here long enough to need to do that.”

“I know.”

Your heartbeat is the only noise for a while. Beating in your ears. If you had counted the rhythm, maybe you would have known how much time had passed.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Valeria snaps, a little too quickly.

“Why were you with him? What about ‘work’ would need you to be with him?”

“There are things you don’t understand—“

“I fucking know that, that’s why I’m asking,” You snap, a little too quickly, the words leaving you before you had the chance to catch them.

Valeria stops. And normally you would pick your words back up, hide them again, try to tell her you didn’t mean it, yet,

“I don’t know anything about what you do. I know barely anymore about you. I know what you have crafted for me, but that’s it.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe, but if you want to get yourself killed—”

“—I don’t know how fucking your colonel is a part of that—”

“—Then i’ll let you do it.”

Her words fall into place in your head after a moment, your eyes stinging.

“What?”

Valeria is quiet.

“You want me to die?”

“No— I didn’t mean it like that—“

“How else do you mean that?”

Valeria is quiet.

“Why do you even keep me around then? Just to be convenient? Just to be able to have someone to talk at?”

Valeria is quiet.

“Do you just want a toy? To keep around?”

Valeria is quiet.

“You’re losing me and you don’t care to fight for it.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to say that, you act like it.“

Valeria is quiet.

You might just have dealt the final blow.

“I’m only here when you want it. Some days I get two sentences out of you before you go away again. If i’m lucky I get a ‘good night’. I’m lucky if I get to see you on the weekend. But I normally don’t.”

Valeria is quiet.

“You left your phone here. One of them.”

Valeria shifts.

“You seem to be able to talk to everyone except me.”

“It’s not like that—“

“I don’t know how flirting with a man you’re not married to, who is your superior, who you’ve apparently known your whole life, how fucking a man you’re not married to because you asked him to, isn’t like that.”

“Why would you invade my space like that?”

“It’s not invading when you’ve given me explicit permission. I suppose I just found the one that was the worst to find.”

She shifts again, turning away from the counter.

“It was for work.”

Her voice is finally soft. Not commanding. Not booming. Not snapping.

“You can flirt for work but ignore your wife for years?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“What would you call it then? Not paying me any attention no matter how much I reach for you, no matter how much I beg, no matter how much I strip myself back into the most raw, vulnerable pieces of me, no matter what I do not being good enough for you— what else is that?”

“It’s ignoring you.”

That’s an argument you wish you hadn’t won.

“I knew you had a couple of phones, for work,” you start, moving away from the counter, “But I didn’t know about that grey one.”

Valeria goes still.

“Who is Judith?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I’m not too scared. You’ve already killed me.”

Valeria sighs.

“She has nice tits but she’s not who you’re married to. Unless this whole ‘married’ thing was a lie. I might believe you if it was.”

Valeria is quiet.

Valeria is quiet.

Valeria is quiet.

“Please just fucking say something.”

“I loved you.”

You nod, to yourself. She isn’t looking at you.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to keep around. But I wish you had let me go sooner.”

“you were enough.”

Your lip trembles. Again.

“I don’t believe many of the words coming out of your mouth anymore.”

“Did you tell Alejandro?”

“Who?”

She sighs.

“The man.”

“I wouldn’t know his name. I just found out about it.”

She sighs.

“I don’t appreciate the accusation but, I suppose that type of thing doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I know I talk to you everyday like you need but I do care about you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” You murmur, soft, “I don’t need everyday, I just needed more than twice a month when you’re horny.”

She scoffs, but doesn’t say anything.

Valeria is quiet.

You are quiet.

The house is quiet.

“I need to go out,” Valeria finally says, moving towards the door, “I’m sorry I’m leaving you alone.”

“I’m used to it.”

“I don’t need your snark.”

“That wasn’t snark.”

She stops for a moment, pulling something out of her pocket, resting it on the counter with a soft clink.

“You… I want you to keep this place,” She whispers, her voice wobbling, “And you can burn all my shit. I won’t come back… if you don’t want me to.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” Her voice turns towards you, your eyes lost in a corner of the room, “I get ‘okay’?”

“I’ve already done a lot of talking.”

She pauses.

“I suppose you have.”

She steps, pulling the door open silently, slamming it behind her.

A pot on the wall jumps, hitting the wall.

And the house is quiet.

And your heartbeat has softened.

And it is quiet, as usual, but there’s a weight lifted.

You move, walking through the house silently—

“Burn all my shit— you already took it,” You murmur to yourself, finally turning on a light, warm light filling the room. There was nothing of hers left. Nothing that mattered. A pair of socks. An undershirt. A receipt. One of her burner phones. Moving without thought, you pick the phone up; caller id’s in Spanish or code, nothing particular sticking out, only that the man seemed to have had the same fight you just did. There’s a couple of angry voice mails. In Spanish. A mans voice. You hear the name Valeria but don’t listen too hard. A lot of aggressive “¿Que?”’s thrown in there. You put the phone down, looking at the rather dumb caller I.D. “CAV”. One word. All caps.

But you listen. You throw the clothes outside. You throw the receipt in the trash. But you keep that phone. And you watch it. And the pain sets into your chest— hollow and painful, twisting, like an open gash where the blood is only making it worse.

The phone is in terrible condition. Looks like it went through war. The screen is partially shattered, only being held together with a screen protector and a layer of clear tape. Dust. Gun powder, probably.

I don’t know why there would be gun powder. She didn’t make her own bullets. She never filled her own cartridges

You adjust, a moment of.. calm, taking over your mind. Finally. After so long. Just calm. No nagging. No words echoing. Just quiet in your head.

Why would she take her phone into active areas? Can’t you easily track a phone?

You watch the phone, opening it again, the settings set for most tracking permissions.

That’s a stupid decision. A deadly one, really.

You place the phone down. The screen lights up.

I.D.- CAV.

[swordsandholly]

Mother’s Day Blues

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Word Count: ~900 unedited

Johnny loves Mother’s Day. You hate it.

MDNI | cw: vent fic, big mommy issues, mentioned childhood spanking, ED mention

Johnny loves Mother’s Day.

You hate it.

He watches you stand in the card aisle, shifting side to side, reading every single card. Snatching them up and shutting them hard just to shove them back into their little displays - huffing and growing ever more agitated as you go.

“It doesnnae matter what ye pick, bonnie.” He tries to be encouraging. “They’re all nice.”

“That’s the problem.” You mutter in a voice far too weak and bitter for his liking. “Why can’t they make one that just says, like, ‘You sure are my mom!’”

“Sweetheart…” Johnny knows you’re trying to cover it with humor, but the way your brow furrows breaks his heart. He sets a hand on your waist, pointing to a very generic, sparkly joke card. You nod and take it, grimacing still.

He hates it - hates watching you chew your lip and your hands shake while you pace back and forth before the 10 am alarm you set to call your mom goes off. Hates holding you while you sob in his lap after because of course she had to ask in a pathetic, whiny voice ‘is everything okay with us’ when she knows damn well it isn’t. When she won’t ever try to fix it or admit that she fucked up.

You carry the effects of the way she raised you everywhere you go. Johnny sees them all - knows them all by heart. Every time he notices you cutting portions and weighing yourself more than normal. When you use cruel words to describe your body. Every time you don’t tell him that you’re upset with him because you’re frightened of his reaction - body shaking so hard that you look like an earthquake personified. The lack of confidence in your interactions with others, how easily you fold and are ready to people please. Every time you get that glazed over, far away look in your eye after you remember something a little too clearly.

You only took him to meet her once. He’s never wanted to punch a woman like that before.

Johnny is, and always has been, of the opinion that you should cut contact. Cold turkey. Block her on everything and leave it be. You’ve argued about it more times than he can count, going back and forth about what would happen if you did. What the worst outcome could be.

“It’s not like she hit me…” You mutter.

“Spankin’ is hittin’, love.” Johnny takes your hands. “And it doesnnae matter if she did or not. She was rotten tae ye in every other way.”

You just get quiet. Tears well up in your eyes and what is he supposed to do when you get like that? Keep fighting? No, never. It’s your decision anyway. He just hates what she does to you and, by extension, how it effects your relationship with his mother.

Every time you visit is perfectly cordial. His mum loves you - sees you as her own. You’re Johnny’s after all. Her only son. You want to love her. You really, really do but when she says ‘I love you’ it feels like you’re going to die. Every time she hugs you he can see the way your shoulders tense up by your ears and your lips purse.

They’ve talked about it. Johnny and his mum. The horrified look she gave him when he told her only the little he knew at the time was more than enough. Bless her. She made it her goal to be the perfect mother-in-law. Never overbearing, never too needy. To love you quietly and meet you where you’re at.

He’s cried over it a few times - though he’d never admit it - watching her treat you with the gentle hands and words you deserve. It breaks his heart as you try to figure out what to do with it.

Johnny has known he wants to marry you for a long time. You’ve both talked about it, both made it known that you’re fully committed to one another forever. It’s just hard to plan a proposal when he isn’t sure how long he’ll be in town. He got the ring months ago and has just been holding onto it for the right time. So, in the end, he decides to be a bit spontaneous with it. His whole family is going on a beach day, and you look so pretty in your little cover up dresses.

His little nieces and nephews gladly help him set up a little path leading to a circle of flowers. His sister brings her big, fancy camera to take pictures while his other sister hints at you to wear something cute and invited you to get your nails done a week before.

Thank god you’re one of the most oblivious people on the planet.

Of course you say yes, tackling him down into the sand while you both cry. He knew you’d say yea but it still fills his heart to bursting. He buries his face in your neck to hide it, but he can’t stop it. You’re his, always and forever.

As the family congratulates and talks, his mother finally comes up and tenderly takes both your hands in hers.“Welcome to the family, love. It’s so nice to have another daughter.”

Johnny freezes, watching for your reaction.

Your eyes turn to saucers, a quiet hiccup shaking your chest before a full on sob follows. You bury your face in your hands and she wraps her arms around your shoulders. Johnny grabs onto you both.

She might not be your mum by blood, and you may never truly open up to her, but either way you deserve a good mother. He’s more than happy to share his own. Maybe someday you’ll heal. Little by little, by the same gentle hands that raised him.

A/N: Sorry for the angst but Mother’s Day has me fucked up.

[chrollohearttags]

y’all won’t be satisfied until you run every black writer off this app and I’m so serious. Yes, I’m being rude to anybody that takes time out of their day to post some dumb ass remarks (a recycled one at that) and uses it to disrespect black writers of any capacity. Sitting up screaming about wanting more representation and the black reader fics being nonexistent but y’all get mad about everything. Yes, I’m cussing y’all out everytime I see it and I’m blocking idc. Free, FREE content that people took time to create, y’all are being nasty about it. We don’t owe y’all grace or kindness. Especially when we can see the hypocrisy. Go to hell with gas undies on and leave us alone. And please write whatever y’all want and fuck these people. Thanks for coming to my Ted talk

[codenamesazanka]

Need Spinner to rip Deku a new one

[Warning for some suicidal ideation]

•

At first, Izuku thought Iguchi Shuuichi didn’t hear him. Iguchi did not move. He was still looking away from Izuku. He said nothing, staying quiet for so long that Izuku thought maybe he should leave, and give Iguchi time to process and accept the news. Whatever was going through Iguchi’s head right now.

"...I killed a total of eight people..."

It was so soft and low it took Izuku a second to realize it was speech, that it was even a sound.

“Pardon?” Izuku asked.

“I killed eight people.”

Izuku stared at Iguchi in front of him. It sent a jolt through him, to remember that this man was a criminal, a murderer. He was dull all over and looked like he could barely sit up by his own strength, but Iguchi Shuuichi was a Villain, and he was speaking about the deaths of eight people with zero emotion. "W-What? Are you—this is a confession—"

If Iguchi was confessing, Izuku should go get Detective Tsukauchi, or—

"I plotted with the Front to destroy cities.” Iguchi said. Still toneless. Still looking away. “I watched Gigantomachia crush everything in his path. I led a riot against a hospital. I trampled over a dozen doctors and nurses—"

Izuku blinked. "You didn't actually do that. No one actually got hurt, luckily—"

"I did.” Iguchi said. “I'm a Villain, and I killed countless people.” It was then that he finally turned to Izuku. A blank, unseeing stare that shot right through Izuku. Iguchi’s eyes were pink, but the look in them was so empty that it was like the color had leached out, replaced with a glassy hollow-pink gray.

Izuku flinched, but took a deep breath. “...You did. So it’s good you’re confessing. And now… you can… repent—”

“So kill me."

"What?"

"Kill me,” Iguchi repeated.

Izuku grimaced. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Kill me.”

“No,” Izuku said firmly, and stood up. “I’m going to go get Detective—”

He saw the moment when Iguchi’s eyes bursted with a manic light, as if everything came back, and with it, finally, all the emotions that Izuku had expected when he first came to tell Iguchi his leader’s last words. Iguchi exploded.

“Just kill me!” Iguchi roared, struggling against his restraints, so hard it shook the hospital bed. “I'll–I’ll kill you, if you don't stop me right now! Kill me!"

Izuku’s fist clenched automatically at the threat, the muscle memory of when he had One For All. But One For All was gone, and Iguchi was bound up tight. "I'm not going to do that! I don't kill—"

"You killed him!”

The scream made Izuku reel back.

“You killed Shigaraki!” Iguchi suddenly jerked away again, eyes squeezing shut. He curled in on himself, though he was still yelling. “You killed him, so kill me too!”

“I didn’t—!” Shiga–Shimura Tenko’s body crumbled to dust due to the damage it had taken. Everyone agreed that regeneration had failed at some point, and Shimura was already falling apart. The collapse was inevitable.

“You killed him!” Iguchi sounded hoarse now, as if the yell just before had damaged his throat. “He died. He died in front of you and you let him die. So—” The voice broke completely. “So why can’t you let me die too? Let me die with him."

Ragged breathing filled the room. Izuku let it go on for a count of ten, allowing Iguchi to calm down, allowing himself to find the words. “...That’s not how it works. Shimura Tenko died, but you’re still—”

“Shut. Up.” Iguchi curled in on himself further. “Just kill me and let me die. I don’t care. Just let me… Just let me go see him.”

“You can’t follow him,” Izuku said. In the back of his mind, he faintly thought that Shigaraki would’ve been pleased to see that his League was still loyal to him. “Iguchi Shuuichi, your leader is dead, but you can’t follow him. You have to—”

Iguchi made a sharp, jagged sound, the imitation of a laugh. “I have to. Are you really just some kid, that you don’t get it? I love him.”

Izuku froze.

“...I loved him,” Iguchi said. He breathed out the words. “Shigaraki Tomura. My heart was empty until I met him. He was— I wanted—” Iguchi trailed off. “...I loved him."

The horizon that Spinner was looking forward to, Shigaraki Tomura had said, grinning. It had felt so random, him mentioning one of the League in the middle of battle, as he was destroying Mt. Fuji. If Spinner is alive, tell him—

Were you… acknowledging his feelings? Izuku wondered, tentatively, to those memories of Shigaraki. Did you know? Your last words… did you do that, just for him?

Iguchi was weeping now, tears leaking out of his still shut eyes, trailing down his face and falling onto the hospital sheets. One wet dot, two dots, three, merging into a misshapen, growing stain.

Iguchi was unforgivable. Shigaraki was unforgivable. They had done unforgivable things. But still Izuku had said to Shigaraki, I saw you crying, and he knew he needed to help. How could he not? Someone was in pain, and saving them was obvious.

But now your friend is crying. The immediate, most obvious way to help Iguchi right now, Izuku couldn’t help but think was… if you were here…

And there was a déjà vu too—Gentle and La Brava…

Izuku’s stomach twisted when he realized there was nothing he did for La Brava, when she was crying, knocking her small fists into him. It was Gentle who shoved him off and held her. Gentle was the one to dry her tears.

No one else could’ve done it.

"There's no point in me living,” Iguchi whispered. “My family has disowned me by now. The League is gone. Shi... Shigaraki is gone. There's nothing left. So just let me die."

“I… don’t think he… would’ve wanted you to die,” Izuku carefully offered. “If you were fri— more than friends, he would’ve wanted you to live. Right?”

Iguchi made that sharp barking laugh again. “I'm going to jail for the rest of my life. And there is no life I want, not without—” Iguchi broke off.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Izuku tried to say. “You have to live, and things will change—”

“The future has no place for me in it,” Iguchi said. Tears dripped off the tip of his mouth. “I never had one, anyway. After all this, I’m…”

A sob. “If we didn't let him go into surgery… I wanted him to stay, but he was so excited… And I knew he wasn’t himself anymore, I knew All For One was lying to me, I knew all that! But I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know what to do. I did nothing, and now he’s gone. I should’ve… I don’t know, I don’t know, but I should’ve done something.”

Izuku bit his lips. This was, at least, something they had in common. “...It was the same for me too. I saw All For One and him being… stuck together. I couldn’t ignore that, so I wanted to help him too. I wanted to save that cry—save him, but…” He sat back down. “Maybe… if we had worked together… If you came to us earlier…”

“...save him?” Iguchi rasped.

Izuku nodded. “I really did. I wanted to save him.”

Iguchi slowly raised his head. “You killed him. You fought him to death. Heroes wanted him dead. Hawks killed Twice and everyone just accepted it. You… You never said anything. What do you mean, ‘if you came to us earlier…’

That hollow look in Iguchi’s eyes was back.

“You never said a single word about saving him.”

[apomaro-mellow]

Hot for Teacher(s)

Part 1/? Read on AO3

Omegaverse modern au where steddie are both teachers. Eddie is teaching single omega Steve's son.

Eddie let out a satisfied sigh as the latest parent left his classroom. Parent/teacher conferences were always a tad stressful, even if there was no tangible reason to be. Most of his kids were doing well in all their subjects. There were only a couple behavioral outliers but Eddie knew that those parents rarely showed up but from professional and personal experience.

The main reason he didn't look forward to these was how selective kids could be with the information they shared. More than once in his years, a parent would arrive with a bone to pick about a problem that was apparently happening in the classroom that Eddie had no idea was occurring. These kids came up to him ten times a day to tell him what their little sister had for lunch two days ago but god forbid they admit when they have a problem with another student.

Today's appointments had mostly been smooth, though. It typically wasn't the quote unquote problem children whose parents showed up anyway. He just had one more person to go and then he could run out the clock fixing up his room until he was allowed to go.

He double checked the name. Shawn Harrington. Good kid. Bright, active, and it sounded like their parent had arrived.

"Mr. Munson? Hi, I'm Shawn's dad."

Eddie looked up to see a total smoke show.

"Hi", he cleared his throat when it squeaked out. "Nice to meet you, come in, have a seat." Eddie had Shawn's folder ready, like the other kids to show any work that should be highlighted, as well as his grades up on his laptop. "So did you have any concerns or worries about Shawn?"

Eddie quickly went in autopilot. It was the only way he was going to get through this. He was going to keep his eyes from drifting to that smooth sweep of this man's hair. He wasn't going to hyperfocus on his pretty lips. He wasn't going to gaze deeply into those chocolate brown eyes. He wasn't going to flare his nostrils to take in more of his scent. And he definitely wasn't going to check his fingers for any rings.

Bare hands.

Very nice hands.

They had a nice, brief conversation about the student's progress, and Eddie couldn't help but give him a glowing review. Even if Mr. Harrington wasn't totally hot, his kid was a wonder at times.

"He listens and pays attention well, always raising his hand to answer questions. If you don't mind me saying so, he just seems really prepared for school."

Which was saying something when many of the other first graders were still asking things like 'do we have to do math?' or 'are we going home today?' Eddie remembered being little and having pretty much no control over his life, so he could relate to the tiny ones still getting the hang of school. But kids like Shawn were a breath of fresh air.

"He did pretty well in kindergarten and I put him in daycare pretty early", Mr. Harrington said. "He gets really excited for school and I can tell he really likes you so far."

His smile could have blinded Eddie. He wanted to gush on just to keep seeing that smile.

"That means a lot, thank you." It wasn't a strong stigma but sometimes people got iffy over an alpha teaching children so young. It was thought they needed the 'gentler' hand of an omega. His eyes drifted back down to Mr. Harrington's hands. Yep, there was no ring there.

Now Eddie would never ask out or even flirt with a parent. That was off limits. But you know, if he got a little creative with his fantasies... well, you can't go to jail for thought crimes.

They said their parting words and Eddie was definitely not watching that ass in those khaki slacks. God, was there anything more cliche than him being a teacher and having the hots for a parent? He tried to keep his mind off it as he fixed up his classroom. He wouldn't even be seeing the guy that much. Not unless something came up with Shawn. And that kid was kind of an angel.

It was Friday, so once he was done, he went home to enjoy his weekend. Come Monday, there was a cacophony of voices. Half talking to each other and the other half trying to both greet him good morning and get right into another conversation. Eddie took it all with a smile.

"Mr. Munson, did you tell my mom about my butterfly!?", Theresa exclaimed, pointing to their bulletin board where their work hung.

"Mr. Munson, I got cheez-its in my lunch today", Victoria said, opening up said lunch box.

"Did you really talk to our parents?", Walker asked, arms crossed.

"Most of them", Eddie answered once they gave him a breath to speak.

"He talked to my dad", Shawn said. "And he said you said I was good."

"That I did", Eddie nodded, watching them as they put their coats and bookbags away. Theresa and Walker were known to fight over hooks.

"Mr. Munson, did you know my dad is a teacher too?", Shawn asked.

"I did not know that. Explains why you're so ready for school."

"Yeah, we practiced", Shawn said as he sat down to get started on the warm up.

Eddie raised a brow, wanting to ask what he meant by that, but his attention was grabbed when there was a shriek and a cry from Yasmin. He steeled his nerves for the day. He would need the fortitude.

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

When Steve walked into the classroom to meet Mr. Munson, he didn't know what to expect. He regretted missing Back to School Night, but his had been on the same evening and as a teacher, he couldn't miss it. But Shawn had nothing but good things. So he went in with optimism.

And was met with a gorgeous, gorgeous man sitting at the teacher's desk. For a second, Steve was sure he had the wrong room.

"Mr. Munson? Hi, I'm Shawn's dad."

His hair was pulled back in a bun and Steve's first thought was how it must look when it was down. Honestly, Steve couldn't tell you exactly what he had said. His tongue felt twisted the whole time as did his stomach. But Mr. Munson was smiling through it all and hadn't brought up anything bad about Shawn, so Steve must really be selling it.

He wanted to say that Mr. Munson's praise meant the world to him. That it wasn't always easy to bring up a kid as a single omega parent. But that felt too personal for a first meeting. And mentioning he was single would probably be too forward. When it ended, they shook hands, allowing Steve to get just a little close. He caught a whiff of his scent and instantly wanted more. At least enough to pinpoint what it reminded him off.

But he had to let go just as quickly and then leave without lingering. He was NOT going to be the type of parent that made goo-goo eyes at his child's teacher. It wasn't like Shawn needed the leg up and Steve was done with his slut era. So even thought Mr. Munson could definitely get it, he was absolutely off limits.

And if Steve went home and immediately put the rest of the school year's events in his own calendar, that was simply because he was an amazing dad and for no other reason.

Part 2

[gelatosushix]

Can we just talk a little about the Inuokko dynamic??

I find it fascinating how their relationship dynamic can be summed up in Inumaki Toge would die for Yuta Okkotsu, and Yuta Okkotsu would hands down kill for Toge Inumaki.

Yuta has never had someone care so strongly about him that his life would become a priority. He’s always had people who would rather see HIM die, including himself as at one point he believed he doesn’t have the right to live (not a good life mind you, but live in general). Not even Rika embodies that. Yes, she will keep Yuta alive at all costs, but not by sacrificing herself, but by destroying anything that could harm him. Then, this boy comes along who thinks Yuta is so important, so precious, that thinks Yuta has so much to live for and see that he would rather sacrifice himself so that Yuta can live. Because Yuta is precious and important, something that no one has ever showed him before.

Then we have Toge. Toge who is feared because he could end someone with a word. Toge who is forced to stay silent, separated from others, never connecting enough to ever create the kind of bond where someone would look at him and think “I will protect you. I will give you everything.” Toge goes by his life alone, because up until he met the second years and Yuta, he was alone. Then, Yuta comes along who adores Toge so much that nothing is out of the question - he looks at Toge and doesn’t see a monster, a curse, a killer. No, he sees a sweet little rice ball that needs to be protected and taken care of, that needs to be shielded at all costs. If people look at Toge and say he can kill people because he is a curse, Yuta looks at him and thinks I will do the dirty job myself because Toge is too pure for that.

That’s it. That’s the dynamic.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Anything You Need (Supernatural One-Shot)

Dean Winchester x Sam Winchester x GN!Reader (no Wincest) / requests are open

Summary: The boys discover you've been having some... unpleasant thoughts.

Fic type: emotional hurt/comfort

Potential Triggers: mentions of suicidal thoughts and regret over not having perished to the MOTW

SPN: @wereallbrokenangels (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Not that many things made you cry these days. You'd seen some shit, that's for sure. Mothers pinned to the ceiling in flames, vampires being beheaded, babies crying out for family members that wouldn't come home- and spirits that cried out for company and whose sadness waded through towns like thick, boggy, slimy water.

None of that made you cry.

Almost having the sweet release of death and having it ripped from you by your partners in (quite literal) crime, however? That. That made you cry.

The boys, they chalked it up to you having a near-death experience and copping a few new badass scars in the process. They thought it was shock at first. And it probably was. At first.

But the hours ticked by and you were ushered back into the safety of the Impala and, well, the shock wore off. You'd almost died. You would have been grateful for it, to be quite honest, but no. They took that away.

"Come on, sweetheart," Dean said, leaning over the back of the front seat to look at you, curled up and watching the window with a fairly dead-inside expression on your face. "You can't still be upset. We almost die every damn week- so tell us what's up, huh?"

Your eyes shifted from the window to the door handle. If you pulled it you'd fall out onto the road and get flattened like a pancake by that semi crawling up the Impala's ass.

"I'm fine," you replied thickly, not making eye contact.

"All due respect but that's a load of crap," Dean said, scoffing to himself. You could see Sam watching you in the rearview mirror as he drove along the highway. He knew something serious was up. It was only a matter of time before he pulled over and sat you down for a big long chat about your feelings.

"All due respect but I don't care," you replied back before the words had registered in your head. You regretted them as soon as they left your mouth and the clenching of his jaw and flash of hurt in his eyes as he looked to his brother for help just lodged that heavy stone of guilt further into your gut.

"Sorry. I'm- I've not been myself lately," you sighed, not wanting to get into this but not feeling as though you had much of a choice now. "You-you ever just... wanna die? Like, not actually die, but you just feel like it sometimes?"

Dean was quiet, looking at your knee as he processed the words. Sam's eyes flicked to yours in the mirror again.

"Yeah, I've felt that before," Sam said after a beat, avoiding his brother's piercing stare. "I get why you didn't, but you could have told us."

You dropped your head onto the car door, huffing out a grunt because to be honest- that was all you could muster right now.

"Fuck, I didn't know I was living with the Downers' Club," Dean said, scratching at the back of his head. He didn't mean anything by it, of course. Humour was his coping mechanism. He was quiet for another moment. "Shit, I- you know I'm not good with the whole words thing. Hang on-"

Then Dean set down his father's notebook and clambered over the back of the seat, landing unceremoniously next to you with a grunt, mumbling something about mud on the leather.

"Wh-Dean-" you said, moving to make room for him. He just shushed you, set his feet down in the footwell and turned you around so your head was in his lap. You looked up at him, melting into his touch. He put one hand under your head, bracing you and making sure you didn't get a neck-ache, and with the other, caressed your hair, massaging at the scalp.

"No good with words but I'll be damned if I don't know how to play with someone's hair. Sammy used to love it when he was a kid. Used to get these nightmares 'n nothin' would calm him except me touchin' his head. Little weirdo. Got damn good at it, though."

You snorted, but you couldn't deny the magic he was weaving with your nerves, untangling them and braiding them back together. You felt your muscles slowly start to un-tense, and your eyes drift closed with pleasure.

"We're always here for you, darlin'," Sammy said, reaching a hand back and over the seat to brush your cheek comfortingly. It looked like an awkward angle, and it was gone a moment later, back on the wheel.

"Absolutely," Dean said reverently, looking down at you with so much love in his eyes that you could feel it warming you up from the inside even with your own eyes closed. "Anything you need."