#(affectionate but bleeding and sad and fucking ANGRY)

[akirathedramaqueen]

GUYS, LADS AND LASSES, DEAR HB COMMUNITY

Can I just thank you for saving my ass yesterday?

Viv killed me, delivering the final blow, and you resuscitated me-- with all your observations, analysis, memes, and support, and me not being capable of producing anything for you in return, and least not that quickly, I owe you eternally.

I love this fandom.

[emeritus-fuckers]

Hi I wanna participate in the match up event and I would like to be matched up with a papa!

So personality wise I am usually very energetic and out going, I like to talk to people and listen even though I get side tracked a lot, I can also ramble a lot about something I’m passionate about or just random stuff, I have a bad tendency to apologize a lot even for stuff that doesn’t even need an apology. I can also he very BLAH at times and just feel sad and moody sometimes but not often, I can also get frustrated easily with something if I don’t understand it when I feel like I should understand it right away and I don’t Like being frustrated and or angry so sometimes I end up in a frustrated crying mess somewhere. I hate annoying people and or angering people and I’m always scared that I am somehow even when people tell me I’m not, I almost all the time put others before myself and make sure that they are comforted and cared for even if I’m not doing so great myself- I don’t like loud noises or loud areas it gives me major anxiety and makes me nervous (this includes yelling I hate yelling). I can also be very touchy in like I give a lot of physical affection to people I am friends with but I am respectful of boundaries and only do what makes them comfortable and always ask if I can do something before doing it. I can be quite… oblivious? I guess at times because sometimes I don’t get certain jokes and or I don’t get social cues and it needs to be explained to me before I go “OH-“ and finally understand. I am also not that confident in certain stuff liking singing and can’t do it in front of certain people even though I really want to but I just don’t have the confidence and so I just can’t- and I like drawing, dancing, archery, wake surfing, writing, MOTHS, Butterflies and music! Also Daddy issues-

Anyway onto physical appearance I am very short I stand around 5’3 to 5’2, I am pretty chubby, I can’t exactly explain how my hair looks cause I’m growing it out and it’s not exactly a certain hairstyle so Idk anyway my hair used to be black and blue but now it’s very faded and my natural blonde is showing through again. style wise I don’t have a specific style but I mainly stay within the realms of Goth, Lolita, and cottage core, I like to wear baggy shirts and hoodies and jeans, but sometimes I wear more form fitting clothes and fem clothes like dresses or skirts. I like to watch a lot of Disney movies mainly old Disney movies Like beauty and the beast, Sleeping Beauty, Aladin, the little mermaid, or princess and the frog, I also like old rom coms (my sister introduced me to singing in the rain and it happened one night and I’ve been absolutely in love with them), I also like musicals my favs being Sweeney Todd, Hamilton, little shop of horror’s, be more chill, Six, Phantom of the opera, and Heathers. Anime is another thing I like my favorites being Full metal alchemist brother hood, and JoJo’s bizzare adventure, and I also like horror movies and to scary things like haunted houses. I don’t read much but when I do… it’s mainly fanfic- or romance novels. My music taste very much varies GREATLY like my Spotify playlist is just a fucking mess, but I’ve been listening to ghost mainly for the past few months.

Other little random facts I most likely forgot to add :D, I like listening to heart beats they are very comforting, Spider-man and Harley Quinn are my favorite superhero’s, I get called a cinnamon roll often and I constantly refuse cause IM NOT- I have a bad tendency to bite the skin off of my lip sometimes till my lip bleeds, and I have a bad tendency to bite the bed of my nails. I am surprisingly good with kids even if I don’t like them most of the time, I don’t like big parties, I have sworn off drinking and drugs, I will dance and sing to music when I think no one is home, I get embarrassed easily, I sometimes gently bite the people I love in an affectionate gesture (only if it’s okay with them ofc), I sometimes give random nicknames to my friends. I will quote movies at random times (mainly princess bride), and I make a popping sound sometimes and I sometimes make a small squeak sounds, and I shake my hands up and down and jump a bit when extremely happy or excited.

Sorry if this is a lot of information- anyway I hope you have a good day or evening or night! :)

Your match is…Copia

You both get side tracked when chatting and then both pause “err… what were we talking about cara?” Copia will ask before grinning kissing you “doesn’t matter amore”

You both apologise too much. You caught him apologising to the table after walking into it.

When he sees you getting frustrated by something he’ll support you through it. Lots of hugs and he’ll help if you ask.

He loves how you put others first but when it’s you that needs support he’ll make sure you look after yourself.

If he thinks you now need to be looked after, he’ll carry you to bed, put a blanket over you, put on and old Disney film and hold you close to him.

He also loves to let you listen to his heartbeat. He’ll stroke your hair as you rest your head on his chest

He once heard you singing, he got home early. He coughs awkwardly and you stop and get embarrassed. “No cara please don’t stop, you sing beautifully. And umm well I err love this song, can I join you please?” He starts to sing and you join in quietly at first. His eyes light up with joy and he grins. He gives you confidence so you sing a little louder.

Now, when it’s just you two alone you sing and dance together.

He loves receiving physical affection and giving it.

He adores seeing you excited, he thinks it’s adorable how you jump up and down.

The first time you asked to bite him he was a little surprised. But he now is quite happy for you to because he knows it’s affectionate. He does often wonder if you might be distantly related to a ghoul.

~

This post is a part of Match-up Event. The Event ends on July 15th.

Written by Nyx

[scoonsalicious]

AH. OKAY. SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT. First off, thank you for blessing us today with three parts. I would've said you're a saint but with how you've been tearing our hearts apart, it begs to differ. So thank you, you wonderful devil (affectionate). ANYWAY. Again, I'm going to tackle this by part because I really don't want to miss anything.

First, when Pocket woke up in that pool of blood my immediate thought was: "oh, maybe it's just her period and she forgot." And I really went on in this whole "well, that's a good thing because at least she's not pregnant" and "wow she really does get bad cramps then" even when she passed out because I know a friend who actually passed out from cramps. I kid you not only after the next part did I realize how much of a dumbass I was 😭 like girl, you don't bleed that much during your period. And my second thought was that it had something to do with the drugs which ??? I don't think you bleed out from overdose. Honestly, I was still waking up when I read that part, my braincells hadn't turned on fully yet. Idk i just ruled out her being pregnant because I was convinced she was poisoned LMAO.

Now their first interaction again went as expected, Pocket being angry and Bucky being a sad puppy. But, it did get a little intense though. The way Pocket reacted to the news was a bit, well, cruel and callous. There's no denying that. Like, I genuinely felt like I didn't know her because she's never typically this mean. But then again, she just found out she was pregnant and had a miscarriage at the same fucking time. AND you have the person who's hurt you, someone you hadn't seen in months in the same room. Bucky was also pushing boundaries with the way he reacted too, because at the end of the day, it is Pocket's choice whether she wants to keep the baby or not. And obviously, he can have his opinion being the father of the child but he's not gonna be the one who'd carry it for 9 months and get his body all fucked up so ultimately, he doesn't get the final say. HOWEVER. Pocket didn't have to be so cruel with that "trash taking itself out" line because it was obvious it meant something to Bucky, especially a man from the 40s who has different views on the whole, fetus doesn't equal a conscious baby etc. Sure, if probably given the chance he'd understand the gist of it, but right in the moment when they just found out the news? It was just a really mean thing to say. But again, they're both running on intense emotions so I can't blame either of them for how they handled things.

With that said, I truly do think this whole thing is going to affect Pocket more than she's letting on. Because they DO NOT NEED A BABY RIGHT NOW and she has all the right to not keep it when she would've found out about the pregnancy. But, with her miscarriage? This is yet another choice that was taken from her. Obviously, with the circumstances bringing a child into it is just never going to happen. But I have a feeling deep down, that she probably wanted it and if things were different she would've kept it. I mean, she said it herself at the last part, it probably was something she wanted too. So once she's calmed down and has the time to truly think about what just happened, it's going to hit her much harder than she's going to expect. I mean, I could be wrong, this is all just my assumptions. But in the next part, she did admit that she cared. So this whole thing is going to add another stack to her already growing guilt.

Now, with these next points, I'm probably going to get so much slack but, hey, I'm just here to share my opinion at the end of the day and some might not agree with it. But when they got back to the safe house, I felt a little iffy about Pocket blaming it ALL on Bucky as to why she's acting this way. Like, yes, he might've been the biggest reason she was pushed towards the edge and was sleeping around and doing drugs but, well, she still has some fault in that too. She can't just say that's what Bucky made her out to be because she still made these choices. Yes, she was acting on hurt and anger that was caused by him and yes he fucked up so bad that it caused her to act this way, but she still has some bit of fault in this too. Not everything, obviously, she wasn't in the right state both mentally and emotionally, but she made some bad choices and she won't be able to get through that and be able to learn from it if she's just going to point fingers.

And again, I'm probably going to get so much slack for this but in my opinion, Pocket needed that scolding when Bucky found the remnants of cocaine. Unfortunate it's coming from the person who hurt her the most but, either way, she needed someone to snap her out of this daze of always wanting to numb herself and actually get to see that there's going to be dire consequences if she kept going this route. Because Bucky was right. It's not even just about the baby anymore. She could've died. Can you imagine what that would've done to the people who cared about her? Sam when he's the one who left here there? Tony who's the person who suggested she go on that mission in the first place? Pocket was losing sight of that, so she really did need Bucky to remind her. And she needed to have that breakdown too. She's been running away for far too long and it's going to end up killing her if she keeps going. I mean, it almost did.

And I will say, you can clearly see how much Bucky has grown, despite it being off screen. With him mentioning that he's not expecting anything back from her, that he's going to accept his fate whether she decides to forgive him or not, it is quite refreshing. Like you can see someone who's clearly seen how much he's fucked up and has realized that what he's done is possibly unforgivable and is willing to accept that he's not going to get the love of his life back. Two months of therapy has done him good. I truly do believe that Bucky will be able to redeem himself because he's already shown some growth. I'm so happy that they're starting to have these conversations now too. It really does seem like they're on the healing path. All they need to do is to talk everything out. Even if it won't end in the getting back together, they could salvage some friendship at least.

Lastly, I know there's this argument that people are being too easy on Bucky. And while I don't condone any of the shit he's done, I mean, he still fucked up. But, I might seem that I'm being too forgiving because one, this is just fiction. If someone was like this in real life I'm out. And two, which is the same with the first one, Bucky's case isn't exactly as black and white as most men are. I mean, he's 106 years old, he's been tortured, used, abused, brainwashed for the 70 years and he can't remember most of it, he's a man out of time and he's clearly not yet healed. And I don't think you can't just take all of that into account as to why he is the way he is. BUT BUT again, this doesn't excuse his actions. He still needs to apologize and grovel and get himself together and fix things and do right with Pocket. It just means that I'm not going to view him as some evil asshole who's malicious and gets off from hurting the people he loves. Because he's not. He's a good man who has a good heart but unfortunately has made some terrible choices due to his circumstances. I mean, that doesn't mean he's immediately forgiven. It just means I can give him a bit of grace and empathy and see where he's coming from you know?

Anyway, I'm going to end this by saying, there's truly no villain between him and Pocket, they're both just so human. So there's really no need to pick sides or to argue who's better than who or who’s fully wrong and who's fully right etc etc. (Well, apart from Judas bc she's clearly the villain in every narrative in this story). This is getting so long, I'm so sorry. But you're amazing, and I truly do enjoy this story so much. Lots of love!

— Jnon 🤍

Hell, beloved bestie!

You know, I will happily take Wonderful Devil over Saint any day of the week, so I thank you, lol.

Pocket was also super in denial when she woke up in the puddle of blood. With everything that had been going on in her life, a pregnancy was by far the absolute LAST thing on her mind. It was more logical to think that someone had broken in during the night to stab her, lol. And I really, really, did push the possible poisoning narrative, just because so many people had clued into her being pregnant, I was like "shit! gotta toss a red herring!"

When Pocket got the news (plus the added stress of Bucky just being there), she was in shock. I hated writing her so callous, but I had to think: If I were in her situation, and I hadn't had the opportunity to really process this, and I was running solely on the anger I felt for my ex, how would I respond in my worst moment? And that's what I came up with. Bucky was right, though, when he told her that she didn't mean it. She didn't. She was just trying to make him hurt, and to convince herself (as well as him) that she wouldn't have wanted his baby.

As for Bucky pushing boundaries, I think that, if things had been different and they found out about the pregnancy earlier, and had had the opportunity to actually discuss it, if Pocket had truly wanted an abortion, he would have supported her. It was just the surprise of the moment, and him being from the 40s where that kind of thing wasn't really openly talked about. They were both feeling immense emotions at the moment, and neither one came out looking their best.

And yeah, when she has time to actually sit down and process everything, it's going to hit her, hard. Unfortunately, that's not going to be able to happen for awhile, and off page, because shit's about to go down real soon, and our story (or, this part of it, anyway) will wrap up before she gets the chance to deal with things.

And no, you are totally right-- it's not all Bucky's fault. Yeah, he hurt her, but Pocket chose to deal with that hurt the way she did. There were so many other things she could have done (hello, what happened to tried and true stress eating? lol), but she chose self destruction. The same way he's responsible for the way he handled Carthage, she's responsible for the way she's handled this. And Bucky definitely needed to open the can of tough love on her. I honestly don't think she would have accepted it from anyone else but him. He said harsh truths that she needed to hear. It's the kick in the pants she needed to stop running and start facing shit.

They'll be doing some more talking in 26, too. And I hope the extent of his growth will show more there.

"He's a good man who has a good heart but unfortunately has made some terrible choices due to his circumstances." THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! Yes, this is what I'm trying to show for him. He's just a human, who has been put though extremely shit circumstances. He made some bad choices, much like Pocket has, and he's learning from them!

I so appreciate you saying there's no villain between the two of them. They are just two truly flawed individuals. Cunthage is the only villain in this story! <3

As always, I love hearing from you, and picking your thoughts! You make my day!

[lun6laveria]

more that didint fit in this

IAN ADDED that barney lost it by losing gordon, and getting gordon back only served to make him lose it more because he never resolved the grief from losing gordon, and can be angry because it isnt the same... causing him to lash out on the tf2 mercs (likely being more hostile towards merasmus + maybe soldier due to association) and gordon makes the bloodlust worse, because they both feed into each other hating them ALSO gordon communicates by carving words into walls since hes stone and he can do that or he could use barney's perpetually bleeding face scar as paint (cuz idk if i said this but i hc his scar never stops bleeding) AND IAN ADDED AGAIN AGAIN AND SAID barney hugs him and it feels different and hes so frustrated about . how everything is so fucked up,... and then gordon taps "i love you" in morse code on barneys back and he melts... ITS STILL HIS HUSBAND!!!! AND THATS ALL THAT MATTERS!!! sometimes he gets himself worked up mentally, but gordon is always there and helps him calm down.... (as calm as he can get like this..) also no gordon? is not like a weeping angel hes more like a scp 173 and i think barney sometimes wishes he could still feel the warmth of gordon's body on horror au ian also said barney doesnt want gordon trying to comfort him because it will feel WRONG, because he isnt warm. so he has a staring contest with gordon. doesnt want him to come any closer. his eyes hurt, he needs to blink, but he doesnt want the phantom touch of his husband who isnt really "alive" so to speak and what if when barney finally fucking gives in and blinks gordon just holds him and he starts bawling his eyes out like he doesnt know if he wants to hug him bvack or not but deep in he really does bc he knows gordon is still there even though he can barely move or do anything SO HE JUST closes his eyes and feels gordon's fuckin stone hands rubbing his back (and he cries more) also from what i know uhh barney cannot get killed in slender fortress but he can still be defeated in vsh freak fortress n shit n gordon is NOT in vsh, only in slender fortress so barney could possibly actually die and gordon cant so yk... ONE DAY THEY WERE KISSING..SMOOCHING..APPRECIATING EACHOTHER OUT SOMEWHERE DARK N SHIT GORDON HOLDING BARNEY CLOSE AND THEN SOMEONE SHOWS UP AND GORDON IS FROZEN BC OF THAT AND BARNEY CANT MOVE TO KILL THE PERSON EITHER BC GORDON HAS HIS ARMS WRAPPED AROUND HIM AND IAN SAID barney had to get hit a few times and play dead. AND THEN GORDON HAS TO TENDERLY BANDAGE HIM UP...gordon writes little notes on barneys bandages when his eyes are closedimmediately following the attack, its just "i love you" because gordon was scared that barney was actually gonna get killed..

gordon was scared and had to watch .. and wasnt entirely sure if barney was okay when he was playing dead… and then barney was always scared to keep his eyes closed again and when i sent a video TO IAN ABOUT BARNEY IN SLENDER FORTR4ESS AND HE HAD AN IDEA banrye and gordon have an inside joke w eachother like.. "they think its so fun to be fake nice to someone ur about to kill. PLUS its like.. a personal thing between them" "they love to joke around with it, because theyre so desensitized to it at that point" AND I SAID barney would prob say shit like "this will only hurt a bit!!" or "stop running and make this easier for the both of us" ALSO A TALK I HAD W HIM me: I DONT WANNA REALLY CHANGE TOPICS FROM THE SADNESS but what if barney just keeps his eyes closed for a really long time so they can make out ian: THEY DEFINITELY DO THAT!! barney opens his eyes at some point just by instinct, and gordon freezes, so barney closes his eyes again. gordon tugs on his hair when he's unfrozen, like "cmon asshole.. (lighthearted)" doesnt say that but its like he implies it you know.. like affectionately mean in action me: YES I UNDERSTAND FUCKED UP EVIL. AND SAD. BUIT NONETHELESS. LOVE! EVIL LOVE!

hello tumblr. i will post everything me and ian thought about when we were talkin about horror au. and its alot. this horror au is slender fortress so ig the other characters arent really in it? unless they exist in slender fortress. get ready for alot of messy reading. me and ian were just having fun.

hc is that they both help eachother get kills soemtimes for fun if the person theyre chasing blinks, gordon? either teleports infront of them and makes them trip so barney can fuckin KILL them or barney boosts himself (p sure he has that cuz most of the slender fortress killers have a boost) and just fucking blows air on the person's eyes so they can blink and gordon? can snap their neck or sum.. OR HE COULD JUST SPLASH THE BLOOD ON HIS CHAINSAW ON THEIR FACE barney pulls out a bouquet full of organs infront of gordon? and when he blinks gordon? is doing heart with his hands (i was gonna say a darker tone would appear across his STONE face but statues cant BLUSH) he gotta blink or gordon? cant move an inch... and me and ian think if one of them died (which is most likely impossible) the other would go batshit crazy would lose more sanity than they already lost ahaha.. ALSO storytime what if whatr if what if it was MERASMUS (the tf2 evil wizard) that accidentally turned gordon into stone bc of a misunderstandin or smt misunderstrandin like he meant to turn someone else into stone and when barney got there he was like OH NOOOOOOOOOO WHATT HE FUCK!!! TURN HIM BACK!!! and bro was like sorry man i caantt... and barney went thru all stages of grief (all but acceptance) and then he started going crazy bc his own fucking husband got turn into stone all the sudden AND WHILE ALL THIS IS HAPPENING GORDON STILL DOESNT KNOW HOW TO MOVE WHILE HES IN THAT STATE so since they cant turn gordon back barney ebncomes EEVILLLL and decides to get REVEEENGEE on the the tf2 mercs n shit like that and so does gordon (after a few weeks of figurin out how to move) MORE WEEKS or months go by and then boom all of the sudden barney and gordon meet in a map barney is confused at first bc like wait how did he get in here...and then he blinks and gordonis now closer to him and he kinda gets jumpscared LOL few mins pass and barney finally figures out whats going on SO HE DOES NOTHING ELSE BUT HUG HIS STONE BOYFRIEND and kiss him and shit.... and gordon hugs BACK bc barney closed his EYES!!!!! and now they kill people togetehr bc theyre fucked up and evil this isnt a great story but itsd all i could come up with at the moment.

[elysianslove]

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST ━━

(*) is smut!

i edit this as i post more! <3

MULTIPLE

headcanons 

ass, thighs, or tits?

*prettiest moans ranking

*catching you/catching him masturbating 

*most likely to punish you

*dick analysis

*which of them would be into anal? 

*which of them would be into threesomes, & which not? 

reactions upon seeing you all glammed up

reactions to being randomly flashed

*random & specific nsfw headcanons

reacting to you fake banging them

POLY RELATIONSHIPS 

yuuji/megumi/you 

relatonship headcanons

*sub!megumi in a maid dress, part 2 (drabbles)

*oblivion; sub!yuuji (one shot)

*dom!megumi 

dates with them 

yuuji/sukuna/you

yuuji sharing his s/o headcanons

*yuuji’s fingers and sukuna’s mouth (drabble)

*blindfolded and guessing who’s fucking you (drabble)

s/o in danger headcanons

*sukuna turning yuuji off during sex (drabble)

sukuna warming up to yuuji’s s/o

ITADORI YUUJI

headcanons 

cuddling 

with a chubby s/o

with an asexual s/o

s/o that dislikes physical affection

babying/being babied by yuuji

putting make up on him

an s/o that has trouble sleeping

with a foreign friend

s/o with bad eating habits 

taking care of his upset s/o

*masturbation headcanons

drabbles

*thigh fucking his s/o

*giggly sex with yuuji

comforting his sad s/o

*cumming while eating you out

childhood friends to lovers

*his ahegao face

one shots 

       •   love on the brain 

in which you spend the day with him. 

       •   *euphoria

in which you have a beach date, followed by smut at home. 

       •   caught 

in which nobara catches you sneaking into yuuji’s dorm.

       •   *sensitive 

in which he makes you orgasm from your nipples only. 

       •   *the first time 

in which he loses his virginity to you. (can be read as a sequel to ‘dry humping’).

       •   *taste divine 

in which yuuji eats you out. 

      •    the serenity of the quiet 

in which yuuji learns to love the quiet moments with you. 

      •    *strip studying 

in which yuuji helps you study with a game. 

500 Follower Event

realizing they’re in love

drunken confessions

*dry humping

1k Event ━ Character Studies

itadori yuuji

GOJŌ SATORU

headcanons 

cuddling

best friends to lovers 

with an asexual s/o

with a shy but badass s/o

short-tempered s/o

fluff headcanons 

s/o that isn’t physically affectionate 

babying/being babied by gojō

pda that flusters him 

s/o with bad eating habits

*sub!gojō

making up to an s/o he’s neglected 

drabbles

*fingering you beneath the table

*gang bang with sukuna, gojō, & toji 

*pegging him

one shots 

       •   home 

in which the first years spend the holidays with you and your lover. 

       •   gentle mornings 

in which you wake up next to him. 

       •    comfort

in which he comforts his overwhelmed s/o. 

       •    insecurities 

in which his s/o is insecure of their stretch marks. 

       •    *in between you

in which you spend a night between gojō and kuroo. 

      •    *stars in your eyes

in which gojō voices his appreciation towards you

500 Follower Event

cooking/baking together 

aftercare, communicating with their eyes only

*blindfolds

*car sex

“i can’t lose you,” desperately trying to stop their s/o from bleeding out, convincing their hurt partner they’re okay when they’re not

1k Event ━ Character Studies

gojō satoru 

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

headcanons

cuddling

short tempered s/o

*sub!megumi

putting make up on him

*megumi’s virginity loss crack series (tag)

with a foreign friend

s/o with bad eating habits

fluff headcanons 

taking care of his upset s/o

*masturbation headcanons

drabbles

*watching porn with megumi

*petplay with megumi

*thigh highs 

*messy sex and blowjobs

*his ahegao face

*feral megumi

one shots 

       •    comfort

in which he comforts his overwhelmed s/o.

       •    distance 

in which he crushes on his dense friend. 

       •    divine dogs 

in which you ask him to bring the divine dogs out to play with. 

       •    *catboy 

in which he dresses up as a catboy for you. 

       •    *needy

in which he wakes you up in the middle of the night because he’s needy. 

       •    *pretty when you cry

in which he can’t get enough of you. 

500 Follower Event

cuddling

ice skating date

*voyeurism/exhibition

RYOMEN SUKUNA

headcanons

neck fixation

with an asexual s/o

short-tempered s/o

s/o that paints his markings on themselves

pda that flusters him

putting make up on him

s/o with big breasts 

carnival visit 

soft sukuna

more soft sukuna 

wife that’s unfazed and unhinged

*sukuna’s 4 dicks discourse (tag)

drabbles

*gang bang with sukuna, gojō & toji

*corruption kink

*power bottom sukuna

valentine’s day

*sukuna and his two dicks

one shots 

       •    consequences 

in which you’re sukuna’s favorite girl in his harem. 

       •    *fall apart 

in which sukuna subs for you. 

       •    *desire 

in which you’re a demon that feeds off of sexual intercourse. 

       •    the end 

in which it’s your execution as sukuna’s vessel. 

       •    insecurities

in which his s/o is insecure of their stretch marks.

       •    *take a seat 

in which you cockwarm sukuna on his throne. 

500 Follower Event

admiring their features, neck kisses

*breeding kink

*thigh riding, voice kink, spit kink

*oral sex

drunken confessions

*praise kink

bandaging one’s wounds

*size kink, corruption kink

INUMAKI TOGE

headcanons 

s/o stressed from school

with a chubby s/o

s/o that dislikes physical affection

his love language 

drabbles

*controlling you with his cursed technique

*making you squirt from his cursed technique  

one shots 

        •    learning to love

in which he learns to say it for you. 

        •    *make a mess

in which he uses his cursed technique on you.

500 Follower Event

*cockwarming

wearing their clothes, waking up while the other is still asleep

1k Event ━ Character Studies 

inumaki toge

KUGISAKI NOBARA 

headcanons 

ass, thighs, or tits? 

*prettiest moans ranking

drabbles

*pillow princess nobara

NANAMI KENTŌ 

headcanons 

being his daughter

*angry sex

ass, thighs, or tits? 

what hugging him is like

making up to an s/o he’s neglected

drabbles 

*breeding kink

YOSHINO JUNPEI 

headcanons 

ass, thighs, or tits? 

drabbles 

losing your virginity to him, and him to you  

ZENIN MAKI 

headcanons 

general fluff + nsfw 

ass, thighs, or tits

drabbles

*dom!maki

*size kink

ZENIN MAI 

headcanons

*prettiest moans ranking

MAHITO 

headcanons 

relationship with a civilian s/o

*catching him/catching you masturbating

ass, thighs, or tits? 

*prettiest moans ranking

500 Follower Event

friends with benefits confession, realizing they’re in love, admiring their features

GETŌ SUGURU 

headcanons 

ass, thighs, or tits?

drabbles

*slapping you with his cock

dilf!geto

FUSHIGURO TOJI 

headcanons 

ass, thighs, or tits?

drabbles

gang bang with sukuna, gojō, and toji

[dilftaroooo]

Fluffy Choso asks you say?

You've always adored Choso's face tattoo.

What about Choso isn't feeling the best that day, and comes home. Maybe someone made fun of him or his appearance.

You see this and to try and cheer him up so you go and grab some make up or markers and carefully draw his tattoo on your face.

Then go and find him to surprise him with it before telling him how much you adore him and like his tattoo and maybe placing a kiss on it to watch his face heat up if you're into that.

tags: sad choso ☹️ (its only for a while)

oh. my. god. anon. this ask is so fucking cute help.

(if anyone was to make fun of choso there might be several felonies i may have to commit ahahha 🙂)

it was strange — choso’s demeanor was one of discomfort and diffidence, not a common trait for him to possess for the prideful older brother he’s known to be. you sensed his discomfort as soon as he walked through the door, head draped like low hanging fruit as though he was concealing his vulnerability but the attempt was futile. behind his stoic features laid a pool of insecurity (even his slow strides matched his somber mood).

“choso...?” your voice was light, dainty as you gazed at the curse-human hybrid with generous curiosity. something like this was so unorthodox for choso. he always had a neutral aura ringing around his tall stature, never angry, never sad. so what seemed to be the matter?

after his brief explanation you finally conclude the problem; the constant teasing about his appearance from by-passers is what filled him with an abundance of bitter self-awareness. the harsh words regarding the rectangular tattoo decorating his nose made him wish that he was never born with it. he’d try his hardest to get rid of the tattoo but the outcome was always the same — disappointment.

being his lover, you wanted to comfort your boyfriend through the soft coos of your words and the gentle caress of his arm but that discomfort still lingered. “is there something wrong with me?” you sighed, it was hard seeing him like this. you blatantly shook your head at the question.

“there’s nothing wrong with you, choso.” you repeat for the fifth time that week though your consolations went from one ear and out the other. there had to be more that you can do.

rummaging in your pencil cup you search for that black marker you frequently use. once you finally found it, you made sure that the ink wasn’t dry by drawing on a sheet of paper just to see the pigmented stroke bleeding through. perfect. now all you need is a mirror.

it was the afternoon when choso came back to the house, the gathering held at jujutsu tech needed a few extra hands to prep and after yuuji brought the event up to choso there was just no way he could refuse. he was missing your presence as he helped decorate the interior of the school but you had other things to attend to and he could do nothing but respect that

you heard the familiar heavy steps of combat boot make contact with the floor and a whispered hello as a greeting. “hey, welcome back!” choso’s eyes widen as soon you turned around from your laptop to face him, the marking laid on the bridge of your nose as you tilt your head up proudly. “how was the gathering?”

he couldn’t form the words to reply, he was too focused on your careless expression despite the drawing that resembled his tattoo. “y/n....” you seemed to ignore the thing that he was concerned with because you respond unknowingly.

“oh, um, it was ok.” you nod, setting your laptop to the side as you get up to give him a proper greeting, kissing his cheek and savoring the way it glowed a bright pink. his mouth was agape from your affectionate ministration.

“that’s good! hhhn i’m getting hungry though. i’ve been sitting here all day and i don’t feel like cooking. let’s go grab something to eat!” you stretch your arms trying rid yourself from the taut pain in your shoulder, fully acknowledging the low grumble of your stomach. an eyebrow of the hybrid raised, questioning your words with a confused tone as he comes up with an inquiry.

“you’re going to go out like that?” referring to the rectangular drawing on your nose. you only return the questionable look but a innocent smile was splayed on your features, the slight crease of your eyes as you grinned had his heart racing for hundreds of miles.

“yeah? does there seem to be a problem?” those words brought him a plethora of joy, you cheesed harder as soon as you saw the whites of his teeth along with the rosy tint appearing under his signature tattoo as you gave a tender peck on his upper lip. his fingers entangled with yours as he takes you to the entrance, the scent of nature filled both your noses as soon as he opened the front door.

“no. there’s no problem at all.”

choso knew that at that moment, he will make sure to never let you go.

[rockingrobin69]

Prince of Cheese

For the brilliant @ghaniblue, 800 words, angst. TW mentions of blood.

He grew up prince of his little world: delicate silks and rich creamy frostings and brand-new toys, wooden and shiny, all for him alone. Every wish fulfilled before he’d even dreamt it, every need anticipated, taken care of. By the age of three he managed to charm the house elves so, they didn’t even scold him when his mother demanded it. They’d braid his hair instead, with Mr. Draco needs to and little Sir shouldn’t, but always affectionate. Draco was the undisputed prince of his kingdom, of his people.

He was royalty in Hogwarts too. There was always someone to look up to him, to carry his books and fix his clothes and laugh at his jokes. The teachers all gave him far more leave than they should have, mostly because he brandished his father’s name like a sword and hid behind his wealth like a shield. He thought he knew ‘conflict’ in the tense conversations his parents held behind closed doors, that he saw ‘hardships’ in receiving the shorter end of the stick in some petty rivalry. He thought—gods, such silly, silly things. Things only a child would think. And, well, he was a child. And then he wasn’t.

He was still a prince when they led him to that throne, black wooden chair that seemed more regal than anything. When he took his place before it, one knee down and wrist forward, he felt grand. Elevated, better, chosen. No one had told him—or perhaps they couldn’t, by then. He wouldn’t have listened. This was what he’s been prepared for all his life, pampered, spoiled, putrid little brat that he was; and this was to be his fate, etched red on white skin. Eternal glory. A mighty position in the reckoning, the changing of destiny.No longer the shorter end, but victory, from now and till forever. If only it didn’t hurt so. If only his mother didn’t seem this sad. If only—well, he’ll worry about the implications of turning his wand on another when the time comes. He was a prince, still. He had his place and his people.

There’s no royalty in war. When everyone is hungry, and bleeding, and angry, and hurt. You either fight with them, or you’re an enemy; and Draco didn’t want to be much of either, anymore. He thought he’d been readied—what a fucking joke. No one prepared him for this. No one told him what was really happening, and if they did, he wasn’t smart enough to understand. A stupid, stupid, stupid child—no longer child—far from adult still—coward, useless, shadow of a—nothing. There was nothing in him left when he used curses unimaginable, when he sacrificed all he had and things he didn’t. When he realised how far the way down still goes, that he himself was the one who took it. There was nothing when he finally fell, defeated, covered in snot and blood and tears. Nothing to brandish, to hide behind or to hold. No place, no protection, no people to care for him. Draco sank.

They cut his hair when he entered the prison; the last remnant of his crown, gone. Hunched shoulders, lessons of posture and decorum long forgotten. He was so small behind the bars, cradled into himself, crying, crying, crying, like a boy, a helpless baby. But no one was there to braid his hair, to give him a friendly tap or wipe away his tears. To scold, to shame or punish. No one to save him—there was nothing to save, anyway. Shreds of a fallen prince, defenceless on his own, much as he ever was. Because it was never his own strength that gave him protection, that justified his reign. It was his people. Now he had only the rats, and nothing he could give them.

He ached to give something, to find the tiniest bit of purpose, of himself in the bleak that became his world. He imagined the bloody bits of mortar he scraped off the wall with broken fingernails were breadcrumbs, to feed his new court. But the rats didn’t care for this faux-benefactor. They saw him for who he truly was, what he always had been: an impostor. Prince of garbage. He’d sell his soul if only to be prince of cheese; if he could be something good, something useful, just once. But he had nothing.

It won’t be long, anyway. Draco had learned there’s always room to fall. Self-pity felt acrid on his tongue, burning in his eyes; he was the only one to blame. And now… now comes the end.

He closed his eyes and imagined, with a cracked, tiny smile, how he used to make the house elves laugh. Prince of his castle, he was. Until he wasn’t.

[that-welder-dude]

Bakugou Katsuki x Sad!Male!Reader (Fluff)

"Enjoy the Little Things"

Warnings: Cursing because Bakugou

Info

Name: L/n Y/n

Age: 15

Height: 5'3

Hair Color: (h/c)

Hair Length: (h/l)

Eye Color: (e/c)

Skin Tone: (s/t)

Quirk: Levitation

Your quirk allows you to move things around by focusing your attention on it, including yourself.

Drawbacks: You get migraines from using your quirk too long, also causing bleeding from your ears and nose. This worries your boyfriend quite a bit.

You are a shy person when you first meet someone, but once you warm up to someone, you like to talk and open up a bit more.

*****

-Third Person POV-

Bakugou's eyes flutter open, glaring at the sunlight peaking through the curtains in his dorm room. It's a Saturday, meaning he doesn't have to be up for school, but that also means he wants to sleep in a little bit more. He movs to close the small gap in the curtains but feels a weight on his chest, keeping him from sitting up. He glances down and sees his beautiful boyfriend, Y/N, snuggling his face into his chest.

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth at the sight of him, (h/l) (h/c) disheveled and covering his eyes a bit, mouth open slightly with soft snore leaving it. Y/N's (pale/pink), (soft/rough) lips moved slightly as he breathed, occasionally letting out a quiet "hmm".

Bakugou sighs quietly and very gently lifts his boyfriend off of him, moving off the bed to close the curtains. Almost immediately after his body leaves the bed, Y/N's (soft/hoarse) morning voice could be heard in the form of a whine, wanting the warmth that was just so rudely taken from him. Bakugou chuckles quietly to himself and seals the curtains shut, then climbs back into bed, small arms immediately wrapping around his midsection and pulling him closer.

A (e/c) eye opens very slowly and looks up at the blond male who disturbed his sleep moments ago. "What were you doing?" Y/N whispers, his morning voice peaking through the soft sound.

"I was closing the curtains all the way so we didn't have to deal with the sun," Bakugou replies quietly, still trying hard not to disturb the boy any further than he already had.

Y/N just hums softly before letting out a soft yawn and moves to sit up in the bed to stretch, before being pulled back into his larger boyfriend's chest with a soft yelp of surprise. Bakugou laughs softly as he wraps his arms around the smaller's waist and kisses his nose very softly.

"How did you sleep?" he asks very quietly, rubbing their noses together gently, knowing how much Y/N loves it. The smaller male smiles and does the same, giggling a bit. "I slept very well, but I always do when I'm with you," he smiles even brighter.

Bakugou pulls back a bit to admire the features of his boyfriend's face, memorizing them again and again. Y/N just looks back, unconsciously glancing down at Bakugou's lips, then gives them a small peck. Bakugou smiles in surprise and pulls him in for a slightly longer but just as sweet kiss.

He gently strokes the (soft/rough) (s/t) exposed patch of skin on Y/N's shoulder where the shirt is sliding off because of how big it is on him. He sits up all the way and pulls Y/N's head into his lap, then starts to immediately starts playing with the smaller male's (h/c) locks.

Y/N is slightly confused by his boyfriend's actions slightly, usually he isn't this affectionate, even when they are alone. He decides to voice his thoughts and only earns a quiet hum from Bakugou.

After a moment of silence, Bakugou speaks again. "I'm just enjoying the little things."

~Timeskip~

-Bakugou's POV-

Once we officially get up for the day, everyone else in the dorms is already up. I gently take Y/N's hand in mine as we make our way to the elevator to head down to the kitchen to eat breakfast. His feet shuffle slowly on the floor as he tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. Once we're in the elevator, I press the button for the bottom floor and release Y/N's hand. This makes him frown a bit but he doesn't say anything, as he knows that I don't want the others to know that we are together yet. I know he wants to tell everyone but I'm not ready, I haven't even told anyone that I'm gay. The only people who know are Aizawa-sensei and my and Y/N's parents. Aizawa only knows because he caught us sleeping in Y/N's room a couple of weeks ago, earning us both detention for not telling him because he had checked rooms on one of his night patrols of the hallways. When he didn't find me, he was frantic and started flinging doors open all over, scaring some students. When he found me and Y/N snuggling, I begged him not to tell anyone and he agreed, only stating that I needed to be more responsible.

I frowned at the memory, hating how he had found out.

Y/N seems to notice my slight anger, moving to touch my arm to comfort me, only for me to jerk out of his reach as the elevator opens. I swiftly step out and walk towards the kitchen, leaving Y/N in the elevator.

Once I get my breakfast and sit at the table, I look up, only to notice that my small boyfriend was nowhere in sight. I frown but try no to let it bother me, eating my food quietly.

After about 20 minutes, the elevator dings and Y/N steps out dressed in his school training uniform. I watch him as he walks by and his (e/c) orbs catch mine for a moment before darkening and looking away again. He strides right past the kitchen and out the door of the dorms, walking in the direction of the school. I watch him go, confused, then see Midoriya, also dressed in his training uniform as well, rush past and catch up to Y/N. I just barely have time to see Y/N turn to smile at the broccoli boy before the door closes.

I feel anger boil up in me. What is that damn Deku doing with my Y/N? Y/N only ever sparred with me, unless we were at school and got partnered up with other people. I angrily stand up and throw away my trash rather aggressively, gaining a few stares from the others in the common room.

I spend the rest of the day in my room, half-expecting Y/N to walk in. The longer he doesn't, though, the angrier I get. I must've fell asleep at some point because I wake up the next day and once again, the sun is peaking through the curtain. I groan and throw the covers off and get up. Y/N didn't come to my room last night, meaning he was still angry. All because I wouldn't let him touch me?? That doesn't make sense, he knows I don't want people knowing yet. Sure, It's been a few months, but that doesn't mean I don't want to spend time with him in private. He just doesn't understand. I shake my head and remove him from my mind. If he is going to hold onto this grudge, then I will too.

~Timeskip~

It's been a whole week since Y/N has spoken to me, and I am getting very impatient. We all arrive in the classroom on that next Monday and Y/N completely ignores me. He strides to his desk next to Deku and immediately starts talking to him about training with him again. I feel my anger worsen and I can't help but lash out.

"Oi, dumbasses! Shut the fuck up, you're too loud!" I yell. I turn around, ignoring the eyes burning into my back, knowing who they belong to. I hear Deku go back to talking to him and just as I'm about to yell again, Aizawa-sensei tells us homeroom is over and that we need to change into our training uniform to train.

Immediately after he finishes speaking, I feel a presence shove past me as I try to stand, only to get knocked back into my seat. I look at Y/N in shock, the anger and hurt still very apparent in his eyes as he glares back at me. He grabs his uniform and leaves before anyone else has a chance to catch up.

Once everyone is outside, Aizawa partners us up to start sparring, saying we can use our quirks as long as we don't hurt each other too much.

Of course, my luck is this bad. I get Y/N.

Once we dispersed enough to begin, Y/N immediately lunges at me and knocks me to the ground. Even with my reflexes, he is able to knock me down. Explosions blast out of my palms and they throw him backwards, but he catches himself with his quirk, floating off the ground a few inches. Then I hear him do something I've never heard him do before.

He growls.

It's low, almost imperceptible, but I catch it and it sends a shiver down my spine. He doesn't get this angry, even when Kaminari picks on him for his size. That's when I know this is going to be an all out fight.

He lunges at me again, this time slower because of the use of his quirk so I have time to react and blast him back again. I'm hesitant, though, because I don't want to hurt him, even though he seems very intent on hurting me.

"Don't hold back, because I'm not," he yells at me. I shift uncomfortably under his very angry gaze, wishing I could see the calm, playful glare that usually accompanies our sparring matches.

He lunges at me again and again, occasionally activating his quirk to dodge my blasts. I land a few hits on him as he does on me. I can tell he's getting tired based on how his attacks are slowing, but they are just as strong and painful if I'm not careful.

That's when I see the blood starting to come out of his left ear. A drawback of his quirk, he's been using it too much on me. In my moment of hesitation, he lunges again, this time hitting me square in my jaw so hard I start to see black spots. As I regain my senses, I see him in front of me, his other ear bleeding now as well. No one else seems to have noticed yet, so I give him a half apologetic, half concerned look.

I see him also blinking rapidly, meaning the beginning of a migraine has started to set in. I bit my lip hard, fighting myself to keep from running to him and holding him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear until his head stops hurting.

I can't do that. We are still sparring, I'll hold him later and hopefully he'll have forgiven me by then.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't see him move towards me quickly and I feel the impact of his foot in my gut, but instead of falling onto the ground behind me, I feel myself get lifted off the ground and higher into the air. He's using his quirk on me, and he's going to drop me. He's really trying to hurt me, like I hurt him.

Then I'm falling, and I use my explosions to keep myself from landing too hard on the ground. I look over at him, only to see him on the ground, passed out from the pain and the blood loss from his ears and his now heavily-bleeding nose. My mind goes blank as I rush towards him and pull him into my arms, being as gentle as I can in this state. I hear myself yelling for Aizawa-sensei, getting his attention from across the field. His eyes widen as he and the rest of the class stop what they're doing to come see what's going on.

"What happened?!" He yelled as he approached us on the ground. I didn't respond as I held Y/N close, just stroking his (h/l) (h/c) hair and whispering to him. Kirishima is the one who spoke up.

"It looks like he overused his quirk and passed out," he states quietly.

Y/N's unfocused eyes open and stare up at me from my lap. I sigh in relief and cup his face in my hands like I do when he's in pain. Without thinking, I lean down and press my lips softly against his and hold them there. I hear quiet gasps and several "I knew it!" from my classmates. As I pull away, I realized that I just came out to my whole class and kissed my not-so-secret boyfriend in front of them. But instead of embarrassment or anger, I feel relieved, happy even.

Y/N's eyes are more focused now but I know he still isn't fully aware of what's going on right now, so I just continue to stroke his hair and whisper softly to him. He reaches up and lightly plays with a few strands of my hair, slowly moving his hand down to my eyes, then to my eyes, nose, and then to my mouth where he began to trace my lips with his thumb.

"What are you doing, dumbass?" I jokingly ask him. But when he answers he is serious and I know he is remember the morning we stopped talking. Then he smiles and pulls my nose to his, rubbing them together softly.

"I'm enjoying the little things."

[echo-of-sounds]

i’m not angry. i’m concerned

Small drabbles of Aizawa, Toshi, Hizashi, and Gang Orca taking care of you after you have a relapse of self-harm.

Warnings: self-hate, self-harm, punching a wall, hitting oneself with an object, bad bruising/swelling, (semi-graphic) cutting, blood

Aizawa Shouta

You knew it would only deform your hand more. And you still did it. Now you were left with bruised and swollen knuckles. Damage jarred your bones. Trauma twitched your muscles. And they just kept swelling. They were so big, pulling tendons, stretching skin uncomfortably, distressingly. Cries and hiccups slipped through your stifling.

Footsteps hurried down the hallway. You turned around. Shouta questioned your back, “What was that noise?”

“Drop- Dropped something.”

“It didn’t sound like it. It came from the wall. Did you throw something?”

“I-” Tears and twinges killed your reply. You gripped your wrists, trying to cut off the rocketing pain spasms. He’d criticize, blame you for your stupidity. He wouldn’t even have to speak to let you know the shame he held. One apathetic, antipathic look and his repugnance would be clear, ridiculing your caricature of a hormonal, huffy teenager.

Even your body was revolted by the action. Eight months of self-power- no knifed skin, no disfigurements- was snapped in one vulnerable second- a weak, weeping second that left you pitiful and hopeless and useless and worthless-

Warmth wrapped your back. You jerked from his embrace, crying for him to leave. His voice was as warm as his body, “I’m not going anywhere. You need me right now.” Hands supported your monstrous one while he wordlessly directed you to the living room then the couch.

He briefly left your side before coming back with ice, pills, and a drink. You readily accepted the painkillers. 

While you sipped the water, he closely examined your knuckles. He asked, extending one of his fingers, “Can you push down?” It hurt but you could. “Can you bend them?” It was rigid but you could. “Can you make a fist?” It was tight and inflamed but you could make half a fist. “You have motion, which is always a good sign. If the swelling doesn’t go down by morning, we’re going in for X-rays.”

His words were caring. Yet guilt burst. You sobbed and tried to stand, to get away from his judgment. But he caught your hips, moving them onto his lap, hushing your feeble protests. “It’s alright. Just stay with me.” The cloth-covered ice pack was lightly swathed around your hand.

“Sho, don’t be angry. I didn’t mean to…” you cried through the smothering tears.

“I know, honey. I know.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m never going to be angry with you for something like this. I’ll only ever be concerned. I promise. I love you.” Two more kisses came. You nuzzled into his neck, wanting his warmth to soothe the frayed and confused emotions. “I love you so much.”

Yagi Toshinori

A loud sob broke through your attempts to remain quiet. You smacked your hand over your mouth, hoping he didn’t hear. But your hopes were dashed almost immediately. The door creaked open. You kept your head down, clutching the damp towel to your water-coated skin.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Why are you crying?” His calm voice trailed closer. A faint hum came as he noticed the issue. Delicate, cautious hands settled on either side of your lower thigh, cradling the bruised, swollen skin. He whispered your name, so earnestly, so soberly. It caused another sob to escape. “What did you hit yourself with?”

You shook your head, digging your nails into your hair at your juvenile, near infantile, action. The vague thoughts, the acute, uncontrollable anger, the snapshot self-harm wasn’t understandable no matter what the fucking DBT book said. And now your eight-month progress was rendered pathetically pointless.

One hand found your arm, caressing, seeking any response. He breathed your name. “Did something happen?” At more silence, he dropped to his knees, begging, “Sweetheart, please, talk to me. I’m not angry. I’m concerned about you and your safety. What did you use?”

You weakly pointed to the discarded brush. The handle broke off from the rest at your final, hardest hit.

“Did you do anything else to yourself?”

“No,” you choked.

“Okay, okay…” he muttered. “Can you stand?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. Let’s try.” Your grip on his outstretched hands was horribly frail, unable to haul your weight. He helped, easily pulling in your absence. The towel fell and left you naked but you couldn’t care.

Your first step ended with you against his chest. The swelling spread to your knee, stiffing, tensing the joint. “I’m sorry,” you wept into his shirt. “I’m so sorry. I don’t- I don’t know why…”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He kissed your head. Bearing your weight for you, he slowly guided you to the bed. A pair of underwear was guided up your legs then he laid you down comfortably. He kissed your head again, mumbling, “I’ll be right back. Okay?”

You nodded and nearly nodded off when your leg was lifted and a pillow was placed under it. Cold covered your knee next followed by a blanket. You welcomed the water and pain relievers.

After multiple gulps, you tried to explain but your breath caught, “Toshi, I didn’t- I think- I- I-”

“Shhh. It’s alright. It’s alright.” He slid under the blanket, curling up beside you, affectionately rubbing your stomach. His endearing voice softened into your ear, “You don’t need to talk right now. All you need to do is relax. Can you take some deep breaths?” He counted for you. And again for your next one.

“I love you.” Lips brushed the side of your face repeatedly. You leaned into them, letting his arms wrap around you. “I love you so much, sweetheart. You’re going to get through this, I promise.”

Yamada Hizashi

A couple of knocks startled you. Hizashi called your name. “Are you okay? You’ve been in there for a while.”

You didn’t hear his usual rambunctious proclamation of coming home. If you didn’t answer, he would obviously know something was wrong. “I’m fine,” you croaked. Your voice shouted that you weren’t, in fact, fine.

The door opened and you cursed yourself for not locking it. “Oh, baby…”

It was deplorable. You mashed your palms into your eyes, not wanting to face his anger, his horror, his utter disgust. Your defenseless, nude body, blood-soaked paper towels, smeared red thigh and hands, and the razor that did the defiling laid out helplessly, staining the floor.

Eight months went down the drain in just a few minutes. You couldn’t recall why or what you were thinking. It was all moronic, whatever it was. Now you only felt pain. An itching, pulling pain that was accompanied by gruesome liquid and coagulated blood.

He called your name, trying to reach you. But you didn’t want to reach back. He’d reprimand you for dirtying the floor. He’d criticize you for failing. He’d be sickened at your cuts. It was gross. You were-

“Please talk to me.”

The tears you thought you stopped sprung out loud and pathetically. You apologized, again and again, hoping he didn’t hate you and your beastly body.

A hand took your shoulder. You were moved as you continued repeating remorses. A cool cloth tried to gently clean your imbrued leg. Raw skin ignited. Slashes stretched. You gripped his wrist, shaking your head for him to stop. It was all too ugly. And you didn’t want him to see it, touch it.

“I need to clean some of the blood to see the cuts better. I need to see if you need medical attention.”

You collapsed and wailed into his chest, “I’m so sorry. Please, please, don’t be angry. Please. I’m sorry- I didn’t- I’m sorry, Hizashi. Don’t be angry. Please-”

“Shhh, baby girl. I’m not angry. I’m not even close to being angry. I’m just worried about you.” He mourned your name, kissing your temple. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I promise you that.” 

The cloth went on in a light motion. It eventually settled against the wounds, pressing with pressure to stop the rest of the bleeding. 

You continued crying into him. A few of the tears weeping onto your shirt weren’t yours. Lips graze your forehead, whispering, cherishing, “I love you so much.”

Gang Orca

The slits spilled over, painted your palm and wrist red. It happened too fast. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t stop your hand from gripping the blade and opening your skin.

Anger and fear didn’t control your movement. There wasn’t any sadness or anxiety harassing your mind. For so long, everything’s just been insignificant and now that blood slurred your skin, everything was still nothing. Injuries and confusion don’t count. Shame was a given. Pain was another but none of it was whatever you wanted.

There were no paper towels or tissues near. Your legs wouldn’t move. You could only stare at the detached emotions leaking from your hand. But seeing the layers of skin separate more and more grated pain into panic. Your voice broke as you shrieked, “Ku-GO!”

Heavy footsteps rushed into the bedroom. Your name waned softly from his mouth. You couldn’t look at him. You didn’t want his revulsion. Or his annoyance at your inane, weak-minded behavior. You were supposed to be clean of it. Though it always found you, no matter how many months you thought you outran it. 

He whispered, “I’m right here. It’ll be okay.”

“It hurts,” you gasped, tears now blurred everything. His warmth seated beside you. Your hand was carefully lifted and a cloth wrapped tightly around the wounds.

“I know it does. It’s scary, isn’t it?”

You nodded, desperately trying to calm yourself.

“It’s going to be alright. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” he helped compose your breathing. A hand barely stroked your back when you shrunk away from his touch, his irritation, his condemning of your feral actions.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. I don’t- I don’t- I don’t know why. I fucked up… I fucked up… I'm sorry…”

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m not angry with you. But I am incredibly concerned and worried. Right now, these need to be cleaned. Will you let me pick you up?”

You nodded again. Kugo easily lifted you, stopping to grab the medical kit before taking you to his comfy armchair. You curled up in his lap and rested against his chest while he thoroughly dressed the injuries. Despite his bulky fingers, he was as gentle and graceful as can be. Quiet praises came in between each bandage.

They brought more tears. Turning into his shirt, you cried out your grief. He hugged you close and caressed your arm. “Everything's okay. You’re okay, my love.” He held your hand to his mouth. “I love you more than anything else. You're going to get through this. And I'm going to be right here the entire time.” 

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

I Had To Know Pain Before I Could Be Comforted

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem Reader

Requested by @steveyouarelate : “37 (Lie to me. I don’t care what you say, just lie to me. Make me feel okay again.) and 50 (I’m sorry I’m not enough for you) (with an happy ending, please) with billie dean x reader”

A/N: there’s a lot of crying and wallowing in self-pity in this one, you’ve been warned. I wanted it to have a tragic ending but you asked for happy, so here you go. I hope you’ll like it <3

Title is a line translated from this song.

Word count: ≈ 3 700

Someone catcalled you from across the street but you didn’t find it in you to care. You had no idea where you were. Night was falling, the cold, crisp air was biting your cheeks and making your whole body shiver. You could barely feel your fingers anymore. Your feet hurt. But the pain and the cold felt good. If you could, you would close your eyes and let yourself sink into it to forget everything else.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You ignored it. You kept on walking, straight ahead, left around a corner, past an old man sitting on a bench. He said something to you you did not understand. A car honked nearby. Let it. Let it hit you and put an end to your misery.

Your phone buzzed again. “Oh for fuck’s sake, leave me alone,” you muttered. But even as you said it, your hand reached in your pocket for your phone. Your heart swelled with a bubble of hope, that perhaps it would be her, that perhaps her words would be the right ones and they would make everything better. You turned on the screen and read your notifications.

Coming home soon? x

I’m making mackerel in white wine

It was the cold wind that made you tear up, nothing else. Certainly not the image of Billie in the kitchen, dressed in comfy clothes, sipping a glass of expensive white wine, hips swaying to some mellow jazz song as she chopped herbs and vegetables and stirred the sauce. Sassy, brave, confident, and just a little bit reckless Billie. How you adored her. She was everything to you.

Blinking back your tears, you texted her back a few words saying you were going to spend the night at your dad’s. That was a lie, but you really couldn’t face her right now.

And it wasn’t your fault, really. You had never meant to be so messed-up. But Billie – she was the sun, she was the moon and the stars in the sky and beyond, no matter how cliché that sounded, and you… you were lying on the ground covered with dirt. You were nothing. You had not achieved a single good thing in your life. You couldn’t talk to people without making a complete fool of yourself, you had no talent, no beauty, only a boring, dull personality.

You carried that knowledge in your chest like a rock. Most of the time its weight was bearable; but there were days when the rock seemed to expand and expand until it took all the room in your chest. When that happened, nothing could bring you relief. Negativity would cloud your mind. Dark little thoughts would chirp in your ears like birds in the spring. Useless, they would sing. Boring. Worthless, they would sing.

Today was one of those days. You had woken up with a feeling of dread and dejection and it had required all of your strength to get out of bed. Luckily Billie had left for work early; you didn’t want to bother her with your problems and your bad mood. And then things had just gotten worse and worse.

Today you had lost your job. Your boss had warned you several times before: you weren’t as efficient as your co-workers, you didn’t work fast enough, didn’t smile enough. You simply were not enough. So today he had held the front door open for you and slammed it behind you and had not even bothered to hide his satisfied smirk. Since then, you had walked. Roamed the streets, tried to make one with the cold.

Your phone rang. Billie’s name appeared on your screen. You stared at it for a moment before you accepted the call. You knew she may very well drive to your dad’s if you ignored her, and then what? She’d know you had lied to her. Besides, a tiny part of you was still hoping she would know what to say, she would just know, without you having to tell her, and that rock in your chest would turn to dust and flowers would bloom in its place.

“Hi sweetpea,” said Billie. Her voice was cheerful, but you knew her well enough now to hear the tinge of worry in it.

“Hey,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand. Are you mad?”

There was a soft clang, something metallic being moved. “Of course I’m not. But are you sure you’re alright?”

You closed your eyes and swallowed hard. “I’m fine. My dad just really needs company right now.”

Did she even care? Or was she relieved that you wouldn’t be spending the night together?

“I’m sorry you made dinner for me,” you went on, eyes still shut tight.”I should have warned you, but he –“

“It’s fine, Y/N, really,” Billie cut you off. “We have that wonderful thing called a fridge that I can use to store leftovers.”

A small laugh escaped you.

“But I’ll miss you,” Billie said. She paused, and again you pictured her, her free hand on the counter, fingers drumming, an apron tied around her waist, hair as perfectly done as if she were about to attend a movie premiere. Another small laugh escaped you, affectionate, incredibly sad.

“Me too. I’ll be back tomorrow. Love you.”You hung up before she had time to say it back. You weren’t sure you could hear those words from her right now.

What would she think when you told her you had lost the one thing that still made you a person of value to the world? You couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on her face. She would be kind, of course, and tell you not to worry. Maybe she would even say that she still loved you. But that wouldn’t be true. Billie deserved someone who, like her, had shot for the stars and made it. Someone who shone as bright as she did, someone she could be proud of – not a liability like you.

You walked. When you took a look at your surroundings, you realized you didn’t know that part of the city. It looked like a wealthy residential neighbourhood, big white houses with large porches, impeccably mown lawns. The streets were deserted. You walked.

Spending the night at your dad’s wasn’t even an option. He was too boisterous, too loud. Your best friend would know something was wrong the minute she’d take a look at your face, and then she would ask questions, demand answers you didn’t want to give her. So you kept on walking, dragging around that rock which after so many years had become a part of you. You didn’t even know if you would want to get rid of it. It felt like company now.

A bridge, across a canal. Past the city hall. You reached downtown, busy, wild, buzzing with life. People brushed past you and laughed at each other and talked too loudly. The city watched you roam without offering the least bit of comfort. You had tried to find solace in its streets hundreds of times before, fueled by the naive belief that the city would welcome you with open arms and a kind smile. But the city was indifferent and selfish. The city sneered at the lost souls that wandered the night.

Maybe you could get a hotel room. You stopped in front of the first hotel you found and stared at the door, but soon realized you were incapable of going in. It was as if your legs had frozen, as if some sort of force were pushing you away. So you walked on. Your heart was secretly singing for home.

But you couldn’t go home. You couldn’t do that to Billie. You were a burden to her, and that had to stop. She had too many great things to achieve, a whole future made of gold and diamonds and glorious victories, to be held down by someone like you. So shut up, you ordered your heart. Don’t yearn for something you do not deserve.

You walked. You walked until you were sure your feet were bleeding and every muscle in your legs was screaming in agony. A little past midnight your mind went numb. You walked. At 1am a dog barked at you, at 1:34 a drunk whistled and called for you to come with him. At 2:30 you finally looked up and realized your aching feet had led you back home.

You tried, you really did, to go away. Go back downtown, get a freaking hotel room to spend the night. Your feet led you to the front door, your hand turned the key in the lock. You could sleep on the couch, you told yourself. You could sleep on the couch, and leave at dawn before Billie woke up.

The house was dark and silent. You waited a few seconds, your heart beating fast in your chest, listening for any sound, any indication that Billie was still awake. Nothing. You took off your coat and shoes, and dropped your bag on the floor. You waited a few seconds more. When you had convinced yourself Billie was asleep, you tip-toed all the way to the living-room. The floor was cold under your feet, the walls seemed to be closing in on you in the dark.

You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but you weren’t sure your stomach could hold food right now. All you wanted was to collapse on the couch and bury your face in the pillows and sleep. Forget that you existed.

Your right foot slammed into a suitcase you had not bothered to put away earlier in the day. A curse escaped you, low and angry, and out of the corner of your eye you saw something stir in the darkness of the living-room. You jumped, raising an arm to defend yourself, and squinted at the shape that straightened and turned, light from outside falling on strawberry blond hair.

Billie reached out to turn on a lamp and grimaced as the bright light blinded her. She raised one hand to shield her eyes, blinking away sleep. There was a red mark on her left cheek, and you quickly realised she had fallen asleep at the table while doing crosswords. She often did that, when she couldn’t sleep. Crosswords helped her focus when her mind was buzzing with too many thoughts.

She met your eyes, blinked again, and then she smiled. You stood frozen as if you had turned into a statue, the mad pumping of your heart the only sign that you were still alive.

You could have tried to make a joke. You could have lied to her again, said you had tucked your dad in and left. Instead, your throat closed up, your heart dropped into your stomach, and to your utter shame and despair you felt your eyes fill with tears.

You were so tired. How so tired of being you.

All you wanted was to sink into Billie’s arms.

For a minute there was only silence. You watched as Billie’s expression turned from surprised to happy to confused. Oh God, what would she think of you? How she would despise you. She would think you were a sad, pitiful creature and she would be right.

You prayed for something, anything, an earthquake, a meteor crash, a tidal wave even though you lived miles from the ocean, that would put an end to your miserable life.

Billie stood up, smoothing one hand over her wrinkled clothes. Only now did you notice that she hadn’t changed from work. Had she been waiting for you this whole time? Your heart tightened in your chest. No, that couldn’t be. She had probably tried to make the best of her one evening of freedom, her one happy evening when she could celebrate your being finally out of her hair.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” she said with a small smug smile. She held out one hand as if to touch you and you flinched. She noticed, and her smile wavered.

“Are you alright?”

“I –“ With a shake of your head you took a few steps away from her, your throat thick with tears, and when you shot her a glance her face was blurry but you could still see the damned worry in her eyes –

“Y/N what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice getting higher and shaky as it always did when she was anxious. She walked up to you, but kept enough distance between you and her so as not to make you feel cornered.

“I lost my job.” The words tumbled out without permission. You were so tired. You just wanted to be held. “I got fired because I couldn’t do my job properly.”

Silence.

That was it, then. You had lost her. She was seeing you for who you really were; the veil love had dropped over her eyes was finally being lifted.

You couldn’t look at her, so you closed your eyes and let your tears fall.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, one hand coming up to your chest for it was too tight, it was crushing your heart and it hurt too much. “Billie, I’m so sorry I keep disappointing you.”

A hand, on your arm. A question, barely above a whisper. “Honey, what do you mean?”

A sob pushed out of your throat, loud and painful and so despicable. “I’m sorry I’m not enough for you.”

She let out a noise, a gasp, but to you it sounded like a contemptuous, mocking laugh, a laugh that said, Look at you, pitiful, pitiful little creature.

“Y/N,” she started, but you shook your head. You still couldn’t look at her.

“Listen, I’ll get my things, I understand. Just – let me sleep here tonight. Please. I’ll sleep on the couch, only for tonight, and then I’ll leave I’ll – “

“Y/N what are you talking about?”

You felt her grip on your arm tighten, acrylics digging into your skin.

“Just one more night, please, Billie,” you begged.

“Shut up. Stop talking. You’re not making any sense, honey.”

“I’m so sorry,” you cried.

A hand on your cheek. You almost flinched, almost recoiled, but you managed to stop yourself from doing so. There was no need to hurt her more than you already had.

“Please stop apologizing,” Billie whispered. Why did she sound so broken? “Tell me what to do. What can I do?”

You shook your head again, choked on a sob. Billie’s thumb was gently stroking your cheek, catching your tears and wiping them away.

“Lie to me,” you whispered. “I don’t care what you say, just lie to me. Make me feel okay again. Tell me I can be enough for you.” You opened your eyes, then, and looked up at her. And you could have hit yourself, you could have stabbed your chest and ripped off your heart, for her face was coated with tears that dripped down her chin, and her gaze was so terribly sad.

She let out a strangled breath. “Oh, Y/N… come here, come here baby.”

You didn’t even try to fight her. Your body sank into hers like a stone into water. Your hands slid up her back to grab fistfuls of her shirt as you buried your face in her shoulder. She wrapped one arm around your waist and put her other hand on the back of your head, pressing you closer against her. She was being so gentle, so loving, dropping kisses on your temple, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear – it only made you cry harder. Because you were going to lose this, to lose her, and you’d never have the strength nor the will to find that kind of sweet love ever again.

She started humming, a soft tune, as she rocked you like a child and you sobbed and wailed. Her voice was always a little bit raspy when she sang, a little bit out of tune, never quite managing to hit the right notes. Hearing her sing always soothed you. She ran her fingers through your hair, acrylics gently grazing your skull, just the way you liked it, because it always made your skin tingle everywhere.

Damn her, she knew you so well. She knew exactly how to help you calm down, how to make part of that ache in your chest disappear.

Minutes passed. Billie was still humming when you finally felt like you could breathe again. You turned your head, pressed your cheek against her shoulder – her blouse was wet now, you had done that, ruined it as you always ruined everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, relishing the smell of her, so precious, so loved – you would have to keep it safely stored in your mind to never forget it. Maybe, on the darkest of nights to come, when everything and everyone would fail to soothe your soul, if you closed your eyes tight enough you would be able to conjure her scent again, and then sleep would finally come.

Billie’s hand slid down the side of your face to cup your cheek. You closed your eyes, counted to three, then pulled away.

Her gaze was still so very sad when you met her eyes, but she managed to offer you a smile. She gracefully wiped a tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Why are you crying?” you frowned.

Billie let out an incredulous laugh. “Did you hear what you said to me?”

There was no reproach in her voice, only sadness, and that felt like a stab to your heart.

“I’m sor –“you started, but she interrupted you with a slender finger on your lips.

“I told you to stop apologizing.” She offered you another shaky smile, but then her brow pushed up in concern. “Did I –“Her voice broke. She swallowed, tried again. “Did I do something to make you feel like you were not enough?”

Did she… what? You weren’t sure you had heard her properly. Had those words really left her mouth, or had they been uttered by a malicious spirit? How could Billie, Billie who was so considerate, so loving, so utterly perfect – how could she think she had done anything wrong?

Her face crumpled as she misinterpreted your silence. “Oh no baby, I’m so s –“she started, but you interrupted her.

“No, Billie, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Your voice was hoarse from crying. You shook your head, biting your lower lip to hold back fresh tears. “You’ve been so good to me. The best thing that ever happened to me. The truth is, you’ve been too good and I don’t… I don’t want to hold you back.” She opened her mouth to protest, but you shook your head again, a silent pleading to let you finish. “Now that I’ve lost my job you’re gonna have to provide for me and I can’t let you do that. I can’t be a burden I can’t –“

Again, a finger on your lips. You fell silent. Something in you disappeared and you felt your body go limp, as if there was no strength left in you.

Billie’s finger gently tapped your lips as she gazed at you thoughtfully.

“I don’t mind providing for you while you look for another job,” she said after a while. Her brow furrowed. “Or maybe you should take a break. Maybe I should, too. We could go somewhere nice and relax for a while.”

“But I –“Another tap on your lips.

“But you –“you tried again, but again she interrupted you. You planted a kiss on her finger in retaliation, and were rewarded with a small smile.

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” Billie said in a low voice. Her eyes met yours, kind and vulnerable. “You’re not a disappointment, Y/N. It’s got to the point I cannot even imagine my future without you.”

You couldn’t help it: you dissolved into tears again. Billie cooed and gently guided your head against her shoulder. You clang to her, hoping you could get rid of your negative thoughts with every sob. It didn’t work like that, you knew it, but when you were in Billie’s arms it almost seemed life could be easy and kind.

You didn’t pull away when your tears subsided. You kept your eyes closed, enjoying Billie’s embrace, her hand running through your hair, her warmth. You felt thoroughly empty now, thoroughly spent. Sleep weighed on your eyelids. You wrapped your arms around Billie’s waist and pulled her closer still, breathed in her scent and let out a sigh.

“What happened?” Billie whispered after a while.

“I told you.” You nuzzled her shoulder. “I lost my job.”

“No, I mean… what happened?”

You got her meaning, somehow, as if your mind were perfectly attuned to hers. You hesitated. Swallowed hard.

“I don’t know,” you said in a breath. “Sometimes it feels like I can never be a viable option for anyone, especially not for you. I know it’s stupid, I know I have no real reasons to feel that way. But I can’t help it.”

Billie hummed. She dropped a kiss on your forehead, warm lips lingering on your skin. “I love you,” she said, voice firm and raspy. She ran one hand up and down your back, nails scratching gently.”And I want you, even when you’re at your lowest and ugliest, even when you don’t have a job.”Her hand slipped over your shoulder, under your chin, titled your head up. She waited for you to meet her eyes. “You’re allowed to not be at your best all the time. That doesn’t make you worthless.”

And as you gazed at her with half lidded eyes, her words sank into you and settled in your chest and bloomed there. Eased the ache. Maybe only for a few hours, maybe only for a few days, but it was all you needed right now. And somehow she had known exactly what to say. And she would know what to say the next time.

You blinked sleepily, and she cooed, smiled a smile that was half fond, half smug. “Do you need to get some shut-eye, my little bear?”

You rolled your eyes at her, but were betrayed by a yawn. Her smile grew into a smirk.

“Shut up,” you muttered, as you buried your face in her chest, nuzzled the exposed skin, and smiled.

[imyourbuddie]

Don't Be A Part Of His (4x05 Coda)

SPOILER FOR SEASON 4 EPISODE 5 “BUCK BEGINS” 

Eddie promised himself if he ever met Buck’s parents that he’d act civil. Not for their sake, fuck no, but for Buck’s. Because after all this time, after everything they did and didn’t do, Buck still somehow needs their approval. He doesn’t say it, and that time when Eddie asked him about it, he outright denied it, but it’s in the way his voice quivers when he talks about them. In the way his eyes light up with hope at the mention of them. In the way his larger-than-life self folds in on itself after the last disastrous dinner he had with them. 

No, Eddie promised himself that he’d be civil because that’s what Buck would want. Because Eddie Diaz is a lot of things, but a boyfriend who ignores his partner’s wishes? He’s not that guy anymore. He imagined this very moment so many times in his head. Imagined himself walking up to the Buckley parents and extending his hand, smiling, and introducing himself as whatever Buck wants him to be, then walking away. 

That, needless to say, did not happen. 

Seeing them sitting there, all prim and proper, it pisses Eddie off. That’s not to say he doesn’t feel sorry for them. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost Chris, and he’s no stranger to the countless nights of heartache and panic and guilt and imagining every what-if scenario that could have given Chris a different life. A better one. But the pain of losing a child is no excuse to neglect their other children, no excuse to make Maddie a mom instead of a sister, and definitely not a good enough reason to make Buck feel so goddamn unwanted. 

If there’s one thing he learned since having Chris, it’s that nothing in his life, no amount of pain and anguish will ever be reason enough for his son to feel unloved. To feel like the only way he can get any attention is by throwing himself off a bike or into oncoming traffic. 

Rage thrums under Eddie’s skin, scorching and freezing at the same time, and he clenches his fists as he glares at the Buckleys from across the firehouse. They fucked up. They made Buck feel unwanted, unloved, undeserving, and now they sit there expecting what? To take credit for how well Buck turned out anyway? For him becoming a goddamn walking superhero who saves lives every goddamn day?

No. No fucking way. Not if Eddie has any say in the matter. 

He waits until Hen says her piece to them with a smile on her face that doesn't reach her eyes, then heads toward the kitchen table where Buck’s parents are seated. Hen tries to catch his eyes as she passes him, but he ignores her. She’s not the one holding Buck at night as he sobs himself to sleep. She’s not the one whispering encouraging endearments that fall on deaf ears. She’s not the one left picking up the pieces after every Buckley family dinner. She doesn’t get it, no one does, and Eddie’s done feeling helpless.

He’s too fucking pissed off.

Eddie stops on the other side of the table, body rigid with angry words on the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth just as Buck’s mom turns and looks up at him, and for a startling moment, it’s as if he’s staring into Buck’s eyes. His mouth dries, his words stuck in his throat like claws, and the silence surrounding them is suffocating. 

“Hi, um,” Buck’s dad starts tentatively. “We’re Evan Buckley’s parents—”

“I know,” he spits, his voice harsh, and he inhales sharply. They blink owlishly at him, obviously confused by his hostility, and Eddie lets out a slow sigh and inhales again, this time slowly. “I know who you are.”

His mother looks to her husband then back at Eddie, a quivering smile on her lips. “Can we help you?”

Eddie stands frozen as he stares at the man and woman who claim to be Buck’s parents. Who should be the two people in the world who love him unconditionally. Who should be there for him, and he’s at a loss for words. All that anger and resentment and betrayal all congregate into one single emotion: pity. 

He pities these two people who don’t even know what they’ve missed. Who have no idea just what an amazing, self-sacrificing person their son is. He pities their ignorance, and he pities their grief-driven blinders. He pities them for missing out on so much of their children’s lives that they hardly know them or the hardship they went through to be here today. 

Something inside him gives, and tension bleeds from him as he exhales. “I just want you guys to know what an amazing person Buck is.”

“We know—”

“No,” Eddie takes a step forward and clenches his fists by his side. “No, you don’t. How could you? You haven’t been around to see it.”

Guilt flashes in Mrs. Buckley’s eyes, and Eddie’s heart aches for her. How would he feel if someone said that to him? Hell, he missed the first years of Chris’ life because he was a coward, but he’s making amends now, and it’s time they did too. 

“Maybe to you, he was supposed to be some miracle baby that can save your other child. But to the rest of us, he’s way more than that.” Eddie takes a deep breath and swallows, willing his voice to stay steady. “That man, your son, is the first guy to run into a burning building. The first one to jump in a car about to explode. He’s the first one to take the most risks, and he’s the last one to give up on any of us or on the people he swore to protect. Everyone here trusts him with their lives. I trust him with—” The lump in his throat is harder to swallow around, and he takes a second to compose himself. “I trust him with my son. Because he’s a good man and loyal to a fucking fault and he’s got the biggest heart and I won’t allow anyone, anyone, to ever hurt him the way you’ve hurt him.”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to keep his tears from spilling, because there’s no way in hell he’ll cry in front of these people. No way in hell he’ll let them know just how much their being here hurts Buck, and in turn how much that hurts him. He won’t give them the satisfaction. 

The silence that follows rings in his ears. It’s deafening. The Buckley’s blink at him as if seeing him for the first time, and Mrs. Buckley clutches at her husband’s hand, her knuckles white. 

“From one parent to another,” Eddie continues. “It’s never too late to make amends. And it doesn’t matter what you went through, how much pain you had to endure, how much heartache, Buck’s innocent in all this. He’s got no part in your grief, so don’t be a part of his.”

Eddie turns and swallows as the first tear spills down his cheek. Fuck. He wipes at it angrily, but when he makes to walk away, a soft touch to his elbow stops him. He turns and finds Mrs. Buckley standing behind him, tears swimming in her big blue eyes. Buck’s eyes. 

“You’re—you’re absolutely right.” Her smile is watery and there is genuine remorse and sadness in her expression. “Thank you for loving him.” 

Eddie wants to reply, but there’s nothing more to say. The rest isn’t up to him. He already said too much, and if Buck doesn’t kill him for antagonizing his parents, well, that’s a win in Eddie’s book. He nods at her then at Buck’s dad before taking his leave, and with every step he takes, his heart feels a little lighter. Maybe Buck will kill him, but someone needs to set Buck’s parents straight, and who else better to do that than Buck’s stupid dumb ass boyfriend? 

His lips twitch, and he can’t help the self-deprecating humour no matter how many times Buck tells him to stop. That twitch of his lips turns into a full smile, and Eddie chuckles and shakes his head as he makes his way to the engine bay. They’re both hopeless, as Hen likes to remind them. Maybe they really are meant for each other. 

Bobby pulls into the engine bay just as he steps outside, and Eddie’s heart skips a beat like it always does when he lays eyes on Buck. Since the first day and everyday after that.

“Clean bill of health from the docs,” Bobby calls as he hurries inside the station, a smirk and a knowing look in his eyes, and Eddie wants to hug him and punch him at the same time. 

“Glad to hear it,” he replies, tucking his hands into his pockets, and turns his attention to his second favourite person in the world. “Show off,” he says affectionately, and he knows what Buck’s going to say before he even says it. 

“Had to do it.” 

And that is why Eddie loves him.

[spectrumed]

11. death

For about a year I’ve been helping to take care of my aunt’s cat, Klara. She’s very affectionate, though in that certain feline way where she does cherish petting but only on her own terms. She’s quite old, she’s only got one eye. I like to joke she’s offered her other eye to Mimir’s well in exchange for knowledge. Like, y’know, Odin did. And now Klara is dead. A couple of days ago I found her lying dead by a window. She seemed to have picked quite the peaceful spot to die. At first I thought she was snoozing, as cats are known to do, but when I came up to touch her I noticed her body was all stiff. Rigor mortis. That’s a fucking metal word, isn’t it? There’s gotta be so many bands out there named Rigor Mortis. A quick look at the Encyclopaedia Metallum and… yes, I see there’s fifteen bands listed called Rigor Mortis. Nineteen bands, if you include variations of Rigor Mortis, like Rigor Mortis Brazil. Well, in any case, rest in peace Klara. I will miss you very much.

I recently watched a few videos of diagnosed psychopaths answering questions about their condition. Psychopaths don’t fear death, or well, maybe that’s generalising. I apologise to any psychopaths reading this that do fear death. I think in general, most psychopaths don’t fear death. Psychopaths are all too happy to engage with risk-taking behaviour. Many psychopaths take part in extreme sports. Perhaps it has something to do with being so emotionally stunted. In one of the videos the psychopath being interviewed revealed she only ever feels three different kinds of emotions. Happy, angry, or hungry. If humans are machines, then psychopaths are those machines where you’ve stripped out all of the unnecessary parts. Imagine buying a new car, but you decide that there’s lots of features there you simply don’t need. No GPS, no radio or CD player, no seat warmer, no little place for you to put your cup of coffee. If you’re already getting rid of all that stuff, why not get rid of the seat belt?

Though, there’s no real reason to pity psychopaths. I know that as an empathetic person you may wonder if it is alright to act demeaning towards psychopaths, to refer to them as “stripped-down machines.” Surely, they’re still humans? Shouldn’t we show them the kindness of our hearts, no matter their particular shortcomings? Of course, yes, I feel that impulse too. I am a kind-hearted softie, a bleeding-heart liberal. But… psychopaths genuinely don’t care. Psychopaths don’t get hurt that easily. Sadness isn’t a psychopathic trait. Vulnerability isn’t a psychopathic thing. It’s us non-psychopaths that have been gifted with grief. Kinda sounds like, at some level, it’s quite nice being a psychopath. Especially if you’re someone who can get overwhelmed by the stink of melancholia. The funk of gloominess. The malodorous pervasiveness of the blues. Psychopaths don’t feel that. They just feel happiness, anger, or hunger. Sometimes all three at once.

Psychopaths may own pets. When those pets die, psychopaths may appear like they’re mourning, and they will be, to a certain degree. But true psychopaths (in the sense that they’re truly, and wholly, wired towards psychopathy with no room for non-psychopathic thinking,) will not regard their pets as being anything other than property. They lost their dog, and they’re vexed. They’re not truly sad, no. Sadness isn’t part of the psychopath’s emotional repertoire, remember. The psychopath mourns the death of their pet like you may mourn the death of your computer. Suddenly, one day, your computer just got busted, and now you’re all annoyed because you know you’ve gotta buy a new one. While, sure, I know that some lesser psychopaths may actually have the capability to extend some true love for their pets, I think it is safe to say that to love one’s pet, one needs to be able to exhibit functioning levels of empathy. It is one thing to love another human. It requires quite the high degree of empathy for someone to be able to love a member of another species.

But autistic people don’t feel empathy, right? There is a frustratingly common misconception about autism that autistic people don’t feel empathy. It is pervasive, it is how the media loves to portray autistic people. Cold, uncaring, thinking machines. Calculators made into flesh. After all, if you are socially awkward, if you don’t like hanging out in big crowds, then surely, you don’t care that much about other people. You probably just find other folks to be annoying, to be unpredictable variables that ruin your perfect system. You’re like that, aren’t you? All anal and mathematical? Hey, do you want to come and join me on a trip to Las Vegas? I am sure you know how to count cards, like, that’s one of the diagnostic criteria for autism, right? I’ll be Tom Cruise, and you’ll be Dustin Hoffman. I’ll be the cool guy, and you’ll be my dumpy friend. Don’t complain about me pigeonholing you, treating you like some curiosity, and not a real person. You’re autistic, you’re just a machine, you don’t have any true feelings. I’m being nice to you, taking you out to count cards for me. If it weren’t for me, you’d be locked up in some sanatorium. It’s probably where you belong, come to think about it. That's where I'll park you when I don't need you.

Yes, I know the hypocrisy of me complaining about being dehumanised, when I just did the same thing with psychopaths. But the difference is that autistic people actually do feel the same kind of emotional depth as everyone else. Autistic people do have the capability to feel empathy, to care for others, even to be considerate and polite. Yes, it sucks struggling with certain social cues, sometimes it can make interactions quite painful, but I can assure you that we autistic people, we do care. We try our best. This is why so many of us experience such severe anxiety. I know it is why I’ve developed social anxiety, and agoraphobia. I don’t want to hurt others. I don’t want to come across like some social misfit. I want to belong. I want to share the love, to be a big and cuddly pacifist with a heart so big and able to give hugs that are even bigger. No, I don’t view pets as property. I view animals as remarkable creatures that can tell us many important things about what it means to be alive. Klara the cat is dead. And I am sad. I am scared of death.

I know it sounds silly, but I had my first big existential crisis around the age of five. That’s when I learned that, in fact, all people die. I knew that death was a thing, I can remember fully comprehending what death was, and that it was something that happened to people when they grew really old. But I thought, well… I had convinced myself that death was a choice. Like, I thought that you got to choose when you wanted to die. Or rather, I thought it was a bit like that snooze button on your alarm clock. I knew that we all had to go at some point, but we could delay it if we wanted to. I thought we could all just keep postponing death, until we felt as if we had finished living. The fact that really scared me, what actually traumatised me, was not that we were all going to die, but rather that we were all going to die whether or not we were prepared for it. The uncaring nature of death, that is what scared me. Ready or not, here it comes. It’s like a hawk, soaring above you, just waiting to strike when you are at your most feeble. The indifference of it all. The uncaring coldness, it beat me. Death is a psychopath. Death doesn’t have any feelings. It only occasionally feels hungry.

No surprise that as an adult I’ve come to entertain certain macabre interests. I like horror, particularly the creeping subsets of horror that work to make the reader or the viewer feel that certain sense of impending doom. Gothic horror, or cosmic horror à la Lovecraft. (I do like body horror, too, but that has more to do with me just being a weirdo pervert.) I have a tendency to stay up late at night, reading about atrocities, about real crime murder cases, or whatever else piques my particularly gruesome obsessions. I like art, but I particularly like art that’s unsettling. There’s some button inside of me that yearns to be pressed, and I can only reach that button by exposing myself to media that as a kid, would have profoundly messed me up. I suppose that is common. Ask any horror geek why they got into horror, and they’re likely to go into some long story about how they used to be this really neurotic kid, scared of everything, and how as they grew older they found that the horror genre became a go-to way for them to confront their fears and feel better about themselves and the world around them. I am not sure that you are what you eat, but I think that, to some extent, you become what you fear.

For Klara I made a little cross. Two twigs put together with some string. Yes, Klara probably wasn’t Christian. I’m not really Christian (though, like many Scandinavians, I will profess a certain kind of cultural Lutheranism.) But it was easier making a cross than preparing a big tombstone. I think ceremonies help. I’m not a superstitious fool, I do not believe that some creature will suffer in hell just ‘cause you bury them in an unmarked grave. The dead, they are dead. They don’t care if you take care of their graves, or even if you remember them. Only the living care about cemeteries. Cemeteries are places where the living gather. Graveyards aren’t for the dead. Klara is dead, and that is that. I didn’t really make the cross for her. I made it for myself. But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. At least I did it out of love. I do feel more emotions than happiness, anger, and hunger. Sometimes I feel affection for those that no longer can feel affection back.

I am reminded of some lyrics from a band that I like. A band that, for the most part, does some quite macabre music. I can’t exactly recommend them to any old fella that comes across this blog. But the lyrics also reminds me of when my grandmother died, and we all stood in a line to place flowers on her casket.

“Lies can often give you power. Like a coffin filled with flowers, gives life to the living, not the dead.”

[strawberri-syrup]

have a Ramble

idk what to call this because i dont think its a fic?? but also idk here we go bby (for those who dont know this is based on my stardew valley au :] )

also this is about michael and how ranboo and tubbo found him!

so michael

mans a puppycat type animal

still want him to be a hybrid, but also i dont want to give some teenagers responsibility over an actual child lmao

think puppycat but more weird and abnormal looking

might do a quick sketch later if i feel like it

CONCEPT THING TIME :D

tubbo finds him on the farm

ranboo was pulling some weeds to prepare for the chanign season when he heard tubbo call him

man was off climbing trees and causing chaos to escape actually having to do *gasp* manual labor

the thing tubbo pointed out was a strange looking animal

weirdly colored fur that was matted in places

it was literally every color fur could be

fucking rainbow or smthn idk

they decided to keep it because of course they did

theyre two teenage boys left mostly unsupervised and they found a cool lookinig animal

why wouldnt they keep it??

simple answer

man bites

like hard

i mean it makes sense

two random things grabbing you out of your home??

id freak out too tbh

took the two of them about a month to gain his trust

they also kept him a secret because wilbur would 100% make them get rid of him is he knew that he was hurting them

made hiding the bandages a bitch tho

eventually ranboo was able to pick him up

and it took another week for the thing to trust him enough to stand on his shoulders

the first time he did it tubbo lost his shit

as he should

the two of them named him michael because its a good word

good sounds and all that

fancy enough for their gremlin

they planned to keep michael a secret for a little while longer

maybe until they had tommy make him a collar

but it all went to shit because of course it did

michael got spooked by another animal while ranboo was farming and ran away

since he was sitting on his shoulder michael gave him a nasty cut accross the mouth

(which is why ranboo wear a mask btw, the cut left a nasty scar)

and michael ran into town

which led to a very panicked and also bleeding heavily ranboo sprinting to the general store and asking everyone if theyd seen his thing

this was when the lack of species really hit

what was he supposed to say????

have you seen my angry blob of fur? he responds to michael, bitchboy, gremlin, and bike

n o

so the obviously spooked niki took him to the clinic and forced ranboo to let her treat his wound

mind you man was losing his shit the whole time

borderline hysterical

because that gremlin was basically an emotional support animal at that point

 once niki calmed him down some she managed to get a basic explanation

not a good one, but an explanation at least

she walked ranboo over to SBI’s house near the river and explained to them what happened

tubbo was obviously upset because his friend had bandages wrapped around his face and their “son” was missing

tommy was just confused and upset becuase tubbo was upset

wilbur was both concerned and exasperated

because of course he couldnt trust those two little shits (affectionate) to just farm alone

so they spend the rest of the day looking for michael

and you know where they find him

do you know

after hours of searching

of spending hours crawling through bushes and bugs to find michael

do you know where he had the audactiy to be hiding

ranboos bed

man went back home

hid under the sheets and everything

twas an upsetting day for all

but now practically everyone knew about michael and no one wanted him to go missing again

both because holy shit ranboo lost a lot of blood

and also because no one wanted to see the chaotic gremlins sad 

yea thats all i got, turned out more rambly then i intended but here ya go :]

[seerofmike]

i feel like a huge portion of kpop fans are gay fetishists attracted to the idea of quote unquote feminine men and thats why theres so much bullshit

YES okay. okay let me rant for a minute. let me preface this by saying i am NOT a kpop shipper at ALL. this is going to be long so i’ll put it under a’ ‘read more’ because i’ve been holding it in for TWO FUCKING YEARS BABY!

being mlm in boygroup kpop fandom is literally so exhausting. 99% of the people who ship real life human men from boygroups are fetishists and i will tell u why

obviously we all know of a ship in a fandom where the characters' personalities are twisted to fit the heteronormative view of "top" and "bottom" --one character is hypermasculine (top) and the other one is feminine (bottom). there are typical traits associated with both. the ‘top’ is scary or mean or angry or serious while the ‘bottom’ is emotional or bubbly or shy. while this is egregious, at least its fictional characters. their personalities can be simplified or exaggerated and it doesnt cause any real life harm.

im going to define what i think of as a fetishist: a non-mlm person who overly sexualizes gay men/men they think are gay/gay ships, and forces them into heteronormative roles for their own pleasure. its not even limited to cishet women. plenty of non-mlm lgbt people do this too and its like disheartening. so anyways

enter the kpop fandom

i may be incredibly biased here because one of the most affected members [of bts] is my favorite kpop boy, but oh god is the ‘personality change/simplification’ thing AWFUL here. i do not go out of my way to find fanart or see fanfic threads, but being in the bts fandom, u will inevitably see it and i REALLY wish i didnt

so anyways. my favorite boy ever is hoseok. he is sweet and hardworking and very passionate about dance and he can be serious when needed, but ultimately he tries to be very lighthearted and will consistently laugh or make jokes or do something funny when the other members feel uncomfortable or awkward (mostly during english-speaking interviews). he kisses the members on the cheek a lot/hugs them a lot/cuddles them a lot [this is important for later okay]

of course, theres a lot more to him because he is a multi-faceted real life human being, and i don’t know him personally, but that’s a general idea of what he’s like, okay?

SHIPPERS will have you think differently. some video got popular on youtube ""proving"" that hoseok is a sadist (which is just clips of him jokingly playfighting with the younger members), and the video depicts him as secretly mean and serious, and shippers will use that to say "hoseok is a total top!" and then most fanart or imagines or fanfic threads you see are top!hoseok, using this imagined 'hoseok is a sadistic dom' narrative to fuel their fiction, because SOMEONE has to be the top, so they twist him into this hypermasculine mean person (and probably feminize the 'bottom' of their ship but more on that later)

EXCEPT it is not just fiction. this narrative bleeds into REAL LIFE. you have new armys who dont know anything about the shipping scene, and yet somehow the narrative of hoseok being a secretly mean, sadistic person has already made its way into them. in real life, hoseok likes rainbows and wearing nail stickers and putting glitter in his hair. yet people in the fandom will say shit like "hoseok hates femininity" "hoseok would never wear [thing] because he's a dom"

sometimes on twitter you have ppl like me who say uh actually you guys are really weird and this is fetishy and in real life hoseok is very nice and not sadistic at all, you will UNDOUBTEDLY get comments like "omg hoseok isnt cute/nice when will yall learn he’s secretly like [x] and [x]". you could post a video of hoseok with a puppy titled "wow cute" and u will get like 2 clowns in ur comments going 'hoseok isnt CUTE hes a sadist’ . i wish i was joking but i am not. they will do this for EVERY action hoseok does. he cannot blink without people twisting it into a sexual thing

[also, side note: its funny that, since hoseok is one of the least popular members and therefore one of the least shipped members, he is often the odd man out among pairings, and is assigned 'the straight one' by default, and 9 times out of 10 people who assign him 'the straight one' do all this 'dom daddy hoseok' shit.

which just goes to show that this is indeed a matter of heteronormativity.]

so anyways arguably the most popular ship with hoseok is with yoongi, sope. this absolutely happens to other ships probably but im just using them as an example because i see it the most, being a hobi stan

yoongi is very calm and thoughtful and kind and sometimes appears to be cold/having a bad attitude but its just because of the way he speaks, which is very bluntly. again hes a multi faceted real human and i do not know him personally but thats generally what hes like.

god the fandom. treats him SO BAD. so horribly. he's shorter than hoseok. he's shorter than hoseok and people will exaggerate that literal 1 inch height difference so bad and people will turn his whole personality into shy and blushy and In Love With Hoseok, so in love with hoseok that ‘he gets sad’ when hoseok doesn’t kiss him/hug him/or whatever and IT BLEEDS INTO REAL LIFE.

ANY time hoseok or yoongi do ANYTHING together at ALL, people will ALWAYS push the narrative that hoseok, being the mean sadist he is, is 'hurting' yoongi for not returning his undying love or whatever. hoseok did a vlive where he made bracelets for all the members and he considered putting a cat charm on yoongi's but ultimately decided not to because he was having difficulty and oh my GOD sope stans twisted it into 'hoseok HATES yoongi, yoongi would have been so happy, he would have worn that all the time, hoseok isnt affectionate he hates being close with other people after all :(' which is LITERALLY not true because hoseok gives all his homies good night kisses but okay! whatever fits your narrative!

PEOPLE ACTUALLY HATE HOSEOK BECAUSE OF THIS. BECAUSE OF A SHIP. BECAUSE OF THE MANUFACTURED NARRATIVE PUSHED ONTO HIM BY FETISHISTS SO HE COULD FIT INTO THEIR HETERONORMATIVE ‘TOP’ ROLE. not to be all wahh wahh hoseok is one of the least popular members BUT THIS IS LITERALLY A CONTRIBUTING FACTOR.

everyone """headcanons""" hoseok to be a top so they will make him a MEAN HYPERMASCULINE person. everyone """headcanons""" yoongi as a bottom so they will make him a SOFT UWU HYPERFEMININE person. shippers are literally pigeonholing the two of them into fujoshi-esque roles for jack-off material.

anyways this all boils down to: gay fetishists will do anything, ANYTHING, to twist characters or real life fucking people to fit their heteronormative view of top and bottom. top=mean and masculine, bottom=soft and feminine. hoseok is a real life human being. yoongi is a real life human being. they both have real life human personalities, and yet shippers twist their personalities into the opposite to fit their narrative, to the point where nonshippers will genuinely view the two of them as something theyre not.

you have tons of armys that theorize that hoseok's happiness is just a mask he puts on to hide a cruel nature. on twitter. on youtube. in fanart and fanfiction. you have tons of armys that truly believe that, despite literally all the evidence, believe he hates being cute, he hates being happy, he hates the members, and hes secretly a dom daddy fuckboy who wants to bend yoongi over a table. hes a real life human being and fetishists doing their fetish thing has real life consequences.

the same is true for bottom!hoseok stans: they overexaggerate his more cutesy personality traits and he does have a 'feminine' figure i.e. he has a rly small waist but they will overexaggerate that as well and give him huge hips and its disgusting but dom!hoseok is far more frequent with far more devastating consequences so i used that as an example but they’re both bad.

people who """"headcanon"""" [like actually headcanon/firmly believe and not just joking or lighthearted] that members are gay will force these types of roles onto the members. if someone genuinely believes that like, yoongi is gay/bi/whatever, and then try to force this subby soft uwu persona onto him, they have no respect for gay people. they dont. gay people are simply objects for their fantasies. their view of gay people is so one-dimensional and so driven by fetishists’ ideas that its actually disheartening.

and god bitches will deadass be homophobic yet still ship real ass human idols. not just for bts specifically but all boygroup fandoms. sometimes when you search up an idol's name, [idol] gay will be trending--whether it be because of people saying "im gay for him" or whatever, and a LOT of cishet people will try 'clearing' the searches because being gay is bad or something. people normally ‘clear’ the searches if something like [idol fat] or [idol ugly] are trending, which im telling you so you know the context that people only clear the searches when bad things are happening.

[never forget that time 'jungkook gay' was trending and bitches were like "lets clear the searches!" but their pinned tweet said some shit like "sub jungkook x dom jimin coffee shop smut au thread 🌈". bitches also be like i cant be homophobic i ship taekook]

and hoseok and yoongi arent the only ones affected ! we could get into why namjoon and jin (another popular ship) are often assigned 'dad' and 'mom' respectively, or the fact that gay fetishists not only twist members' personalities to fit their ship narrative, but will also force tropes onto them i.e. taehyung/jungkook shippers who will literally demonize jimin and call him a slut or say that he's trying to 'get in the way of' of taekook or 'steal' taehyung/jungkook but thats a whole DIFFERENT rant baby! racism/asian fetishism is also definitely a present factor in all of this but this focus was primarily on gay fetishism and heteronormativity.

oh my god i could also get into the severe transphobia/trans fetishism in this fandom too but this post is already long enough as it is

tl dr: gay fetishists will fetishize real life people and it has actual real life effects and we should ban straight women from shipping mlm

[oliverstarked]

didn’t mean to let you go

a Buck/Eddie 3.06 coda, that starts with breakfast with Bobby

Summary:  Buck moves up, brushes the back of his fingers over the swelling on Eddie’s jaw. Eddie inhales softly.

“It looks painful,” Buck mutters.

“It’s not so bad,” Eddie says, just as quiet.

read on ao3

Buck talks and talks and talks during breakfast with Bobby. He tries not to, he knows he can be A Lot, but Bobby sits there with his mouth quirked up in an affectionate smile and he listens and listens and listens, and asks questions, and is more of a father-figure in that moment than Buck has ever had in his life. 

So he tells Bobby about the nightmares, about the loneliness, about not being able to get out of bed some days. He tells Bobby about his childhood — just a little bit, he doesn’t really mean to — and when Bobby says, “You’re more than the sum of your parents’ choices, Buck,” it’s all Buck can do not to launch himself over the table and wrap Bobby up in a hug. 

It’s a good morning, even though it started in the hospital. Buck is starting to feel like himself again, the pieces of him that had been drifting away beginning to slot back into place where they belong. But there’s still something niggling at him that he needs to fix before life can truly go back to normal — whatever normal even means.

Buck gets into his Jeep and swings out of the diner parking lot into the usual snarl of LA traffic. It’s early enough that rush hour isn’t in full swing yet, but it still takes an annoyingly long time to get across the city to Eddie’s place. By the time he arrives, the sun is pounding on his face through the windshield and he’s starting to sweat. Why did he have to pick a gray shirt, goddamnit. 

“Buck!” 

Christopher is standing just outside the house, school bag on his back and massive smile on his face. Something inside Buck nearly crumbles in relief. He’d thought maybe Chris would be mad at him, disappointed that someone he’d trusted had let him down. Yet there he is, grin on his face like there’s no one else he’d rather see at eight in the morning. Buck doesn’t know what he did to deserve that kid’s affection, but he’s never gonna do anything to jeopardize it ever again. 

“Hey, little man!” 

The hug he receives is nothing short of perfect, even if he gets a crutch to the shin for his trouble. God, he’s missed this.

“Buck, what are you doing here?” 

Eddie looks confused, but it’s the fresh bruise along his unshaven jaw and exhaustion ringing his eyes that grabs Buck’s attention. He thinks about the pained way Eddie pulled away from him the night before and swallows the million questions he has. Whatever discussion they need to have will have to wait until Chris isn’t around to hear it.

“It’s our day off, thought I’d come see the Diaz boys,” he grins. 

Eddie steps further out of his house, pulling the door closed behind him. He’s got his keys in one hand, a travel mug in the other, and Chris’ gym kit slung over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, well, one of these Diaz boys has school.”

Chris puts his hand on Buck’s leg and looks up at him with those big puppy eyes. “Will you come with us, Buck?” 

Buck glances at Eddie, who just shrugs, so he says, “Sure. Why don’t I drive? Your dad can drink his coffee and you and me can talk Transformers.”

Eddie remains quiet for the twenty minutes it takes to get to Chris’ school. He’s not hostile or mad, but he looks resigned, like he knows Buck wants a Conversation and knows there’s no more putting it off. Sure, he’s chipper as hell when he says goodbye to Christopher, but the minute he and Buck are alone together in the car he sinks into the seat, eyes closed as he tips his head back. The bruise on his face is a sickly shade of purple.

“So, I had a bit of a night,” Buck says brightly, because he’s not gonna ask Eddie what’s going on while he’s driving. “This lady hit a guy with her car two days ago and had no idea she was driving around with him sticking outta her windshield. The hospital said she had a brain bleed and it confused her? Anyway, he’s still alive. Thanks to me.”

He winks, playing it up, and Eddie smiles. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh. And the driver.” He should shut up, but Eddie’s still looking at him with that soft, quiet look on his face, and it makes Buck keep talking. “Y’know, I always thought it was the uniform that made me the guy who’ll crawl over broken glass, literally, to help people. To make a difference. But, I dunno man, I think I’m starting to realize that it’s just who I am, uniform or no. When Bobby came to get me from the hospital, he said—” 

“Wait, you were at the hospital? Last night?” Eddie looks stricken and it makes Buck’s breath catch in his throat. 

“Uh, yeah. Kinda.” He shows Eddie the bandage on his arm. “I got scratched on the broken windshield. It’s nothing, I swear. The paramedics wanted me to get checked because of, y’know, my history. Honestly, Ed, I’m fine.”

Eddie scrapes a hand over his face. “You should’ve called me.” 

“Would you have answered?”

“Of course.” But even as he says it, Eddie doesn’t sound like he believes the words. 

This time Buck doesn’t say anything. He just drives, glancing over at Eddie every so often. Each time he does, Eddie looks back. Like they’re attuned to each other. They definitely used to be, before Buck went and messed it up. Now it’s time to sort it out. 

But when they get back to Eddie’s, Buck decides he’s gotta pick the right moment. He really doesn’t want to fight again, and Eddie’s looking pretty pathetic anyway, slumped at his kitchen table with his head in his hands. 

“Have you eaten breakfast?” Buck asks, already pulling open the cupboards. 

“Cereal,” Eddie replies, gesturing blindly to the empty bowls left in the sink and the box of Cap’n Crunch on the counter. 

Buck snorts. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna make you a proper breakfast. Go shower, I’ll have it ready by the time you’re done.”

Eddie huffs, looking up and raising his eyebrows. “Is that a not-so-subtle hint?”

“No, man, you just look like you could do with taking a load off for a few. A shower will make you feel better.”

It’s the closest they’ve come to actually discussing the fact that there’s something wrong with Eddie, but he doesn’t rise to it. Just takes Buck’s advice and trudges down the hall, disappearing into his bedroom. 

Buck heaves out a breath and sets about making one of Bobby’s specialities: the perfect French omelet. He’s gonna have to improvise a little with the filling based on the sparse contents of Eddie’s refrigerator but he finds spinach, mushrooms and cheese, so it could be worse.

When Eddie comes back, dressed in dark jeans and a henley, Buck is just setting two plates piled high with omelet on the table. So what that a couple of hours ago he ate his weight in pancakes with Bobby? He’s always got room for more.

“You cleaned up in here,” Eddie comments, “and dios, it smells amazing.”

“You’re welcome,” Buck smiles, and refrains from pulling Eddie’s chair out for him like he would a date at a restaurant. Instead he sits across from Eddie and raises his glass of OJ. “Here’s to you forgiving me, and to us being friends again.”

Eddie clinks his glass against Buck’s, but does so with a roll of his eyes. “We were never not friends, Buck. It was killing me that I couldn’t talk to you.”

A memory floats to the surface of Buck’s brain, something Eddie said that time in the grocery store, that makes him say, “Yeah, talk to me and to, what was it? Oh yeah, ask me to bail you out of jail. Hypothetically, right?” 

Oh yeah, that hit a nerve. Eddie slowly chews and swallows his mouthful of egg, but his eyes go shuttered and Buck knows that this is it, no more lies. 

“Not so much, actually,” Eddie admits, and when he looks back up Buck is shocked to see that his eyes are wet. “Buck, I think I’m in trouble.”

It’s not a surprise. Neither is the way every fiber of Buck’s being wants to get out of his chair and gather Eddie into his arms, hold him close and promise him that everything is gonna be okay. Except he won’t, though. He doesn’t know if it will be okay, and it sounds like he’s gonna have to be the grown up one in this situation. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding his head. “Tell me.”

To his credit, Eddie looks Buck right in the eye when he says, “I’ve been street fighting. For money.”

Nausea fills the pit of Buck’s stomach. Images fill his head unbidden of Eddie getting pummelled by some great ugly brute with no teeth. With no one there to support him, patch him up afterwards and make sure he’s okay. 

“Jesus, Eddie. And I thought I was supposed to be the stupid one.”

Eddie hangs his head. “Yeah, well.”

“I mean, what were you thinking?” Buck bursts out. “You could have been seriously hurt, man, or worse. You’ve got people here who need you, Eddie. Chris needs you.” He pauses, swallows. “I need you.”

The chair skids back with a screech as Eddie jumps to his feet. “Don’t you think I know that? I can’t help it, Buck! I’m just so — so angry, all the fucking time. At everyone! Shannon — she died. She told me she wanted a divorce, and then she fucking died. That’s my fault, if I hadn’t brought her back into our lives only to turn around and change my mind, she wouldn’t have even been on that road to get hit by that car! Chris has lost his mom for good, because I was so goddamn selfish. And then you — and your leg — and I know how hard your recovery was so I wasn’t gonna make it about me and my issues. And the tsunami just — dios, I still have nightmares about losing Christopher. About losing you. Except then I did lose you to that stupid stupid lawsuit, and I just needed to punch something so badly.”

He stops, shakes his head, sucks in a shuddering breath. Buck can’t even move, doesn’t even know what to say. 

“It wasn’t supposed to go this far, Buck,” Eddie finishes, voice nearly a whisper. “It’s the only thing that made me feel in control. Please help me make it stop.”

Buck looks at Eddie, really looks at him. His brown eyes are sad and awful. So Buck gets up out of his chair and in three strides he’s right there in front of him, his hands on Eddie’s biceps, reaching out to pull him in and curling his own arms firm around Eddie’s broad shoulders, like a protective band around him.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. You were right, last night. I was too focused on myself to see that you were hurting.”

“No,” Eddie says. He makes to pull back, but Buck refuses to let go so Eddie just talks into his shoulder instead. “You went through a lot—”

“We all went through a lot,” Buck corrects him gently. “And none of it, none of it, was your fault, Eddie Diaz.”

Eddie’s arms come up around Buck’s waist, slowly squeezing back. Buck scrunches his eyes shut so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry. He doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, Eddie’s hot breath fanning against the side of his neck, wrapped around each other so tightly, breakfast long forgotten on the table, but when they finally disentangle Eddie’s face is dry although his eyes look red and sore. 

“No more fighting,” Buck tells him, no room for argument. “We’ll go in the boxing ring, I’ll hold a punching bag for you, I’ll take you to the rage room, whatever. If you need help with money, I got you covered. If you wake up in the middle of the night and wanna talk, you call me. You want me to come to therapy with you, I’m there. But fight club is done.”

For a second, Buck thinks Eddie is gonna argue. But then he sags, his shoulders falling, and nods. 

“I’m not gonna feel better until I’ve checked you over,” Buck adds then, concerned about injuries he can’t see. 

Eddie rolls his eyes to the heavens, so much like his usual self Buck nearly laughs in relief. “Buck, I’m fine. I’m a medic. I know this to be true.”

“Please,” Buck begs, because he needs to see for himself, needs proof. 

Sighing, and looking extremely reluctant about it, Eddie plucks at the bottom of his henley and peels it off over his head. 

Ugly smudges of blue, purple and yellow marr the landscape of Eddie’s torso like stormclouds. His ribs look awful, half-healed and scabbed over where the skin has been split from the sheer force of the beating. Buck places his hand gently over the worst of it, feels Eddie’s ribcage expand under his palm. 

“Not broken,” Eddie whispers. “Just bruised.”

Buck moves up, brushes the back of his fingers over the swelling on Eddie’s jaw. Eddie inhales softly. 

“It looks painful,” Buck mutters. 

“It’s not so bad,” Eddie says, just as quiet. 

Despite popular belief, Buck’s not actually an idiot. He knows what’s happening here. His feelings for Eddie are an ever-present feature of Buck’s everyday, always just under the surface, bubbling up every time they share a look or a touch, however innocent. Right now Buck feels like they’re boiling over, faced with miles and miles of Eddie’s soap-clean skin and those eyes staring right at him and the emotional vulnerability that has left them both a bit raw. 

When Eddie’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, Buck thinks he might actually combust. 

“Te he extrañado,” Eddie breathes, “I missed you.”

And that’s it, he can’t take it anymore. Buck swoops forward and presses his mouth to Eddie’s in a kiss that’s not gentle at all, but demanding and desperate and so, so good. 

It gets even better when Eddie tongue traces the seam of Buck’s lips — it gets hot and fierce then, wet and open-mouthed. Buck’s hands are on Eddie’s face, cradling his jaw, but Eddie’s hands can’t seem to decide what to touch first: first Buck’s waist, then up his chest, over his shoulders, smoothing down his back until they settle on his waistband. 

“I always thought —” Buck murmurs, lush against Eddie’s mouth, “that it was — it was just me who — God, Eddie.”

Eddie slides his fingers around Buck’s belt to the front, easily slipping the leather through the buckle.

“There was never a good time,” Eddie says, kissing him again and sucking lightly on Buck’s bottom lip, like his fingers aren’t unbuttoning Buck’s fly and driving him absolutely fucking crazy. It’s not fair that he can string sentences together when Buck’s feeling so deliriously drunk on this already.

Then he remembers that hey, he’s good at this. Eddie is far from the first guy he’s been with, although he is the first in a while, and he knows sex. Knows all the best knee-trembling, breath-taking, shiver-inducing moves. Part of him can’t believe that he gets to do them all with Eddie, but he sure as hell isn’t going to stop now.

Buck presses kisses down Eddie’s neck, stubble burning his lips in the best way. He can’t resist leaving a hickey on his collarbone, more on his chest, scattered among the bruises there.

“Buck…” Eddie groans, his hands fisting in Buck’s hair now, not-so-subtly trying to guide him lower. 

Smirking against his skin, Buck heads back up instead, nipping Eddie’s ear as he whispers, “If you weren’t injured, we’d be on this kitchen floor and I’d be sucking your brain out through your dick.”

Eddie’s hips jerk into Buck’s and Buck can feel quite clearly just how much that idea appeals. 

“But you are injured, so we’re gonna take this somewhere a bit softer,” he adds, grabbing Eddie’s hand and dragging him into his own bedroom. Eddie’s grip is tight but sweaty, and Buck’s glad that he’s not the only one feeling slightly overwhelmed here. For all his blustering and confidence, the fact that this is Eddie means it’s important. Possibly the most important thing Buck has ever done. He really, really hopes this isn’t going to be a one-time thing. 

As soon as they’re in the bedroom, Eddie pulls Buck’s t-shirt up and over his head before pushing him down on the bed. Grinning when he bounces, Buck sits on the edge and yanks Eddie in by the hips, making quick work of his fly and yanking his jeans and boxers down his thighs. 

Eddie is so hard already, so wet that Buck can’t help but take him into his mouth. He sucks, kisses and licks until Eddie is gasping for breath and pushing him away. 

“Too much?” Buck pants, laying on his back and bringing Eddie down with him. 

“Not enough,” Eddie says, kissing him again like he can’t get enough of Buck’s mouth. The weight of his body pressing Buck down into the mattress feels so good that Buck can’t help bumping his hips up, only to be impeded by his own goddamn pants. Desperate, he tries to wriggle his way out of them until Eddie takes pity and tugs them over his ankles. 

“You’re kind of a dork,” Eddie laughs, kissing the smooth skin of Buck’s inner thighs, the vibrations doing things to him.

“Fuck you,” Buck retorts, breathless. “I’m a goddamn sex machine.”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees, too easy, and Buck yanks him back up to crush their mouths together again. Now that he’s started kissing Eddie, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to be able to stop. He prays to a God that he doesn’t really believe in that he won’t ever have to.

Buck’s had a couple of near-death experiences, but right here with Eddie on top of him, rolling their hips together, his legs wrapped tight around Eddie’s waist? Definitely the closest to heaven he’s ever been. 

He pushes up every time Eddie pushes down, fingers roaming over Eddie’s back, feeling the muscles ripple each time he shoves against Buck. Eddie moves one of his arms from where it’s braced beside Buck’s head and uses his hand to grip both their dicks together, and that’s when it gets hot and fast and intense, and kissing becomes nothing more than panting against each other’s mouths, and Buck tenses and finally comes undone, unspooling like a livewire, sparks firing under his skin, leaving him unable to do much more than keep his grip on Eddie’s shoulderblades and hang on while he rides it out.

Eddie is swearing fiercely in Spanish, losing his rhythm, but he drags his hand through the mess on Buck’s stomach and wraps that hand around his own dick, the image of which is so unreasonably hot that Buck groans and shudders. 

“Yeah, c’mon, baby,” he blurts out, “come on me, mark me up, make me yours.”

“Dios, Buck, fuck,” Eddie grits out, hips stuttering, and then he comes with a drawn-out moan, only making Buck dirtier, and God does Buck love it. Love him. 

They kiss again as they come back down to earth, softer now, slower. Buck’s mouth keeps doing this thing where he can’t stop smiling, until Eddie catches it too, and then they’re laughing. Eddie collapses into the space next to Buck, and he feels cold now where their skin isn’t touching. He reaches over the edge of the bed and comes back with his shirt which he uses to wipe his stomach before throwing blindly back to the floor. 

“So…” Eddie starts, tipping his head to look at Buck. 

Buck just grins at him. “Told you I was a sex machine.”

Eddie glares at him without any heat in it, then rolls onto his side and rests his palm over Buck’s chest. His face gets serious and for a heartbeat Buck thinks he’s about to be kicked out of bed. 

But, “I want you to know this wasn’t some sort of… gratitude thing,” Eddie says, “Or — or another outlet for my anger. That meant — you mean — a whole lot to me, Evan Buckley. And if this is going to jeopardize our friendship then—”

“Hey,” Buck interrupts, grabbing onto Eddie’s hand and clutching at it. “In case you couldn’t tell from everything I’ve said today: I love you, you idiot.”

A huge smile breaks out on Eddie’s face and Buck can’t help but mirror it, reeling Eddie back in. They make out like teenagers until their lips go numb and kiss-swollen. 

They only stop when Eddie’s stomach grumbles, reminding them both that he never did finish his breakfast. 

“C’mon, shower and then brunch,” Buck decides, running his hand over Eddie’s side and down to his ass, where he squeezes. “What d’ya reckon old man, ready for round two? Shower sex, easy clean up?”

“Not if you’re gonna call me old,” retorts Eddie, and he jumps out of bed like he doesn’t have several bruised ribs, as if to prove a point. “You coming, or shall I start without you?”

Buck might give his right arm to see that, but right now he just wants to be pressed as close to Eddie as possible, to make sure nothing hurts him ever again. 

There’ll be time for everything else later.

[hughiecampbelle]

War Boy (John Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: John

Word Count: 1,682

Inspired By: Holiday by Dana Williams

Warning/s: abuse mention

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomimagines @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan

A/N: I think this is the longest fic I've ever written, which is pretty cool :) I never thought I'd be able to write something greater than 500 words. It's not my usual style, which is a little frustrating, but in the end I like how it turned out. I had no idea where it was going until the very end, and if that doesn't explain the writing process, I'm not sure what does! I'm super close to 200 fics/a third part of the fic masterlist and that's really exciting! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

Infidelity. Lust. Greed. Envy. He always wanted what wasn't his. A sin, if he believed in those kinds of things. If all the things he'd done in his lifetime weren't so much worse, he would have been afraid. But he wasn't. He should have been ashamed, guilty, pleading on his hands and knees to a bitter God for forgiveness, for understanding he wasn't deserving of, but he couldn't, he wouldn't, because he didn't feel bad. A man of crime, of impulse, sharing a bed with someone who slipped their ring off for him was the least of his worries. To anyone looking in, it would have seemed wrong, sick. It was. It should have seemed that way to him. But he watched from the inside, he knew what really was going on, the full story behind the locked windows and drawn curtains. There were things the rest of the world thought they knew, that they put their faith into, but only you and John knew what was really going on.

It wasn't about the sneaking, the secrets, it wasn't about revenge, getting back at him for all the things he ever did, all the things he put you through. It was about finally being wanted. It was about bloody fists. A heavy silence blanketed over the dinner table. A shove, a grin, a power dynamic. You loved him most when he wasn't around. Felt the most safe, the most adored when the space between you grew, the soil between you deepening, rotting. A man of war, who'd kissed her cheeks and cried when she fell instead of him. It should have been him in those trenches, in her arms. He'd told you that only once, his eyes restless, crazed, begging for one night of rest, too ashamed to admit in daylight. It should have been him, not the brave men beside him, not the innocent boys thrown into this without a second thought. It should have been his funeral, his shallow grave, his things distributed among friends, desperate for anything they could get their hands on. They'd be sad, of course, mourning another loss, but sad didn't matter when the world was ending.

It should have been him. And sometimes, you wished it was.

Someone you worshiped, someone you would have done anything for. That's what love made you believe. He was the light of your life, the reason of your very existence. A boy, then. Kids, you both were, blinded by something bigger than yourselves, something you thought could escape death herself, last a hundred lifetimes. Young, sweet, with summer in your veins. You were so naive. He was different before the war. Softer, tender, he was affectionate, drunk on the ideas of a future together. Married before he left, a ring around his finger when he stepped on that train. He'd lost it, somewhere along the line, and that should have been the first warning when he came back. They all changed, but not like him. The bombs, the guns, the shock of it settled in his gut, poisoning his blood. The fire of the explosives lived inside him. It slept when he did, but it was always looking for something to set it off.

The smallest spark would be enough.

Then it wasn't just anger, but rage. Wrath. A sea of red. Everything in his path needed to be destroyed regardless of the skin it wore. Shattered glass. Broken furniture. Holes in walls. Fabric ripped, or torn, or punctured. Even when he dreamed he clenched his fists, as if he were ready for a fight, a battle, that would never come. You were his favorite, though. Once a cherished item in his collection, sat on the top shelf for safe keeping, now you were nothing but a rag doll. Thrown around for his own entertainment. Bruised, bleeding, left to clean yourself up, mend your own wounds. Sometimes it was barely noticeable. Sometimes it wasn't. And that's when John came into your life.

An old friend, one he'd witnessed war with.

A visit. Simple, quick, a check up on someone he regretted losing contact with. Heard stories of someone special back home, someone who kept him going. From the second you saw him, though, you knew he was different. Careful eyes, all smiles and a wicked humor. He'd held on to that. With bloody nails, he wouldn't let her take that from him. He took notice of everything, whether or not you realized. The purple fingerprints in your skin. The badges under your sleeves. Your limp. The flinching, the bracing when a glass was set down too fast, too hard. John made a point to find his way in this part of Birmingham more often, knowing not only had the men changed, but their lives and families as well. It wasn't just the soldiers who suffered.

He became a source of comfort. Walking your husband home when he drank too much to remember where he lived, helping him up the stairs when his dead weight was too much to carry. It was his way of coping, his way of control. If he was too far gone to remember his own name, he couldn’t hurt anyone. Drown the demons in booze, forgetting how violent he could be when he was hungover. Passed out, leaving the two of you alone. You found yourself confiding in him, telling him things you never would have told anyone. Admitting to your own exhaustion, your own defeat, raising your white flag. You didn't have to explain the flinching, the hesitation to trust, all the little things he picked up on, all the things he'd seen too often. He was a man of destruction. Smashing his bottles, begging for a fight, starting them when no one else would. A form of self mutilation. Too many nights John spent taking care of the gashes in his face, of his open knuckles.

He was trying to beat the war out of himself. Scare it away. Make it rupture.

Sometimes he was unexpected. Knocking out of nowhere when your husband was at work. You should have known he wasn't looking for him. You should have known, but you didn't. And neither did he, inviting him for dinner, for drinks, any occasion. Before you knew it, you were spending every night together. Over the table, your laughs hushed, your words effortless. Learned more about him than you ever thought. A wife he loved, passed away. A brood of kids he fears he's not good enough for. A complicated family and a business with a license to kill. The thought of him, funny John with his quips and fast wit, with his endless supply of dirty jokes and filthy words, a father. You had a hard time picturing him reading bedtime stories or folding baby clothes. It was something you used to dream of, having kids. Not anymore, not with a man like that. You'd never forgive yourself, ruining an innocent life, raised in a field of landmines. It wouldn't be fair to them. You couldn't do that.

He brought them a few times. Pudgy fingers, toothless giggles, tales about school, about all the things they were learning, all the people they'd become one day. It did something to your home. Turned a lifetime of pain and fear into excitement, into joy. They didn't know what life had in store for them, the possibilities endless. Infinite. All of them wanting a piece of you, sitting on your lap, whispering all the secrets their father told them not to tell. He spoke of you often, or at least, that's what they said. John in his natural state, a child on his hip, another pulling him by the cuff. He was needed. That was more than you could say for yourself. A pain, an ache in your chest, watching your husband. Awkward, anxious, angry. Angry at little fingerprints across every surface. Angry at the noise, at the constant energy, the neediness. You knew he thought that was weak, to need someone. He couldn't stand to be near them.

He couldn't stand anything anymore.

John would have killed the man. If he were anyone else, he would have sliced him in half, make a godless man see heaven for himself. But he wasn't just anyone, they'd seen hell together. Walked through fire, spit in the face of the devil himself and lived to see another day. That was rare. It made a bond unlike any other. But that didn't mean he had to like him, that he had to approve of everything he did. Drunk together, one night, the last two at the bar. He never meant for it to get out. It was the whiskey talking. A single sentence, a threat in passing. If you ever hurt them again, I'll fucking kill ya. His words were slurred, and heavy between his teeth, but there was truth to them. He could have said something a lot worse. He could have told him he was undeserving of you, that he was fucked up to hurt you, to take you for granted. He could have said that he changed, that he wasn't the friend he was anymore, that he couldn't stand the sight of him. John could have admitted that he loved you, from the second he saw you, he loved you and he wanted to protect you, that he thought of you every single day.

But he didn't.

Instead he made a promise, an oath to you, to him. One he never wanted to go to through with. One he'd have to, he knew it. Now he was waiting across the street, ducking in the shadows, watching for him to leave, to go to the bar after another meltdown. The screaming could be heard through the neighborhood. It didn't matter who he used to be, this was him now. This was his fate. He should have listened to John that night, but he didn't, he didn't listen to anyone anymore, and now he'd face the end.

John just hoped you'd forgive him after all this.