#cw self-esteem issues

[rabbitcrimes]

When people are like Wei Wuxian was NOT suicidal it’s like. Ok sure. He just believed that his debt to the Jiangs should be paid with everything up to and including his life. And also that the moral and obvious thing to do in any situation is to put himself between anyone and harm's way. This is because he thinks he’s unkillable but he makes himself unkillable for the same reason he’ll die for a good enough reason: because it’s a way to have worth!

And then famously once everything goes to shit he does beg Lan Wangji to let him die as part of the moment where he is either destroyed by his own evil magic or lets his own evil magic tear him apart, a distinction I don't personally think matters very much at that point. Less explicitly textually, his mentally ill ass behavior after he gives up his core says to me that he wishes that he'd died honorably for Jiang Cheng when he had the chance and doesn't know what to do with himself since he hasn't.

Again I’m aware that he’s operating under a pretty specific set of culturally informed norms as a cultivator and member of a sect but like. TO ME. Everything about how Wei Wuxian conducts himself indicates that he has a box in his mind at all times that says 'in case of emergency break glass' and what’s inside the box is his own death. All the sound of mind actions of a man who has a normal and not suicidal relationship to death.

[aannonn]

I FINALLY FINISHED ITT LETS GOOO

(to anyone who wanna read it on ao3 instead! ><)

not-actually-so-funfact; my computer started to burn in the middle of the translation :D (im brazilian so i write my fics in brazilian before translating them to english- xd)

anyways!! hope u enjoy the read just as much as I did while writing it! <3

- , "Ruined. All Ruined."

(updated/fixed) Tags ;

Rating : Teen and Up Audiences Warning : Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags#1 : rated t mainly because of the swears // violent thoughts // threats of violence // whump // self hatred // self depreciation // self esteem // self esteem issues // angst // angst and feels // heavy angst // hurt no comfort // emotional hurt // crying // selective mutism // talking in musical notes Tags#2 : hurt/comfort // comfort // emotional hurt/comfort // emotional // inner dialogue // minecraft mechanics // neurodivergent // {not exactly the focus but y'k- its there} // author is projecting

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Ruined.

All ruined.

   Green sat on his bed, the tie tied carefully around his neck crumpling from the tightness of his knees being hugged close to his chest. A crumpled tie was certainly not something he would take lightly, and he would quickly fix his posture so he could tidy it up and leave it the way it was before, perfect as it should be. But- honestly? Green felt no motivation to do so right now.

   He doesn't understand what he did wrong. Did he prepare too much? Did he create a lot of expectations? Did he let his anger and arrogance get the best of him again?

   Everything seemed perfect, everything was perfect, but then that silverfish suddenly emerged and, in the blink of an eye, everything around him seemed to be shattering; All the months of planning and preparation and so, so many songs he wrote and scratched because none of them felt perfect enough felt like they had been stepped on, crushed and thrown into lava, slowly burning right before his eyes.

   Is not fair. None of this was fair. He worked so hard to get to this moment, to improve his musical skills and impress an entire audience with his music, his passion. His friends, friendly acquaintances - everyone he knew was there - even Orange was there! They were all there for the concert, for the performance, for him.

   He felt like he was on cloud nine, happily boasting about the praise and applause floating around him like birthday confetti, roses being thrown at him as a sign of love and admiration - His friends and family were congratulating him and looking at him with so much admiration and love and affection for his amazing and so well-planned, so well-done, so perfect performance.

   He felt so adored, like the celebrities he saw on YouTube, being praised and complimented and talked about by many, many people, with so much admiration and adoration in their voices when talking about them. He felt so envied, as if several people adored him so much that they wanted to have his talents, they wanted to be him. He felt so loved, friends and family being so proud of him that he felt himself laughing happily, smiling so big that his cheeks hurt.

   ...Then a silverfish rised onto the stage, stepped on his noteblock, and the adoring, gazing eyes of the crowd - of his friends - were on the mob, and suddenly it seemed like it wasn't his concert anymore, but rather a random silverfish who just invaded the stage and stole his place, his audience, his moment.

   Green clenched his fists, bringing his knees even closer and crumpling his tie even more; Is not fair. None of this is fucking fair. He worked so hard for this, he worked so long for this, and now it's all ruined. Everything is ruined.

   The audience applauded and the show was a success, but the silverfish was the one in the spotlight; It was what was being boasted about, congratulated, adored, happily applauded for its' incredible performances.

   Meanwhile, Green was collapsing in pain in the middle of the stage and suffering from a horrible concussion.

   He felt humiliated, awfully humiliated. Shame, disappointment, and anger flooded his entire being, and the moment he woke up in his room, in his bed, with an ice pack on his head and a potions kit right on his desk, the only thing he did was have a staring contest with the ceiling with hazy eyes, his mind was a complete fog as he felt himself swinging his leg from side to side, jiggling it repeatedly distractedly.

   They cheered, the audience cheered, his friends cheered, but none of the cheers and joyful whistles were directed at him, as if the show had never even belonged to him in the first place.

   Green clenched his fists so tightly that he felt the faintest hint of blood coming from his palms, tears stinging his eyes distressingly, falling and spilling and wetting the mattress like rainfalls.

   Small bubbles appeared in his throat and made him let out soft sobs while small melodic notes came out of his mouth, making unbearably unpleasant and hostile noises, seeming as if a million instruments were being played at the same time, forming a loud and unpleasant noise for the ears. Fortunately the canorous notes that came out were small and therefore you wouldn't be able to hear them properly if you weren't close enough to his face.

   He felt so pathetic, so ridiculous. It wasn't even that bad; Everyone in the audience loved and genuinely enjoyed the show, his friends even formed a band and Orange finally played the electric guitar he had after years of not even touching it! So why was he so sad? Why did he feel like his entire world had just collapsed? Why did he feel so angry at the silverfish that only wanted to play with him?

   Because he was so selfish. So selfish and arrogant the little musician.

   He wanted to pull his head off, his stupid head with a stupid brain that only knew how to think about itself - He wanted to find that stupid silverfish and sink the tip of the diamond sword at its' stomach, jab it and stab it and all over again until all that was left of the mindless mob were little white clouds signaling its permanent death.

   He wanted to punch himself, spank himself - He wanted to be vengeful, he wanted to scream - He was so angry at himself, so angry at the silverfish, so angry at his brain, so angry at his feelings, so angry at his friends who didn't even try to help him get the silverfish off the stage and bring everyone's attention back to him, so angry at the world that was never merciful to him, hurting him again and again and again and again and again and again like a fucking punching bag.

   He wanted to isolate himself from everything and everyone to show the world how fucking angry and tired he is right now. He wanted his friends to invade his room to shower him with love and affection, hugs and apologies and promises that they would take better care of him, that they would never try to hurt him again, that they would never let the world hurt him again.

   He wants the world to burn, he wants the world to hold him like a baby.

   He's so selfish. Selfish and arrogant little adorable musician.

   His mind was a fog full of thoughts as his emotions took control, his body swayed slightly from side to side like a mantra, all of this making his brain unable to register the sound of footsteps approaching his position on the bed or even extra weight being added to the green mattress.

   Green jumped when he felt a hand holding his arm gently, rocking his body serenely and distracting his mind from thoughts for a few brief moments. He still didn't take his face off his knees, but he didn't take the hand off his arm either.

   Faint sobs and small musical notes echoed through the spacious house, the fog of dark thoughts in his mind gradually fading until all that was left were just faint sobs and dry tears gracing his face, a few tears still running down his chin towards the bed, small drops of water, some already old, wetting the mattress.

   He didn't register and didn't want to register how long it had been since he and the familiar but currently unknown stickfigure had been sitting on the bed. The stickfigure just rocked him calmly and slowly, distracting him from his thoughts that only got darker and darker, while also giving him time to calm down at his own pace, which Green deeply appreciates.

   Eventually, his breathing seemed to have finally eased and he opened his eyes, raising his head slowly and groggily, somewhat destabilized after the horrible mental breakdown he had just had.

   Yellow's composed and slightly worried face greeted him, the gentle movement of his head cooled off the nervous spasms he felt in his body after his brain had correctly registered the pathetic and disappointing scene he had just made, right in front of one of the last people he wanted for to see him in this state.

   Yellow remained quiet, his hand still on Green's arm as he continued to rock him gently, his movements filled with nothing but pure affection and concern for him. For Green.

   Green raised his head groggily, feeling light bubbles rising in his throat again and a new spiral of crying emerging before he pushed it back by force, several carefully chosen words in his head ready to start a conversation and break the suffocating silence, even though none of them had any actual desire to actually produce real sounds.

   He coughed, a hoarse, noisy wet cough, taking a deep breath - with some difficulty - before merely forcing a sound out of his throat, words in his mind all jumbled together - he just wanted to break the silence, a silence so quiet and still and suffocating.

   - W.. what." His voice was hoarse from crying and small musical notes were muddled with the words, making the words that came out of his mouth a confusing cacophony of sounds and verbs without a correct direction.

   Yellow patted his free hand on his knee nervously, whispering softly; - I just wanted to check up on you."

   Green no longer felt any motivation to actually form words and say them out loud, so he just shook his head sharply and pushed Yellow's hand away from his arm, a small musical note faintly leaving his mouth; a twisted, angry, broken sound.

   Go away.

   Yellow quickly understood the message the older one wanted to convey and tapped his hand on his knee nervously again, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his shoulders lowering in defeat before he stood up and walked to the door, his steps light, but steady, echoing in the now empty space; where a single green stickfigure sat on his own bed of the same color, hugging and consoling himself from the world that only knew how to hurt. The only sounds that could be heard were his own whimpers and small melodic notes that the form curled up like a ball of the arrogant little musician emanated.

   It's so quiet. The world seemed so much lonelier and more dangerous when it was quiet.

   It's just him, and the world that hates him.

.

.

.

.

   At some point in his breakdown; round two(2), Green fell asleep; spilled tears still dripping onto the mattress while light, dry remnants clung to his cheeks. Honestly, Green isn't sure if he actually fell asleep, all he remembers is that his perception of his surroundings was momentarily desensitized and he found himself lying in his bed, a pair of hands on his shoulder shaking him with enthusiasm to side to side, presumably being the reason why his brain seemed to have regained awareness of his surroundings when he felt a sudden and unexpected physical contact stirring him impatiently.

   Red's excited and unbearably happy face was what greeted him this time, determination and enthusiasm adorning his movements as he continued to shake him the way he normally would when he had done something cool and desperately wanted to show to someone.

   Noticing the slight movement of Green's head moving towards him, Red let go of the shorter stick's right shoulder and jumped back, his arms bobbing up and down happily before grabbing Green's hands and pulling him in a way so that he was now sitting on the bed, relinquishing him and quickly rushing to the door, giving him one last look (still jumping up and down and waving his arms happily) before jumping out of the house, his steps happy and hurried resonating even outside the household.

   Green just stared at the door now open to him, not moving a single inch to follow Red to wherever the latter wanted to show him, an internal debate in his head with the decisions he could make.

   Getting out of bed, let alone walking to the door, seemed like a challenge. His body had little to no motivation to exercise and his head was still a fog that momentarily distracted him from his surroundings. He really didn't want to get up.

   But there would be no more silence if he did. The world would no longer seem so dangerous and immense for him if he went outside.

. . .

   Green sighed, staring at the floor for several long moments before merely forcing his body to stand, stumbling a bit in disorientation after sitting for so long, before practically dragging himself to the door, his slow, sloppy steps echoing through the silent residence.

   The entire time he walked towards the open door, Green stared at the ground, absentmindedly counting the pixel particles of the blocks he passed in his mind.

   He really had no desire to do anything... But the silence he was in was too suffocating and oppressive for him to bear.

   As he walked, Green quickly noticed that the light gradually dimmed with each new block, getting darker and darker until he couldn't even see the color of the staircase.

   Green took his eyes off the floor and raised his head, noticing how the computer's lighting seemed to have suddenly faded, enveloping both him and the programs and the PC's characteristic background in immense darkness - Much like when he himself removed the brightness of the computer to blast his latest music at that time.

   Green straightened up, feeling goosebumps all over his body as he took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight, quickly taking out his diamond sword from his inventory and holding it tightly, keeping his guard up for any possible mobs or whatever it was that could suddenly jump on him.

   He slowly descended the steps, his steps light and careful as he illuminated the darkness around him and kept his ears open for any sign of movement or noise.

   He wonders where his friends are...

   Suddenly, red and orange and yellow and green and blue lights illuminated the computer and momentarily blinded him, causing him to stagger back in fright and throw his sword and cell phone into the air before quickly grabbing the sword in alarm, pointing the sharp tip towards the light source as he vaguely registered the sound of his cell phone falling to the ground with the flashlight still on.

   A stage - his stage - his concert stage - greeted him back, colorful lights enthusiastically illuminating the center of the stage, where stood his dearest friends that he had known for as long as he could remember.

   Friends who also just watched as his concert was ruined by a fucking silverfish.

   Green shook his head sharply to dispel that thought, slowly lowering his sword as he quickly settled down, no longer feeling the impending danger scratching the back of his neck, though that also didn't mean his irritation had disappeared.

   He simply stared at the four(4) stickfigures on the stage, irritation was obvious in his movements as he gave them the silent treatment.

   Blue clasped his hands together nervously, Red dragged his feet on the floor without looking at him while Orange shifted uncomfortably; The only one who seemed more balanced and stressless of all was Yellow, although Green could detect a slight touch of nervousness in the movement of his shoulders.

   None of them said or made any movement as an indication that they were going to break the silence, Green just stared at them demanding an explanation while the others just moved and looked at each other nervously.

   Blue turned to Red, grabbing his shoulder before pushing him forward. Red stumbled before immediately shaking his head roughly and pushing Blue forward, to which Blue grabbing Orange's hand and pulling the shortest one in front of him, pushing him nervously to be in Green's gaze. Orange looked back and forth between Blue, Red and then Green, staring at the ground while rubbing his arms nervously, before finally taking a single step forward before Yellow suddenly stopped him by grabbing his shoulder and pointing at himself, to which the youngest nodded in thanks and quickly went to Red's side.

   Yellow took a deep breath, only taking three steps forward before finally breaking the silence, his voice a soft whisper with varying degrees of guilt and apologetic tone emanating from it.

   - We're sorry."

   Green bounced in surprise, confusion adorning his movements.

   At the sound of Yellow's voice, the other three(3) seemed to find courage and quickly echoed their own apologies with equal degrees of guilt and apologetic tones, a cacophony of voices over one another as they made several sudden and clumsy movements.

   - We had fun but you didn't have fun and that wasn't- It wasn't what- It was not cool. Nothing cool."

   - We're really, really sorry- The show was horrible- It was horrible to you- It was scary, wasn't it? It was terrifying... We laughed but- And- We didn't even think how hurt would you be..."

   - We didn't try to help you when you needed it most, and we completely understand if you- How angry you might- How angry you are and we won't force you to forgive us or anything-"

   Sincere. Genuine. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Don't forgive us. You don't need to forgive us. We are really sorry. We will take better care of you.

   Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry-

   - So we thought about- Ah. To repair. Give you the concert you truly deserve."

The firm tone emanating from Yellow's voice quickly interrupted the fog that was beginning to form in Green's head, turning his head towards him to realize that the taller one had raised his hand and stopped everyone from continuing with the cacophony of voices. Of I'm sorrys. Of apologies-

   Oh wait.

   Oh. Oh.

   The stage was for him?

   - I know nothing will fix the damage that silverfish caused- The damage we didn't even try to cease- But." Yellow paused, clasping his hands and fidgeting nervously in his seat before taking a deep breath and continuing; - That's- The concert really mattered to you, so. We wanted to- Give you a chance to- A second chance to. Show to the world-

   - The world being us."

   Yellow elbowed Red. - Your performance. And just your performance only. No silverfish to take your place."

   The stage was practically the same as the show, although it was significantly reduced to fit the computer and not cover the entire space to the point of being almost claustrophobic.

   The instruments from before - from the villagers who agreed to help him with the concert - were not there, just the blocks and noteblocks that had been used previously in the concert. On his concert.

   It was his show. It is his show.

   The stage is his. The performance is his. The audience is his.

   Green just stared at the stage, then at the instruments, then at his friends.

   Millions of emotions flowed like musical notes, the fog in his head forming like fluffy, adorable clouds, and suddenly he felt an immense urge to jump and bounce and play and scream and stim and-

   A single musical note, so small and confused and twisted and broken - yet joyful and hopeful and excited and free - floated from his mouth, the harp-like sound echoing so low that Green is sure none of them would have heard it if the room was not in a complete silent.

   For me?

   Yellow tilted his head gently, Blue touched his hands like he always does when he's excited, while Orange nodded and Red happily waved his arms up and down, encouragingly signaling the older one to come on stage.

   For you.

   Green timidly walked to the stage, Blue and Red quickly helped him by grabbing his hands and pulling him up, Orange walked towards him and gently pushed him to the center where the noteblocks were carefully placed in a way that formed a piano, patting his back in encouragement before going to join Red and Blue on the chairs in front of the stage, sitting right next to Red who was resting his parrots on his shoulders.

   Yellow had the staff in hand, placing his hands on his hips in a sign of lighthearted annoyance, confusing Green momentarily before realizing that the taller stick was looking at the crumpled tie with small traces of dried tears.

Oh.

   Green looked down at his shabby tie, dismay filling him at how careless he had been with his beautiful tie, before perking up when yellow hands suddenly grabbed his tie by the ends and stretched it, trying to straighten it back to the way it was before. Finishing, Yellow walked away and placed his hands on his hips as a sign of pride, while Green just stared at his tie, now even more messy and shabby than before.

   Such a mistake like that would freak him out, reprimand the causer and quickly fix the damage done.

   Now, somehow, he found no reason to care.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   Green took the staff extended to him with such delicacy and care, as if the staff would break with a single sloppy touch, holding it close to his chest like a plush.

   Yellow patted his head, touching his forehead to Green's in a tender and gentle manner, before retreating and getting off the stage, sitting right next to Blue and putting all his attention on Green, on the show. On Green. On the performance. On Green.

   All eyes and heads were on him, all attention was on him and him alone.

  Playing his slightly altered melody as he now played solo, he felt on cloud nine. Gloatingly boasting of the enthusiastic applause and whistles of his beloved audience, who adored every performance he performed no matter how imperfect they seemed to him. Of his friends, who would always be there welcoming him with open arms and would help him in any way they could. Of his family, who adore him and love him so, so much.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   He is adored. He is accepted. He is loved.

   He always was. And he always will be.

.

.

.

.

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[statesys]

; eating isn't difficult except for when you're suddenly 11 and sitting at the table trying not to cry because the food in your mouth has the most horrible texture, the lights are horribly loud and everyone's chewing is horribly painful and you feel so bad because you never eat full meals and you feel so guilty, someone cooked this for you and you think it's disgusting ?? and your throat constricts weirdly and swallowing is hard but you don't want to say that because you're already weird and cause so much stress for others, adding to that list won't help anyone so you won't tell anyone about this until you're 14 and keep choking on your food because it's gotten worse recently and a doctor asks about it and your mother accuses you and yells asking why you never mentioned this but this is the exact reason why. but you won't tell anyone because you don't want to be any weirder and more difficult, you're already a burden as is. from the day you were born from now on everyone has made it very clear you're strange. but it's okay because eating isn't difficult

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 30 - Self Harm - Ted Lasso

cw - self harm, self esteem issues, self harm through overworking

Chapter 5 of Lingering Rules

“It’s his prerogative if he wants to get a little extra work out in,” Ted shrugged, and kicked his feet up onto the desk. Ted was right, but Beard was too. Roy couldn’t look away from Jamie, straining and pushing his body to the limit on a random Tuesday. “I think he’s hurting himself,” Beard added and the temperature in the room plummeted.

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

“We need to talk about Tartt,” Beard stated, closing the door to the office behind him.

“What’s the little prick done now?” Roy sighed, leaning on the door frame between the two offices. He scanned out into the changing room where the team were getting changed ready to head home. Jamie’s spot on the bench was empty. His bag was still there.

“He’s still in the gym, on the bike,” Beard crossed his arms over his chest and nodded to the window looking into the gym behind them. Jamie was still going, on his own and in silence. Sweat was beading on his neck and he was flushed with exhaustion in a way that Jamie never usually was. They had finished in the gym about twenty minutes ago and this was not a cool down cycle in any way shape or form.

“It’s his prerogative if he wants to get a little extra work out in,” Ted shrugged, and kicked his feet up onto the desk. Ted was right, but Beard was too. Roy couldn’t look away from Jamie, straining and pushing his body to the limit on a random Tuesday.

“I think he’s hurting himself,” Beard added and the temperature in the room plummeted.

“Coach that’s a large thought to throw out into our little pow pow here. To me Tartt looks like he’s doing just swell. I don’t think an injured man could even try the feat of endurance he seems to be going for,” Ted hummed.

“I don’t think he’s hurt but I think he is trying to hurt himself. He’s been putting in about twice as many hours as everyone else since the Blackburn game and that’s just the hours here.”

The Blackburn game was a shit show. The bus broke down on the way to the game. No one played their best. Colin ran into Jan and very much lost that encounter. The sole of Dani’s boot just came off despite being a new pair. It was a complete clusterfuck and somehow they were drawing nil nil at the death. They got a free kick in injury time. It was Jamie’s striking distance. All Jamie needed to do was to lift it onto Jan’s head and then they had this in the bag. But it didn’t. When Jamie kicked through it, it was way too flat and bounced off the wall. Then everything happened in slow motion. There was nothing Jamie or Isaac, as the held back man, could do to stop the Blackburn winger from ending up one on one with Zoreaux. Then the net rippled.

“I thought we weren’t talking about the game that happened last week,” Ted whispered.

“Since the game that happened last week Jamie has been … wrong.”

Roy hated that it had taken Beard to point this out but he wasn’t wrong. Jamie just looked tired, black bags under his eyes and the loss of the energy he usually vibrated with.

“Plus he’s stopped talking.”

Now everyone’s head shot round to stare at Beard like a tableau of the different stages of grief.

Ted was the manifestation of denial. “He has been talking. He was chatting with Sam earlier about an overlap play and he spotted for Colin,” Ted squeaked.

“He’s only talked when prompted and only about football,” Beard retorted, sighing at the rapidly draining colour from Ted’s cheeks.

Roy was anger. Jamie was supposed to be one of his. All of the coaches unofficially had their players that they worked better with and Jamie was his. He should have been the one to notice that Jamie wasn’t being his usual idea. “I’m going to go talk to him,” Roy growled and stormed out of the office to the sound of Nate’s bargaining that quiet overly focused Jamie wasn’t actually that bad.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Roy ripped Jamie’s headphones off his head and tossed them onto the floor.

“What the fuck?” Jamie yelled, staring daggers into Roy.

“I said what the fuck is wrong with you?” Roy hit the emergency stop on the bike.

“I’m fucking working out until your rude ass stormed in here like someone shoved a flag pole up it,” Jamie kept moving his legs until the bike came to a stop and sat there glaring and rolling his ankles.

“Time to go home,” Roy growled.

“No. I’m going to stay. You guys can go. I don’t need the peanut gallery,” Jamie waved dismissively to the window where Ted, Nate and Beard were watching intently.

“You’ve been overdoing it. That’s how you get hurt. We’re leaving.”

“You’re leaving. I’ve got work to do,” Jamie crossed his arms, mimicking Roy’s tense posture.

“Tartt,” Roy scolded, but stopped before the insult he was forming fell out of his lips. Jamie was still on the fucking bike. “You lot! Out!” Roy yelled, pointing at the gawping coaches.

“Right, yes. Thinks to be thinking and things to be doing,” Ted nodded, falling backwards along with Nate in his haste to get away from this explosion waiting to happen.

“Roy just fuck off,” Jamie sighed, now in private.

“You’re being fucking weird. Get off the bike,” Roy growled.

“No,” Jamie huffed.

“Off the bike,” Roy snarled.

“I fucking can’t alright,” Jamie barked. His posture dropped to lean forward on the handle bars of the bike and his hips clicked. “I’ve been waiting and cooling down and stretching when everyone is gone so I wouldn’t have to have this damn conversation so can you just fuck off and leave me to it,” Jamie muttered.

“No, this is not healthy. This is not how to treat your body. What the fuck is happening in that empty skull of yours?” Roy ranted.

“Gotta get better,” Jamie snapped back.

“What does that mean?” Roy hissed.

“We lost on Friday because of me. I fucked up that kick. I didn’t have the stamina to keep up the intensity for the full ninety and so couldn’t chase down the counter. I fucked it. I tried to apologise to the lads but Ted just said some stuff that didn’t sound like he accepted my apology. So I need to get better. I need to get fitter, I need to improve tactics, I need to be better,” Jamie rambled. As he spiralled, Jamie’s body slumped forwards with his elbows rest on the handlebars and his head in his hands.

Roy sagged as well. Beard was right. Jamie was hurting himself, not in the traditional way but still as painful, but it was out of guilt. And out of guilt over something that was not his fault. It was a small mistake in a clusterfuck of mistakes but Roy knew the feeling of the constricting vine around Jamie’s chest well. Every footballer felt it. They didn’t usually try to work themselves to death over it though. “That loss. Not your fault. We all fucked up. It was a clusterfuck. Any shit that could hit the fan did hit the fan. Those are the sort of losses you wipe from memory and move on with your life,” Roy slowly and tentatively rested a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, settling it there when Jamie didn’t flinch away.

Yet he still shook his head, "I’m the best player out there. You know that. Everyone knows that, if they don't they're fucking dense. So if we lose then that's on me. I fucking lost and that makes me a fucking loser.”

“Tartt,” Roy groaned but the denial caught in his throat. There was something not right. Ok there were a lot of things not right but there was something that Roy was missing. Something that he should be remembering because that did not sound like Jamie. That wasn’t the usual grandstanding, everyone look at me attitude he had when stating that he was the best player out there. There was a darkness to it. And there was only one person in Jamie’s life that would talk about Jamie with that level of praise and degradation. “Is this your fucking dad again?”

Jamie’s shoulder tensed under his hand, and then there was a slight nod. “I think so. He was always on me about letting other people make me look bad. If other people were going to make me look bad then I needed to get so good that they couldn’t tarnish it,” Jamie whispered.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Roy muttered, he just couldn’t hold it in, but thankfully Jamie didn’t react. “Tomorrow you’re talking to the doc,” Roy sighed. Jamie nodded again. Ok that was a start. Now he needed to bring it home, literally. “Tonight you are coming home with me. Lets get you out of here, ice bath then back to mine for food and rest,” Roy’s tone brokered no arguments but Jamie tried anyway.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he grumbled, finally lifting his head up off his hands.

“I don’t trust your mindset right now. It’s either come home with me or I’ll call Ted back here,” Roy released Jamie’s shoulder to help hold his waist instead as Jamie prepared to move.

“That is emotional blackmail,” Jamie huffed, groaning as he lifted his leg over the front of the bike.

“It’s a choice,” Roy smirked, catching Jamie as he dropped down and as predicted his legs buckled underneath him.

“Fine. I’ll come back with you. But that means you have to make me that salmon pasta. That was mint.”

Roy rolled his eyes but both of them knew what they were going to be eating for tea. It wasn’t perfect. Jamie wasn’t fixed but at least for tonight and tomorrow Roy knew Jamie was safe.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

honestly it's been really healing being back to actively contributing things and writing out thoughts on tumblr the last week or so, because while twitter tends to be easier for me to write out Thoughts on without getting overwhelmed, the environment in the twitter fandom circles i'm interested in is not only infested with antis but cliqueish in a way that is caustic to the fucking soul if you try to express a thought that's more than three sentences long--a hundred times over if you're autistic in slightly the wrong way--and it's incredibly reassuring to come back to an environment where the very kindest and most inclusive people toward you are not clearly thinking the r-slur the entire time they interact with you lmao

[pendulumstarway]

A very disheveled and unamused Jack carrying a damaged Bruno.

I wanted to test out halftones and I really like how it came out! I'll deffo be doing more in the future.

[needlesandnilbogs]

the sad thing about spending time with an ex dancer friend is that we watch our old nutcracker dvds and go “oh hey that’s mckenna, she quit a year after this one with anorexia” “oh hey what happened to lea? oh yikes, broke an ankle and quit” “ooh, remember grace? she was always getting bullied by the teacher so she quit too” “oh I haven’t seen isabelle in years, she must have quit right after that, wasn’t she the one so and so liked to pick on?” “yeah iirc kanani quit too, she said it was killing her self esteem”

[hamletsleftball]

sapiosexual - attraction to intelligence, or intelligent people

i'm attracted to intelligent people. well spoken people. i'm sapiosexual, i think. i don't think i can spend time with someone who is an anti-intellectualist. i cannot fathom spending time with a partner who can't hold their own conversation nor understand when i ramble about my hyperfixations in literature, media, etc.

but at the same time. im terrified of people smarter than me. i think they're very attractive, undeniably so, but whenever i get those moments and realise that i've still so much to learn and my knowledge pales in comparison to theirs, or my arguments are lacking in a debate while theirs seem flawless and they know the ins and outs of making a firm debate stance, i suddenly feel that sense of unworthiness. i feel scared, like i'm some imposter posing as a fake intellectual. someone who knows nothing but talks a lot, you know. I'm terrified of saying something and having my partner think of me as an idiot.

it's worse when i get stuck in the middle of my sentences (which happens at times) because it gets interrupted by another thought, and my partner is an eloquent person who is sensitive in their vernacular and diction. i want to be as eloquent and well-spoken as those people, yet i'm scared that i'm not as intelligent as them or as i think i am.

[dumblemonchickenwing]

continuation under cut

[glittery-phantom]

Y'know sometimes I feel like I don't really wanna be skin and bones because idk bones make me squeamish even my OWN if I so much as graze my collar bones I cringe inside especially cause that hurts me for some reason

All I really wanna do is be somebody other people find pretty

●Big boobs

●long hair + perm

●thick thighs

●Small waist

●Pretty face

●Big butt

●Hairless body

●Smell good

●Dress cute

I wanna wear beautiful clothes

Feel OKAY existing around other people without intense anxiety

Wanna be somebody other people WISH they could have

Wish I could be somebody other people wanna BE

They'll ask me how I did it and I'll never tell them cause if they knew my secret they'd probably send me to a mental hospital

[tundra-employee]

i don't lie. you're pretty. pretty boy

I-

I don’t believe you. You’re. I’m not. I’ve never been. I know I’m not. Its fine. People can be attracted to my mind or my personality. Not that I think those are any better but. No one would find me attractive.

[steampunkserpent27]

Beautiful

for @hdcandyheartsfest 's prompt: "Beautiful" rated: G CW: Gorgon Harry, Snakes, Self-esteem issues, Happy Ending A sequel to this “Draco?” Draco paused, the paintbrush still balanced on his fingers. “Yes, Love?” He lingered near the doorway, leaning up against it. “Why… Why do you love me?” Draco’s eyebrows furrowed, as he got up and made his way over to him, taking his hand and bringing it to his lips. “Love, you’re such a wonderful, kind person, and you always take such good care of me. Why wouldn’t I love you?” His eyes stung, as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “But… Look at me.” “You’re beautiful.” “No, I’m not.” He shook his head, feeling the writhing coils of snakes attached to his scalp grow agitated, as they were thrashed around. “I’m…” He paused, his throat flexing.”God. I mean look at me.” Draco brushed his fingers against his cheek. “Hey. Hey. I see you, Love. I see you.” His shoulders shook, as he fought back tears. If he started to cry, the snakes would only grow more restless, as they’d want to know where the danger was. Only there was no danger, it was only him. “I’m a monster.” “No, you’re not.” Draco leaned closer, running his fingers through the writhing coils of snakes. They curled around and enveloped his hand, sniffing it with their pink tongues, before they gradually calmed and grew still, resting against the warmth Draco offered. The snakes had long ago accepted Draco and no longer tried to strike at him, even in their most frenzied of states. Draco wrapped an arm around his back and guided him closer, allowing him to rest his head against his shoulder. He found he couldn’t hold it back any longer and started to cry, letting out breathy sobs, as Draco attempted to soothe his frightened snakes. “You’re so beautiful, Love. Everything about you is so, so beautiful.” Draco continued to hold him, whispering words of encouragement into his ears, as he rocked him side to side. “I love you.” He whispered, once his tears had dried. Draco pressed his lips against his cheek, lingering over a patch of black scales that descended from his scalp, before he moved to his forehead and then his nose, kissing him again and again. “I love you.”

[pyreshe]

one thing i did not anticipate about me leaving my job is the amount of people who came out to tell me how much they enjoyed working with me and will miss me. the lead of a different department even went as far as telling me that she would have hired me to her team on the spot had they had an opening & that she will tell me if they ever do have an opening so i can apply (if i want to). like the fuck?

[kattartsblog]

Rated M

Warnings: Swearing, baited fluff, Blood, Anxiety, Death, OC x Canon, Self Esteem Issues

Today is the day, will Ilona finally confess their feelings to Melone or will their heart be crushed?

Author’s note: Looks like it’s going to be another long post again, sorry everyone I’m not sure why it’s not working.

It was a simple hit, so easy a mouse could do it. There was a private club hosting an event for a wealthy couple Signore and Signora Cotoletta. The task: kill Signore Cotoletta with the power of Hybrid Theory and Melone would serve as backup. The stage was set as Ilona wore a very striking black tailed tuxedo with their hair slicked back. Melone had his hair up in a small half ponytail and wore a striking white suit to blend in with the wait staff. Melone helped Ilona fix up their small little purple bowtie. “Alright Il, you know just what to do. Break a leg.” Ilona nodded and Melone kissed Ilona’s forehead, he left to watch for Ilona to signal for backup. Ilona walked onto the stage and whispered to the musicians that they would be performing a piece. The musicians nodded. Ilona grabbed the microphone in the front and tapped it to get the crowd’s attention. Ilona took a deep breath and began to fake a cocky smile, “Ladies and gents, for this next performance we got a special request from the missus.”

Ilona signaled to the musicians and they began to play; first a violin began to play quite aggressively, then drums and piano followed suit. The lyrics began soft and sweet and once the chorus hit, the room could feel the bittersweet passion of the melody. Melone put on his earplugs when the chorus hit, though the vibration of the bass could be felt as he watched Ilona dance through the stage attempting to charm the audience. He couldn’t help but giggle, their movements were mesmerizing and yet goofy.The second verse hit and Hybrid Theory emerged to sing as a backup chorus. With a stamp of their foot, Ilona was able to find Signore Cotoletta and Hybrid Theory’s tendrils were able to snake into his ears as they belt out a loud note. The room began to ring for the other patrons, but to Signore Cotoletta their ears felt like they were on fire and blood began to fall from their ears. As they bowed Melone gave the signal that he still was alive and they needed a second song. Ilona nodded and whispered to the other musicians, “For this next song, is for the dearly devoted.” They took a deep breath and began to sing, the first verse began as a whisper and once the chorus hit, there was an aggressive voice beginning to take over. This voice clearly sounded like Hybrid Theory singing the most important bits, as if they were singing messages from deep within Ilona’s soul. Melone’s eyes widened as Ilona belted out a mighty note, it was as if Ilona themself had declared their love out right there on stage. Melone watched as Signore Cotoletta’s heart stopped, he looked like he passed out from a heart attack.

Ilona finally stopped and bowed, they looked up to see Melone stunned. Ilona blushed as their eyes met, they could feel that unlike the opera house this was a look of awe and adoration. They quickly eyed Signore Cotoletta who looked more pale and limp. Ilona grabbed the microphone, “Grazie a tutti, buonanotte!” The crowd cheered in obliviousness as Ilona took one last bow and left the stage. Melone took the earplugs out of his ears and threw them in the trash, Ilona waved at him to signal that they were ready to leave. Once they left the main celebration, Melone grabbed their paw and the two made a mad dash for the exit. They immediately went to find Melone’s motorcycle, once found the two assassins hopped on and began to ride off into the evening. Ilona held on tightly and pressed their body against Melone’s back. They looked up to Melone as his hair blew in the wind and the scenic Italian seaside scrolled past them, Ilona felt that feeling again. It was here, during their great escape where the spark began. Ilona fell for him here.

XxxxX

Sorbet and Gelato looked at each other in confusion then at Ilona, “So, you already sort of declared your love through song.” Ilona was perplexed and took a minute to think about what Sorbet said, the realization soon dawned on them, “Oh… oh god, I mean it. I just did my thing and just sang whatever.”

“Well you have to be upfront with him. If you don’t, he’s bound to be confused and take it the wrong way.” Gelato nodded, “Just be honest and maybe a tad flirty if you want. But most of all, don’t be upset if he rejects you.” Ilona nodded, “I think I’m ready. Thanks again.” Ilona got up and placed their paw on the doorknob, before they exited the room they looked down. These paws were not human anymore, but that didn’t matter. Melone had made them feel like a normal human being again.

[beloveds-embrace]

Part two of monster!141 x chubby reader

Part One.

CW: reader isn’t in a good place mentally and it’s affecting her reactions and the 141 absolutely take advantage of it. This is definitely not accurate in terms of reality. Reader has a lot of self-esteem issues, especially regarding her weight.

The thing is, you know you should be panicking way more. You know you should be fighting back, trying to think of an escape plan.

But you don’t. Exhaustion clings to you like a second skin, and you simply decide you don’t have any energy to do anything much- especially against shifters twice your size at the minimum. If they want to kill you, so be it. You doubt there’d be anyone to miss you; your parents only ever cared about your other siblings, your friends weren’t exactly your friends apparently, and you ex…

“Penny for your thoughts, dove?” The harpy whose lap you are perched on murmurs, wings fluffing out around you, the feathers soft and warm. You haven’t been on any couches or cushions ever since you woke up here, always in one of their laps. You had been terrified at first, and fear still lingers even now, but all they do is hold you tight and occasionally sniff you. Nothing more.

“Not worth much.” You whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. The feathers around you rustle again, tickling your skin ever so slightly, and you can feel him nuzzle the crown of your head.

“I disagree,” Kyle says, voice musing.. The arms wound around your waist tighten, and you are pulled impossibly closer to him. Your head still finds it hard to believe just how strong they are- easily maneuvering someone even of your size like your weigh nothing. Your ex never bothered; often just made a passing mention that maybe he’d carry you like that if you hit the gym and lost a few pounds. “Worth quite a lot to me. To us.”

You don’t have a reply to that; it’s still weird and unbelievable to you. Soulmates. What a joke. Even if they existed, you doubted anyone would like you like this. Not to mention the soulmate of a harpy, a werewolf, a dragon and a wraith? It sounded like a crappy plot you’d find while scouring the internet, written by a college student driven insane in their last year.

But they insisted they were right, and refuse to let you go, and now here you are being cuddled to one of them while the other three thud about upstairs. You can hear their voices, but not what they are saying. Though it sounds like they are quite busy.

“You cold, dove?” Kyle asks when he feels you shudder again, at last wrapping his wings fully around you even before you can answer. The feathers are so soft, and he smells so nice, like jasmine and vanilla. You almost felt hungry, simply smelling him.

“No.” The answer is quiet, croaked out tiredly. Sleep tugs at you even though it hasn’t been that long since you’ve woken up, the pounding, hungover headache long since dissipated.

You hate this syrupy slowness that lets you remain snuggled against him. You hate how safe you feel, despite your mind screaming at you otherwise. You don’t know these men, don’t know anything about them except their names, and yet your body has never felt quite this comfortable.

“Sleep, precious.” Kyle croons, his hand rubbing down your back. He buries his face in your hair, still crooning, and leaves a trail of kisses across your temple. “Sleep. You are safest and soundest here, with us.”

And so your eyes flutter shut, and your breath evens out; sleep comes to you as easy as breathing, and for one, ephemeral second, you don’t worry about your weight being too much for him.

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Blue Christmas | S.H. ⋆⁺₊❅.

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: You and Steve were casual fwb in high school. You're back in town for Christmas, having just broken up with your college boyfriend. You pick up a sad Christmas movie at Family Video, and Steve refuses to let you wallow alone.

cw: MDNI 18+, smut, breakups (not w/ steve), fluffff, talk of self-esteem issues, shitty exes, sweet lil marshmallow stevie, oral, p in v, praise kink, initially she's sorta using Steve to feel better (but he's 1000000% okay with it) and she ends up feeling the feelings.

The soupy heat of Family Video wafts over you when you step through the doors, the salt-covered rug squelching under foot. You lower your hood, shaking out your hair as you peer around the store. Front and center is a Christmas display loaded with movies, complete with a waving, pink-cheeked Santa Clause.

“Y/n?” A familiar, masculine voice calls over Elvis’s version of “Blue Christmas”. You squeeze your eyes shut, having prayed you’d get through Christmas in Hawkins without seeing a singular familiar face beside your mothers, and turn to the voice.

Steve Harrington, Steve fucking Harrington, is standing behind the counter, his hands braced against the edge of it. He looked more or less that same as the last time you saw him a year and a half prior. His jaw was a little squarer, his hair not quite as tall, his shoulders a bit broader. Still just as irritatingly handsome, though.

“Hey, Steve.” You waved, approaching the counter.

“I didn’t know you were coming into town,” he said, smiling as if he was genuinely happy to see you. It wasn’t that you were unhappy to see him, but your previous high school fling was the last person you wanted to see this particular holiday season.

“Yeah, well. Surprise.” You shrugged, wincing internally at the obvious melancholy in your voice.

Of course, Steve clocked it, his smile faltering. “I take it spending your Christmas in Hawkins was a surprise for you too?”

“That obvious?”

It was his turn to shrug. “I lost count of how many times you said you’d never come back once you left.”

Guilt tightened your throat. Why did he make that sound like it was so…personal? “Turns out it’s not simple.”

He hummed in response, moving out from behind the counter, his green vest looking very festive against his red crew neck. “Were you looking for anything in particular?” he asked, leaning against the counter beside you.

God, how did you forget how tall he was? You barely reached his shoulder, his chin tilted down to look at you. His cologne invaded your space, a warmer, spicier blend than you recalled him wearing. His proximity stirred butterflies in your stomach, your body remembering exactly the way felt against you, the ways he used to make you feel…the ways you hadn’t felt since despite being in a year long relationship. Well, despite having been in year long relationship.

You’d ended things when the fall semester wrapped up, effectively incinerating your plans to spend Christmas with him and his family in Chicago. Despite being the one to end things, you were still grieving. Not for him, per se, but the version of yourself you’d lost along the way. Now, you felt directionless and lonely, and being back in the town you left behind was only making you feel worse.

“It’s A Wonderful Life,” you replied, walking towards the Christmas stand to escape his magnetic aura, which somehow, you were still not immune to.

Steve grimaced. “Really? You don’t want something a little more, I dunno, lighthearted?”

“Do I look like I’m in a ‘lighthearted’ place, Harrington?” You bit.

“What’s going on?” He asked, pushing off the counter to come closer, his forehead creased with concern. “You can’t be this upset about spending a few days in Hawkins.”

“Nothing’s going on.” You turn towards the stand, pretending to peruse the options so he doesn’t see the moisture collect along your lashes.

“You think I can’t tell when you’re hurting?” He crossed his arms over his chest, giving you that stern dad look he’d mastered.

You sighed, wiping at your cheek with your scarf. “I was supposed to spend it with my boyfriend, but we broke up instead.” It all came tumbling out of you in a tearful rush. “Now I’m back in dead-end Hawkins with nothing to do by stare at the walls of my childhood bedroom, so I’m looking for a sad movie to wallow in my own misery. Is that okay with you, Officer Steve?”

He stared at you for a moment, dark eyes tracking a tear as it rolled down your cheek. “No, it’s not okay with me.” He grabbed It’s a Wonderful Life of the shelf and walked back to the counter. He rang up the film and dropped it into a bag, along with two boxes of your favorite candy, and a pack of red vines. “Your place or my apartment? My roommate’s cool, y’know, if you want a different view.”

You blinked, trying to piece together what was happening. “Steve, what—”

“Look, you can wallow all you want, but I’m not going to let you do it alone on Christmas.” He wiggled the bag at you. “You coming or not?”

“I—” Going back to Steve’s felt risky. You could still feel a thread of that physical connection with him, the vibration of your body so easily attuning to his. But, you were trying to reclaim who you were before your ex. Maybe being a little reckless was exactly what you needed. “Fuck it. Sure, let’s go to your place.”

He locked up the store and quickly led you through the frigid wind to his car, snow already accumulating on the hood and roof. He opened the door for you, having to tug hard to break the seal of ice, and gestured for you to slide in. The BMW was exactly as you remembered, with it’s dark interior and tinted windows, the smell of Steve embedded in every stitch.

You glanced at the backseat while he rounded the car, heat climbing your neck at the memories the two of you made across that bench seat.

Steve opened the door and you whipped your head forward, but you knew that he caught you, a small smile softening his face as he settled into the drivers seat. Thankfully, he didn’t rib you about it.

He cranked the heat and flipped on the windshield wipers, knocking the snow onto the ground with an umph. “Anything in particular you want to listen to?” He asked, fiddling with the tuning dial.

“Whatever CD you have in is fine,” you said, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “As long as it isn’t, like, Toto.”

He gasped, clutching his chest. “I can’t believe you think I listen to Toto.”

You snorted. “Well, you do listen to Duran Duran.”

“One time!” he argued.

“You had the CD in for a month!”

“Yeah, one month!”

You found yourself smiling, that glow of familiarity wafting over you. It was a little jarring that you felt more at home in the passenger seat of Steve’s car than you did at your actual home, but you could examine that later. For now, you just wanted to enjoy the ease of it. Steve always made everything feel so easy.

It was a trait of his you often resented, but only out of jealousy, and how much it made you miss his when he was gone.

God, you’d really missed him.

“How about this?” He asked, hitting play on the dash. “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me” by Night Ranger filtered through, the volume low.

“Acceptable choice, Harrington,” you replied, and he rolled his eyes.

“You’re worse than my friend Eddie,” he chuckled, placing his hand behind your headrest to check his blind spot before pulling out.

“Eddie? As in Eddie Munson?” You were baffled. Golden boy Steve Harrington was friends with Hawkins-reject Eddie Munson? What alternate reality had you stepped into?

“Yeah, why do you look so surprised?” He flicked your ear as he pulled his hand back to the wheel.

“Because!” You squeaked, batting his hand away. “You looked at a joint one time and nearly hurled. I just can’t see it.”

“Yeah, well. I’m a changed man,” he hummed, drumming his fingers onto he steering wheel as he navigated the empty streets, the snow falling in golden flurries from the headlights.

“I’m starting to gather.” You settled back into your seat, watching the familiar store fronts roll by and trying not to look at him.

“So, why’d you dump him?” Steve asked, never one to sit in silence for long.

“His cock was too big.”

Steve barked a laugh. “I find that hard to believe. You always were greedy—”

“Steve!” You gasped, smacking his arm as a embarrassment scorched your cheeks.

“What? We’re going to pretend that I didn’t fuck you after prom right there—”

“No, but, Christ!” You laughed, hiding your face in your scarf.

“Hey, you’re the one that brought up cocks.”

“My mistake,” you huffed, catching his eye as he glanced over at you, a cheeky grin crinkling his face.

“’Least it made you smile,” he said, turning into an apartment complex parking lot, full of potholes and poorly plowed snow. “Here we are, Chez Harrington.” He parked, hopped out of the car, and ran around the front to open the door for you.

You stuck your tongue out at him, teasing him for being so weirdly gentleman-ly. But as soon as you stepped out, your converse slid across a patch of black ice, sending you collapsing into his arms.

“Careful,” he chuckled, his face mere inches from yours. “It’s slippery.” He set you back on your feet and offered you his arm for balance. You begrudgingly accepted, not particularly keen on cracking your skull open a few days before Christmas.

“So who’s your roommate?” You asked as he lead you into the building.

“Robin Buckley,” he replied, fishing his key out of his pocket and letting you both into the heat-blasted lobby.

“Just how many new friends have you made?” You teased, still arm in arm as you walked to the elevator. You remembered Robin, you’d been in English together.

“Ah—” Steve glanced up like he was counting in his head. “A few.”

A stab of loneliness pierced through you. At one point, you’d had loads of friends too, never as many as Steve, of course, but a good group to call your own. But, in college, all of your friends had been your boyfriend’s first, and now…you’d fled to Hawkins, and had no idea if you’d have any friends to return to.

Your melancholy returned in earnest, soured further by the intrusive thought that Steve was only entertaining you because he felt bad for you, or worse, just wanted to get his dick wet. But, weren’t you using him for basically the same reasons? You thought you were, but then he’d been so Steve-like that you’d gotten caught up in your old banter, forgetting that gulf of months between you.

It hadn’t felt forced at all, and that made your heart rate quicken.

The elevator dinged open, jarring you from you reverie.

“Where’d you go?” Steve asked, nudging you inside. Christmas music played softly from the speaker, “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”, of course, and tears burned behind you eyes once again.

You just wanted Christmas to be over. All the manufactured joy made your hurt feel that much more real.

“Hey, c’mere.” Steve tugged you into his chest as the doors rolled closed, the elevator lifting off the ground with a mechanical groan.

You curled your hands into his sweater, breathing in his cologne and the lingering scent of saran-wrapped video store, and fought down the wave of emotion trying to choke you.

Steve’s hands rubbed up and down your back, his cheek resting on top of your head. “I’m sorry you’re having such a hard Christmas,” he murmured into your hair. “But you’re always welcome to hide away with me whenever you need to. Or want to.”

The doors dinged and you pulled away, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “Thanks, Stevie,” you sniffed.

The look on his face was so soft, you could barely stand it, his features turned down in worry, his brows furrowed just slightly. “C’mon, we gotta get those tears out somehow.” He grabbed your hand and led you down the hall, unlocking the door to his apartment. “Buckley?” He called, flicking on the lights in the kitchen. “Robin, you home?” He called again, walking into the tidy, but cluttered living room.

There were string lights stretched across the ceiling, and a pathetic little Christmas tree on the coffee table. Posters hung on every wall, with weird art and trinkets heaped onto bookshelves and hand-me-down furniture. Steve’s shoes were in a neat row by the door, and Robin’s were scattered everywhere, mixed up and turned around.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. The whole place screamed Steve, form the sports memorabilia, to the specific movie posters by the TV.

“Guess she’s out,” Steve said, coming back into the living room. “I’ll take your coat and scarf.” He extended a hand to you, and you kicked off you shoes before passing him your outerwear, suddenly remembering that you were wearing just a white turtleneck underneath, sans bra.

Steve’s seen your tits countless times. It’s fine, or so you told yourself.

To his credit, he kept his eyes firmly on your face, then walked back to what you assume is his room to set your things down. He returned a few moments later, dressed in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants.

“I set another pair of pajama pants on the bed if you wanted to, ah, get comfortable,” he said, reaching up to scratch the back of his head and gesturing to your jeans.

A flurry of butterflies tickled your insides. “Sure, thanks,” you said, slipping past him and into his bedroom.

The smell of him enveloped you once again, and you loosed a long exhale after closing the door behind you. His room was less decorated than the rest of the apartment, with just a few photos and posters on the wall, with a bookshelf by the door and his unmade bed up against the window.

You were seized with the desire to climb under his covers, wrap yourself in him, but you resisted.

Unable to help yourself, you snooped around his dresser. There, stuck to the mirror with a piece of scotch tape, was a Polaroid of you and Steve kissing at a party Senior year. He has you dipped low, his hand on your lower back, and your lips tingled at the memory.

As promised, pair of flannel sweatpants waited for you at the foot of the bed, along with a folded up sweatshirt. Your heart gave a painful thump when you realized what hoodie he’d selected. It was his grey Hawkins High hoodie, a faded, roaring tiger on the front and Harrington in bold letters on the back. It had been your favorite of his, one you would steal every chance you got.

You shimmied out of your jeans and pulled on the sweatpants, the fabric soft from wear and a handful of sizes too large. Then, you tugged the hoodie over your head, pausing to bury your face in the collar, breathing in the comforting scent.

When you emerged into the living room, you found him stretched out on the couch, bowls of candy and popcorn set up on the table, the movie’s home screen on the TV. All the lights were off, save the string lights and the Christmas tree, casting the room in a sleepy, warm glow that contrasted perfectly with the flurries of white just outside the window.

You resisted the urge to flop into his arms, and instead curled up on the opposite end of the couch, tucking a blanket around your legs. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but you pretended not to see it.

You didn’t trust yourself to touch him. If being wrapped up in his hoodie felt this magical, what would it feel like to be wrapped up in him?

“Ready?” He asked, pointing the remote.

You nodded, and he hit play.

You didn’t make it twenty minutes before you started crying again, real, hiccuping sobs that you’d been forcing down for over a week.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, gathering you and your blanket in his arms. “That’s it, y/n. You need a good cry, huh?” He laid back onto the couch and tucked you into his side, your legs tangled together, your head buried into his neck as you fell apart. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into your hair, and just held you tightly, a safe harbor to crash into.

He let you cry for awhile without question or complaint, letting you soak his shirt with tears, before he cupped your face, lifting your head to look at him.

“You are one of my most favorite people in the whole world,” he said matter-of-factly, spurring renewed tears. But he held your face firm and didn’t let you bury yourself back into his shoulder. “And you deserve all of the wonderful things in life. And anyone who doesn’t give that to you is a fucking idiot.”

“But he was wonderful,” you whimper, trembling in his hands as the truth finally forced itself from you. “He was everything I should have wanted, but I just…I couldn’t love him. And I couldn’t lie to him anymore either.”

“You can’t help who you love,” he said gently, wiping your cheeks and nose with a tissue. “You did the right thing.”

“But what’s wrong with me? I should have been able to—”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Steve said firmly, sitting up slightly to look down at your tear-streaked face. “You’re—” he sighed, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “You’re everything, y/n.”

“If nothing's wrong with me, then why do I feel so alone?” you murmur, voice watery and weak.

He leaned his forehead against yours, shaky breathes mingling in the warm air. You could feel his heart racing against yours “You were never alone. I was always right where you left me,” he breathed, his nose bumping yours. “All you had to do was call.”

You sat up, shoving him off of you. “Why didn’t you call, Steve?” You felt panicked, overwhelmed by the barrage of emotions waiting for your attention. Desire, guilt for feeling desire so soon after your breakup, fear of rejection, embarrassment for how quickly you were falling for his charm once again. Ashamed that you came here in the first place, and thrilled that you still had a place to go to.

“I—” Hurt shadowed his face. “You told me you were leaving for good. That you didn't want anything to do with Hawkins.” You jumped up and he stood with you, following you as you fled to the kitchen. “That you wanted a new life!”

“I didn't mean you, Steve!” You shouted, slamming your hands on the counter. “But you had everything. Friends, prospects, a family, Nancy,” you spit. “I had nothing here but you.” The confession slipped out before you had a chance to stop yourself, like the words had been waiting on the tip of your tongue, laying just beneath the surface.

Steve stared at you, baffled. “You think I didn't need you?” He asked, voice softening.

You shook your head, turning away so he didn't see you start to cry again.

His hands gripped your shoulders and you gasped when he spun you around, his head bent low to look you in the eye. “Y/n, you and I both know that I'm probably going to die in Hawkins. I'm not one of the ones that gets out.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but he didn't stop.

“But you. You wanted to get out, you did get out.” He shook you as if to punctuate his point. “And I've missed you like crazy. Every damn day. But I couldn't hold you back. I couldn't be the reason you stayed here.”

Your heart fractured at his words, that he thought he wasn't worth being someone's reason. That he would somehow hold you back from happiness.

He was your happiness. And you'd been too blinded by fantasies of escaping to see it. You'd told him your entire relationship, or whatever the hell it was, that you would never stay. That Hawkins wasn't good enough for you. And he’d heard that he wasn't good enough for you.

You did what was supposed to be “better”, what you thought you always wanted, and you were completely miserable.

“Steve, I—” you couldn't find the words to express what you were thinking, what you were feeling.

“Don't. Don't give me hope unless you really mean it.” His jaw clenched, honey brown eyes rimmed with red. “I let you go once, I can't—I can’t do it again.” He leaned his forehead against yours, releasing a shaky exhale.

It clicked then, why you wanted so badly to escape from Hawkins. Why you always kept Steve at arms length despite the way your soul twined with his. Why you couldn't make the relationship with your ex work.

You dreamed your entire life of fleeing, so you were terrified of what staying meant.

“Steve,” you murmured, placing your hands on his chest, his heart thumping wildly beneath your palms. “I don't want to run anymore.”

His heart beat impossibly faster, his muscles tensing.

“I want you. Wherever we are, whatever that means.” You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss the corner of his mouth. “Hawkins isn't my home. You are.”

Steve made a pained sound in his throat, then crashed his lips to yours, desperate and rough. You opened for him, his tongue delving between your lips to lick at your teeth, dance with your tongue, claiming every square inch of your mouth as his.

You'd shared countless kisses, but none were this fervid, this hungry. Gone was your playful, tender Stevie, and in his place stood a starving man ready to claim what was his.

Heat spilled through your body, your pussy throbbing with each stroke of his tongue. Your fingers found there way into his hair, drawing him closer, wishing you could open up your skin and let him crawl inside so you'd never be apart again.

You gasped for air, chest burning as he licked a stripe up your neck, latching onto your pulse point and sucking hard.

“Steve,” you whined, lifting your left leg and wrapping it around his waist so you could angle yourself closer. His hips immediately started grinding into yours, the hardness of him hitting your clit just right through his sweatpants.

“Goddamn, I missed you,” he groaned, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses over your neck, his hand sliding under his hoodie to feel your fevered skin.

It wasn't enough though, and he shifted to pull it over your head and tossing it across the kitchen, leaving you in your thin turtleneck.

“A turtleneck has literally never looked so sexy.” He dropped to his knees, his hot mouth finding your taut nipples through the fabric.

You moaned, head falling back as you carded your fingers through his thick hair, pulling him closer. His teeth grazed your sensitive points and you nearly collapsed onto him, the pleasure and pain rewiring your brain.

“So fucking perfect,” he hummed, biting at your outside of your left breast. His hands found the waist band of your pants, tugging them down and tossing them aside with your hoodie. “Jump up f’me,” he said, hands on your hips.

You did as you were told and he lifted you into the counter, your clothed pussy now level with his face.

“Steve,” you said, tilting his chin up to look at you. His eyes were on fire, wild with desire. “What if Robin comes home?”

“Lucky Robin,” he chuckled, voice raspy, and ducked out of your hold, his tongue laving a scalding stroke over your soaked panties.

“Ohh—shit, Stevie,” you loosed a pornstar-esque moan as he bathed your pussy with his tongue, sucking at the fabric and your clit. He finally pulled your panties aside, his tongue making direct contact with your puffy lips. You felt like you were vibrating out of your skin, the pleasure so intense you felt it in every pore, every follicle, every cell of your body.

He groaned, a euphoric sound, as he lapped at your entrance, his tongue delving inside the way he knew you liked.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration as he pulled back to bite at the meat of your thigh. “You taste even better than I remembered.”

You pulled at his hair, urging him back between your thighs, but he resisted, seeming to have let some the urgency ebb in favor of toying with you.

“What, honey? Your ex not take good care of my pussy?” He spread your sticky lips with his pointer and middle finger, exposing your swollen clit.

My pussy. A fresh swell of arousal pulsed through you at his words.

“No, never,” you whined, the ache between your legs growing unbearable as he studied you.

“Never?” He asked, looking up at you with his eyebrows raised. “He never ate you out?”

You shook your head, glancing away in shame.

“You poor thing,” he cooed, the tip of his tongue flicking over your exposed bundle and making your body jerk. “That why you're so squirmy, love?”

You nodded, biting your lips as he continued to slowly trace his tongue over you. “Please, baby. I need you,” you whimpered, lifting your hips to chase his mouth. “Please, Stevie. Please make me cum.”

You felt him smile against you, those brown eyes watching your face pinch with desperation, chest heaving.

“Since you asked so nicely…” He flattened his tongue against you and licked upwards, and you melted onto the counter, bliss rocking through you. The urgency from earlier returned, and he feasted on your cunt like it was the most delicious meal he'd ever had.

His tongue and teeth were everywhere, ratcheting you higher and higher with every nip, flick, and suck. You were on cloud nine, loudly singing his praises as he worshiped you with his tongue.

You felt that knot of pleasure tighten to the breaking point, hovering on the edge for less than a heartbeat before he sent you careening over the edge and into euphoria.

“Fuck, Steve!” You cried, your body convulsing as the orgasm ravaged through you. He was smiling again, lapping at the fresh honey spilling from you and holding you securely to the counter so you didn't slide off.

“There’s my girl,” he praised, licking his lips as he rose to his feet. “You look so fucking pretty like this.” He peppered kisses across your exposed neck, pulse fluttering just under the skin. “I almost feel bad for the guy. What kind of idiot wouldn't want to drown in you?”

You got your bearings, blinking away the stars in your eyes. “I even gave him head,” you chuckled, sitting up with a little assistance.

“I didn't need to know that.” He rolled his eyes, kissing you lightly, the taste of you lingering on his tongue.

“Are you jealous, baby?” You hummed, kissing along the curve of his neck.

“Duh.” His grip tightened on your thighs, head tipping slightly to give you better access.

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” You palmed his cock through his pants, licking his cheek to make him smile. “He wasn't nearly as pretty as you.”

“Of course not. Who is?” He joked, but his voice was rough with desire, his hips canting forward to rub against your hand.

“C’mon, pretty boy. Let's go to your room.”

He didn't need to be told twice. He scooped you up and practically ran to his room, flopping backwards onto the mattress with you still in his arms so you straddled him.

You leaned down and captured his lips in another kiss, quickly deepening it with a drag of your teeth on his lower lip. But before he could get too into it, you broke the kiss and shifted down his body, pushing up his shirt to kiss along his torso.

He moaned, propping himself up his elbows to watch you through heavy lids. You licked along his hip bone, making his cock kick against your chest.

“Shirt off,” you ordered, and he quickly obliged, tossing it to the end of the bed. “So handsome, Stevie,” you cooed, pausing to admire his more muscular build, though he was still quite lean. You couldn't help but lean forward and press some kisses along his happy trail and the hair across his chest, loving the masculine look and feel of him.

You kissed back down his body, settling on your knees between his legs. He watched with rapt attention as you pulled his sweatpants down and freed his weeping cock. It bounced up, slapping him in the stomach and smearing pearly precum against his skin.

It was just as pretty as your remembered, more length than girth, with a rose petal flush and pronounced veins.

You licked up the mess he’d made, kissing around his shaft while it nudged at your cheek.

“Baby,” he whined, smoothing a hand over your hair. “Quit teasing me.”

You smirked and licked a long stripe up the root of him, earning a throaty cry. You let your instincts take over, remembering every sensitive place and technique that made him unravel while you worked his cock with your tongue, doing everything but taking him fully into your mouth.

“Holy fucking—baby, you're killing me.” His hips bucked up against you, desperate to be wrapped in the heat of your body. “Mmmph, that feels unreal.”

You glanced up at him, finding his head thrown back, his eyes screwed shut. A flush had spread across his chest, a dewy sheen over his skin.

Satisfied that you'd tortured him long enough, you took his cock in your mouth, swallowing him in a fluid motion. You only reached about three-quarters of the way down before your throat protested, though he acted like you swallowed him all the way to his soul.

“Fuuuuck, y/n,” he moaned, gripping you tighter as you bobbed up and down, hallowing your cheeks. “You suck him this good?” He asked, taking over your motions and lifting and lowering you on his cock.

You shook your head as best you could, drool dribbling down your chin.

“Good,” he rasped, releasing you so you could return to your own rhythm.

You reached up and wrapped one of your hands around the base, stroking him in time with your mouth. He fell back onto the mattress, throwing an arm over his face, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

“Baby, you're gonna make cum if you keep that up,” he warned, fisting the sheets with his free hand. “F-fucking shit.”

You finally eased off him, the demanding ache between your legs too much to ignore. You needed him inside you. Now.

Apparently on the same page, he wasted no time grabbing you by the waist and tossing you back onto the bed. He climbed up between your legs, his hands braced on either side of your head. His cock was nestled against your sloppy center, drooling and hot to the touch.

He leaned down and kissed you, sweet and chaste considering you were just gagging on his cock. “This what you want?” He asked, pulling back to look into your eyes.

It felt like he wasn't just asking about the sex.

“More than anything,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He smiled and kissed you again, one of his hands reaching down to line himself up with your entrance. Breaking the kiss, you buried your face into the safety of his neck as his slid into you, your thoroughly aroused pussy accepting him with ease.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he murmured into your hair pressing soothing kisses to the top of your head. “You were ready for me, huh? So wet and soft—god—fuck.” His voice broke as you rolled your hips against him, his length gliding through you.

You threw your head back, crying out when he snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. He eased out, slow and steady, before slamming home again, knocking every thought from your mind.

“I remember how you like it, honey. Want me to fuck you stupid?” He asked, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

“Yes, God, yes,” you moaned, already swept up in the current of pleasure.

“I got you, pretty girl. Just relax.” He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead before reaching up to grip the headboard. He doubled his pace, rutting into you at a rate that made you see stars, your body completely surrendering to him.

With Steve, you didn't have to think. You didn't have to doubt. You could just let go and trust that he would have you.

He fucked you hard, sliding his hand between you to pet your clit the way you loved, slow and soft in comparison to the brutality of his thrusts. He could play you like an instrument, and it drove you fucking wild.

“Fuck, baby. Look at you, already a wreck for me. Does that feel good, honey?” He mouthed into the skin of your neck, breath hot and panting.

You keened when he changed the angle of his hips, hitting the terrible, magical spot inside you. Your orgasm was coming on fast, your whole body trembling as it wound higher and higher.

“I wanna feel you come around my cock, that's it. Good fucking girl—fuck!” Your and Steve’s orgasms collided, sucking the air out of the room and sending you both reeling. Bodies clinging to one another as he fucked you threw it, your pussy baring down hard on his pulsing cock.

“Fuck, I love you,” he panted, collapsing on top of you, sweaty and warm and trembling. “I love you,” he repeated, like he was a little stunned the words came out of his mouth.

You wrapped your limbs around him, his softening cock notching a bit deeper, making you both gasp. “I love you too,” you whisper, hardly believing that those words were finally coming out of your mouth after so many years.

You were so full. So full of him, of love, of excitement for what this meant. Suddenly, Christmas sounded magical again.

You lay together in a tangle of limbs, just breathing and feeling one another, basking in the honeyed afterglow.

“Merry Christmas,” he hummed, sounding almost drunk.

“Merry Christmas.” You kissed his temple, feeling your eyes start to grow heavy.

Ring ring!

“Gah, fuck,” Steve huffed, reluctantly shoving off of you and pulling on some sweatpants.

Ring ring!

He padded out into the kitchen and you followed him, wrapping a quilt around your naked body and giggling at the irritated look on his face.

“Go for Steve,” he answered, and you had to cover your mouth to suppress a laugh.

“Go for Steve? Really? That's embarrassing.” A female voice drifted through the speaker. Robin, you presumed. “Have you eaten yet?”

Steve smirked at you, running his tongue over his teeth. “Not dinner, no. Why?”

“Of course dinner. Do you want pizza, or—oh God, ew. Don't ever speak to me like that again.” Robin was quiet for a beat. “Does that mean Santa brought y/n home?”

Your jaw dropped, and Steve flushed scarlet.

“Pizza sounds great! Peppers and onions, extra sauce. Thanks, Rob!” Steve slammed the phone into the receiver.

You slinked towards him, sliding your hands up his bare chest while he tried to avoid your eyes, pink staining his cheeks. “Stevie?”

“Hm?”

“Did you ask Santa for me?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I may have asked a mall Santa at the bar while I was drunk. Maybe.”

You grinned, affection melting your heart, and grabbed his face to peck his warm cheek. “And you remembered my pizza order,” you cooed, nuzzling him.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you, or whatever.” He murmured, catching your lips in a smiling kiss.

“I love you too, Harrington.”

Thanks for reading!

I'm still open for holiday requests, so feel free to send your ideas my way!