#friend breakups

[lesbianmariuspontmercy]

losing a friend

new year's day - taylor swift // the banshees of insheerin dir. martin mcdonagh // dykeyphantom // it dir. andy muschietti // thanksgiving 2006 - ocean vuong // the frost - mitski // inkskinned // seven - taylor swift // good omens 1x04 dir. douglas mackinnon // it - stephen king // empty chairs at empty tables - les miserables (musical)

[inthepoemsandthesands]

linear

i wish healing was linear

so i could point to a date on the calendar and say,

"this is when i will be over you"

so that every time i see you does not feel

like a dagger twisting under my ribs

before i quickly walk away

if healing was linear then i wouldnt still have dreams

dreams where you apologize and come back

we can't be friends again for so many reasons

but my inner subconscious doesn't seem to know that

you turned a month into a wound

how am i supposed to make it through september

past your birthday

when for four years i texted you at midnight

now i cry when you open your mouth

one hour i am fine i tell myself that i am okay

that things are getting better

later i am crying to her because i miss you,

even after everything

i hate you more for that

[vizthedatum]

It all still bothers me, so I am writing about it again.

I keep going between empathic compassion and resentment for a past ex-friend. How do I forgive myself and them?

It doesn't matter now anyway - I don't want them back in my life, and I don't think they would want to be my friend either after I told them all the ways I felt disrespected by them, criticized their primary partnership (I think I'm really not okay with some of the things I've heard and witnessed), criticized how they treat their friends, and other judgemental remarks. Yeah I was very upset.

I think I felt really unheard in that friendship (and we dated for a brief period of time - right around the time of my breakup with my ex-spouse - what a whirlwind).

I infodumped on them a lot - I really wanted to trust them. We were both neurodivergent and I thought they liked to talk? They didn't tell me their boundaries with the quantity of information sharing until I started bringing up stuff that I felt hurt by towards the end of the friendship - it just sucks because they told me that they loved paragraph texting before we began to do that with each other.

The friendship was full of contradictions.

And I honestly think they didn't understand me, which doesn't mean they were a bad person.

I just thought I could trust them? But our perceptions of things were so different, and I don't think I can really forgive them for not taking me as seriously as they should have when I separated from my ex-spouse. We were dating, I filed a PFA, and they stayed social media friends with my ex (who they weren't close to at all!) until my ex started talking about taking a trip (then my ex-friend realized my ex was full of bullshit about covid precautions and stuff). To be honest? They put me at legal risk - and it felt like an emotional betrayal.

--

This is edited for privacy, but last summer, I wrote down reasons why I felt emotionally uncomfortable continuing with the friendship, regardless of their intentions (which I think were maybe neglectful and not malicious? my other friend thinks it was more purposeful): (

This is phrased as a letter to them - a letter I didn't send; I just chose to try to converse with them, and then I chose not to meet up to talk about it all and ended the friendship.

I also acknowledge that a lot of this was written during a summer when I was going through a very serious healing phase, the finalization of my divorce, the almost death of one of my friends, etc.

Before I ended the friendship, they did provide their perspectives but it didn't really change how hurt I felt, nor did I understand if they wanted me in their life or not - I didn't feel like I was valued or understood.

) --

Dear [Name of ex-friend],

I value our friendship and want to maintain it. I’ve been gaining more clarity, especially after moving apartments. I love talking to you, but I think I talk to you too much.

I acknowledge that I emotionally dump on you a lot. You have supported me a lot. You validate me, and you’re there for me. I love being your friend. Thank you for hanging out with me and coming to my bday party and all of it. Seriously.

But I think I’m “too much” for you.

In my gut, I do not feel emotionally safe with you anymore, and I need to listen to myself. Even if I’m wrong. This is so hard for me.

There are a lot of things that I kind of swept under the rug while we were casually dating and/or just talking. I think you’re beautiful and extremely attractive, but it was very hard for me to be sexual with you or motivated to perform. I felt like I didn’t truly have an inkling of what you wanted, you were very stoned/dissociated, and it puzzled me to dom you. I have a lot of kink experience in both good and not-so-good relationships, but I truly did not feel desired (at least to my standard). It hurt me, and I felt rejected. Sexual emptiness makes a huge dent in my mind, and I’m not going to delude myself into the fake resilience of saying it doesn’t. I can get over it with time, but I should not have been sexual with you. I fuck to have fun (but more to connect) but also I need people to be real with me or the sex isn’t fun.

I also cannot get over the following observations:

On our last date, you visibly and audibly sneered (and told me something like “there’s a lot I don’t know about you”) when I told you about a recovered memory of a rape that happened when I was young. I don’t know if you remember it differently, but that type of response was highly inappropriate. (I only brought it up because we were talking about the context of the trauma I just experienced and because we were talking about mutual memory recovery processes with our respective trauma)

You act wildly different online than in person (and then even differently in groups). I chalk it up to anxiety, trauma, and autism - but I think you're masking your discomfort. I cannot trust you to tell me how you actually feel.

You were at least Instagram friends with [ex-spouse] until they mentioned something about going to LA - which means you didn't unfriend them when I told you and everyone else it was domestic violence. And… you and I were fucking dating so what the actual fuck.

You freaked out far more than anyone else did when you read my PFA statement. I wish you had set a boundary with me instead of trying to help me.

You agreed to go with me to one of my medical appointments, but it was so clear that you were uncomfortable with it. The only way I got you to admit that you didn't want to go was when I started telling you what my procedure entailed - I saw you go pale (which I knew you would) and retract your offer (which you shouldn't have even offered). It was so rude.

I think it got weird btwn [name of frustrating person for other reasons], you, and me. You choose to be in that relationship despite both of y'all's attachment issues (I admit that I also have toxic attachment issues). You are frequently not fulfilled by their lack of reciprocity. I was never jealous. It is so confusing. You are one of the only people I can talk to about them… and despite you saying that you don't divulge my thoughts/processing about them (of which there are a lot) to them - I think you have. I do not believe you.

[My other ex] laughed in my face when I told them something I wanted to do with you, and while they're too chicken-shit to explain themselves, I think I know why now.

You accepted the end of our sexual relationship way too easily. It is one thing to accept my new boundaries (which, yeah, you should) - but we didn't actually talk about any of the stuff that came up. AND you didn't really apologize for your behavior. I was going through shit, and I had to emotionally take care of you. I wish you had just left or not come at all if you couldn’t deal. I also felt like you made me out to be sexually pushy - and I was trying my utmost best not to be sexual because I saw how uncomfortable you were. I honestly wanted to pause the movie and kick you out of the apartment. Our last date was so fucked up that I couldn't sleep and cried the whole night after. All my partners do not treat me like that - they can either put up a boundary or understand how I’m feeling… and realize that my trauma does not define who I am.

This is on me, but I honestly went on sexual abstinence in December because I felt like you would judge me if I didn’t. My psychiatrist said I didn’t have to - and it was really messing with me. I felt like you didn’t want to have sex with me because of my trauma which is really hypocritical but fine. Valid. But also I feared your emotional energy if I told you I was sexual with other people. Even when I sent you sexy pictures, I felt like you wrote it off. The way you approach sexuality brings up my inner slut-shaming triggers. Sigh.

You got triggered when I crashed at your place after I left my ex, and then you couldn't let me stay there even though you had the room. It is valid to do what you did - but we were dating, you told me that night that I put you into sub-space while we were making out which I didn't intend to do (and I think you only told me that because you were personally uncomfortable with my situation), you knew that I was desperate, I felt like you wrote me off as too traumatized to help/be intimate with/be around/idk (just tell me!), you were scared to help, you didn't actually help… you didn't support me (other than emotionally supporting me through messaging - which I don't actually know if you want to do). And many of my other friends did. I could be real with them, and they didn’t view me differently.

You (along with [other ex-partner]) did not contribute one cent to my gofundme - and you financially could have. While I can manage - I seriously needed the support at that time. I would have paid you back.

It feels like you judge me when I tell you about my sexual partners and exploits - and I can tell. Please tell me I'm wrong. I really want you to tell me and prove I'm wrong.

I feel judged in general. I really do. I feel like you mock me for how I am, and I don’t know exactly why I feel this way, but I do.

My new boundaries:

No touching or hugging at all.

You cannot come into my home until I say so.

We can hang but outside of our homes - I do genuinely want to hang out with you.

No spellwork that involves me at all - not even a cord cutting. I do not trust your energy.

Lets not talk about our partners or sexual dalliances anymore (apart from: “I’m busy with so and so”).

I cannot talk about [frustrating person's name who probably didn't understand that they were talking to two autistic traumatized people] with you anymore - it is putting me back. I am not jealous of what both of you have - and I really hope it fulfills you both. I deserve more than what they can offer, and I also feel like you don’t really emotionally grasp how hard all of it was for me. It was fun and fantasy, yes, but it was also meaningful emotionally for me (despite their lack of reciprocity and my toxic chasing attitude).

We can text and emotionally support each other about our lives but I will not text back during work hours (roughly 7-5 during wknds) or when I have partner-time unless it’s an emergency.

What are your thoughts? What are your boundaries?

Sincerely, [My name]

[wastedpurity]

had this stunningly realistic dream where my old friend group and i hugged…so poetically somber

i think i just miss the intimacy proximity provides and am still mourning the ending of these friendships

also i was even a dick to one of my said dream friends—did dream them deserve it, a little

[honestlytrulytired]

damn i think i really lost two friends because they’re set on voting for Kamala

[hopelessvalentines]

“you’re my best friend, now i’ve got no one to tell i’ve lost my best friend.”

….

[ethicallysourcedhumanmeat]

I don't know man like it feels like something simply irrevocably wrong with me. Every relationship platonic or otherwise with a person who cared enough to talk with me first always ends like this and no matter how hard I try. Like I simply cannot make people feel like I care about them. I do not know how to communicate and verbally expressing my feelings to people come off as disingenuous.

They're trying so hard to not hurt my feelings but it's impossible to not feel fucking broken that the person who basically saved my life feels like a prop in my life.

And like it's not just them, its not them being unfair or fake or whatever. I'm not defensible in this situation because this is like every close friend I've ever had has ended up feeling this way, every person I have ever dated has felt this way.

I have tried to deal with it in therapy but I don't see results, I get told its not a problem its just not finding the right people but while some (my ex) were definitely not good people with good faith actions others, like this person, are people who genuinely care and are there for me.

I feel pathetic, like I'm begging them to give me another chance, but I dont know how to explain without it appearing manipulative or making /them/ feel bad that if i cannot fix this communication error then I don't think I will ever be able to have a meaningful relationship with anyone ever.

like their reasoning comes out to our communication styles are too different and its difficult for me to fulfill their emotional needs/wants so our friendship has become onesided. These are things we've discussed and I've tried to fix and its not translated at all.

so there's like the conundrum of, if we do try to fix it and discuss the ways to respond that make them feel heard is that in turn going to exacerbate the issue bc they feel pandered to rather than listened to?

I just really hate that like, they're the 'wronged' party in this situation will have to do the legwork of teaching me to communicate with them. My intent didn't translate and they suffered because of it, but because my attempts to correct this on my own failed if they decide we can try again the brunt of the emotional labor feels like it falls on them

I dunno, it sucks and it hurts that the only person I've every felt actually knows me can't decide if our friendship is salvageable and it's both not my fault because we just communicate too diffrently and 100% my fault because I wasn't capable of communicating my intent. And it extra sucks that if they give me another chance it feels like them taking on more work in the relationship

[lovelorngirl]

anyway, don't be a stranger

p.s. i still wait for you

[poempoetryandmore]

i think i‘ll always love you

even if its just a little bit

ten years from now a piece of my heart will still beat for you

maybe its the curiosity of ,what if‘

or maybe its the emptiness speaking

but nomatter why,

i‘ll always love you

[peace-hunter]

important context: they found him moping over a picture of him and d-16 at 1AM :/ gotta lay down some of that collective wisdom when needed and they're Not enabling bad taste ://

haunted au

[writingthethoughtsaway]

“I believed you even when I knew you were lying.”

- S. C. C.

[leosdooley]

KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER.

when i grow up i want to be a list of further possibilities, chen chen // the picture of dorian gray, oscar wilde // the worm kings lullaby, richard siken // limer3ence // bleuts, maggie nelson // tonight i can write, pablo neruda // the crucible, arthur miller // when i grow up i want to be a list of further possibilities, chen chen // untitled, margaret schnabel // waiting room, phoebe bridgers

[vizthedatum]

The worst part of neurodivergent-neurodivergent relationships is when we can't see eye-to-eye. Does this happen to other people?

Most of my friends have always been neurodivergent - it took me a long time to notice that my friend group ended up being that way time and time again. It has been a source of comfort... but when we can't see eye-to-eye, it feels so miserable.

And due to my trauma, I'll admit that I've been severely disappointed that people couldn't "just see things from my perspective and how dare they hurt me like that" and stuff. I'm trying to work on that - everyone has their own perspective. At this point in my life, I expect people in my life to work on their empathy, emotional regulation, and clear/transparent communication on their own... and then we can talk about how we feel with each other. I wish more people would step back when they feel the need to be aggressive towards someone they love when they feel so strongly about something.

I expect self-awareness and respect from my friendships. Everyone is going through struggles, but I am DONE being abused even if I did something wrong. I can work on repairing or trying to approach things in a different way, but I also expect better communication and respect.

If you have an issue with me, say it to my face AFTER you make the decision NOT to purposefully tear me down emotionally/physically. I need empathetic conflict resolutions - not full-blown abusive fights.

:/

I lost a friend today. It was a mutual decision towards the end - even though she did break up with me first out of anger. I believe it's because of misaligned expectations - and she went into an emotionally abusive tirade against me. I cannot tolerate any more emotional abuse, especially when it's malicious and aggressive. I, of course, get that people get hurt and disappointed... I think that's different. My past self would have blamed myself a lot and fawned. I wish I did things different - I'm sorry let me fix everything - I'm sorry I couldn't read your mind - I'm horrible. But I wasn't horrible. I did the best I could given that situation. I would have been okay if she could express her anger/frustration/grief/etc. about our situation instead of straight-up insulting my transness, my identity, my friends, my ex-spouse, my partner, etc.

This whole year (as is typical for people trying to heal from narcissistic abuse), I've been reevaluating the connections in my life. I've broken up a lot of friendships because I'm really getting in touch with how I feel/felt and if those friendships were mutually beneficial to our health/life/journey. I can love someone, and they can love me... but that doesn't mean that a friendship or relationship will always work.

I'm learning how to interact with people again while:

unmasking and learning how to embrace my own personal autistic traits in a world that does not cater to those traits

integrating the traumatized parts of myself

learning - I am always learning about the world and about myself

coming out as trans and figuring out what that means to me. I feel like I come out every day now.

fucking up majorly. I am not perfect, and I do mess up. I *have* been the asshole in relationships due to a lack of self-awareness and a lot of ignorance and immaturity. My feelings do get in the way. I can take accountability for that.

I am proud of myself. I know I'm protecting myself. I can see how much I've grown. I deserve friendships where people can communicate and set boundaries accordingly. I get that people disappoint each other. I get that my behavior is disappointing sometimes. I accept that not everyone has to get along - and it doesn't have to be ugly if people don't align.

[smolkooks]

incoming call... (part ii) - kenji sato

a/n: roughly 2k more words of kenji sato fluff! sequel to 'incoming call...' link to part i

ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚

“ouch!”

you snickered, “ken, i told you not to get too close! she doesn’t like strangers,” you leant down to scratch the little kitten’s cheeks, and because she knew you and you were undoubtedly her best friend, she purred in contentment, all the while giving kenji sato an irritated glare.

the nickname—ken—slipped off your tongue smoothly, the same way you’d been saying it for the past few months that you’d been spending around your highschool sweetheart. even though you’d been apart for so many years and hadn’t seen each other for so long, it had been easy to slip back into an old rhythm.

“fuck, i didn’t know she’d actually bite me, she looks so tiny,” he hissed, shaking his reddened finger.

“size means nothing when it comes to animals,” you retorted, and despite the way you rolled your eyes, you still handed him an ice pack from your freezer, “take this, big baby.”

he huffed but took it anyway, pressing it to his injury.

it had become a bit of a routine—after his games, he’d come over to your clinic to visit you while you handled the late-night clean ups. the rest of the vet team headed home at closing, but with no kids or family to care for, you often spent your evenings here, keeping the animals company and handling some of the extra paper work. 

“how’s emi doing, by the way?” you said as you refilled some of the water bowls. most of the animals were sleeping at this time, but you still liked to make sure they were all fed and watered. in fact, it was better to do it while they were asleep—less whinging from the little babies for treats.

“she’s doing well,” he said, and it was his turn to roll his eyes as he leant against the bench, “attitude and all, as always.”

“she’s a teenage girl,” you said with a laugh, “it’s so normal. i was one, so i can affirm.”

“mhm,” he said, eyes gleaming, “i remember.”

it was weird, toeing this line with kenji sato. so long ago, you’d been each other’s universes and after separating to go to university, the two of you had been sucked into different orbits—him going into baseball in the states, and you pursuing veterinary medicine in australia. it almost felt like fate nudging you, having the two of you run into each other—back in japan all these years later.

saving you from responding, his phone rang at that very moment. being around kenji all these weeks had gotten you used to his late night calls—how he’d have to run off to take care of the city. but this call seemed to come from one of his teammates, with the familiar way he addressed the person on the other side of the line.

he’d told you that at first he didn’t have any friends here, too busy to do anything but work. but now, he’d grown close to plenty of his teammates and of course, he had you.

“yeah well, i’m kinda busy right now actually...why?” you overheard him say as you busied yourself with some clean up and tried not to look like you were eavesdropping, “oh...oh! yeah uh—what?! what the...” his change in tone piqued your interest.

“...right, thanks for telling me, i’ll call you back later, yuta. thanks...” he hung up, and turned sharply to you, meeting your awaiting gaze, “the press caught you, uh, getting into my car.”

you frowned, confused at the problem with that, considering it wasn’t at all illegal for kenji to have friends.

“they’re blowing it up,” he said, running a hand through his hair and messing it up again, “i...i don’t mind, but i don’t want it to hurt you, that’s all.”

you waved his concerns off, “it’s whatever, to me. as long as it doesn’t harm your reputation, i don’t really have a public image to maintain. my patients don’t care who i date or don’t date.”

date? you felt flustered the moment those words left your lips. even though the two of you had been getting closer again and flirting and doing things that one would do while dating, neither of you had clarified the boundary yet.

kenji seemed equally as flustered and didn’t address what you’d said, not wanting to embarrass you, “you’re right,” he smiled crookedly, and you returned one back despite your racing heart.

***

the moment you stepped into your mum’s house, you were bombarded.

“what’s this about you dating kenji again!” she exclaimed, shutting the door behind you and ushering you into your childhood living room, “i haven’t seen that boy in decades. and since when were you—,”

“what, mum?” you cut her off sharply, even as she shoved you into a chair and poured you hot tea, sitting down opposite you eagerly, “i’m not dating him? plus, where’d you even—,”

she shoved the article in your face before you could even finish the question, her phone screen so bright that it took your eyes a second to adjust. “mum, your phone’s so bright, it can’t be good for your eyes.”

“not important, y/n,” she snapped hurriedly, “look at it.”

blinking your eyes to focus, you finally saw the image clearly. it really did look like you were dating. the window of kenji’s porsche was wound down, and you were leant over towards him, pressed so close to him in a way you didn’t remember doing, even though you knew that you’d only been reaching over to grab the gum from his glovebox. the way he was looking at you, though—you hadn’t noticed in the moment. it was really full of adoration, eyes glittering with a love you remembered so clearly from your highschool days, and his arm was reached out around you in a way you also hadn’t noticed before.

“explain,” your mum demanded, although she didn’t seem annoyed, she seemed...quite excited, the way her eyes were suspiciously bright, “i miss seeing that lovely boy around.”

embarrassed, especially as your eyes scanned over the headline—baseball star kenji sato’s new sweetheart?!—you stuttered, “uh, i ran into him a few weeks ago and we’ve been hanging out, you know, at the clinic.”

“well, then, what are you doing in his car?” she rushed, waving her phone around again, “doesn’t look like the clinic to me. and look—,” she scrolled down a bit further to another picture, this one even more incriminating.

it was you, tucked in the audience of one of kenji’s baseball games, dressed in his team colours, cheering amongst the other vip guests sitting amongst you—friends and family of the players.

“well—,”

“i’m not hearing it,” she cut you off, a grin breaking out, “you’re bringing him over! i can’t believe it—my daughter and kenji, reunited,” she sighed happily, “i was worried you would never settle down, you know.”

flustered, you didn’t even bother to object, sagging in your seat at her insistence.

***

“y/n, i’m really sorry, i didn’t think it’d be that bad,” he said hurriedly as he followed you up the stairs to your apartment, “i’m really sorry. i’m trying to get them to take it down but you know how—,”

you whirled around as you shut the door to your apartment after letting him in, “my mum wants to see you.”

“huh?”

you sighed, switching on the lights and throwing yourself onto your couch, “she saw the article and couldn’t stop going on about how i was finally settling down and how she needed to see you again.”

he ran a hand through his hair, “you...don’t mind?”

“kenji,” you sat up straight, beckoning him over, “i don’t mind. and i wouldn’t mind...”

the silence was loud, the only sound in the room the quiet humming of your lights and the traffic outside, as he sat down beside you, sinking into the cushions.

you knew you didn’t have to finish your sentence. kenji sato knew you too well. he met your eyes and pulled you close, hugging you to his chest. you breathed in his scent—clean, and a little tinted with fish. you’d found out that he often had to go fishing—diving, more like—for emi’s dinners, and that was why he was so often around your apartment block...to fish in the river like a weirdo.

“y/n...”

you hummed, waiting for him to continue as you pressed your face into his chest.

“i really meant it when i said i missed you, back when we first saw each other again,” he began, and you smiled into his skin, “i was so lonely. drained, and it was like fate—seeing you that day saved me, i swear. you were all i could think about. i couldn’t...i couldn’t imagine never seeing you again.”

“kenji,” you murmured, leaning back to look at him earnestly, “i missed you, too.”

“what i’m trying to say is,” he swallowed, looking down before looking up to meet your gaze again, “i...i wanna date you, y/n. if you’ll have me,” suddenly shy, he flushed a bit at his own words.

you smiled at how sweet it was, how shy he seemed and also how your stomach fluttered with butterflies, “ken, of course i’ll have you. you’re all i want.”

you’d barely finished your sentence when his lips met yours in a gentle, soft kiss. you couldn’t really put it into words, how it felt to kiss kenji again after all these years. it felt like coming home. it felt like taking all the colours of the sunset and smearing it across a canvas. it felt like drinking warm milk tea. you hummed into the kiss as he deepened it, pulling you closer by the nape of your neck, and you reached up to tangle your hands in his dark locks, pulling him down towards you at the same time.

you were so close to him you could feel his heartbeat—almost hear it, and you hoped he couldn’t hear how quickly yours was racing. he tasted of caramel, and you couldn’t help but sigh as his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you onto his lap as you broke apart from the kiss, curling into him in a hug.

“y/n,” he murmured, keeping his arms wrapped around you, “i really, really missed you.”

you’d missed him too. his little habits, his dishevelled hair—fish smell, and all. you’d missed him more than anything.

finally, you’d come home.

[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part i : you were mine but—

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤🩵

Arguably the sharpest knife in his chest about this whole fucking shitshow?

Eddie thought they were doing good.

Like: so fucking good.

Eddie thought they were on the cusp of…that they were building something.

He’s such an idiot. Such a…

A heartsick fucking idiot.

But if he’s gracious—which he’s not, least of all to himself—when he puts all the pieces together, lines the evidence up and analyzes it, thinks of it in terms of a narrative that he can understand and recognize the flaws in, where he’d rewrite the ending or tweak the rising action so everything slides into place realistically, cause and effect in balance just right: Eddie can see that the way this has all shaken out is fucked up. So, so fucked up.

Because there honestly hadn’t been any signs that they weren’t laying the foundations of something long-term, something lasting; that they weren’t in this deep and rooted, strong and committed and serious in a real, tangible way, and, just…

Forever. Eddie was…he was playing for keeps, here. He thought, he just, he thought—

Fuck.

He just…really believed he wasn’t alone in it all.

Again: idiot.

It’d started so fucking predictably, really, because if there’s one thing that Eddie clocked about Steve Harrington from the get-go of actually getting to know him versus operating on the popular-gorgeous-jock framework he’d distilled the guy down to in his head before 1986: the one consistent thing he’d figured from what he’d heard and what he’d seen put together was that: Steve Harrington?

Bastard’s protective to a fucking fault.

So when he blinked back to the land of the living with Steve goddamn Harrington at his bedside? Standing guard, looking a little haggard—like he cared, at least enough to worry—but still fucking devastatingly pretty, good god-

When he woke up to that, Eddie was surprised and also: not at all surprised.

The way he lit up when he saw Eddie was conscious, like world was less before that moment and something right slid back into place? Eddie…Eddie felt like his body was pretty wholly broken but that fucking cracked something down his middle, decimated parts of him in new ways that hadn’t been already devastated on another plane, were sitting ripe for wholesale ruin.

He’d let Steve blame the breathiness that’d overcome him on coming back from the brink of death, because Steve didn’t need to know the sensations, the emotions, that were running riot through Eddie’s veins.

But then it hadn’t stopped.

Steve standing guard at his side became a constant, like Eddie couldn’t quite comprehend save that it felt like his body was knitting itself around the fact of this more-than-good dude and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that, save kind of just…poke curiously at the new shape of everything he was for it, and once he worked through the fear of the unfamiliar in it?

To kinda…savor it. Roll around in it and relish.

Probably it was gonna be short lived anyway. Probably it was gonna go away when Eddie finally got out of here. Only made sense to soak it up while it lasted.

And it was one of those early days, where Eddie was soaking it up and before anything possible beyond the bubble of middle-space they were existing in inside Eddie’s hospital room was even hinted at. Steve had gone to check on Max while Eddie grappled a bit to look down at himself a little better under the handkerchief that the hospital deemed sufficient as clothing, and he braced for the worst because it felt like the worst and what he did remember at all from the scene of the inter-dimensional mauling definitely aligned with being ‘the worst’: but it was honestly mostly bandages and pain.

Eddie didn’t…on second thought he didn’t know if he was ready to see what was underneath just yet, so he was actually kinda grateful that his hubris about it all didn’t immediately have a chance to floor him, especially when he was alone because he’d thought it’d be easier to stomach if it was just him—but the prospect, the bullet dodged, lodged in his throat and proved him kinda instantly wrong for the sharp cut of bile rising in him, and the violent jump of his pulse right behind it.

His hand had gravitated to his chest, though, like he could keep his heart from cracking his ribs that way, and he noticed that…even the light pressure ached, so he looked down a little more carefully, didn’t think the little fuckers had concentrated their attacks on the center of his chest so he tucked his chin and tried to see what was causing the sting—maybe just like, general area tenderness after playing buffet table to fucking…flying hellspace rodents but—

No. No: even from this weird-ass uncomfortable angle, Eddie could see the outline, coukd make out the dark stain of a bruise.

In the shape of a hand.

And listen, Eddie wasn’t foolish. He knew that everyone busted ass to get him topside and to a hospital. And that probably involved…stuff he didn’t want to really dwell on too long in terms of the nitty-gritty of his own mortality. He was also very much aware that Steve had played a crucial role, even if the man himself didn’t stand up and declare it. The kids didn’t have any sense of a fucking filter, so.

Eddie knew.

But Eddie then started tracing the splay of fingers on his sternum, his heartbeat so fucking heavy under even just the brush of his nails as he followed the outline of the purpling over, and over, and over, imagined what it would take to make that kind of an impression on his skin because Eddie was fucking pale, yeah, he marked quick—but not that dark.

Not that deep.

“Shit.”

Eddie’d startled, snapped his attention to the doorway where Steve had reappeared, looking a little breathless as he took Eddie in, came quick to his side and leaned to look closer at the monitor next to him and oh: Eddie hadn’t realized that the beeping was so loud, so fast. Hadn’t realized his heartbeat had ratcheted up quite so high.

Not that he was surprised.

“Shit, are you okay,” Steve barely breathed, eyes so goddamn big about it as his hands had kinda hovered, as he’d tried to figure out what to do, how to help, because that was what he was always doing; that’s who he was to his core, and Eddie…

“Oh god, let me call the nu—”

“Don’t.”

Eddie’d half-moaned it, god: scratchy but desperate as he reached for Steve’s hand and he…

He suspected he knew exactly how big that hand was; what shape it’d make to a fucking T. But he needed to see

For sure.

“What are you,” Steve’s brow had furrowed in that way Eddie was becoming increasingly aware he wanted to kiss smooth, and he started to ask it as Eddie grabbed to uncurl his grip from the bar at the side of the bed but Steve gave up fighting quick, focused on stopping Eddie from moving at all instead, from stretching the way he was against the precarious threads holding him together as he reached for the neck of his gown again, still loose enough from where he’d pulled the back up, left his ass out against the sheets to bare his breastbone, the mess of the tattoos on his chest more grisly after everything than any horrors he’d gotten inked before but—

This was a different kind of horrifying thing. Not least—maybe most—because it was entirely possible that it was also the most beautiful, sacred thing to ever touch Eddie’s skin. To ever beat through Eddie’s fucking veins.

“You,” Eddie let go of the last breath he could wrestle out before his lungs seized up too tight, because then he was watching it happen, watching Steve’s broad palm as it hovered over the imprint, shivering when Steve’s warmth made contact: eclipsing the bruise near-perfect, just like Eddie knew deep down it fucking would.

His heart took the hint and started shivering under Steve’s hand immediately, like it had something to prove.

“Ed,” Steve’s voice was wispy, choked a little; eyes too bright and Eddie feels like there must be so many kinds of dying, because he’d felt one keenly under that angry red lightning; this was a wholly other thing.

But felt just as keenly life-or-death.

“You,” Eddie whispered, the words, the truth, the feeling of it all too fragile, too precious to disturb, and he wondered if his heart knew Steve had pushed the bruises down around it to save it, if that’s why it was so unbridled and unabashed in hammering against that touch, that touch—

“I think I heard you.”

And Steve? Big eyes framed with those feather lashes, stretched wide and all made of shine and earnest fucking feeling?

“You didn’t…want to lose me?” Eddie’s voice had been so small, so so small because he did think he’d heard that, and the wisps of recollection, of a frantic but resolute voice demanding of him: what he was able to collect and try to tie into a whole matched up when he paired it all with Steve in his head, but what if he was wrong?

What if it was all just fever dreams and wishful thinking on his deathbed, what if Steve had no investment in him beyond keeping the Party safe in its entirety, no exceptions; what if Eddie was fucking wrong and showed too much of his hand with this, with Steve’s palm pressed to his thrashing heart and—

Then Steve was brining his free hand to Eddie’s cheek, fucking…cradling it like it fucking meant something, like he could matter and—

“I couldn’t lose you.”

Oh.

“You,” and so many possible ways to end that thought had swam through Eddie’s head—you barely know me, you can’t possibly care if I live or die, I cannot matter one fucking bit in your universe, so why would it matter but Steve’s hand was warm under his, and Steve didn’t pull away, only leaned in, only stayed close enough that Eddie could feel his breath on his skin and Steve could chart the way Eddie’s heart took to pummelling his already-taxed ribs but it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter because Steve held there, so careful of the pain but nothing short of steady, devoted, a soul-sworn guard of that heart under his hand like it did matter, like Eddie did…

Like Steve ever could—

“Stevie,” Eddie would probably have flushed if the situation had been anything but what it was. If his heart wasn’t racing into Steve’s touch at the chest and just under the jaw where Steve’s thumb pressed almost proprietary, almost like a shield but also like a welcome, like the idea of Eddie’s heart beating into him wasn’t a dealbreaker, and fuck, fuck—

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve breathed out against him, prickling dangerous across his skin and Eddie’s heart leapt a little, fuck; more than a little and Steve felt it, front-row-center, couldn’t not feel it but he just leaned closer still, and Eddie was front-row himself to the catch in Steve’s inhale, undeniable and unapologetic as he murmured low, turning into Eddie’s cheek a little and Eddie maybe resented how it forced him to pull away,until his lips brushed the tip of Eddie’s jawbone and drew a whole ass shudder down his goddamn spine.

“Just know,” Steve gasped there, fucking…panted and hell if it didn’t catch in Eddie’s blood like pure bliss; “just know why.”

And fuck, but Eddie could only press in to the warmth of Steve’s lips where they moved for the words alone, let alone what words; what Eddie thought maybe they meant—

“Me too,” Eddie rasped a little, because fuck him, man; this was something…something else, swelling up in his chest so strong and Steve had to be able to feel it where he still held against him, palm to his galloping pulse at the source, feeling the life he coaxed back into the world.

“Does it have to make sense just yet?” Eddie asked, knew he sounded too hopeful, too desperate, more than he’d earned, than was safe but his heart kept knocking against that hand, so fucking insistent and who was he to deny it, to try and wrestle in into being less when he couldn’t even hide it, when it was evident to the man it was leaping at; for.

“I don’t think so,” Steve mouthed more than spoke where his lips dragged wet across the stubble on Eddie’s cheek.

“Then,” Eddie tipped his head, tried to catch Steve’s eyes, aimed to reason, to convince but the moment he moved, Steve dipped his chin just so to take Eddie’s lips, to kiss so hard, so complete with what felt like it couldn’t even be reasoned as less than all of him, because how could less than all feel like this—

Fucking impossible.

And Eddie couldn’t shy away—as Steve kissed him breathless, left him gasping; Eddie couldn’t shy away from the sense that he was being killed and revived all over again, endless and unbreaking, and it was perfection.

Jesus fuck.

And the kicker was that…weeks passed. A whole month, close to another. And if anything changed it was all for the better, for the more and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, if he was entirely honest. He…the bruise healed, y’know? That brand above his heart but—

He didn’t need it anymore. That was the thing. He didn’t need to see.

He was very fucking aware. Every minute of every day. He was…so aware. It could kill him better than those bats, it was so big and so much, and so quick, but with all that, probably because of all that: Eddie’d never felt anything even remotely like what it meant to shake off sleep and have Steve Harrington kiss you to wakefulness, to hold you for the nightmares as much as the news of small victories on the road to recovery: never wavering.

Never leaving.

When Eddie got the go-ahead to continue his rehab outpatient-style, his original conviction that all of this ended at the latest upon discharge was immediately challenged, because Steve had become so much more than he’d started as, but Eddie still worried. Made himself sick over it.

Felt like an indefensible monster as Steve rubbed his back, brought him soup, tended him like Eddie didn’t cause his own suffering, and all for the terror of losing the very man who was there, without question.

Then he signed himself out, and Steve drove him home.

Save that Eddie recognized where they were headed and…he only knew one person in Loch Nora.

“Your uncle’s still in the motel by the plant,” Steve had explained what Eddie already knew but hadn’t put together when Eddie raised an eyebrow in askance, wholly unsure how to process any of this, any of this; unsure how to hope in the face of what he was seeing, held against what he was wishing.

“Government’s being fucking assholes about setting you up with someplace appropriate,” and something in Steve’s tone had made plain that he was not just very clear on what constituted ‘appropriate’, he was probably actively involved somehow in holding the people in question rightly accountable for appropriate, and nothing less.

And Eddie…he did say he didn’t need a mark you could see on his heart, didn’t he.

“You need the room while you get better,” Steve murmured as he killed the engine, and lifted Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressed his mouth on the knuckles, nuzzling a little, eyes closed and Eddie…Eddie didn’t know what to do.

The only saving grace was that he didn’t have a monitor to rat his ass out when his heart started trying to escape orbit—fuck just his ribs, how pedestrian—this time.

They sat in a living room that looked like it was once absolutely pristine and still was, mostly, but up close Eddie could see little snags on the sofa, could feel the texture of the fabric different under his fingers for scrubbing out a stain. He suspected four infamously unmannered teenagers were the culprits. The remaining stiffness of the cushions was good for the way his body was still working through being gnawed apart, but he was gone far enough to kind of immediately hope he’d see how they wore with love and use and maybe something more once they got there, once Eddie’s body cooperated again, because he…Steve brought him home.

And maybe they didn’t have to stop when Eddie left the hospital. Maybe he didn’t have to lose.

He’d only made it shortly past the best fucking grilled cheese he’d maybe ever tasted, and he didn’t think it was only because it was his first meal without an aftertaste of sterile in too fucking long—but he only lasted a little more than an hour before Steve’d helped him to a guest room on the first floor that’d obviously been reworked for him, from the way he could reach the bed from just inside the door, to the fucking posters that he knew for a fact Steve wouldn’t have had on hand, and Eddie’d giggled a little wetly at the Ozzy one, because he figured the man steadying him at his side would never be anything but intertwined with the Prince of Darkness in his mind, now—but Steve, who’d more than proven he was so far beyond any kind of king, won hands down. By a landslide.

And who could have seen that coming?

“Careful,” Steve chided him gently as he guided Eddie slowly down to the mattress and made to tuck him in, and the word was so warm, so warm but Eddie had to…

He had to reach. Again. He needed Steve, he…needed.

The handprint on top of his heart didn’t need to be a thing he could see, but he needed Steve to…know some level of what he was feeling, of how much was inside him already, and growing, the momentum building and he didn’t want to feed it, didn’t want to let it run if he wasn’t going to have someone to catch it, to run with him but he also didn’t think there was any chance to stop it, now, he didn’t think he could trim it back or tame it from consuming him and he wasn’t sure he’d even want to if he actually had the power because it was the best feeling he’d ever known, even if it was terrifying, even if it could hurt him more than anything he’d ever known and—

“I don’t want to be alone,” was what spilled from his lips with Steve’s hand above his heartbeat as it pumped so goddamn hard it couldn’t be denied, it couldn’t be misconstrued, and he didn’t want to sleep alone, didn’t want to lose what he’d rebuilt himself around all these weeks, he—

“Good,” and Steve leaned down, cradled Eddie’s face and tipped him up to kiss him full, hard, one hand still on his chest because that was the mark, the promise, the fight for all that this was and all it could be like a fucking vow and Eddie melted for it on sight, on contact.

“Because I’m not leaving,” and Steve brushed the tip of his nose back and forth against Eddie’s, his smile like honey in his tone as he pecked Eddie on the lips one more time before stretching his hand to follow him across the bed, to crawl to the other side and slide in next to Eddie, to carefully arrange him against Steve’s body, to wrap around him with so much care, to touch nothing too tender and everything safe to hold as Steve tucked his face against Eddie’s neck and kissed behind his ear as he breathed:

“Never gonna leave you all alone again.”

And Eddie believed him.

Eddie believed him.

And when, weeks later when Eddie was hurting less and moving more, perched in the corner of the couch that was starting to give a little under persistent weight, starting to feel like it was meant to be used and lend comfort; as Eddie was poking at campaign notes for the gremlins, pen caught between his teeth, he only paused when he felt the gravity of a familiar gaze settle on him—not immediately, because he liked just existing in it, feeling its heft, but after enough moments to satisfy him he looked up, met those eyes and felt them in his goddamn soul as he asked:

“What?”

And Steve had just kept on staring, the bare hint of a quirk at the corners of his lips spreading to the full sunrise of his smile.

“You fit, here,” and he’d said it so simply, so…much like a truth, a fact of the universe—Eddie Munson fits, belongs in this place, this space, this home, this life—and then the smile dimmed ever so slightly, cloud cover across the shine as Steve shifted a little, crossed his arms loose but still as a barrier over his chest: “if you want to, I mean—”

And Eddie sat up straighter, and he reached both his hands out to Steve because:

“I want to,” it was all he wanted, really; it wasso far beyond his wildest dreams but it was real, Eddie could see and touch it, taste it, feel it through his blood when it pumped, tracking through his whole body, filling up his heart overfull and magnificent and he as just…

“Sweetheart,” he took Steve’s hands and tugged him down to sit next to Eddie, settled him so close; “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want that.”

He leaned back, wholly prone and never once letting go of Steve’s hands, never once doing anything but keeping them laced together and anchored, locked tight and Steve matched him, followed him as Eddie drew him to his healed-enough chest to settle right at the center, to hear Eddie’s heartbeat for the declaration it was, it already was in its entirety:

“You fit here.”

And he did. They both did. Their worlds had shifted, grew around the shapes they made together and after not-long-at-all, they fit so fucking well that it was bespoke to their cells, they’d never fit anyone else. It was quick and it was heady and it was fucking right.

For months

And then it all went to shit.

Because Steve decided what should have been expected, honestly—that Eddie wasn’t worth the hassle, that he wasn’t right for Steve, that Steve’s staggeringly-expansive capacity for love was wasted to hell on this low-life dipshit who couldn’t even graduate on his third try at high school, who maybe didn’t have a murder charge anymore in the legal system but would never wash it clean from the court of public opinion, who was…trouble. Always trouble.

Not fucking worth it.

It’s just…Eddie never thought Steve would stop wanting him. He maybe went in reticent at first, but Steve had loved so hard out the gate that as soon as he knew he was allowed, and welcome? Eddie didn’t hesitate to meet that love beat for beat.

He just never imagined his love would ever be unwelcome; that that's how his heart would break.

What breaks in the moment, though—the heartbreak is constant, and unfortunately proving to be kinda fucking unending, really—but what breaks now is…possibly the handle on the front door for the way someone’s banging and jiggling it back and forth like the first time it didn’t give against the lock was just a fluke.

He frowns, considers waiting out whoever’s enough of a dick to knock like that but apparently not so witch-hunty to throw a brick through the window—which: Eddie will take progress, he guesses—but when a concerning creak sounds from near the hinges, Eddie thinks of Wayne, and how his uncle doesn’t deserve a broken front door, so.

Heartbroken or not, Eddie has to drag himself to deal with…this.

Then he’s throwing the door open and…this is—

“We need to talk.”

This should have been expected. There’s really only one little asshole who’d assault his door with that much…determination.

“Henderson—” Eddie huffs, because he knows he needs to set a date for them all to get together, he left the campaign they were in kinda dangling on a thread when he didn’t hold the gatherings at St—

Well, when their regularly scheduled venue became too much for Eddie’s heart to handle.

Which: okay, fine, he gets it but like, he can’t care as much as he maybe should when he feels like this, and the kids need to fucking take a chill pill and if they can’t understand, then at least they can just shut the fuck up for at a couple more weeks while Eddie licks his wounds and sees if they decide to finally scab over enough that he doesn’t keep with busting them back open every time he breathes—

“About Steve.”

Eddie’s heart shudders just to hear the name. He’s avoided hearing it for weeks, now; it hurts too much.

He hears it enough in his own head, in his dreams, in his nightmares when he see the worst, in the cadence of his fucking pulse because his heart doesn’t know how not to be Steve’s, kinda feels like it’s not interested in learning, will never be anything other than what it is now, forever, and—

“We need to talk about what you did to Steve.”

Wait.

Wait, what he did to—

What?

❄️

>>> part ii

for @kultiras🖤

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[seiwas]

everytime i think about ex!bakugo, i get so emotional thinking about how he carries on with his day-to-day like the breakup didn’t happen.

he doesn’t even give himself time to mourn the relationship, to process the loss of you. he throws himself into work, practically drowning in it because he can’t bear staying idle.

you’re everywhere, still—

in the picture frames scattered around his home, in the decorative pieces that each hold their own memory. some of the clothes you returned to him smell like you.

when kirishima asks him how he is, he never answers, always redirecting the subject back to work. deku notices longer bouts of silence during joint patrols, and when he pries, bakugo’s only reply is, “s’not a concern.”

it’s unusual, because bakugo is loud and rough, he barks and barks and barks, but with this, he stays quiet.