#reader is a selfharmer

[psychopathseraphim]

sammy lawrence x selfharmer!reader

tw: extreme anger from sammy's end, self-inflicted harm, forceful revealing of scars

as sammy lawrence's assistant director, you really only have one job (because sammy tends to do everything on his own); to check on how the music plays alongside the film. during your first few days as an intern, you had some issues with syncing the music, but now that it's been a few months or so, this task has come naturally to you.

one day, however, tension within the studio was high, mainly because a short was destined to come out tomorrow (anytime tomorrow) and the music department was rushing to create songs for it. not to have a complex but you were extremely certain that it was only you and sammy that deserved a place in the credits, with how the other interns (including jack fain) failed to cooperate and contribute.

sammy was extremely on-edge that same evening, especially due to the sleep-deprivation catching up to him. desperately he wrote scores and edited notes to be performed and recorded by you both; you were somewhat afraid due to your knowledge about certain instruments being short and cut-off. you didn't want to press the man, especially not tonight.

however, after submitting a scene you synchronized the music to, sammy found out about a certain error- a song for an extremely crucial part was mixed up with another song. . . this angered sammy extremely, especially because he didn't necessarily have extra time on his hands to tweak it. feeling like his trust in you was misplaced, he called you over.

"(y/n), look at this. haven't we talked multiple times about this song being for this scene?!" his voice started to get louder as his anger continued to rise. "you have ONE thing to do, (y/n)! you're in the luckier end of the rope- try being in my shoes! if I were you, I wouldn't make a single mistake!"

somewhat scared, you grab onto the hem of your shirt and look down. nervously, you try to reason with him: "I-I'm sorry, there must have been an error in the syst-"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANY ERRORS IN THE SYSTEM! who else is behind the system if not you?! God, you interns are useless." he spat back, his voice booming and echoing throughout the whole studio, probably letting other late-staying employees know that you were being yelled at. before you knew it, your eyes were glassy and filled with tears, and crying in front of your boss would be embarrassing. turning around and gathering the work you made a mistake on, you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

self-harm was something you found comfort in, sad to say. you always kept a blade inside a mini-notepad you'd stuff inside your pocket; it yearned to be used when sammy was screaming at you. sitting inside of a bathroom stall, you sink to the ground, roll down your sleeves, and prepare your arms.

your arms were already littered with scars; old, new. . . it didn't matter because no one noticed. you weren't a little kid anymore, having your parents check your wrists to see if you were still doing the "bad thing". you were an adult and did whatever you want. . . so here you were, doing just that.

you idolized sammy, and being the cause of his frustration-

one cut.

how could you? as his assistant, you're supposed to help him-

two cuts.

not anger him. not make his stress worse-

three cuts.

by then, your wrists were dripping with blood that you made sure couldn't touch your sleeves. you wash your wrists, your blade, and exit the bathroom almost like nothing ever happened.

you were stressed, too, and you didn't need sammy to know about how you got rid of it. he'd find you weird and tell joey and the others about you. you could lose your job and get send to a hospital or a clinic. sammy could laugh at you; all up in your face, and send you off to find a better intern.

you didn't want to think of sammy like that, but you knew he acted exactly like that.

as you entered the music department office, you noticed that sammy didn't even lift his head to check on who entered. he's probably extremely annoyed of me, you come to think as you take your seat. for the next few moments, work goes on an usual, before sammy lifts his head to look at something in a shelf above you.

"(y/n)," he said, stern, but definitely calmer than the last time he spoke to you, "see that book up there? music theory is its name. get it for me now."

with no answer on your behalf, you stand up and reach for it. although you do grab it, your sleeve rides up and for a second, your raw, red-tinted scars are revealed to your boss, who has been staring at you this entire time.

trying to brush it off while praying to God he didn't see your scars, you hand him the book with your sleeve being held tightly by your fingers. some blood presses on your sleeve for a bit.

"here, sir," you said.

"... (y/n)- what was that?" he asked, his tone agitated once more which gave you a sense of fear once more.

"what was what, sir-"

"no, don't try to play it off like that, I'm being serious-" he grabs your wrists and forcefully pulls your sleeve back. with a gasp, you cover your scars on your wrist with your other hand. sammy, however, easily pulls it off to reveal scars and new cuts.

"(y/n)." he says angrily, "what the fuck is this?"

"I..." you're brought to tears once again with his tone of voice and the sense of fear you feel within you. please don't yell at me, or tell on me. I'm not weird, I promise, you think as if he could hear you. "I just... they're old..."

he inspects your new cuts and shakes his head with furrowed brows. "these are not old, (y/n). stop lying. tell me now- why would you do this?"

"the pressure, sir." you managed to say, praying to God sammy won't ridicule you or compare your stresses to his. "I didn't want to be the main cause of your frustrations. it's not as bad as it seems, I don't do that religiously... it's just a way to get rid of stress."

it's quiet for a bit, before sammy sighs, gets up off his chair, and walks off. he comes back shortly after holding a first aid kit, sits down, and grasps your wrist...gently, this time. he opens the first aid kit, grabs for a cotton ball coated with betadine, and places it on your cuts.

you wince first, expecting it to sting (as usual, whenever you'd cut yourself). sammy lets out a chuckle at this- "it's betadine, (y/n). it's not supposed to sting."

"oh. right." is all you utter out.

it's silence once more, and sammy breaks this once more- "(y/n), I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier- I really hope these cuts aren't as bad as you make it, though. I was irritated, that's all. I'm sorry." he continues on, "you're not useless- you're far from that. you're a good intern, and a better assistant."

these words make your heart flutter. perhaps there was more to idolizing sammy lawrence than you knew- than it was platonic. perhaps there was a bit of romance in it; something you'd never admit to him- ever.

the night ends with this, and you return home with treated cuts and a much better feeling within you.

the next day is the premiere of the newest bendy episode- that stupid dancing demon, the cause of all your stress. all of the staff members watch intensely; sammy watches for any musical errors, joey watches for any animation errors- that kind of thing.

fortunately, the episode ends without any errors spoken by the heads, and all of the staff members rejoice. two interns in the far back high-five, and joey returns to his office with a more relieved and happy expression on his face.

once everyone leaves for food and wine, sammy approaches you.

"(y/n), good job." he says with a rare smile on his mouth. "I knew you could do it. how are your cuts?"

"they're fine, sir." you respond. they were fine- alongside that, so were you.

[herofics]

A day worth waiting for

A/N: I really felt like writing some angst with Gojo. Also, I’m feeling kinda shitty, so I needed something to cope with it. I’m not suicidal specifically, but it keeps kinda flashing in my mind as a “you could do that though” if that makes sense. I started writing this like 3 months ago, but I didn’t finish it then, so I’m writing it now

Warnings: Self-harm, blood and suicide attempt-ish

You were just laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. You had no clue how long you’d been laying there. It might have been minutes, or it might have been hours, you had no idea.

You didn’t feel anything, you were just numb, maybe not even numb, every emotion just felt the same. It was like all the colors were gone.

You stretched your hand towards the ceiling. You were wearing a t-shirt, so you could clearly see the scars that covered your wrist. There were no fresh ones, hadn’t been in a while, but the urge was still there, the urge to rip your skin open and let your life bleed out of you.

And why wouldn’t you? There wasn’t anything here for you. Gojo would be fine without you, he was the strongest, after all. He would probably even be better off.

“It’s decided then” you muttered while getting up from the floor.

You tried writing a note, and even though the idea of ending your life made so much sense in your head, you couldn’t figure out a way to explain it on paper. The only words you managed to put down were “Forgive me, Satoru. I hope you don’t curse me too much”. A few tears fell on the paper, smudging the ink.

You went to draw yourself a warm bath, before rummaging through the drawers under the sink to find a razor blade. You threw off your sweatpants and climbed into the tub in your underwear and a big t-shirt.

You exhaled deeply, before looking up at the ceiling. Were you really going to do this? Were you ready to leave yet?

That’s when you heard the bathroom door open. You quickly submerged the razor blade and hid it under your thigh before Gojo saw it. You managed to cut yourself in the process. How did you not hear him come into the apartment?

“Whatcha doing in the tub with your clothes on?” he smirked from the doorway, not yet putting the situation together.

He was just standing there, looking like his normal dashing self. He took off his blindfold, like he always did when he came home to you.

“I fell in” you lied.

Gojo took a step closer, chuckling, about to say something, when he noticed the blood in the water. The smile died on his lips as he realized what was going on. He knelt down next to the tub and grabbed both your hands, checking your wrists.

He sighed in relief as he realized you hadn’t done anything yet. Then where was the blood coming from?

You saw the panicked look in his eyes as he still held your hands in his while looking for the source of the blood.

“I nicked myself-myself when trying to hide the razor blade” you hiccuped, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Oh doll” Gojo said softly, before pulling you up with him as he stood up.

He took your shirt off you and grabbed a big, fluffy towel, wrapping it around you.

“I need you to talk to me, and I think you need that too” Gojo said as he stood in front of you.

There was something different about the way he looked at you. Anger you would have recognized, but this wasn’t it. Fear? Was it really fear you saw in his eyes?

“Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? You look kind of scared” you noted.

“First of all, I think I should be asking you that. Secondly, I think my fear is pretty justified when I find the person I love sitting in a bathtub filled with water, ready to open their wrists”

“Well that sounds a bit gruesome” you muttered.

“Am I wrong?” Gojo asked, tilting his head to the side.

There was a moment of silence between you, before you spoke a simple, quiet: “No”

You couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Once you said it out loud, admitted what you were going to do, it was like a dam broke. You just started sobbing uncontrollably.

“It’s okay doll, it’s okay” Gojo assured as he picked you up and carried you out of the bathroom.

You were still wrapped in the towel and holding onto Gojo’s jacket for dear life. You didn’t even remember what had originally gotten you so upset that you would resort to what you had attempted to do.

Gojo had been through this with you before. The last time this happened, it was with you trying to overdose on your medication. It was one of the few times in his life he had been absolutely terrified. Seeing you laying there unconscious, with an empty pill bottle next to you, had been one of the most horrific moments of his entire life.

Now it was happening all over again, but this time he had been on time. This time he had gotten to you before you’d done anything stupid, this time he’d managed it. After Suguru left, Gojo had sworn he wouldn’t lose anyone else like that. He wouldn’t let anyone else disappear into the shadows again.

Gojo sat down on the bed, still holding you in his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-so sorry” you kept blubbering while burying your face to his chest.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay” Gojo said, grabbing your hand and attempting to ground you through his touch. ��Just breathe”

After your breathing and crying calmed down, you looked up at him with tearful eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened” you muttered, trying to get up from his lap.

“Nu-uh, you’re not going anywhere till we talk” he pulled you back.

“What am I even supposed to say?”

“Just something, I don’t want you to be alone with this. You know I won’t leave you alone before I get a satisfactory explanation” he half joked.

Gojo just wanted to hear you say that you’d be okay. He just wanted to hear you say this was just a fluke, and it wouldn’t happen again. At the same time, he knew you couldn’t promise that. That you wouldn’t just magically start getting better, because you or he wanted you to.

“I don’t know what happened. It just seemed like the right choice, but the second I saw you, I was like “What the fuck am I doing?” and it didn’t feel like it made any sense anymore”

You kept staring at your hands while leaning the side of your head against his chest. What you said was true. Seeing him had made you change your mind in the end. You could have tried to reach for the razor again, even though it would have been futile with him in the same room. He would have stopped you, no doubt about that, and besides you didn’t want him to see you do that to yourself. The act itself was way different from just seeing the aftermath.

“Well I’m glad I have that effect on you, but that doesn’t really give me much insight to your mental state right now”

“I guess it doesn’t, but I don’t really know what else to tell you” you sighed.

You just sat there in silence, Gojo embracing you and you leaning against his chest. You didn’t know what to tell him. Even if you managed to formulate something that would make sense to you, it would probably just sound crazy to him. It was so hard to put any of it into words, let alone in a way someone else would understand.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I just want you to know that no matter what you think, I’m not better off without you, and neither is anyone else you know” Gojo said suddenly.

“Thank you” you said after a while more of silence, looking up at him.

“What for?” he asked as he met your gaze.

“I guess I just appreciate the reminder at times like these”

“I’ll remind you for the rest of our lives, if you’ll let me” he smiled softly.

You placed a hand on the side of Gojo’s face and caressed his cheek with your thumb.

“I’d like that”

Maybe one day you’d love life as much as you loved him, maybe that day was worth waiting for.

[prttykittes]

i have sooo many ideas for fluff (surprise because all i think about is smut.) but i feel like dropping them all when that one bsd sh fic is done bc i dont wanna pressure you 😵‍💫

🦋 anon

Tumblr deleted that post, but your request was female reader dealing with sh and Anorexia with Dazai and chuuya! Sorry, I did post it but it got deleted •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀ so I rewrite it!

ෆ Dazai, Chuuya X Female!Reader [you/your/girlfriend]

— Synopsis:: Your boyfriend is hanging out and he notices that your acting different, he wants you to know that he is here for you!

CW. SH(selfh#rm), Anorexia, body issues, hugs, fluff/SFW, comforting, reader wears long sleeves shirt(Dazai) and dress(chuuya), reader has hair in Dazai's

A/N :: Boys comforting you, I hope your doing okay so far, 🦋 anon and anyone else!! Make sure to take care of your sh scars if you have any, don't want it to get infected:3 — written by a minor

[MASTERLIST] — (⁠ノ⁠^⁠_⁠^⁠)⁠ノ works in link!

DAZAI— he was watching you form the bed, your hands roaming around your body, feeling your stomach, hips. He continues to smile while you turn and turn, looking at yourself. "You doing something, beautiful?" He smirks, you smile and roll your eyes. You stop and let out a deep sigh, you fix your long sleeve shirt and turn towards the door. "I am going to brush my teeth, I don't think I did it..." You say, walking out. His smile gets down to a line, that was a lie. You did brush your teeth, he lies down and thinks. Should he go check up on you? He gets curious, I mean if he goes and checks. He would be a good boyfriend for worrying. He gets up and begins to walk towards the bathroom door, the door is closed and he puts his hand on the doorknob. He hears the sink and it's quite loud, he gently opens the door. He looks at the mirror, your not at the mirror but at the bathtub. He sees you slightly bend over, he angles himself so he can see what you were doing. He sees your arm moving, he sees a droplet of red. His eye narrows and he doesn't say anything, he closes the door and goes back in the room, you wash the blood away and bandage yourself up. Walking back and seeing Dazai play with his fingers on the bed, he lifts up his head and smiles at you, you smile back and lay down next to him. "I love you" he says, your eyebrow raises and you let out a chuckle. "Hm? I love you too, Dazai!" You smile and he embraces you, his arms wrapping around you. He plays with your hair while he sniffs it, you were confused. He didn't do this that often, he rubs your back. He kisses your forehead, he gently grabs your wrists, it stings a bit. He brings it up to his lips and kisses it, he mutters, "I love you so much" he continues to leave kisses over your arms and he rubs your stomach. You wonder if he found out, before you could speak up about it. "I am always here for you, sweetheart" he says, kissing your lips. He gives you a hug, wrapping himself around you forever until you both wake up.

CHUUYA— He watches you, turning around to show him the outfit. It was a long sleeve dress just what you wanted, it matches you. You were smiling, he pats your side and kisses your cheek. "You look beautiful" he mutters and rubs your hips. You smile and turn away from the mirror, you were facing him. You didn't like this outfit that much, the sleeves weren't that long and you had to keep pulling it down. He likes it but you weren't sure but the outfit. "Is there other ones?" You ask, he makes a hmm sound and he smiles. "I will go check" he says, he leaves the changing room and goes find some dresses with long sleeves. Your still in room and look at yourself, your hands were shaking slightly, the more you looked at yourself in the mirror, the more weird you look. You close your eyes, your heart was beating fast but then he opens the door. "I found two, love" he says, you smiles and turn to face him. He is holding up two dresses, he smiles and places them down. "Want me to help you?" He asks, you shake your head. You don't want him to look at your bandaged wrists and worry about it. "Nah, it's fine" you says he smiles and leaves the room. You pick up one of the dresses and look it, feeling the fabric and then you prepare to take off your dress. You were taking about too long and Chuuya opens the door, you didn't notice or heard it. Busy trying to taking off your dress then putting on the other dress. He closes the door, which is when you realize. You bite your lower lip, your stomach curls as you begin to overthink. Your hands shakily put on the dress. Making sure that the sleeves cover it. "You can come in now!" You yell out and the door opens, he smiles and softly spins your around. Did he see you or not? You wondered and he kisses your cheek, he hugs you. He rocks you gently, his orange hair in your face. You giggle and push him away gently, he pats your shoulder. "Don't be shy and tell me anything, if you want" he says, with a smiles on his face, you smile back at him. "Sure....just tell me as well" you say and he nods his head, you both do a pi my promise. "We should just get all three of them" he says. "Wha—?"

[aestheticallycatholic]

TW: self harm mention

if Art’s partner was actively struggling with self harm, I feel like he would be confused about why this type of bloodshed makes him feel different than it usually does

I don’t think he would necessarily understand it as feeling sad, but I think it’d put an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach that he wouldn’t ignore

once he linked the uncomfortable feeling to your self harming in his head, I don’t think he’d confront you, but you’d definitely find your blades mysteriously missing more often

I also think he’d be more inclined to be affectionate towards you when he thinks you’re too sad or acting unlike yourself, not letting you be alone unless absolutely necessary

[writinginatree]

fresh bruises

Relationship(s): John Wick & daughter!reader, background John Wick/Helen Wick

Summary: Your dad John finds bruises on you, and you have no choice but admit the truth: you're struggling to adjust to the peaceful new life you lead now that he has married Helen, and have been hurting yourself to cope.

Warnings: Selfharm, injury (bruises), anger issues, guilt, implied PTSD, implied panic attack, mentions of canon-typical violence.

(Titled after the Bring Me The Horizon song, but not a songfic.)

You had just lifted your arm to get a glass from the kitchen cabinet when John came into the room.

Fortunately you stood with your back to him, so he couldn't see the way you winced at the pain shooting through your arm at the movement. Less fortunately for you, your sleeve slipped back, exposing the fresh bruises on your skin. They were dotted all over your lower arm, front and back, where you'd slammed your arm against the wall and punched yourself with the other hand earlier.

John stared at your arm, taking in all the little bumps where your skin was swollen. The forming bruises barely had any color yet, but they were well visible all the same, and you knew he knew what they were. Bruises were something he was very familiar with thanks to his former field of work.

It was too late to pull down your sleeve to hide them, but you did it anyway.

Don't ask, you willed him in your mind. Please don't ask.

You didn't want to tell him, but you wanted to lie to him even less. You had been hiding it so well, thanks to it being winter, but now it seemed your secret would come out, simply because of this stupid shirt with it's stupidly loose sleeves.

After a few seconds of silence that almost made you think you would get away with it, the dreaded question came.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," you reflexively answered as you turned around to face your father.

"Who did that?"

"No one."

John took your face between his hands and made you look up at him, but you avoided his gaze.

"Y/N. Tell me who hurt you."

You sighed. He wasn't going to let this go until you told him the truth. "I did..."

"That wasn't an accident."

"No." You finally met his eyes, but quickly averted your gaze again. The sorrow on his face was too much for you. "I'm sorry. I— I was just so angry and— I just had to hurt someone. But I know I can't. But I— And it's my own fault anyway... I deserve it."

John wrapped his arms around you, and with your face pressed against his chest the tears finally came. John stroked your hair, the other hand on your back, holding you tight.

"No. No, dushka, you don't deserve to be hurt."

"I'm sorry, papa."

"Shhh. You don't have anything to apologize for, honey. I'm the one that's sorry. I should have been there for you."

"You are. You are there for me. I just— I guess I'm not very good at admitting when something's w-wrong."

No, you certainly weren't. You hadn't wanted to tell him. Tell him you were having a hard time adjusting to this new life he'd wanted so desperately. Tell him about this rage always bubbling beneath the surface. Tell him how badly you wanted to hear the crunch of breaking bones, feel the impact of your fist connecting with flesh, the warm splatter of blood on your skin. How badly you wanted to just break something, someone — anyone. You had no target for your anger, no reason. Just that seething anger nagging deep inside you.

You didn't want to tell him how much you felt like a monster for longing for the life he'd fought so hard to leave behind. You couldn't understand why you missed it so much yourself; he would understand even less.

It made no sense — you should be happy, enjoying the peace, the freedom, the bliss of sleeping in late and having breakfast in your pajamas with your parents. Going for walks with them. Having picknicks and letting Helen put flowers crowns she braided from daisies in your hair. Cuddling on the couch with the TV playing some stupid movie in the background, not having to worry about a thing. The only gunshots in your life now coming from the TV if an action movie was on.

But you couldn't enjoy it, try as you might.

The smallest sounds got on your nerves, tiny annoyances sent you into rage fits, simple questions like what you wanted for dinner became unsolvable riddles because all you could think about was violence, all you felt was anger. Anger — and guilt about that anger, which just made you more angry.

You craved for a gun in your hand, the taste of blood in your mouth, colorful bruises and the screams of your victims ringing in your ears.

All the while you smiled at your dad and Helen, only to lock yourself in the bathroom the first chance you got and beat yourself until you were in enough pain to satisfy that sick craving inside you, your skin flushed red and already swelling where bruises would soon be forming.

How could you possibly admit something like that?

John was talking, but you were too lost in thoughts to register the words. You only hugged him tighter, pressed your face deeper into his shirt and the soft smell of laundry detergent, until you could barely breathe. Or was that because of how hard you were crying? You couldn't tell anymore.

You felt yourself being picked up, carried to a different room, then John sat down with you on his lap and started humming a Russian lullaby he always used to sing for you when you'd been little. You couldn't remember the words, but the memories the melody brought back, paired with being held tight in your father's arms — the safest place on earth ever since you could remember — were balm for your soul.

Your tears started to subside, and only when you could breathe without choking on sobs again did you realize just how bad of a breakdown this had been.

Your throat hurt, your eyes hurt, your chest hurt from how close you'd been to complete hyperventilation. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been this exhausted from just crying. But you felt better, at least a little. It was good to let your feelings out for once, instead of bottling everything up until you got the chance to sneak away and hurt yourself, always quiet, always holding back the tears.

Slowly you disentangled yourself from your father's arms and moved to sit beside him on the couch, wiping your face.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"Of course not. Why would I be mad?"

"Because I— Because I hurt myself."

John brushed some hair from your face and kissed your forehead. "No, baby. I'm not mad. Just sad that you felt like you had to do that. And that you couldn't tell me."

But that was the thing. You hadn't told him because you knew it would make him feel bad. You knew he'd feel like it was his fault somehow.

You started crying again. "Prosti menya, papa."

"Shh. It's okay, sweetie. It's okay. I got you."

You shook your head. Nothing was okay. You didn't know if you'd be able to stop hurting yourself, and you knew your father would be watching out for any bruises on you from now on. If you did it again you'd disappoint him. Hurt him. But what else were you supposed to do with all that anger? How else were you supposed to satisfy that urge to hurt and destroy?

John took your hand that you'd subconsciously clenched into a fist in his, and gently pried your fingers open.

"I'm sorry, dad. I don't know why 'm so agitated all the time."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I... I didn't know how to explain it. And I didn't want to worry you. You're so happy with Helen. I don't wanna ruin that with making you guys worry about me. It's not— I didn't even realize how bad this really is."

You stared at your lap as you talked so you wouldn't have to see the hurt on his face. You knew not wanting to worry him was stupid — as your dad it kind of was his job to worry about you.

John took your face between his hands and rested his forehead against yours. "You're not ruining anything by making us worry about you. We want you to be happy too. Part of why I retired was so you'd be safe and happy. So no one would have any reason to hurt you anymo—"

"I know! I'm sorry!"

"It's okay. I'm not blaming you. I just want you to understand that you can talk to me. It doesn't matter if you think you'll worry me and ruin my day; let me be there for you. Please."

You nodded, wiping fresh tears from your cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, dushka. It's okay. Just promise me next time you feel like hurting yourself you'll come to me instead of doing it, okay?"

"Okay. I promise. But— But what then? You can't just magically make me stop feeling like that."

"No, I know. But we'll figure something out. Maybe we can try doing some combat training or something like that so you can let those feelings out without hurting yourself."

"Okay. Thanks, dad."

Translations:

Dushka (Душка): Darling/Sweetie

Prosti menya, papa (Прости меня, папа): I'm sorry, dad (Literally: Forgive me, dad)

[banjjakz]

➡ Fall asleep.

When you blink back into consciousness, a gentle warmth welcomes you to the land of the living. At some point in your slumber, you pitched sideways to huddle your achingly cold bones in a fetal position. Now, you find yourself struggling to activate your joints after succumbing to a slumber so deep it’s seemed to have left you with rigor mortis.

As you sit up, an unfamiliar layer of fuzzy fabric slides from your shoulders. A blanket! Ah, that explains the extra warmth. But you don’t remember bringing a blanket with you… and you’ve never seen this particular blanket in your entire life. Sure, it’s cozy and high-quality, but the pattern of wide-open eyes littered across the black cloth is off-putting – although, not entirely unpleasant.

Oh shoot, did someone put this on you? Have you been discovered?

“Hello.”

Spooked, you whip your head to the side, where you had not even registered the presence of another living being. “Ahh!!!”

“I did not mean to frighten you. I apologize.”

Are you – are you dreaming?

You must be dreaming. They term isn’t “yumejoshi” for no reason. There is no way Choso squats in front of you, less than a meter away, so close that you can smell his earthy, metallic fragrance. He hasn’t even changed out of his stage costume: his customary white robes are still soaked through with sweat from the earlier performance, gracing the pale fabric a tantalizing semi-translucence. His purple gi is nowhere to be found, which exposes the unholy caverns of his collarbones, the inviting jut of his skeletal sternum. The signature pigtails are also undone, leaving his stringy black hair to metastasize down the sides of his gaunt face, across the barren valley of his jagged shoulder blades. And yet, that solid bar of black remains perfectly applied across the center of his face.

“…Nn?”

“Are you alright?”

Choso stays where he is, head cocked in concern. Quickly, you realize you have two options.

You can tell the truth and admit that you’d been waiting outside just to see him walk a few paces before getting into a nondescript vehicle. Totally normal fan behavior that will definitely go over well.

Or, you can lie.

“I-I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you demure, casting your eyes down in false bashfulness. You would feel bad about this if you were a better person.  “And the memories from ShinShow’s performances always sustain me…I just thought, if I could enjoy the positive energy for a little while longer…I would be sustained. I’m sorry…”

“Why do you apologize?”

One of Choso’s most appealing charming points is his overly formal, somewhat antiquated manner of speaking. He sounds like a historical figure who has been yanked from the past, inserted haphazardly into contemporary pop culture. Very fitting for his lore. But you’d also been under the assumption that this was merely a stage act – is he that committed to his image? Or is it innate?

The thought of Choso simply being Like That is too endearing to bear. You hide your face behind your palms, concealing the tremulous smile that possesses your lips.

“It’s embarrassing… and I’ve troubled Choso-nii…”

The last thing you expect are cold, impossibly cold, hands to wrap around your wrists, kindly (but firmly) uncovering your face. Choso has drawn closer to you, so close that when he breathes, it brushes the bridge of your nose.

His face is impassive, as usual – but upon closer inspection, you notice a strange, wavering quality in his eyes, a slight tremor in his lips. There might actually be color on the tips of his ears. Usually, he appears as though he is so pale there is no blood coursing through his veins that could produce a blush.

Evidently, this is not the case.

“Choso-nii is not troubled,” he states plainly, leaving no room for argument. “The night is no place for a little one to be sleeping unguarded.”

Oh, you could faint here and now. It’s an active choice on your part to remain conscious. “Mn…”

“You will come with me now.”

And so you do.

This is how you find yourself in the back of an unmarked, utilitarian white van. To anyone else the vehicle would appear as little more than a maintenance truck. But you know better.

Inside the living-quarters is a mish-mash of discarded clothing items in varying degrees of cleanliness; discarded guitar picks; empty takeout containers; and a random jumble of electronic chargers. Inexplicably, there is also an abundance of first-aid supplies, with over half of it apparently already used. As he sits you down on one of the distressed leather seats, Choso uses the medical kit to tend to a few scrapes on your legs and arms earned from your impromptu nap on the concrete.

“It’s really not that bad…You don’t have to—”

“Enough.”

Embarrassed, you shut your mouth. How do you even cope with this situation? Here you are, in the back of your oshi’s travel van, as he sits on his knees in front of you, hands impatiently pushing your clothes away to reveal your bare skin. His touch leeches the body heat out of you like a parasite. You want to be sucked dry.

“This will sting.” That’s all the warning you get before hydrogen peroxide is unceremoniously dumped on your fresh scrapes.

Unbidden, you let out a strangled whine, hands flying to the closest part of him you can reach – which happens to be his head. You clutch at his hair to absolve you of your suffering. “Choso-nii! It hurts!”

Ker-thlunk. Glug… glug… glug…

Fuck! Your spasming must have knocked over the hydrogen peroxide…. the upended bottle spills its guts across the floor, drenching the air in an oppressively medicinal stink.

Oddly, no irritancy mars Choso’s features. If anything, he looks more flustered than you feel, which doesn’t make much sense to you.

“I’m so sorry! I c-can clean it up, I promise---”

“Leave it.” He speaks without meeting your eyes. “You are injured.”

Barely, you want to retort. But acknowledging the fact that your so-called “injuries” are very minor surface scrapes would shatter the illusory bubble of realized fantasy into which you have miraculously stumbled.

Before you can reply, Choso continues: “The human mouth is the fastest-healing part of the body. Saliva heals.”

“Okay,” you say, because there is nothing else you could possibly respond with. He can’t mean—surely, he doesn’t—

But there he goes, leaning in close to the supple flesh of your bared leg, breath ghosting along the very surface, raising the hairs that quiver in eager anticipation. “I said I would help you feel better. Please allow me this. It is my duty.”

And then he begins to suck on your wounds.

“Oh-kay,” you squeal, entirely convinced that you have begun to astral project. The scrape on the inside of your knee is laved over by his tongue, which is, strangely, just as chilled as the rest of him. When his eyes flick up at your exclamation, you realize that you have yet to release his hair.

Nor do you want to.

“B-be gentle, please…” You’re laying it on thick. You know it. How could you resist? He’s eating it up – literally – mouthing repeatedly over the sensitive area as though he is spiritually compelled to do so. And just because you’re a little too observant, a little too greedy for your own good, you decide to push your luck: “Will Choso-nii make me feel better everywhere?”

With a wet pop, he unleashes your leg from his wet, red mouth. “Where does it hurt,” he asks, pupils blown wide, nothing more than a twin pair of black holes.

“Mn…all over…I’m sore, from sleeping on the ground…”

Choso rises from his knees to crowd you into the back of the seat. Of course, you willingly melt back, pliant in the wake of his potent desire.

“Do you need Choso-nii to make it better?”

“Please,” you whimper, peering up at him through your dewy, tear-damp lashes.

Holy shit, you can’t believe this actually worked. Two hours ago, you were just one of hundreds of faceless, sweaty fans, screaming their hearts out to some of the most hauntingly morbid lyrics.

And now, you are caged in the unforgiving embrace of your oshi, completely at his mercy, littered in hickeys and lovebites and bruises as he has his way with you. Your sharp cries of pain do the opposite of dissuade him; with each groan and plea for him to slow down, take a pause, ow, ow, it hurts Choso-nii--, he grows all the more impassioned, all the more frantic.

He only pulls away from you when there is not a single inch of exposed skin left for him to mark. The sound of your comingled pants fill the van, fogging the windows with physical evidence of your salacious tryst.

Neither of you speak for a moment, content to simply gaze into each other’s eyes. His hair is frazzled every which way, due in no small part to your rough handling. Is it normal to be turned on by such a trainwreck of a human? Should you really be wet between the thighs at being mauled?

“Do—” his voice cracks in a way you have never heard before, not on any livestream, not in any video, not on any stage. “Do you feel better, now?”

Maybe it’s fate…maybe, somewhere out there, far, far away, there is a benevolent being who wants nothing but the best for you. Maybe they concentrated their divine powers into finding you, in this moment, and directing your gaze to the loose pocketknife innocently resting on the grimy floor next to his clunky black platforms. In this moment, as you pick up the blade, unsheathing it without breaking eye contact with the ghoulish specter hovering above you, an inexplicable wave of love and appreciation washes over you, bathing your half-dressed body in the warm waters of some distant, far-off shore.

It's almost too easy to slice a surface wound – a cat-scratch, really – into the plush swell of your upper thigh.

“What about here, Choso-nii?” You ask, enraptured by the peculiar twitching of his facial muscles. “Can you kiss it better right here?”

Once again, you are right on the money.

Choso dives to chase the rivulet of blood running down your leg like a man stumbling across an oasis in the desert. Devotionally, he tongues at the gory slit, sucking more blood from your self-inflicted wound, moaning as if he is the one being pleasured right now. In a strange way, you think he might be.

Your initial quick-thinking unleashes an outlandish chain reaction which finds you, inevitably, entirely unclothed with a not-insignificant amount of reddening slashes across your naked form. When it’s all said and done, Choso will tend to each and every cut, diligently disinfecting and dressing the disrupted flesh, allowing you to weakly tug at his hair (now pulled back from his face into two twin pigtails) when it burns.

Upon the final swipe of antibacterial ointment, you are halfway in dreamland, barely cognizant enough to recognize that you should probably be getting the hell out of here, at this point. However, shunning reason and common sense is the exact behavior that’s gotten you this far – so you decide to stick to what you know.

“Choso-nii,” you murmur groggily into the leather seat. “Blanket?”

“What blanket?”

His confusion is confusing you. “The one you gave me… ‘s cold…”

“…I did not give you a blanket.” For the first time since he’d picked you up behind the venue, Choso’s voice sounds grounded in reality. Released from the shackles of lust and taboo desire, he speaks with lucid candor. “Was that blanket not yours?”

“Nope,” you hum, blissfully dazed. “Where ‘s ‘t?”

Sleep descends upon your worn, battered form before you hear his answer.

Oh well. As long as Choso-nii is nearby, you have nothing to worry about.

[ROUTE CLEAR.]

next suggested route: okkotsu yuuta

> main menu > prologue > guide

> report an issue

[pbpsbff]

shoutout to this person

[rowiewritesstuff]

Yandere tfp smokescreen; nb tradesman reader? (And/or, separately) yandere soundwave x recovering s*lf h*rm addict?

Your yandere writing is one of a kind!

Yandere Soundwave X S*lfh*rm Reader

MASSIVE TW: S*lfh*rm and Su*c*d* Mentions. Probably the most fucked up of all the ones I’ve written so far. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED! THX BABES

If you need help here's a hotline finder: https://findahelpline.com/

You're not alone <3

You had been with Soundwave for a long while. He had taken you as a ‘pet’ because he’d found you interesting. He’s steadily grown to care about you over the time he’d held you captive.

You had often tried to escape the Nemesis. You had tried to leave the Nemesis when it was docked one time. He had caught you pretty quickly because of the security cameras throughout the Nemesis.

The next attempt, you jumped onto a flying Vehicon. The Vehicon obviously returned you right to the terrifying TIC, in fear of consequences. 

The next time, you made friends with a Vehicon. At first, you were just using them- but soon you actually began to care for ST3V3. You even called her Steve. Soundwave knew about your friendship, and allowed it. He was glad he didn’t have to chase you around anymore- it was getting tiresome for the old bot. 

Steve began to pity you, and offered you an escape. You weren’t sure- you had no clue what Soundwave would do to her if he found out. 

She insisted, and when the patrol was at its thinnest she decided to try and help you escape. With you stuffed in her subspace, she started towards the exit. Sadly for you, Soundwave already knew. He waited right at the exit Steve was meant to take.

“U-uh, Soundwave sir! What can I help you with?”

Before she could get another word out, the silent mech grabbed onto her with his tentacles. He slammed her into the ground and began to rip open her subspace. Steve was screaming in agony as he ripped her chest open and pulled you out. Other Vehicons saw, but did nothing- they couldn’t. 

Soundwave held you in one tentacle. Using clipped together voices lines from Steve to mock you, he said “This is what- happens when you- try to es-ca-pe.”

Without a second to waste, he drove his sharp talons into Steve’s spark. You screamed at the gory sight. “STEVE! NO! GOD NO, WHY?!” His blank visor stared at you. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?! I HATE YOU!” 

Soundwave then electrocuted you, sending you into darkness. When you woke up, you were in your ‘room’. It was really just a giant glass box with necessities. Soundwave had taken out all the sources of entertainment. When you looked outside of your cage, you fell to your knees. 

Sitting on a table in front of you was Steve’s head. You could tell it was theirs because it had the small scratching on the paint spelling out “Steve”. 

That’s when you realized you were never getting off of this ship. Days passed by, and Soundwave checked on you every few hours. Whenever he would poke or prod at you, you’d turn away. You were slowly losing the fire he saw in you at first- that’s good. He was tired of you trying to escape all of the time. 

One night, you had nightmares of Steve’s death. She was blaming you- and she was right. You shouldn’t have tried to get away. You killed her. 

You could hear her voice echoing in your head as you made your way to your bathroom, where your razor was.

When Soundwave found you, he panicked. He quickly rushed you to Knockout who treated you to the best of his knowledge. 

Soundwave then realized he took it way too far. He should have never killed them in front of you. You are human! You’re fragile- he should have remembered that. When you were stable enough to be moved, he made sure your enclosure was free of anything you could use to hurt yourself- anything heavy but light enough to hold, forks, even spoons. 

Your room was more locked down than a mental health hospital. 

When you came to, you cried. You didn’t want this. You wanted off this ship. You yelled and screamed at Soundwave- and he let you. He read on the internet that humans had to get their emotions out. When you stopped, he picked you up and cradled you. You didn’t have any energy to fight him as he rocked you back and forth. You didn’t want to- you wanted this comfort.

Soundwave forced Knockout to learn about human mental health so he could give you regular appointments. Knockout carefully began manipulating you so that you’d start realizing all that Soundwave had ‘done’ for you. Mostly because he didn’t want to spend time babysitting Soundwave’s human- but he’d never say that to Soundwave’s face.

Slowly, you got happier. You were starting to fall in love with Soundwave- and he was glad for it. Soundwave never left you alone- which meant that you always went to him for comfort. He began giving you anything you wanted now that you weren’t fighting him.

Megatron and Soundwave had some high-grade one day while you were sleeping under Knockout’s supervision. 

Soundwave used voice clips to explain the situation.

“Ah, like a true Decepticon. Maybe I should grab a human pet sometime as well. There was one I’ve had my eye on for a while.” 

Soundwave held his hand out to reveal a small key. It was to his enclosure for you. He always thought that another friend for you would be nice- now he had an actual reason to grab one. 

[tittysuckersworld]

tw!! nsfw and self harm scars! please keep that in mind before clicking the continue read thing. seriously take care of yourselves please

okay for the dazai simps out there, enjoy ;) [also this is a wip so might end up with more finnished peice some day]

[voidcat]

ok ok so here it is. i know you said it might be too long for an ask but i didn’t know where else to send it. sorry, i’m a little dumb when it comes to these things. anyways this is not a request for you to write anything btw but i got my hair cut and it gives me sooo good gender euphoria so i just had this thought and like i needed to share it with you.

tw: very little self harm, relapsing mentions

dazai realized something was different with you. something has changed. or maybe it was always like that but he started to realize it just now.

first, you started to steal borrow his clothes more often. surely you just liked to wear his clothes and who was he to deny you when you looked so good in his clothes, also showing everyone that you were in a relationship with him.

then you cut your hair even shorter. it looked good on you. it was a really cool style and it fit your face perfectly. also in his eyes everything would look good on you. he didn’t think too much about why you cut it all of a sudden. he thought you got tired of that length. or you just got bored of that old style. at least that’s what you told him. he didn’t pry too much. even when he knew that you didn’t tell him the whole truth.

then you started to spend more time on “men’s” section when you two went to shopping. he asked you once. you simply told him, “it’s just that they’re more comfortable. and the designs are much much better. like look at this.” you showed him the ugliest christmas sweatshirt anyone can see, from the “women’s” section. with the ugliest shade of the colors and unnecessary amount of glittery shapes and lots of reindeers. “like why is there so many reindeers?! or why would you use this shade of green?! they make me hate my favorite color for fucks sake. and this is only one of the million examples.” he only chuckled at your furious rambling and nodded his head in agreement. and it’s not like you never shopped from “women’s” section anyways. tho he never cared about which section you wore from. it didn’t matter to him as long as you were comfortable.

there was also one time where he caught you joking about “how handsome you looked” while you were checking yourself in the mirror. your hair freshly trimmed to it’s regular length. his ‘oversized’ (it’s not actually oversized. he’s just so unnecessarily long smh) sweater and your baggy sweatpants on you. he came up behind you, wrapping his slender arms around you and putting his head into the crook of your shoulder. he told you, “yes, yes you look really ‘handsome’, my pretty girl.” he didn’t miss your smile falling for a split second and the fakeness of your chuckle when you ‘agreed’ with him. how could he? when you two were almost the same person. but he couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. he didn’t ask you.

then one day, you tried to hide your chest. like you were kinda… disgusted by it? i mean he liked boobs (who doesn’t) and especially if it’s your boobs… oh boy… and he thought that they looked completely great. so why did you try to hide it? were you insecure about them? did you think they don’t look good? and even then why would you try to completely get rid of them instead of something different? he asked you one day. very carefully of course. he knew it might be a sensitive topic. you thought of answering him truthfully. telling him everything. but you got scared. scared that he may look at you in a different way. you knew that he wasn’t a transphobe. because he’s not an idiot. but you couldn’t shake the thought of him not liking you anymore. not looking at you the same way. so you just told him it’s because you got tired of creeps on the streets gawking at your chest. a lie. not completely. but a lie. he knew. but he didn’t say anything. he knew that you knew that he knew you’re lying. (wth was this sentence) he didn’t say anything. just told you to tell him if someone was making you uncomfortable next time.

but one day. oh, what a day it was… your dysphoria got so bad. it was already a shitty day. you couldn’t take it. you wanted to disappear. you even went back to relapsing. he found out. oh, of course he did. he took care of your scars, comforted you. in both of your’s ‘unique’ way. it wasn’t how a person would’ve comfort another one who relapsed. it was just two mentally ill idiots finding comfort in each other’s warmth. after some time you talked to him. because if you didn’t tell him then, you knew you would never be able to again. you told him about how you didn’t feel like a woman even tho you were born ‘as one’. how you didn’t know if you were actually a trans man or if you were genderfluid. or hell, maybe something completely else! you told him everything. everything you could. he listened. he didn’t say anything. but he made sure you knew he listened. then he thought to himself. how couldn’t he connect the dots? especially when he payed close attention to everything you do, you feel. especially when he witnessed chuuya going through similar things when he was still in the pm. (yes chuuya is trans in my hc s) you guys then talked about it more. and he told you that you’re you and he loves you no matter what and bla bla bla, all those things.

after all these he started to be more careful with his choose of words. he talked to you about what you were comfortable and what you weren’t and he acted according to that while still not making you feel different or bad…

and that’s it from my brain bc i can’t write good, normal fucking endings🙂 this was so long omg. thank you if you actually did read until here. it’s very self-indulgent (?), yes. but i couldn’t take this thought out of my head. and i normally hc dazai as genderfluid. but for the sake of this drabble (can i call this a drabble??) he’s a cis man 😔

-🍪 anon

Thank uuuu for sharing this with me dear!

Sorry I am returning so late w so much happening in the past few days that I forgot to finish reading this

This bit: it was just two mentally ill idiots finding comfort in each other’s warmth basically my fave thing w dazai to write and think about eheheheh also yeahhh the euphoria getting a short hair gives is>>>>>>. I felt this fic

Again, ty for sharing this w me since this is a self indulgent piece, I liked it lots:))) (also hell yea trans chuu<3)

[saturnfairycat]

Mágoa

Archive #29 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's note: can you believe I wrote this one on instagram? lmao being a writer is weird. enjoy!

Mágoa

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

Our love was like home to me. It felt like a physical place for my mentality to lie.

On days where the world seemed colder, I seek warmth near the fireplace— cuddling up with blankets and hot cocoa. On days where it was spring, I would be dancing on the deck over seeing our garden— you always believed dancing is best in silence, the only sound was careless whispering to each other. Such sweet nothings filled our house with warmth and my heart with comfort.

Of course, it was never easy— the belongings in our home were the memories and bonds we have made and shared together. If it wasn't for me, the house would be bare to the bone— only left with the original wallpaper that you put up after breaking down my walls.

I know you tried, and you would visit the house as much as you could— but we both knew deep down it wasn't enough. Soon, it wasn't only the world that seemed colder; my breath is shaky as I puffed out frost from my lungs. The fireplace was no longer used, even when I tried multiple times with the damn lighter you gave me. Our garden started to wilt, and home felt more like a distant memory.

But the belongings were still here— and so I kept them near me at all times. Hugging them to my chest like it provided me with the warmth and care I needed, ignoring the distinct coolness that came off it every passing day.

'When will you return home?' was the question I used to always ponder. 'Am I bad at maintaining our home?' I scrunched up my face in frustration. It started raining a lot during that time, it was salty— and made the skin of my cheeks feel dry afterwards.

One day, it stopped raining. Warmth came back— tenfold— but the fireplace wasn't the source. The draping wallpaper had caught on fire, I guess I have sparked the lighter a little too close to the dangling pieces of wallpaper above the fireplace.

How did I not notice the fire? I don't know. I think I have always seen a spark, but mistook it for hope instead.

The fire consumed everything in the house, even climbing out onto the wilted garden.

I managed to get out… But barely. I was harmed, yes. But people came to my rescue— I was safe. I was hurt. I felt sick, our home was getting destroyed and I could only helplessly stand back and watch it burn.

The only two choices I had left were to either stand there and watch it burn, becoming homeless without shelter— or walk away, and build my own house. I reluctantly pulled away at my spot outside the burning house, turning my back and glancing behind me a couple of times.

And then that's where I saw you.

You stood at the entrance of the house. Your foot edging past the door and threatening to enter the burning building. You looked back at me, beckoning me to follow you.

I felt a million emotions. You probably didn't understand what I was feeling— the fear of false hope, the desperation for that second chance, the dread of seeing your face again. I thought back to our memories, and how a lot of them were destroyed by the fire— you didn't remember them at all.

You were giving me mixed emotions, you didn't look certain to be where you are, but you didn't move.

Was this the second chance I was so desperate for?

Do I follow you in?

You seem to be completely different and just the same as I once knew you all at the same time. You must have lost your way, your visible scars prove so. Maybe… I could help. I could help somehow, what can I salvage? Is that why you're wanting to enter the house? Are you wanting to retrieve the remaining belongings?

I rushed towards you, following you in. If I just save the things we both loved in that house, maybe we can restart as something new— maybe just a small vegetable garden, or an ash tree.

The smoke blinded me, I have lost you in the smoke. But I knew what to do, I didn't lose my way. I reached and grasped at what I could, wincing at the heat. When I neared a window, I saw your left hand holding one of our more newer possessions— while your right hand held our oldest possession. I was confused, you were outside— don't you want the others?

I guess you got cold feet, too scared of the flames to salvage the rest. You left, after I hesitantly stared back at you— your eyes begging me to follow you once more.

I was burning up, I was lost. What have I done? I have caused more pain for myself. I gave you a second chance and ran into a burning building to save the things I loved. But you didn't save me.

I escaped the collapsing house, leaving the belongings behind in the fire.

Without a single glance. I walked away from the burning house I once called our home.

[herofics]

Hello :>

Sorry if this request is kind of dark, but could you write a bestfriend Izuku in which his bestie (female) if depressed and he finds her bleeding out in the tub, because she relaped in sh.

Thanks :)

A/N: I did this so they’re adults and Deku comes to check on his friend after not seeing them/hearing from them for a while. I didn’t do the tub part like you asked, but eh

Warnings: Blood and self-harm by cutting

Midoriya had been incredibly busy for the past week, but now that things had calmed down at least somewhat, he noticed something. It wasn’t exactly odd that he hadn’t heard from you, but it was still worrying, especially now that you hadn’t answered him all day. You always answered his messages, even if you didn’t initiate the conversation yourself. Midoriya decided to stop by your place when he was on his way home from work to check on you.

It’s not like this hadn’t happened before. You’d cut yourself quite badly before, but this time you had apparently hit a bigger vein. You didn’t really mean to, but you just sort of kept going, it was like you were in a trance. You didn’t even register the pain when you did it, or at least not all of it. You just looked at the blood pouring out of your arm and kept going anyway. 

“Well this is a damn mess” you muttered as you looked at the floor after a while.

You’d been sitting on the edge of the tub and there was a small pool of blood forming between your feet as the blood dripped from your wrist at a steady pace. You just stared at the small pool of blood as it spread slowly towards your feet. Suddenly, you could hear your doorbell ringing, but you didn’t care. If you just ignored whoever it was they would go away, right?

Midoriya was ringing your doorbell, he knew you were home since the lights were on in your apartment. He texted you, asking if you were okay, but you didn’t answer. He didn’t want to intrude, but you had given him a spare key and he was getting increasingly worried. He stood behind your door for probably ten minutes, ringing the doorbell intermittently, hoping you would just come to the door. You didn’t, so he used the spare key and came in, calling your name.

You heard the door open, and you just sighed. It had to be Izuku, since he had the other key to your place.

“Here” you answered as he called out to you.

“Thank god, I thought you were-” Izuku was cut off as you came into view.

“Hi” you said, raising your bloody hand in a small wave.

You had stopped bleeding, but it was still quite a gory sight.

Midoriya wasn’t exactly surprised, but this was still quite a shock. The two of you had been here before, but this was the most blood there had ever been. He didn’t panic, he just calmly took off his jacket and threw it on the hallway floor.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he knelt down in front of you, avoiding the pool of blood.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just need to do something about this” you said with an eerily calm voice, raising your arm.

“We need to clean it up. Where do you keep your bandages and disinfectant and stuff?” Midoriya asked.

“They’re all in the medicine cabinet” you motioned with your nonbloody hand.

You just sat there, feeling a little light-headed, as Izuku took some supplies out of the cabinet. You gave him your arm and let him clean it up. The disinfectant stung, but you didn’t make a sound, you just let him clean off the blood with cotton pads as you got increasingly more lightheaded. When he was done cleaning your arm, Izuku closed the wound with butterfly sutures and wrapped a bandage around your wrist.

“I feel bad that you’re so good at this. You’ve been patching me up for one reason or another ever since we were kids” you finally said.

“It’s okay, I’d rather patch you up than visit you in the hospital or worse…” he trailed off.

“Yeah, I know. I just hate that you’re always having to take care of me. I’m such a mess”

“You’re my best friend, and yeah you might be a mess sometimes, but it doesn’t matter, you’re still important to me” Midoriya assured, squeezing your hand.

“Thanks” you sniffled and squeezed him back.

Izuku didn’t need to know how crappy you felt right at that moment. You felt like if you tried to get up, you would probably faint, so you just sat there. Izuku was still kneeling in front of you, as you two shared a quiet moment.

You’d been dealing with this for years, and Izuku had been there for most of it. All the late night phone calls, crying to him about whatever was upsetting you at the time, all the times he had patched you up or taken you to the ER. Sure, it was difficult on him too sometimes, but you had it worse in terms of mental health issues. He hated this, he hated that you did this to yourself. It was an ugly thing to do to one’s self, the marks you left on yourself would never go away. They would always be there to remind you of the darkest moments in your life. He just hoped that one day, you could be happy, that one day they would really be just a distant reminder.

[justiceiswater]

perhaps i needed to shed tears today. who ever knows when those days come for us. today was my day

Cutting Deep

Fandom: Haikyu!! (Post highschool) Pairing: Azumane Asahi x gn!reader Content: hurt/comfort, depression, selfharm, negative mental state, sadness, tears. BE WARNED! A/N: Yeah, couldn’t sleep so decided to write down some thing. Sorry for the bleak subject.

You had been doing well. Coping with graduation, finding a home together with Asahi, a job for yourself, getting him comfortably started on the career path he really dreamed of. All of it.

There had been no time to rest, no time to take care of yourself. Every time, you’d been close to crumbling, one or two days had helped you get juuust a bit further. Hold on just a bit longer.

Asahi knew of your past and the darkness that still laid in wait. He helped you remember to take your meds. He would do everything to ensure your happiness…hence the life, you were building together.

You saw his joy when he came home from work; his satisfaction of having restored yet another room in the little, old house together with you - globs of paint in his hair, a handprint drying on the ass of your jeans.

This meant the world to him…so how could you ever let yourself spoil it?

Keep reading

[akizenyx]

Our obsession With Astronomy - First day of classes (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1388384422-our-obsession-with-astronomy-first-day-of-classes?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=Akizenyx3311&wp_originator=%2BDFeZRXloJkJ8jXfSrTo2Tot%2FoulH%2FZDEsuqWn2c2B%2BUBwdeeSm04K%2FxfYkkQYGsnIE5Frlw2erXlI0WRB1%2BsvUgrc7OuYocip4cTutw5UVXEXfBoCtyAh%2FmAr6E1yD4 A story about the marauders and the reader. Eventually, Sirius Black and Y/n Morningstar fall into an endless but complicated romance. At the same time, Voldemort is plotting something and seeing as Voldemort And Y/n's father, Lucifer, are enemies, shit will go down. Lucifer is also not a very good father to Y/n and her two siblings, her older brother Aeolus and little sister Areena. Read now to watch as Y/n deals with family drama, is there for Sirius during his, and slowly fall in love with each other as they help one another go through their terrible times.

[baldval]

heyy! You dont have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable it is a little darker…

can i request overlords finding out that reader selfharms? Like they knew she was unstable but they didnt think that much

thank you!!!

BEING COMFORTED BY HAZBIN!₊˚⊹♡

characters: alastor, vox, velvette, valentino, lucifer, adam

warnings: sad reader, slightly ooc adam (that man is so hard to write omg)

a/n: ik i said i'm comfortable w darker asks, i just don't really feel ok w writing about such heavy/negative topics (especially sh), but don't worry anon, should've added that mb. anyways, i give you hazbin characters comforting reader in return 🫶🫶

ALASTOR:

ᯓ he’s not exactly a ‘sit down and talk about feelings’ type of person

ᯓ but he can tell when something’s wrong

ᯓ and he wants nothing more but to make you feel like you’re on top of the world

ᯓ he sees your pouty face when you get home

ᯓ “hey, darling, come look,” he says

ᯓ he’d been at work when you’d left

ᯓ so he’s had some time to figure out what to do for you without making it seem like he’s prying

ᯓ he’ll ask you about what’s bothering you once you’ve relaxed

ᯓ he plops down on the couch, dragging you with him

ᯓ your favorite movie is paused on the tv, waiting to be played

ᯓ “i found an extended version. with bloopers and deleted scenes and everything,” he murmurs

ᯓ the entire movie, his hand is rubbing up and down your back

ᯓ his fingers sometimes creep up your neck, playing gently with your hair

ᯓ the entire thing is extremely soothing

ᯓ you know he knows something’s wrong

ᯓ and you also know he’s going to do everything in his power to fix it

ᯓ and you’re so grateful he just loves you

VOX:

ᯓ he doesn’t need you to say anything, ever

ᯓ he just knows what you need

ᯓ when he comes home and finds you in bed early, he knows you’ve had a difficult day

ᯓ he doesn’t know what happened, but he won’t ask until you’re feeling better

ᯓ he changes out of his work clothes and just gets into bed with you

ᯓ when you don’t say anything either, he pulls you into a cuddle, one hand pressing your head to his chest and the other cupping your hip

ᯓ “hi, vox.”

ᯓ he peppers your face in kisses

ᯓ “feeling off?” he asks

ᯓ you nod

ᯓ his fingers go to stroke your jaw

ᯓ “you can talk to me, you know. i want to make it better,” he tells you

ᯓ so you tell him everything

ᯓ whatever the issue was, the next day, he’s found some way to solve it

ᯓ just for you

ᯓ anything for you

VELVETTE:

ᯓ the minute you come home from work, exhaustion and misery rolling off of you in waves, she demands to know what’s wrong

ᯓ “is someone bothering you? is it your boss again? because i can get him fired.”

ᯓ you tell her everything

ᯓ she promises to help you with whatever it is that’s causing you trouble

ᯓ she’d tip the earth off it’s axis if you asked

ᯓ “come here, i want a kiss,” she tells you

ᯓ you very happily oblige

ᯓ she spends the entire night just spoiling (and worshiping) you

ᯓ the sheets of your bed are tangled between both your legs

ᯓ you’ve never felt more loved

ᯓ she murmurs about how your aniversary is coming up

ᯓ and tells you to get your nails done and dress pretty

ᯓ you don’t really know how you got here

ᯓ but you’re not upset

ᯓ you smile up at the ceiling, delightedly dazed

ᯓ you don’t even remember why you were upset

VALENTINO:

ᯓ he feels what you feel

ᯓ and at this point he can never leave you alone

ᯓ he NEEDS to be with you 24/7

ᯓ so naturally it’s like he’s dying when you come home looking upset

ᯓ “hey, no kiss hello?” he whines

ᯓ that manages to get you to laugh

ᯓ he smiles at your smiling

ᯓ you go over to kiss him and he catches your wrist before you walk off

ᯓ “no, c’mere,” he insists

ᯓ he tugs you into his lap and winds his arms around your waist

ᯓ he sets his chin on your shoulder

ᯓ “why’re you upset?”

ᯓ “oh, it’s nothing, val.”

ᯓ “bullshit.”

ᯓ you spill

ᯓ he rubs circles into your hip bone

ᯓ “i’d be upset, too,” he admits

ᯓ he kisses all up your neck

ᯓ “but we don’t have to think about that at all now. can we just spend some time together? i promise, though, if you’re still having problems i’ll gladly fuck up as many lives as you need.”

ᯓ you laugh, making him laugh

ᯓ you spend the rest of the night just sitting there talking to him

LUCIFER:

ᯓ the two of you are watching your current show, as you do every night, and he notices you’re zoning out

ᯓ he pauses it and looks down at you

ᯓ he dots a couple kisses over your brow

ᯓ “everything okay?”

ᯓ “rough day…”

ᯓ “why didn’t you tell me?”

ᯓ his expression is one of concern now, yet still absolutely laden with affection

ᯓ “i’m sorry, i’m not trying to keeping things from you or anything. i just don’t want to bother you.”

ᯓ “i want you to bother me. say everything that comes into your brain, i want to hear it.”

ᯓ he pulls you closer, palm smoothing over the back of your neck as he sets your head against his chest

ᯓ you tell him about your day, and how you were getting so frustrated

ᯓ frustrated everything was going wrong today, frustrated that the entire week was going wrong

ᯓ he listens intently, stroking your hair the entire time

ᯓ he gives soft “mhms” and “of courses” at your words

ᯓ he peppers warm kisses all over your face

ᯓ he does his best to give you a solution

ᯓ even if what he suggested doesn’t work, he’s sending you flowers to your house for the next week

ADAM:

ᯓ he’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit

ᯓ he’s a little nervous to ask what’s wrong

ᯓ he’s afraid he won’t know what to do to make you feel better

ᯓ “hey, uh, everything okay?”

ᯓ you shrug

ᯓ “wanna talk about it?”

ᯓ you tell him everything

ᯓ he nods the entire time, his eyes never leaving your face

ᯓ he’s trying to memorize everything you’re saying

ᯓ he doesn’t really have any great solutions

ᯓ and he kind of hates himself for it

ᯓ he wants to help you, even if he doesn't make it obvious

ᯓ “hey, how about we go out tonight? take your mind off things.”

ᯓ you spend the night at dinner then wandering through a night market

ᯓ you both talk nonstop

ᯓ he gets you a bunch of trinkets

ᯓ just things that remind him of you

ᯓ and a bracelet, too

ᯓ he spends a bit of time fiddling with the clasp, eventually hooking it together and letting it sit on your wrist

ᯓ you don’t take the bracelet off

ᯓ ever

ᯓ at home, he’s worried you’re still upset

ᯓ but you’re not

ᯓ you fall asleep curled up against him, your worries now nonexistent

[fatkish]

Heyy, if you dont mind. Could you do a dazawa oneshot in which he has a daughter and he found out she selfharms? Like, he finds her doing it. Practicly hurt/confort

Thanks, have a nice day

(Write it only if you feel comftable with it)

Aizawa x Daughter Reader

(Trigger Warning: the following contains mentions of self harm. If you’re sensitive to that please be advised)

Aizawa is a very busy man. And he’s also a very observant man as well as tired. As his daughter, you try to lighten his workload by helping and doing what you can. Every morning you make bento lunches as well as breakfast for the both of you. If you accidentally cut yourself then you just put a bandage on. Nothing too suspicious. You’re also in the hero course so it’s normal to be a little banged up. Aizawa knows that you’re a good cook but even the best sometimes make mistakes so he isn’t too worried.

You tend to cut yourself and hide them beneath bandages and other small items like watches and such. You had done really well at hiding them. You tried to not do it too often, but as your stress increased, so did your cutting. Eventually you were ‘clumsy’ too often but Aizawa chalked it up to you not getting enough sleep and told you to only make breakfast in the morning and stop making lunches since the school has lunches, so you could get more sleep. If that wasn’t enough then you guys could pick up breakfast.

But even so, the bandages being to stay longer, get bigger. Aizawa knew something wasn’t adding up but what was it? Late one night, Aizawa got home and knocked on your door, opening it only to see you with an Exacto knife at your wrist and multiple cuts. Aizawa’s eyes widened at the sight as the entire world stopped for a moment as he watched the blood drip from the cuts. Silentlyhe walked in and entered your bathroom, and came out with the first aid kit.

He opened it and sat down next to you. Taking the knife from you and without saying a word, he began to clean and treat the cuts before he bandages them. You were worried as he wasn’t saying anything but as you went to ask him something he spoke.

“Do you want to talk about why you’re doing this?”

“I-“

“It’s okay, you can tell me anything. If you need me to fix an issue then I’ll do that, if you just need to talk then I’ll just listen. If you’re uncomfortable with talking to me then we can find someone else for you to talk to. “

He spoke softly as he cleaned and rebandaged all the older cuts. Once he finished he set everything down and looked at you with teary eyes. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly as he kissed your forehead.

“I love you so much. I hope you know that. I’m sorry that you’re going through this but just know that I’m here for you no matter what. You’re my little girl and you’ll always be my little girl. Now, let’s go have some ice cream and maybe watch a movie, or we can just talk if you’re up for that?”

As he stood up and held a hand out to you to help you up off your bedroom floor you looked at him as he turned to leave.

“Aren’t you mad?”

“I’m not mad, I’m sad, yes, but I’m not angry at you. I know that you’re going through something. I’m just upset that I didn’t realize this sooner. You know you can talk to me about anything. Even girl stuff like boys and periods. But I doubt you’d want to talk to your old man about that stuff.” He smiled softly at you as you gave a soft chuckle.

“Dad, you’re not old”

“I know, now c’mon, let’s go”

He motioned for you to follow him as you walked into the kitchen. He pulled a container of your favorite ice cream out of the freezer and scooped some into a bowl before handing the bowl to you. He then scoped a bit out for himself before putting the ice cream back and joining you on the couch in the living room. That night you ate ice cream and snuggled with your dad in his lap as he held you, your head resting on his shoulder as he rubbed your back.

You talked to him about how you were feeling and why. He nodded and stayed calm, listening carefully and reassuring you that he loves you. You ended up falling asleep on his lap. He then carried you back up to your room and laid you down in your bed before pulling the covers over you and kissing your forehead goodnight.

The next morning, you and him, removed all the sharp objects from your room and put them in a box so you wouldn’t have the temptation. Aizawa helped you cook breakfast that morning. (Meaning he mostly watched and drank his coffee as you cooked since he was so tired) you both then left for school.