#tw self hurting

[cavinginhisfvce]

'No Other Way Out For Me"

Pairing: Harringrove.

Tw: suicide attempt, ED unspecified, implied child abuse, self-harm.

Loosely based off the quote "They never want to discuss what triggered you. Just how you reacted."

Was originally one part, but will now be two!

Nobody notices the way Billy seems largely put off by every meal. They don't see the disgust that courses through him with every bite, through every uptick in his calorie intake.

They don't see when he finally dips off to the bathroom to ralph every morsel he possibly can.

Nobody hears his cries over the rush of shower water, they don't hear him shouting to be seen, heard, and held. 

They don't see the drops of red that mix in with his shower water as it trails down the drain.

What they do see is Billy's unbridled anger. His hair triggers for any and all things. They see bruised knuckles, and split lips in place of his oh so evident pain. They see a nuisance, an unreasonably angry boy. They take what they see at face value, nobody digs further. Billy doesn't ask them to.

Nobody witnesses the days Billy can barely drag himself out of bed. Nobody sees the days where he's so tired, every movement feels like a war on his body and mind.

There's always a hidden layer of fatigue beneath his skin, some days it's easily ignored, while others it demands to be addressed. 

No one is around to watch as Billy Hargrove becomes a shell of his former self. Only Billy and the four walls of whatever room he's holed up in.

Nobody sees the papers that litter Billy's bedroom, or their contents. They don't see the "Dear Max'" and the "I'm sorrys". 

Not until it's too late, anyway. 

Now, Max watches, horrified as Steve Harrington and her step father alternate between applying pressure to Billy's wounds, and checking for a pulse. 

It all seems so hopeless. Her mother tries, and fails to shield her from seeing the panicked attempts at keeping Billy alive. The paramedics aren't too far, Max can hear the blare of their sirens, even over Steve's rushed words of, "stay with us, Billy. Please." "I got you, please." 

Please, please, please.

Max wonders if he's pleading with Billy or with the universe. She hopes it's both.

When the EMTs finally did arrive, Max watched with tearful blue eyes as they carted Billy off and into the Ambulance. She watched as Neil slipped in before the doors shut. She watched as Steve dropped to his knees and began to sob, his clothes ruined from the blood that was all over their living room floor. She doesn't know if she should comfort him or leave him be.

She didn't understand why Steve was crying. Was it because the situation was traumatic, even for them? Or was it because somewhere along the line, they'd become friends or something like it?

Sadly, Max wasn't able to wonder very long before her mom was guiding her back into the house. She tried to rush them past the spots where Billy's blood pooled the most, tried to keep the red stained floors from view, but Max had already seen. Max had already seen the state her brother was in when they found him. Had seen the lifeless tint to his skin. 

She thought for sure he was gone, but somehow, in spite of his own attempts, he was still fighting. Still alive. 

Weak, but alive. If the EMTs were to be trusted when they told her and her mom that Billy would be okay.

Her mom tells her to pack a bag, one for herself and one for Billy. 

She obliges. 

When her own bag is packed and resting at the foot of her bed, Max hurriedly slips into Billy's room.

She ignores the knowledge that she hasn't been inside of his room in almost a year. She pushes past the visible signs that her brother had been spiraling. There's beer cans littering just about every flat surface. There's papers everywhere, some ripped, some crumpled. 

But, worst of all? It's significantly empty, all his posters are gone, leaving his walls bare, lackluster. 

His once extensive record collection has dwindled considerably. He barely has six left. Max notes that almost all his favorite ones are gone, the remaining six are the ones she too found herself enjoying. Back when her and Billy hung out. Before they moved to Hawkins and Billy changed.

His clothes are all packed away in plastic crates, the kind meant for long term storage. 

She doesn't let herself consider how long Billy had been planning this. If she did, she'd probably see all the signs he laid out for somebody to acknowledge. 

He had long since swapped out his short-sleeved, tight shirts, for layers. His jeans followed the same fate, and were replaced by sweatpants and loose jeans. At the time, Max assumed the cold had finally gotten to him. She thought he was just conforming to a life in a brisk town, the same as her.

Instead of packing a bag, she reaches down and swipes up a piece of paper. It's crumpled beyond repair, but legible nonetheless.

"Dear Max, 

I'm sorry. For everything. I wasn't a good brother, and you deserved better than that. 

I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from him, any longer. Please don't hate me for this, Max. 

If you have to hate me, hate me for how I treated you. But please don't hate me for this. There was no other way out for me,"

The letter gets cut off there, Max guesses he wasn't pleased with how it was coming along.

Max drops the paper with a soft gasp, her eyes filling with tears once again. She wouldn't cry though. Because Billy was going to be okay. He was going to get better, and Max could be the sister he's always needed, and in turn she hopes he will at least try to be a proper brother to her. 

She wants to read another unfinished note, but it feels like an invasion, because Billy might've been addressing her, but the letters were still in his possession.

She's never hated him. She just followed the tune he played, it was better if Neil thought they were against one another. Even Max knew that without needing to be told.

But this whole situation? It changed the tune of the song, whether Billy intended for it to or not, Max was no longer following his cues. She didn't need to, because when Billy came home, they'd write the song together.

With that in mind, Max sets to pack his bag. It was easy, considering the way his clothes were packed up. 

Max, despite her protests, was sent to stay with The Byers' for over a week.

Usually, staying with her friends was a blessing, but this time it was a dreadful affair. She just wanted to go see Billy in the hospital, but she kept being told she was too young to see him that way. As if she hadn't seen her brother lying in a pool of his own blood. 

When Max was able to go home, Billy still hadn't been released from the hospital. At dinner, she finally asked why that was. 

Neil seemed to tense up at the question, his fingers clutched his fork so tightly the metal all but bent at the action.

"He's not well, Maxine. The doctors just want to keep him there a little longer to make sure nothing like this happens again." Her mom's voice cut through the silence that followed her question. 

Max, feeling pissed off, and put out for some reason, just nodded and went back to eating her dinner. 

Well, she tried at least. Most of it was burned, or just too bland. 

Her mom was never a good cook, not like Billy who would always manage to save Susan's dishes in some way. He always caught them before they burned, or snuck in extra seasoning whenever her mom would turn her back.

It was another two weeks before Billy was meant to come home, only five days before it all, Neil had taken off in the dead of night. He didn't leave a note, didn't even say goodbye. 

To Max's knowledge, her mother hadn't cried when she realized her husband wouldn't be returning. She blared the music Neil often complained about, Billy's favorite genre of music, and skirted around Billy's bedroom. She had Max help her unpack his belongings, his clothes returned to the closet, his scarce record collection was put into a proper display. 

Steve even came by and hung Billy's mirror up behind his door. To Max's surprise, he'd also replaced the posters that once covered the walls. He even went as far as to add additional posters, ones from bands Max knew Billy enjoyed. She just didn't know why Steve also knew which bands he favored.

The day they set out to pick Billy up from the hospital, Max had been buzzing with excitement. Three long weeks of not seeing Billy was finally coming to a close. 

Max couldn't remember the last time she had been so ready to see the blond, she thinks it might've been when their parents were only dating. They still lived in California, they still got along back then.

However, on the ride over, Max was starting to regret agreeing to come along. She initially thought Billy had been in Hawkins Memorial Hospital, it was nearby, and equipped to take care of him. 

But, when they drove beyond the town's limits, to a hospital in the next town over, Max had thrown her head back with a groan. 

Steve, who had offered to drive her and her mom, just laughed and glanced back at her when they pulled into a red light. "It's a long drive, right? I've made this drive at least six times this month." 

Again, Max was left to wonder just how close Steve and her brother had gotten without her knowing.

This time, however, she voiced her question to him. 

The elder seemed to pause, his hands freezing in their place on the steering wheel. He was almost dazed until Susan laid a hand on his arm and whispered something Max couldn't catch. 

Whatever it was, was apparently enough to have him nodding his head and breathing out. "We're dating? He's my boyfriend, I guess. I mean, it was purely physical for a long time, but..." 

Even though he sounded unsure, and was probably scolding himself for oversharing, Max detected the smile in his voice. She was shocked, for a multitude of reasons. But, mostly because Steve Harrington was dating her brother. The mere thought had her gagging out loud, her face scrunched up in obvious displeasure. She was shocked her mother knew, but that was a topic to broach on a later date.

"Okay, TMI! I get it." Her mom was the first to dissolve into giggles, but both Max and Steve were quick to follow suit.

It took almost thirty minutes before Billy was crossing the threshold of the hospital he'd spent nearly a month in. When he spotted Max, Susan and Steve, it was obvious they hadn't seen him yet. So, Billy did what any sensible older brother would do, and snuck up behind Max. His eye caught Steve's and he motioned for him to remain silent, before he was placing both hands on Max's shoulders and leaning into her space. "Hey, shitbird!" 

Max, who almost jumped out of skin, turned around and flung herself into Billy's arms. "Asshole!"

The latter caught her easily, his arms winding around her waist, both of them ignoring Susan's gentle scolding. 

It was at least a minute before Billy was playfully shoving her away, his face twisted up in mock anger, "alright  enough, you're getting little bitch all over me!"

Max slapped his arm, her lips forming a pout, "stop being an ass, I missed you!"

Billy just smirked at her, clicking his tongue as he glanced up at Steve, then at Susan. 

There was a mischievous glint in his eye, one familiar to all of them. 

Steve was the one to groan, "Billy, no, don't." 

But, his plea fell on deaf ears, because two seconds later, Billy was saying, "You act like I almost died, Maxie."

Again, Max slapped his arm, this time with more power than the first one. "Don't joke about that, Billy!" 

Her body seemed to betray her demands, because she was then giggling madly. 

"Only you two would find this funny." Her mom just shook her head, her disappointment overshadowed by the fond twinge to her tone.

On the ride home, Max and Susan both sat in the back, allowing Billy the opportunity to sit in the passenger seat.

He tried convincing Steve to let him drive, but he was quick to decline. None of them were too keen on the motion sickness that came with Billy's fast, reckless driving.

Every time Steve glances in Billy's direction, Max can't help but to wonder if he's seeing the same image that flashes occasionally in her mind. 

Billy, not breathing, bleeding too much for any one person, he was thinner than Max could recall. 

It was like Billy had been replaced before their very eyes. Only, nobody noticed the way his cheeks seemed to sink in, or the way his eyes always held dark bags, even after hours, and hours of rest.

Once upon a time, Max would've praised herself for how well she knew her step brother, but recent events proved she knew very little about him. It had taken him nearly dying for her to see his pain. For anyone to see his pain. Max wishes she would've seen Billy changing from abrasive to withdrawn for what it was. A cry for help. Instead, she wrote it off. She wrote him off.

[worthless-misery]

Dear diary...

The fact that I'm still "alive" in 2024 just feels like a huge mistake...

[nibbelraz]

You don't understand how much I actually love you shang siblings au!

And it's funny that all it took for og!sqh to survive is a little sibling. Just, "you wouldn't kill a guy who's also a father, would you my king?"

If someone kidnapped airplane, how would og sqh react?

Ah I'm so glad you do!!! They're so cute like a wide eyed little airplane going around the world spouting the most nonsensical things known to man while also saying some things absolutely NO ONE knows but iy somehow is true??? All while the OG dots on his weird little brother, who he would do anything for, anything.

Of course he'll get you that double chocolate chip ice cream, once he can find it. Also Airplane talking about all the games he used to play so OG the master of lying is just guessing on what they are

"Playing Minecraft" is going outside to dig holes and chop some things

[moonstruckme]

I absolutely adore your roommate James series! It’s so tender and soft and sweet and it feels like the literary version of a hug 😭 you nail it every time!

Thank you sweetness!!! I am giving you a hug actually <3

cw: threatening with a weapon

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Things have come to a point where James needs to admit to himself that he likes you as more than a friend. 

The problem is, he likes you as a friend so much. He’s no stranger to the dilemma of risking a friendship for something more, but he’s not a teenager anymore and you’re not Lily. James knows he wouldn’t be able to play it off as a silly, harmless crush with you. And, really, he wouldn’t want to. You bully your way into his thoughts all day long. Your sweet voice, the way you talk with your eyes, tiny moments like the way your lips parted when he’d first slipped and called you sweetheart. You’d schooled your expression into teasing exasperation almost immediately, but there had been a softening in your eyes that made him impatient to do it again.

If he told you all that, James would probably come home to find all your things gone. You can barely handle it when he tells you you look nice. He doesn’t want to lose you. 

So, against his wishes and all his instincts and proclivities, he’s going to let it lie. James wants to be your friend more than he wants to discover what else you could be together. He can love you this way, too. 

That doesn’t do anything to deaden the thrill that goes up his spine when he picks up his phone and hears your voice on the other end, though.

“James?” 

“Y/n?” He checks the number on his phone. It’s not in his contacts. 

“Yeah. Um, are you—are you busy?” There’s a wobble in your voice. James’ heart drops straight down to his stomach. 

“I’m not,” he says, stopping short of the field where his teammates are gathering and turning back towards his car. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah.” It’s clearly not, but he was silly to ask. Of course you’d say that. “I just, if you’re free, I was wondering if you could maybe pick me up?” 

That wobble hasn’t gone from your voice. James’ heart trembles in solidarity. 

He gets back in his car, starting the ignition with perhaps a tad too much force. “I’m on my way,” he promises. “Where are you, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m outside the Waterstones on Manor Road, you know where that is?” 

“I know the one, yeah.” 

Your voice sounds held together by fragments. “I’m sorry, it’s far.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, then regrets it instantly. This is hardly the time for a good-natured scolding. He turns out of the parking lot. “I’m coming. What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve—I’ve had my phone and wallet taken. I don’t have my key to the apartment.” 

“Taken?” James’ head buzzes like a TV turned to the wrong channel. “By who?” 

“A man, I—I don’t know. Um, I’m borrowing this woman’s phone, and I think I should give it back.”

His lungs feel small, panic choking him. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be safe, yeah?”  

“Yeah.” A breath crackles through the phone. James wonders if you’d been choking, too. “Thanks, James.” 

“Just be safe.” 

The sun has dipped below most buildings by the time he gets there. It makes it difficult to see you, but James’ eyes work like a compass, finding your shadowy form curled up on the curb. The bookstore looks to be closed or close to it, no patrons walking by you as you sit with your knees bent close to your chest. 

You see his car pull up, and he’s halfway to you before you’re even standing. Your arms come around James as readily as his around you, your face squished willingly into the fabric of his workout shirt. Your breath seems to stutter out of you. 

“It’s okay,” he says, grasping the back of your head. He’s not sure if he’s talking to you, or himself, or either of you. He’ll tell whoever will listen. “You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s alright.” 

“Sorry,” you squeak. “I don’t know why I’m crying now.” 

“You’re okay,” James says again, just for good measure. His lips find the top of your head. “What happened?” 

“I think I was mugged,” you laugh. It comes out warped, completely unlike the sound he’s spent months chasing after. “This guy showed me a knife, and told me to hand him my bag and phone, and I just gave them to him. It was right out in the open.” Another jagged, heart-aching laugh. “I feel so stupid.” 

“Why would someone else mugging you make you stupid?” James lets you go enough to give you a little space, but his arms stay around you, his hand rubbing firmly over your shoulder blade. “Did you call the police?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. It already looks bitten to shreds. “No.” 

He nods, taking a breath. James isn’t typically the responsible one in his relationships. He’s not good at knowing what to do. It makes him think of being thirteen and seeing Sirius all bruised and broken, feeling his heart break and knowing that he had to fix things despite the both of them being too young to have any clue how to deal with something so huge. James is an adult now, but he still feels too young. 

“Do you want to go home?” he asks you. 

You bite down hard on your lip, but your eyes gloss anyway. “Yeah,” you say, voice breaking. 

James pulls you close and gives in to treating you the way he wants to, kisses pressed into your hairline and tender words pouring from his lips. He gets you into the car and takes you home. 

Throughout the rest of the evening, you’re at once more reticent and more talkative than you’ve ever been. You’ll stare into the distance for minutes at a time, but then you’ll speak up, seemingly randomly, about some small fact you’d forgotten or a thought that’s been pushing at your consciousness. You tell him that you don’t think you could describe the man well enough to the police. That you have no concept of how long you stood around before you thought to ask for someone else’s phone. That you sort of wish you’d refused to hand yours over, because really what was the worst that could have happened?

“Well, he could have stabbed you,” James says.

“Yeah, but how often is that really fatal? And he might not have. It’s embarrassing, all he had to do was show me the knife and I turned everything over. I probably would have been fine.” 

“I don’t think you’re automatically fine if you’re not dead, angel. You were still at risk of being stabbed.” 

“I’d still have my phone and everything, though.” 

“I think you’re worth a bit more than that stuff.” 

“Mm, agree to disagree.” 

James does things he doesn’t particularly want to do—phoning your bank, filing a police report online, texting your landlord about a new set of keys—and several things he really does want to do. Once you’ve changed into your cozy clothes he practically swaddles you in blankets, putting a hot chocolate in your hand and that show you’re always watching on the TV. He makes you dinner, teases you until he gets a real smile, puts your mum’s number in his phone and texts her to let her know you’re okay. James touches you amply, lips on your cheek and hand smoothing the hair from your face and one knee pressing into your leg through the blanket. 

And you let him. 

[maskenwelt]

[kaitlinz-z0ne]

hold me and console me. please.

I’ve been feeling like shit for a while and it got bad earlier so I doodled these. Am I cooked if I consider Sol a comfort character ?

the full page

[emotionaleating]

nothing ever gets better for me because i've been objectively fucked since birth and my brain is hardwired to believe that i exist only for the worst endurance of pain imaginable haha

[crescenthistory]

i’ll hold your hand through all of christmas day

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: Based on a DM request sent from this anon. Remus supports his partner through how grief affects their holiday celebrations — or; when everyone stays behind at Hogwarts for Christmas, you plan on sneaking off to visit the family grave. Luckily, you never have to do anything on your own anymore.

Words: 3.7k

Warnings/tags: gn!reader, grief and loss, vague talk of multiple losses intended to be universal (said to be family, but does not need to be biological), talk of a "family grave", visit to a graveyard, reader has a purposefully ambiguous background, feelings of heaviness, found family trope, established and secure relationship, hurt/comfort, lots of fluff, whipped!remus, domestic bliss (even the hard bits), crying and kissing

A/N: i hope this finds those who need it 🤍 you are never ever alone

It required some well-written letters to various homes, some strategic orchestrating and convincing, but eventually James Potter got his desperate wish – for all of his friends to stay at the castle for Christmas in their final year, to help truly commemorate the end of their time at Hogwarts. He even managed to sweet talk Regulus and his friends into joining, despite being the year below most of you. It would be the picture-perfect Christmas.

You hated to feel as if you were ruining that.

With all of your friends having moved into an unusually vacated Gryffindor for the week, making the empty common rooms and dormitories your own, you truly could not be happier. Most evenings were spent gathered around the fire, playing board games and telling stories, loud laughter rippling through the cozy air. You even got to spend most of it cuddled up with Remus under a blanket, presented with the perfect view of all of your closest loved ones finding love and contentment in each other. 

You enjoyed the holidays, you enjoyed Christmas with all the snowy, candlelit and toasty atmospheres it involved. You enjoyed it even more when you had Remus softly singing Welsh folk Christmas songs in your ears with that soothing lilt that seemed to reach even your coldest bones. You enjoyed it all – on paper.

Despite yourself, the holidays always came with a certain blanket of heaviness for you; in every room filled with lovely people, you could almost see the shadows of those who weren’t here. The smell of gingerbread brought forth saddening associations before much else, and laughter had residue echoes that never escaped your ears. It was like this every year, the losses piled up by time only weighing you down further. For exactly that reason, you were one of the first people to enthusiastically agree to James’ masterplan, thinking that maybe it would be easier when you weren’t at home, surrounded by natural reminders of loss – but, turns out, those reminders are present everywhere when you’re looking. 

And unfortunately you couldn’t help but look.

You hadn’t brought it up to Remus, not from thinking you couldn’t, but just not knowing how to. How do you begin to unpack the layers of grief that live beneath your skin? How do you explain the years of both with and without in a matter of minutes? You would rather hold him close and let him kiss you as you wallow in a solitude that he could certainly spot but deigned not to comment on. 

There was only one exception to this, one tradition you refused to let go of, even as you all holed up at Hogwarts – on Christmas Day, you visit the family grave. You have done it every day since the first loss without fault, and you couldn’t bring yourself to break that pattern now, especially not when Hogsmeade is a mere walk away and you have received your apparition certificate already. 

The problem there was how to slip away for a few hours without causing concern. With the lively bunch you had chosen as family, it would not be easy.

Around noon, after a hefty shared breakfast in your pajamas followed by Lily reading muggle Christmas literature aloud for everyone, you made the decision to retreat from the common room. By now, there were friends flurrying all around you, preparing to decorate the gingerbread wix you had made yesterday, and you hoped to be able to excuse yourself to get some fresh air in the middle of all the chaos. There would be enough hands on deck for the decorating without you, that’s for sure. Perhaps naively, you hoped you could use the momentum to go off on your own.

Definitely naively.

“Mind if I join you, dove?”

Remus’ voice was soft in that way where you can tell he has been perfectly content for a few days in a row, almost lazy in how he pronounced his words, yet the sentiment remained just as fiercely rich. If James Potter is the epitome of Christmas traditions, then Remus Lupin is the epitome of yuletide calm, and if he already was stupidly in love with you on a normal day, during Christmas there were no words to describe his attachment.

While it sullied your plans, your sad smile shone brightly just for him anyway. “Of course not, my love. Come, come.” You stretched out your hand towards him as you spoke, whisking him away towards the portrait door, fingers intertwined.

There were mumbles of “bye, lovebirds” and “see you soon!” called out behind you, but your heavy mind didn’t register much beyond the steady beat of Remus’ pulse that you could feel where your wrists touched. It was odd how easy it was for you to notice his heartbeat, it was as if you were searching for it at all times, but you embraced it happily, gratefully. 

When in the much cooler, quieter hallway, you wandered silently down the halls together, hand in hand. You tried to carefully lead the way, moving your bodies in the direction of the castle entrance, with little to no reaction from Remus. His lips were just barely curled up into a smile, happy in the quiet with you.

Gods, you loved this boy.

Perhaps that in itself was enough reason to be direct with him about how you were feeling, but his serenity felt too holy to disturb.

“Are we going somewhere specific, dovey?” Remus asked lightly once the grand entrance was within sight – and just maybe because you had begun to appear flighty more so than melancholy.

You sighed and came to a stop, turning your body towards him. You bit your lip as you regarded his face, heart soaring at the attentive draw of his mouth, his eyes boring into yours, yet clenching in guilt at the furrow between his brows. With shaky fingers, you brought your hand up to cup his face and bring it towards yours, pressing a sweet kiss against the furrow to smooth it out.

When you pulled back, his smile had settled more assuredly.

“Actually, I have some errands I need to run in Hogsmeade today,” you said, trying to seem absentminded. “Since I needed some air anyway, I figured now was as good a time as any to head down.”

Remus’ head cocked ever so slightly to the left. “Great. What errands are we running?”

We. You felt your lips curl downwards ever so slightly in what you could only describe as a lovesick guilt-ridden frown. 

“It’s more of a single-party errand run, love.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and you found sudden interest in the statute behind his head. 

Remus took a step closer to you, reaching out to grab your other hand and clasp both of them together, bringing your knuckles up to his mouth to kiss them soundly. “Dovey,” he said, almost chiding. “What’s going on with you, hm?”

There was no accusation in his words per say, just knowing. His eyes told the same story. You relaxed more in his grip, hands resting trustingly between his and your body slumping against him where you stood in a near-embrace.

Your eyes flicked between his two for a moment before sighing. “I… I have a Christmas tradition. One I can’t forego just because we’re spending it at Hogwarts.” You took a steadying breath. “I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you with it, because I trust you with everything, it’s just – I don’t know, it can be heavy. A lot to put on someone for the holidays. So I thought I could just head off for an hour now, and then we can cuddle up with that book later, yeah?”

Remus gave your hands a light squeeze before dropping them in favour of cupping your face. He engulfed your face in his big hands, tilting your chin up with his pinkies to meet his eyes more steadily. There was a certain sadness etched on his face, but it didn’t look to be because of you – rather it seemed to be for you.

“Whatever tradition you need to carry out, I will be there with you, lovely,” he murmured, stressing every word and chasing your gaze if it so much as flickered. “I plan on spending every Christmas with you for the rest of my time – might as well embrace it in full already.”

You almost felt like fighting back the tears that welled in your eyes; but his eyes begged you not to, and when a couple fell, he closed the minimal distance between you to catch them with his kisses. “Okay,” you whispered, no fight left in you – not that there ever really was any to begin with. 

“Okay?” He was smiling now. “Then tell me what we’re doing for the next hour?”

You matched his smile, and it didn’t feel heavy to do so. “Every Christmas Day, I visit our family grave. You know, clean it up, light the candles, the sorts. Say Merry Christmas.”

You felt small as you spoke, but his hands on your face kept you grounded and the love dripping from his every move kept you assured. “Alright,” he said through a melancholy yet knowing smile. “That’s very alright, dovey. Is it in Hogsmeade or will we be apparating?”

That was all – no queries, no judgments, just inquiring about the mode of transportation. You wondered if he knew he was all you needed.

“No, it’s in my hometown. I figured we walk outside the wards by Hogsmeade and then apparate all the way. We can hold hands to make it easier, like in class.”

Remus chuckled, kissing your forehead before letting your face go in favour of bringing out his wand. “Questioning my apparition skills, are you?” 

You actually chortled at that, at ease with his banter. “Oh, most definitely. Gotta keep an extra eye on you, Moony.”

He poked your side with his wand teasingly, muttering a quiet “minx” before turning the wand in the direction of your dorms and casting an accio. You quirked a brow at him, but before you could ask, he said, “What, you didn’t think I would actually let you walk out into English December wearing cozies?”

A second later, you saw your coats and scarfs come flying towards you two, and caught them before they dropped to a heap before you. Remus did the same, throwing his scarf over your head to begin wrapping it securely around you, letting no air flow in.

“What would I do without you, hm?” you asked teasingly.

Remus leaned in to give you a quick peck. “We will never have to know. You’re quite stuck with me, you see.”

Despite him pulling away to button his own coat, you chased after his lips for another kiss, bringing him back down to you with a hand to his cheek. “Well, if you insist Mr. Lupin,” you mumbled against his lips.

“I do,” he whispered in turn before circling his arms around your waist and parting your lips with his to give you a proper, confessional kiss. You could feel him smile against you when you began to come apart.

As you put on your own coat and ensured you both looked properly protected, you mused out loud, “Reckon we should warn the others we’re ditching for a while?”

Remus looped his arm around yours and began pulling you with him towards the exit with a rather cheeky grin playing across his face. “No, I think the coats flying past them might have given them an idea that we will be gone for a little while.”

The walk to Hogsmeade was brisk but comfortable, Remus never once straying from your side. When you occasionally in your distractedness didn’t walk straight and bumped into him, he smiled in that way that crinkled around his eyes, holding you even more securely.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Remus asked eventually. “Or them?”

You hummed, genuinely considering it for a moment. “I don’t think so,” you mused. “Not right now at least. Maybe it’ll come to me as we go along with the celebrations, though. A memory or two that I want to share, good or bad.”

Remus already knew the gist of your family and history with loss, and was painfully patient with you at every turn – and he readily accepted that that was enough for now. He let go of your hand only to wrap his arm around your shoulders and bring you closer to his side, dropping a sweet kiss to the crown of your head. “Sounds good to me, dove.”

“When do the apparition wards end, anyway?” you asked, musing through the horizon that was foggy with snow that was so light you couldn’t even feel it when it landed on you. “I’ve never apparated away from Hogwarts before.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to, seeing as we only learned that earlier this term,” Remus teased, squeezing your shoulder. “You’re not that far ahead of the curve.”

You reached up to pinch his nose, delighting in how it scrunched up. “Maybe I am, what do you know?” you whispered conspiratorially. Then, you pointed to the first line of houses belonging to Hogsmeade that appeared. “Over there should probably be fine, though, I think.”

“Yeah, I reckon so. If not, it will be a good story to try and fail.” 

“Always is, with you.” You brought him down for a sweet kiss when you came to a standstill right past the first line of houses. You sighed against him, heavier than you had intended, yet grateful for it to be let out.

He seemed inclined to agree, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. Your patient, sweet, understanding boy.

“Ready?” you whispered, taking both of his hands in yours.

Remus squeezed them reassuringly. “Very.”

You closed your eyes in concentration, but suspected he didn’t do the same. With a deep breath, you focused your mind on the graveyard, visualising yourself stepping into it – you knew you were successful in the apparition when you felt a tug in your stomach and a darkness engulfed you before there was a distinctive soft ground beneath you, contrasting to the gravel you were on seconds ago.

The smell hit you before anything else. It smelled exactly like your hometown, an odd mix of childhood and the frozen earth. You opened your eyes to see Remus standing before the stonewall lining the graveyard, his head turned away from you to look at the view behind him with slightly parted lips. With his tawny curls slightly covered in the dew of melted snowflakes and his side profile on display, he looked rather angelic, which you thought fitting.

“It’s beautiful,” he commented quietly, finally turning his head to find you already looking at him. While it might have been the cold, you could have sworn a faint blush took over his cheeks.

You took a deep breath. “It really is. Oddly so.” You took a small step away from him, releasing his hands to smooth your own down the front of your coat, brazing yourself. “I’ll lead the way.”

Remus followed your lead both physically and metaphorically, quietly reading your mood and needs, at least as best as he could. He walked right behind you, not touching you and giving you space to take in being in this emotionally charged space, trusting you to reach for him when you need. At the same time, he took in the space on his own terms, letting his eyes roam over the stone structures, the lampposts and the frozen flowers.

“I haven’t been here since last Christmas,” you confessed quietly as you walked a path you knew by heart. “I feel like I probably should go more often, but I haven’t been able to.”

“There’s no right amount to visit,” Remus added lightly, smiling softly at the back of your head. “Only what’s right for you.”

“I don’t really know what’s right for me when it comes to this. I’m figuring it out.” You felt lighter at speaking the words out loud, realising with some coyness that perhaps that is why Remus often urges you too.

“That’s alright, too, dovey. There’s no rulebook, just a journey.” 

You looked over your shoulder, allowing yourself to match his smile. “Wise man you are, Lupin.”

“Mm, glad to hear you finally admit it.”

The casual conversation might seem contrary to what you were doing and where you were, but at the same time, it wasn’t really. You tried to view this as visiting your loved ones rather than going to a graveyard – after all, you weren’t here for the graves, you were here for the people. And they would have wanted the easy, light conversations.

When your tombstone came into view, a certain feeling you were never quite able to name settled around your heart. A longing, but also a recognition. Almost a familiar face by now, just not quite the one you wished for.

“It’s this one,” you mumbled distractedly to Remus and made the final beeline for it. When you reached the plot, you came to a stand before it, just staring down for a moment. As Remus walked up beside you, you leaned your shoulder sideways against his, and he lifted his arm to wrap it around you. 

Together, you stood there, regarding the names etched into stone, almost a minute of silence. 

Once he deemed it safe to move, Remus dropped a kiss to the top of your head and bent down to pick up some twigs that had fallen from a nearby tree at the change of the seasons. Any questions died on your tongue when he brought out his wand and performed a quick transfiguration – suddenly, instead of holding dull and dead sticks, he held a wreath, all decked out with red ribbons, pinecones and Christmas decorations.

Silently, he held it out for you.

You looked between the wreath and Remus’ face, feeling stumped at the rather simple yet incredibly meaningful gesture. You opened your mouth, thank you already forming on your lips when he beat you to it.

“I know,” he whispered with a small smile.

You beamed back at him as you best could, slightly teary, and accepted the wreath from his hands.

Turning around to the grave, you came to a crouch beside it and placed the wreath for safekeeping on your knees as you brushed snow and leaves aside from the plot. You could easily use magic to do it, reenforce the spells you have already placed to keep the grave mostly maintained, but it felt good to touch it with your own bare hands, to do this act of service yourself. Even when you heard Remus hiss at your lack of gloves, casting him a somewhat sly smile over your shoulder to which he flushed once more.

As you went, you murmured quietly whatever you felt like saying to the inhabitants.

When you declared the grave properly dusted, you placed the wreath delicately in the middle of it, careful not to cover any of the writing on the stone. You did bring your wand out to magically light the eternal candles you had placed around the plot, casting extra protection spells to ensure they would burn through at least the rest of the year. If you could call a grave cozy, yours was nearing it, and it warmed your heart, even as a tear rolled down your cheek.

Remus came to crouch beside you, and you took his hand in yours, swallowing your apology for how cold it must be; he didn’t seem to mind.

“I wish you could have met them.” You didn’t think you would say the sentence before you did, but once it was out there, you felt no need to fight it.

“Me too,” Remus said wryly, squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb back and forth on the back of it. “But I’m glad to be able to do so now, even if it is in a different way.”

You turned your head to smile tearily at him. “They would have loved you.”

Remus leaned his forehead against yours, nose pressing into your cheek. “And I them.” He seemed to turn his attention to the engraved names. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of our shared angel,” he addressed them, in his perfect meeting-the-parents voice. “They’re safe with me, as are your memories.” 

You took a shuddering breath, feeling a momentary sense of closure. With a squeeze to his hand as a signal, you made to stand, and he followed suit, steadying you with an arm to your elbow. 

His hands came up to wipe determinedly at your face, and you used the opportunity to bring him down to a short but searing kiss. “I love you,” you whispered against him. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, my dove. It’s family.”

You brought Remus in close for a hug, your face turned towards the grave in his firm embrace. His hand was splayed over a spot on your back where it felt like he held you together and lifted the weight of the grief – and it reminded you of how much that felt like love. In the drafty graveyard, in the flickering candlelight, you were able to carry it all.

You turned in his arms to give your little family a final look. “Merry Christmas,” you whispered into the void, smiling both in spite of and because of. 

“Merry Christmas,” Remus echoed, squeezing your hips. 

By the time you made it back to the castle, you were emotionally and physically spent, but lucky for you, so was most of the others from what had been an intensive decorating session. When you walked in to find them all splayed across the sofa seating area, their eyes landed upon your tear-streaked, flushed faces and your loaded smiles, and they did what they do best.

Your friends opened their arms for you.

[furiousgoldfish]

Hitting children will make children believe harming them is normal. I remember as a child, I would cause pain to myself without thinking twice, or even considering there could be anything wrong with it; after all, everyone else was eager to cause me pain and treated it as normal. I grew up thinking that any form of being harmed, and self-harm was normal behaviour because it was so common and normal for me. I couldn't understand when others would get upset seeing a mark or an injury, it was just what was done, a normal part of my life.

A child used to being hit will not question when their bullies hit them, nor when their friends do. They will feel normal with a partner who violates and hits them because it's what they're already used to. And is this the point of parenting? To have a child who doesn't think twice before harming themselves, and having others harm them? Is this what you want your child's life to be, abusive friendships, relationships, and self harm, treated as normal, dismissed and even ridiculed?

If you are not able to teach your child that anyone lifting a finger at them is wrong, you've failed your job as a parent. If your child sees violence as an everyday occurrence, they never had a parent, they were left on their own in the hands of violence.

Self harm can cause addiction and ultimately death, it's not something to normalize or laugh about. It's not something to teach your child as acceptable or normal. It's not something you do to gain a rush of power and control, while your child learns that being beaten down is correct to do to them if someone is angry, or annoyed, or just having a bad day. To consistently use violence against a child will put them in the endless fight-or-flight state, their life will be one of constant anticipation of violence, and inability to relax. This not only means they won't be able to enjoy their life, have normal growth, have a normal childhood, focus and learn as they want to, make connections with other people, or feel safe, their brain chemistry will change into the one that doesn't allow them to relax or calm down until they've experienced pain.

A child who needs pain to feel normal is not the end goal of parenting, it's a despicable thing to do. It's against human nature. If you did this to your child, I have no words bad enough to describe you.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Readerbot’s Alternate Ending: crushed beneath rubble as the PizzaPlex is burned, they have a sort of dying dream before going offline for the last time

(Dialogue is from BMO’s ‘death’ scene, it’s rlly sad for absolutely no reason and I think abt it a lot)

[hasello]

TW: BLOOD, INJURIES, SELF-HARM

first/previous/next

…that?

The self-harm is more accidental I’d say, but it’s still what it is. By this I mean that: Lee wouldn’t hurt himself on purpose, although he also doesn’t mind when the world does it for him. His only sin is that he doesn’t stop it.

Also I’m sorry if it seems unnecessarily bloody but at this point I’m just using this comic as a punching bag - to get rid of some tension. My head is a mess lately.

[worthless-misery]

I hate myself.

I hate my face.

I hate my eyes.

I hate my ears.

I hate my nose.

I hate my mouth.

I hate my lips.

I hate my hair.

I hate my neck.

I hate my shoulders.

I hate my chest.

I hate my back.

I hate my belly.

I hate my hips.

I hate my arms.

I hate my hands.

I hate my fingers.

I hate my skin.

I hate my crotch.

I hate my thighs.

I hate my knees.

I hate my legs.

I hate my feet.

I hate my ankles.

I hate my toes.

I hate my smile.

I hate my laugh.

I hate my scars.

I hate my stretch marks.

I hate my bones.

I hate my body hair.

I hate my voice.

I hate my mind.

I hate my thoughts.

I hate my dysphoria.

I hate my depression.

I hate my anxiety.

I hate my eating disorders.

I hate my trauma.

I hate my nightmares.

I hate my past.

I hate my memories.

I hate my childhood.

I hate my adolescence.

I hate my adulthood.

I hate my existence.

I hate my life.

I just hate every single thing about myself so fucking much...

[y0urm0mst0es]

I'll Kiss Your Scars

Sal Fisher x reader comfort fic

Summary: You and Sal are seniors in high school, both of you still living in the apartments. After a long night of self-loathing, you decide to visit Sal to try and feel better.

Or

You and Sal get together after he cleans you up and comforts you ig

TW: reader sh, scars, blood, self-hate I think, smut and allat. Characters are 18 and Sal might be ooc but whatev. Reader is afab and y/n is used. Wrote the last part while high😔. Pls let me know if I missed something!

It was around midnight. The moon shone through your balcony window as you sat on your bed, tears rolling down your face. Blood from your newly cut wounds had stained your sweatshirt and pajama pants. Looking over to your nightstand, you see the walkie-talkie Sal had given you around the time you first met. You grab it and press the talk button, hoping Sal is still awake.

“Sal?” you say, your voice shaking.

“Y/N? What’s up?” he answers. Taking a deep breath, you spoke again.

“I’m sorry, were you sleeping? I didn’t mean to wake you or anyth-”

"No, no, I wasn't sleeping so don't worry about it. Is something wrong?" He was always so sweet, worrying if you were okay. That's probably one of the reasons you fell for him.

"I just…I don't think I can be alone right now, you know? Can I come over?" You knew his dad was working late so you wouldn't have to sneak in.

"Yeah, of course. The door's unlocked so you can just come in," he responds, his voice laced with concern. You put down the walkie-talkie and make your way to his apartment, careful not to wake your sleeping family members. Soon, you reach the apartment and walk in, the familiar atmosphere welcoming you. Walking towards Sal's room you pass by the sleeping cat on the worn couch.

You reach his closed door and knock lightly. Almost immediately, the door swings open, revealing your blue-haired friend. He's about the same height as you and is wearing his white and pink prosthetic along with loose pajamas. His hair is down which surprises you. It's rare to see him without his signature pigtails.

"Hey," you say softly.

"Hey, are you alright?" he questions. He leads you into his room and you sit on his bed. Sighing deeply, you look up at him and shake your head. Sal sits beside you and takes your hand. "Well, if you wanna talk about it I'll listen and if there's anything you need I'll gladly get it for you."

You give him a small smile. "Thank you, Sally." He smiles back, even though you can't see it. He then looks down at your hand and notices the stains on your sleeve.

"Y/N, what's that?" he asks, voice wavering. You quickly pull your hand away and look at the marks.

"Shit," you say breathlessly. "'m sorry, I didn't mean for you to see that." You avoid his gaze and look to the floor.

"It's okay, not your fault. Can I…see them?" Your breath hitches and your eyes widen.

"Are you sure?" he nods. "okay," you breathe out. You move your arm over to him and he gently takes it. Sal moves his fingers along your sleeve and slides it up, revealing the marks. Seeing them, he breathes in sharply. He runs his thumb along the new and old cuts, making you flinch.

"S-sorry..I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispers.

"I know, it's okay," you say just as quietly.

"You should let me clean these. I don't want them to get infected or anything," Sal says sweetly. He stands up and offers his hand to you to take.

"Oh Sal, you don't have to do that…"

"But I want to," he says, reassuring you. You would've kissed him right then and there if you could've.

You stand up and follow him to the bathroom. He sits you down on the edge of the bathtub and gets a wet cloth for your wounds. You decide to take your sweatshirt off since you're wearing a tank top underneath. Sal comes back with the cloth and sits beside you. He tries to avoid looking at your newly exposed skin, a slight blush creeping up his face. You put your arm out for him and he takes it.

"I'll try not to hurt you," he says, putting the wet cloth on your arm and applying pressure to stop any bleeding. He then gently wipes away the dried blood. You watch him, tears coming to the corners of your eyes. Of course, Sal notices. "Am I hurting you?" he asks, stopping.

"No, it's not because of you, Sally." You put a reassuring hand on his and smile softly.

"Okay, let me know if I am, alright?" You nod and he finishes cleaning you. "Is it just this or are there others?" You look to your clothed thigh where old scars would be.

"Just this I think." You notice dried blood from your arm on the bottoms. "Damn it, the blood got on my pants," you say under your breath.

"Do you need new ones? I think I have some that'll fit you." Sal stands and heads for the door.

"Oh, yeah. Thank you." He soon returns with new pajama bottoms for you. You accept them, your hand brushing against his. You feel your face heat up and quickly turn away to change. Sal also turns to give you some privacy. You take your pants off and begin to put the new ones on, your fingers brushing across the old marks on your thigh.

"I'm done," you say as you turn back around. He also turns and walks toward you.

"You feeling better now?" he asks, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm feeling much better. Thank you, Sal." I wrap him in a hug which he reciprocates. You bury your head in his neck and feel how warm he is. You reluctantly pull away, not wanting to make it weird. "It's late. I don't wanna keep you up so I should head back."

"Oh, I was gonna ask if you wanted to stay over. But, yeah, if you don't want to that's totally fine," Sal says, fidgeting with his hands.

"You wouldn't mind me staying over?" Truth is, you didn't want to go home. You did want to stay with Sal but you didn't know if he felt the same.

"Course not, I care about you and don't want you to be alone in a vulnerable state," he says, taking your hand. You stare into each other's eyes, yours quickly flicking to his prosthetic lips. He sees this and goes bright red.

Sal turns and leads the two of you back to his room. You both sit back on his bed awkwardly. He takes your arm again and runs his fingers over your scars. Your heart beats faster. Bringing your hand to cup his face, you place a quick kiss on his faux lips. When he doesn't say anything, you quickly apologize.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I thought..Never mind, just forget I did that, please," you say, not facing him.

"Don't be sorry. I..I liked it," he says shyly. You turn and look at him. You want to kiss him again and he seems to feel the same. Sal leans in and places his prosthetic lips against yours. You pull away after a few seconds.

"Sally, I wanna kiss you for real," you say breathlessly.

"Really?" You nod. Too scared to do it himself, Sal brings your hand to the back of his head to remove the mask. You undo the latches and slowly take it off, revealing his scarred face. After setting the mask down, you place a hand on his cheek, gently tracing and admiring his scars. Tears start to well up in his eyes.

"What's wrong? Did I do something?" you ask worriedly. He shakes his head.

"No, you're perfect, you did nothing wrong. It's just…no one's ever reacted like that to seeing my face. Everyone's always disgusted or scared," he responds softly. You look at him lovingly.

"Oh Sal, I could never think that way about you. You're beautiful," you say, your thumb brushing over his lips. He immediately smashes his lips against yours, kissing you sloppily. You bring your hand to the back of his neck to deepen the kiss. He quietly moans into the kiss, allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth. His hands move to your waist, laying you down so he's on top of you. Sal breaks the kiss and moves to your neck, kissing and biting his way down. He starts to slide his hand under your shirt then stops.

"Can I?" he asks sweetly. You quickly nod your head, giving him permission. Sal continues to move his hand up your torso and take off your shirt, revealing your breasts. You shiver as the air hits your bare chest. He admires the way your body looks, practically drooling over your tits.

"What, you never seen boobs before?" you joke. Sal's face goes red and he avoids your gaze. You giggle at his reaction and decide to do things yourself. You take his hands and move them to grasp your chest. He starts to move on his own, fondling your breasts and tweaking your nipples. You arch your back, leaning into his touch. Sal decides to take you into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple.

Releasing you from his mouth, he takes your arm into his gentle hands and kisses the palm of your hand, moving down your wrist and scars. He takes care to kiss each scar on your arm, appreciating every part of you. You just watch in amazement, eyes full of love.

He then moves to kiss down the rest of your torso, soon reaching your waist. Sal starts to pull the bottoms down and you lift your hips to help him. As he pulls them down, his fingers brush against the scar tissue on your thigh. He leans his head down and kisses all around your thighs, doing the same as he did with your wrist. Sal lightly tugs on your panties, his fingers achingly close to your core.

Instead of waiting for him, you begin to take your panties off, revealing your wet cunt. Sal's heart hammers in his chest, not knowing what to do. You guide his fingers to where you need him, silently instructing him on what to do.

Sal dips his middle and ring fingers into your aching cunt, slowly moving them inside of you.

"Just like that, Sal. So good baby," you moan breathlessly. He continues to move his fingers inside your gummy walls, finding your most sensitive spot. Sal leans down and begins to lick around your already swollen clit. You buck your hips from how good you feel. At that, Sal fully takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it harshly. You felt your orgasm quickly approaching, letting out groans of pleasure.

"Sally?" He stops as he hears his name called.

"Yeah?" You sit up and kiss him gently. You lay him down in your previous spot and straddle his hips. You could feel how hard he was for you through his pants.

"Take your shirt off for me, baby," you say softly. He hurriedly takes his shirt off while you work on removing his pants and boxers. Finally rid of his clothes, you have a chance to sit back and admire how pretty he is. You lean in and kiss him passionately, running your hands down his chest towards his erection. "You're so pretty, Sal. I want you so bad," you say, fingers wrapping around his cock.

"Oh my god," he says quietly, tilting his head back. You start to jerk him off slowly, gathering his dripping precum. Once you think he's ready, you position his cock toward your entrance.

"You ready?" you ask.

"Y-yes, please.." he whispers, whining lightly. You grin and kiss him, sliding down slowly. Moaning into the kiss, he wraps his hands around your waist. You begin to move, rocking your hips against his.

You move together, creating a satisfying and fast-paced rhythm. Arching your back, you groaned into his mouth.

"F-fuck, Y/N, 'm so close," he whimpered. You could feel yourself getting close too.

"It's okay, Sal. Me too," you moaned.

"Please, Y/N, I wanna finish in you."

"You wanna cum in my pussy, Sally?" you cock your head teasingly. His face somehow gets redder and he whines, tossing his head back.

"Please, I-I-" he cuts himself off with a deep moan, cumming inside you. You toss your head back, riding him faster. Sal finishes and starts to get overstimulated when you keep going.

"Y/N I-I can't.." he whimpers.

"I'm so close baby. Can you go just a little longer?" you whispered. He moaned and nods his head, his cock still hard. You bring his hand down to rub your clit. This makes you throw your head back. You finally came, letting out a deep whine. The feeling of your pussy clenching around him makes him whimper, cumming for a second time.

You ride out your high, finally coming to a stop. You look down at his pretty face and kiss him. Laying down beside him, you pepper his smiling face with kisses. He wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your chest.

"I love you, Sal," you say.

"You do?"

"Mhm, so much."

"I love you too." You spend the rest of the night together in each other's arms.

[moonstruckme]

Hiiii!I hope your doing great I saw your requests just opened and I was wondering if you would mind doing a poly emt marauders with a reader that’s in hospital and they don’t know until they’re like bringing in someone in or something and their like why didn’t you tell us and she’s like oh cause I didn’t want you to worry.Something like that if not it’s fine have a good day!!!🌊

Thanks for requesting gorgeous! Not super sure if this is accurate since I don’t think paramedics usually spend much time inside the hospital but oh well haha. Hope you have a good day too! <3

cw: hospital/emergency room, mention of broken bone

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 827 words

You’re just on your way out of A&E, feeling sore and shattered and more than a little sorry for yourself, when someone says your name. With an odd mix of relief and trepidation mingling in your chest, you turn. 

Sirius makes it to your first. He takes your face in his hands, eyes scanning it over thoroughly before starting to make their way down your body. “Baby, what’s happened?” 

“Hey,” you say, “what are you doing here?” 

“Um, no.” James gives you a funny-looking smile, amusement tangled up with worry. “It’s fairly normal for us to be here, what are you doing here?” 

“I, um—” 

“Idiots.” Remus bypasses them both, taking your injured hand gently and holding it up where your other boyfriends can see it. “What happened here, lovely?” 

“I broke my finger,” you admit. 

Sirius looks devastated, though with the splint binding your two fingers together you thought it was fairly obvious. “How?” 

“Shut it in my car door.” 

James winces and Remus tsks compassionately, turning your hand so he can see the injured digit from another angle. 

“How long have you been here?” he asks.

You shrug, not quite looking at any of them. “I had to wait a while. A few hours.” 

Remus’ look lets you know your sheepishness isn’t without good reason. “Did you drive yourself like this?” 

You nod meekly. 

“Angel!” James wraps his arms around you, tucking your head underneath his chin, and you go happily. You’ll take his mollycoddling over Remus’ reproachful stare any day. “Why didn’t you call us? I can’t believe you had to sit here all by yourself.” 

“I knew you were busy at work, and I didn’t want to worry you.” Now Sirius is glaring at you, too. You snuggle further into James’ embrace. “It wasn’t so bad.” 

“Did they have to set it?” Sirius asks. 

Your face heats. “Yeah. It was pretty weird-looking when it first happened.” 

James makes a pitiful whining sound. “Poor love.” 

“How long did they tell you it’d take to heal?” Remus’ voice sounds somewhat gentler now. He finally relinquishes your injured hand to Sirius, who starts turning it about and inspecting it in the same manner, like the doctor who splinted it for you might not have done a good enough job. 

“Six to eight weeks,” you say glumly. It already feels annoyingly constraining not being able to bend either of those fingers; you’re not sure how you’re supposed to deal with it for weeks on end. 

The boys exchange a look, and James drops the protective circle of his arms from around you. “I’m going to go find Amelia,” he says, “see if she’s on break.” 

You clutch at his shirt with your good hand. “Don’t leave me,” you whisper. 

Your boyfriend smiles, dropping a kiss on your head. “Sorry, lovie.” 

“I think we ought to feel insulted,” Sirius comments as James walks away. Remus only shrugs. 

He reaches for your face now that it’s not hidden under James’ chin, wiping frownily at something on your cheek. 

“Are you feeling alright now, dove?” he asks, and you veritably liquefy at the tenderness in his voice. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You shrug one shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it really wasn’t awful.” 

Sirius gives your wrist an admonishing little squeeze. “You have tear marks on your face,” he contradicts you softly. 

“Oh.” You run a finger under your eyes, feeling your face heat. 

Remus tuts and lets his hand rest against the side of your neck, thumb stroking at your jaw. “We’re only on shift for another hour,” he tells you. “James is finding our friend Amelia so you can stay in the break room with her until we can come back and get you, okay?” 

You shake your head, and his stare hardens but you say anyway, “I don’t need to be babysat. I can get home on my own.” 

“You shouldn’t be driving after having anesthetic.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Wouldn’t they have told me if that were the case?” 

“We don’t want you driving with a numb hand,” Sirius clarifies. When you turn your attention to him, he gives you a stern look. “You should have called us in the first place. Just let us do what we can for you now, okay?” 

You sigh in resignation just as James comes up behind you again. Seeing as no one has taken over hug duty, he wraps both arms around your waist, setting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Okay,” you tell Sirius. 

“Oh, excellent. All on the same page, are we?” James turns his head to smooch your cheek. “Knew you’d come around, angel. Amelia’s ready for you, so you can hang in the break room until we get back.” 

“Is she going to baby me too?” you joke, letting him steer you towards the hallway. 

“Probably not,” Sirius says, “but don’t you worry, sweetness. We’ll make up for that when we get you home.” 

[sleep-0-deprived]

im not sure if you are taking any requests rn but I NEED to see some male reader Shigaraki heavy, hurt no comfort, gut wrenching angst just cause there is barely any Shigaraki x male reader and barely any angst in general

(you can ignore this request if you want!!)

Things that your dad doesn’t know (Tomura shigaraki x male reader angst one-shot)

WC:. 1.6K

Tags: hurt not comfort, angst, internalized homophobia, past religious trauma, generational homophobia, unspoken feelings, religious AFO au

A/N: I have never written angst before, I have no clue if it’s any good but I think this is the only time I’m willingly trying to hurt my pookies! ໒꒰ྀི˃ ˕ ˂ഃ ꒱ྀི১

Being a villain wasn’t your first choice in life, in fact had you been told that’s what you would end up becoming ten years ago…well you would’ve been in shambles? After all your dream was to be a hero, to help those who needed it most and give comfort/security to those around you.

maybe that was just you wanting to be the person you wished was given to you but that doesn’t matter because it wasn’t who you became anyway. At the ripe age of fifteen you were a runaway, your parents had sent you off to a private academy in Japan. In reality it was just a fancy term for a boarding school for ‘troubled boys’ but those words tasted bitter because that place was just filled with naive boys questioning their sexuality.

That place left you filled with thoughts of things you’ve never worried about before, one moment you’re just a boy who has some silly crush in the boy next to you in class and the next you’re a thirteen year old being told the way you felt was ‘sinful’. You’d never forget the way your mom just stared at you blankly while your dad shouted at you “those thoughts aren’t normal boy, how’d you turn out like this?” God you’d give it all to forget those words, every remembrance of them felt like a puddle pulling you to the ground leaving you to wallow in shame.

By the time you were fourteen you started to fall for the words the headmasters of the school preached to you, you thought “if I could just deny it then it’ll go away” or if you didn’t accept it then it wasn’t there. By fifteen you knew you had to get out of there, you didn’t care how you had to do it but you felt an unwavering hate for yourself every second you stood in line for the daily mass at that place.

When you did finally escape you ended up on the streets, moving city to city across Japan, too afraid to head for the states out of fear for your parents getting you back. Then you met him, All For One was what he called himself, he found you in a dingy alley all littered in bruised and scars from the treatment you had endured from that school.

He took you in and gave you a place to live for as long as you did what he asked of you. He made you use your quirk for his own wants but you’d never tell him your past or where you came from because it was evident with his god complex that he wasn’t understanding, after all how could a man from his generation be.

Life wasn’t all bad, that was what you’d tell yourself but then you met Tomura, you two never clicked in the beginning. All he’d do is stare at you from afar and judge you, but you just accepted it because he was your leaders heir. Eventually by the age of seventeen the two of you had became friends, the league of villains was a new concept with barely five members

You didn’t know what you felt or how to feel it but all you knew was the days felt more bearable to live when he was there. When you two didn’t have tasks to fill or agendas to make you were teenage boys, you watched cheesy shows on his bed or video games in his room, energy drinks and late nights was the routine between you two and their was an unspoken blonde that came of it.

Eighteen rolled around for you and Tomura was nineteen by then, it felt like an extension of eighteen for you, nobody but Tomura even knew of your real birthday and maybe it was for the lack of care or the fact you never spoke to anyone besides AFO, Shigaraki and occasionally Kurogiri.

By this point you’ve realized that things aren’t totally platonic between the two of you but Tomura having spent his whole life enduring AFO’s standards and beliefs that he’s pushed onto him, he denies anything and everything. Tomura never had the most stable life to begin with even before he met AFO, his dad was the definition of a bigot, he looked down on him for not being manly enough, for crying when he got hit by him.

Tomura and you were closer than friends could be, the way you two held each other and cuddled in his bed at night, or spent free time locked away in your room away from the other’s gazes. But you were never truly together in the way you wanted to be, it was like being skin close with a thin barrier between keeping you two from fully touching.

The two of you liked being away in private the most, even with all of the denial in your head was better than the hurtful gaze AFO would give to Tomura when he was caught sitting too close to you in the bar. Over time it felt like you began to know Tomura less and less, the boy you once clung to like he was the air in your lungs became a man that hardly spoke to you unless it was about the leagues plans.

You were no fool you knew AFO had confronted and filled Tomura’s head with thoughts of how what he was doing was nothing less than “un-right” and those deep rooted memories of the past that always crept in when you least wanted found you again, reminding you of every word nailed into your mind on how you should feel in no regards for what you did feel.

All you wanted to do was run back to his room, to hug him and cling and not worry about everyone else but that wasn’t going to happen. You watch him become the second AFO knowing you can’t and do anything. Your once close relationship has a wedge in between, it was non existent and nothing you could say would make him accept you.

“What happened to our friendship Tomura?” You’d show up at his door late at night while the others were asleep, his blue hair gone and what looked back at you didn’t feel the same quiet man that used to be. “Nothing has happened, things change and people grow [name], you’re acting as though we were lovers.” You knew that he was only forcing his words but it never stung any less.

“No but we could’ve been Tomura” you manage to spit out, your voice cracks and your whole body feels like lava. “No we never could’ve, you’re a man [name] and no amount of emotions changes that”

“If I can’t be your lover why can’t we just be friends again tenko?”

You’re nearly to tears at this point standing in the entrance of his bedroom feeling your heart being squeezed.

“Because. Being close to you makes life hard, I can’t sit and pretend to be your friend when I know I won’t be the one that ends with you, and don’t call me that anymore, you’re just my subordinate…nothing else and you won’t ever be [name].”

There was the answer you knew would come, he pointed for his door clearly wanting you gone, and you quickly obliged in wanting of him seeing you break down. You hadn’t hurt this bad since you had first been sent off by your family, how were you supposed to be ok with this? Why did life have to be this way? Were you destined to always get close to what you love then have it slip away?

You had more pathetic questions than you did answers and the night was long, you weren’t sleeping anytime soon and you knew it. You’d rather have been his friend if you couldn’t be his lover, at least if you were his friend you’d still be something to him, you’d still be in his life, you’d still be the person he sat around and played video games with.

You were just doomed to a life of watching the person you love become unrecognizable. You and him had planned to stick together, he had promised you’d always be together, he always told you that you were the only person that understood him and now it was all gone.

When war against the hero’s began you couldn’t do anything to stop him. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, AFO was on his shoulder telling him every little move to make and what to do and his plan didn’t have you in it. You were forced to sit on the side lines unable to jump in when his final fight started, seeing his beaten form and his scared body broke you.

You had made Tomura your world, he was your reason to listen to AFO, if he did something then no matter how much it hurt you, you’d do it too. When Tomura started his fight against Midoriya, you were practically running to the fight trying to make way to him and trying to use your quirk to just stop it all.

You were three seconds too late. The final blow had been felt and you were right next to Tomura sobbing like a scared kid watching him decay away. All Tomura does is look up at you, red eyes glossy and you know he isn’t making it. “You can’t leave me Tenko! You just can’t!…you promised me?”

You’re hysteric when the police start dragging you away from his ash’s, you’re feeling your word shatter so fast knowing all the things you had planned won’t happen.

[aftgficrec]

Hii ! Any fics where Neil reacts to Wymack subconsciously like he did the first time (flinching/afraid)? Preferably post canon but can also be AUs. Thank you!!

General asks like this can be difficult to search for, but here’s what we found for you. -A

canon divergent longer fics:

‘Hope Was A Dangerous, Disquieting Thing’ here

‘Up On The Roof’ here (soulmates, updated)

‘Pebble Brain’ here

‘Yes, Coach’ here 

‘Neil Josten's No Good Terrible Luck’ here (updated)

‘Take my Kidney. Take my Life.’ here

‘Deals With Devils’ and ‘Not Yours To Bleed’ here (both updated)

short au:

‘The Rabbit Becomes the Fox’ here 

kid fics with dadmack:

‘ten children, one acquarium’ and ‘For little monsters with fragile hearts’ here ‘slow down (you crazy child)’ and ‘Make a Home’ (updated) here ‘Raised on Little Light’ here (completed)

you may also like:

Mary & Nathan's impact on Neil here

Neil goes to therapy here 

post canon:

I Wish I Were Fine, I Thought I Was by pawnofkings [Not Rated, 2509 Words, Complete, 2020]

“Ow, shit!” Wymack exclaims, retracting his arm. There's a slight burn on his skin. Neil stands, frozen, feeling like time itself has stopped. But if it had, then Wymack wouldn’t be moving in his direction and - The pan clatters to the floor, and Neil is several feet away before he realizes he’s moved at all. But suddenly, he’s half-lying on the floor. He stares at his arms, thrown up in front of him as if to protect him, and on the other side of them is Wymack, looking down at him as if he’s just seen somebody die. --- Or: a Fox family dinner goes awry, and Neil struggles to come to terms with his own instincts.

tw: violent flashbacks, tw: child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: ptsd

How to Disappear Completely by miauhito [Rated M, 4850 Words, Complete, 2024]

“I nearly cut myself,” He cries, looking down at the floor, “I’m scared, please. I’ve been hurting myself, with cigarettes and getting bruises and fuck I don't know what to do.” He croaks out. He tries to stop himself, but he can't, not anymore. 5 times Neil Josten hurts himself + 1 time he asks for help.

tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: ptsd, tw: hallucinations

canon divergent:

The Wonder of You by KatherineF [Rated G, (we say T), 3872 Words, Complete, 2020]

Previously recced here

Neil is in complete denial that he is struggling with panic attacks. Andrew thinks it would be a good idea to get a support animal. They figure it out together.

tw: ptsd, tw: panic attacks

You Try Until You Can't by AliceTabitha [Rated T, 3129 Words, Complete, 2018]

Previously recced here

Neil knew before he opened his eyes that this wasn’t going to be a good day. Neil Josten has survived everything thrown at him, and he has countless scars to prove it. After all that, it's not unusual for his days to turn sour, but at least he's got Andrew and his team to help pull him back together in the end. With extra support and advice from Wymack, maybe things might somehow end up alright. For today, he just needs to keep surviving.

tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced violence

piece by piece, he restored my faith (that a man can be kind and a father could stay) by kal25 [Rated T, 2337 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2024]

Previously recced here

David Wymack did not raise kids, but he did raise his Foxes. Each one of them, whether they were past, present, or even future, will always have a place in his heart. He understood what it meant to be beaten by a man you called your father, to feel fear and hatred and another dozen emotions all at once. He understood what it felt like for guilt to eat you alive about things that never should have been wrong, and he understood what it meant to not have a place to call home. And he swore, when he became a coach, that he would create a home. He would build one from the ground up with his own two hands, and he would invite every single child who chased Exy like a beacon of hope and had no other place to call home—because that’s what he wished someone would have done for him.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

and more than a few bleed into you by brekker [Rated T, 4475 Words, Complete, 2018]

Previously recced here

Neil doesn’t know if this is considered protection or insight because Andrew has always been the quicker of the two to know that these moments are transient and Neil will wake up half a country away and want to come back home when this fear and ache to flee settles back down; either before or after he gets himself hurt. It might be one in the same if Neil thinks about it. It reminds Neil of that thing Renee had said once: This, too, shall pass.

tw: nightmares, tw: depression, tw: implied/referenced torture

Hold Each Other by exactly13percent_OLD (hymbeaux) [Rated E, Collection, Complete, 2018]

Chapter 15: I for an Eye [Rated T, 2544 Words] Previously recced here

Neil has his bad memories. He's managed to keep most of them down, but some start slipping out. It's a good thing he's learning how to make new ones.

tw: ptsd, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual kiss

spirits of martyrdom by sagely_enchanted [Rated T, 6416 Words, Complete, AFTG Fall Exchange 2024]

Neil is pretty sure that he’s drowning, a phantom feeling of a washcloth and water rushing over his head as he stares into the never ending hazel. The blonde of his hair is so bright that it nearly blinds him when compared to the dark of the dorm. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, willing the image to disappear when he opens his eyes next, but Andrew is still there. - Andrew gets released early from Easthaven and finds Neil at Evermore.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: anxiety, tw: major character injury

till my breathing stops. by plugastwo [Rated E, 94304 Words, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2025]

Neil Josten was a psycho. Foxes knew it. Wymack knew it. Everyone knew it. He and his manic grin were the definition of psychotic. Andrew liked to think, that it was pretty amusing.  ___ where it’s Neil, who takes drugs.

tw: nonconsensual medication, tw: drug addiction, tw: vomit, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: nonconsensual kissing, tw: medical abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: violence 

canon divergent a/b/o:

just tonight (i won't leave) by pyruismagician [Rated E, 116319 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2024]

"I told you I don't belong to anyone." "And I told you to quit lying to me, or did you come here to explain why you're pretending to be a beta?" Or Neil just wants to play Exy before he dies but the world has other ideas.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: child abuse, tw: animal abuse, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: recreational drug use, tw: homophobia, tw: medication addiction, tw: vomit, tw: violence

raven!neil au:

hoping, until the day it dies by infernalstars [Rated M, 27481 Words, Incomplete, Updated Jan 2025]

Nathaniel Wesninski ends up in the hospital with two broken legs. Cast out of the Nest, Kevin Day brings him to the Foxes to recover - emotionally and physically.

tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: dissociation, tw: flashbacks, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: ptsd, tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: vomit, tw: psychotic episode, tw: homophobia, tw: suicidal ideation

one where Andrew flinches from coach:

What Is It To Truly Lose Control? by BisexualChaosDemon [Rated M, 21281 Words, Complete, 2024]

Most of the Foxes still think Andrew is a monster, or a sociopath, but Neil knows better. He knows that Andrew cares deeply about a handful of people but struggles more than he will ever admit with that fact. The thing is, despite Andrew’s commitment to apathy and to denying that he cares about anything, he is often self-sacrificing in his efforts to protect the people he cares about. As Aaron’s trial approaches, Neil gets the sick feeling that Andrew’s self-sacrificing streak is going too far.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: psychiatric abuse, tw: implied/referenced trauma reenactment, tw: ptsd

Art

THE RUNAWAY art by @coppakee

Poor boy with his precious bag art by @/tryashaa on instagram 

Neil Josten art by @estrophysics

Second Chances, vol. II: Runaways eye shadow palette edit by @mistyyed