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Crying - Blog Posts
Hey, so today's post is kind of personal, more than a little personal actually but I guess you could say I wasn't feeling the best earlier. And with these feelings I was trying to find anything to distract myself with and I ended up going through some older notes in my phone. And, well I got to reading this one. I guess you could say it's kind of stupid but I almost felt like I could relate? (again to myself so, stupid) and I thought maybe others could too.
I guess I was just feeling a lot of emotions, some similar but also none quite the same. I guess you could say it I felt... Unvalidated? Not valued, not seen, not heard; amongst other things. I won't go into detail what happened today but I guess here's a little, almost diary entry? Of a bad day from a while back.
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Thurs. Oct 24, 2024:
I wasn't having the best day yesterday, I couldn't tell you why, there wasn't just one specific thing, I think it was just... Everything. I'm just, tired. Tired of not knowing, tired of not being enough. Just, tired. I need a break. Just a moment to catch my breath. So yeah, I wasn't having the best day yesterday.
I had to actively stop myself from crying my eyes out in the middle of a classroom or hallway a couple of times. For some reason, I so desperately wanted nothing more than a hug from my dad. But it made me want to cry even more because I knew I couldn't have one, it was in the middle of the school day and he was at work. I had to force myself to think of something, anything other than how much I so desperately wanted a hug at that moment. Otherwise, I'd start bawling my eyes out in front of dozens of people.
I thought about asking Mrs. T for a hug. She was right there. No more than a couple of steps away. But for some reason I couldn't get myself to do it. Even though I was trying my damn hardest not to have a mental breakdown a foot behind her. Instead I just silently got up once the bell rang and stood behind her for a moment, debating. But after a moment I just grabbed my bag and silently walked away, I didn't say anything, she didn't say anything either. (She hadn't notice)
The second time I think I had to actively avoid breaking out in tears was on the way to my third-period from Mrs. T office hours, I had to force myself to stop thinking about the hug I couldn't have otherwise I'd start crying in front of my pre-calculus class. Eventually, the teacher came along to unlock the door and I splashed my face with some water from the water fountain.
It was a little better after that. I could distract myself with math, I didn't have to think, well at least think about anything other than math. And I thought to myself, what if I asked Yoshi for a hug, even if it seemed like an inadequate substitute at the time? I thought about the girls and I know they would hug me if I asked but I don't know if it was the kind of hug I needed. I think that thought is also the reason I didn't end up asking ***** for a hug either. It wasn't the kind of hug I needed.
Even as I just silently dissociated my way through lunch to avoid crying. Then came ceramics, my mind and body felt all over the place. Like I wanted, needed to do something but couldn't. I was glazing my projects which helped a lot I even got to genuinely smile and laugh at some point, so my day got a little better after that. I could just immerse myself in my art. I could mostly do the same thing in LC while painting posters, so by the time I went home I was a lot better than the latter half of the afternoon.
Hours went by and I forgot about my insistent need for a hug from no one else but for my dad. And eventually, he came home. At that point I didn't feel like I desperately needed a hug anymore, but I thought to myself, I could still use that hug, so I silently moseyed my way out of my room after a moment of contemplation and made my way to his.
I stood at the door and watched for a moment as he was kicking his dirty laundry into a pile on the floor to be washed. I don't know why but that pile of dirty laundry felt like the Mariana trench between him and I at that moment. So instead of wading myself across it I just asked, are you still not working tomorrow? (That's not what I wanted to say but I felt like I needed to say something, anything, to try to bridge that gap)
He confirmed what I already knew, still not looking at me, just focusing on compiling his clothes together. And of course, since I was there standing in the doorway ******(my dog) wanted to come see, and as always he was getting told that he was in the way (I always feel bad when I hear everyone say that, even though it's true and he likes to stick close to your legs causing you to trip) and I don't know why it struck me so much.
Why when he told ******(my dog) to get out and go away it felt like he was saying it to me. I know he wasn't angry or annoyed at me, I know that. He was just tired and now annoyed at the dog. But it hit me, and I couldn't tell you why.
So I silently left and made my way back to my room as he started saying things like all I do is work work work work, work and mop, work and mop... In his usual annoyed tone. I don't know why, but for a moment, I silently stood at my door still just a little cracked as I listened to him rant, even though my heart felt like it was cracking with every word he said.
Finally, I silently shut the door and that's when the waterworks; the one's I had been holding back all day, finally spilled over. I cried for a while rambling and babbling and I had to repeatedly tell myself something I already knew, he's not mad at you, he's just tired and annoyed at the dog, he's just tired and annoyed at the dog, had to tell myself he won't be mad at you if you go to ask for a hug, that's ridiculous, so finally after a while of working up my gall, I splash my face with water in the bathroom make sure it didn't look like I was crying.
And I made my way back to his room, but this time there was no cavernous trench of laundry between us. I silently made my way in and just stood behind him while he was fiddling with his phone and charging, still not saying a word. ******(my dog) followed me along and jumped on his bed. It probably didn't take more than a minute to finish up his fiddling, but it felt like forever, and again I felt like I had to force myself to not make my eyes water, so he couldn't see.
Finally, he turned around and asked me what I wanted, I silently held my arms out for a hug and I asked him if I could get a hug he couldn't hear me so I repeated myself but I don't think it came out as more than a mumble. He got the hint anyway and hugged me. like his hugs. We usually just silently hold each other and sway back and forth on our feet. I like our hugs.
But in that moment it just didn't feel right. I couldn't tell you why. Just that it wasn't. Suddenly he spoke up and said, it'll all be okay. I don't know why he said it. Maybe it showed on my face. Or maybe you didn't show enough.
Because the next moment he's pulling away. Entirely too quickly. A hug. One that earlier in the day I had to actively stop myself from crying out for because I so desperately needed it. A hug I had to give myself a pep talk just ask for. But a hug that felt like it was the answer turned out to break me even more.
After he pulled away he joked about something with the dog and laughed. He laughed. There's nothing wrong with laughing. But in that moment it felt like she was laughing at me. And I had to force myself to let out a laugh too. So he wouldn't see that there's anything wrong.
Even as I silently walked out of his room my back to him so he wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. Mouth tightly shut so he wouldn't hear the sobs threatening to claw up my throat. I silently walked away from his room to mine closed my door, and let the first sob near silently leave my body as it clicked shut. I felt so stupid. I felt useless and like I couldn't do anything.
And so then the waterworks started again as I tried to snuff out the sobs leaving my body. I didn't want him to try to come into my room and see me breaking apart so I decided I was going to take a shower. I wasn't dirty. Not really. But it felt like it, almost. Couldn't let him see. I don't know why he's not allowed to see. He just isn't. So I started quietly cursing myself for being so stupid as I took off my jewelry and grabbed my stuff for the shower. I felt better after the shower. Not entirely. But better than I was before. Didn't feel like I was going to start breaking out in sobs at any second. So, better.
Im a sucker for angsty fwb Bakugo and messy feelings.
!! Major spoilers for the manga btw !!
The two of you almost never meet like that. It’s almost pushing it to ten times a year in a never ending circle of non commitment and broken promises, words that are only exchanged during intimacy that none of you can’t help but utter and trutfully tonight shouldn’t have been different.
But he agreed to let you stay at his place for the night—you think it’s because he doesn’t want to drive you home and you settle on the couch, in a corner, not even wanting to wrap yourself up in a blanket. He takes none of it, preaching about how he’s not going to let you crash on the couch, that you can sleep with him in his bed.
As you’re given a change of clothes to sleep in and a toothbrush, you avoid looking right into his face.
You know better than anyone why he doesn’t want to commit to you, he doesn’t want you to really see him, he’d rather shut himself away from you. You’re not someone he considers an equal, you’ll never even be close to leveling up with him. You know he hates that about you. That you’re weak. That you gave up on being a hero after the war because of everything that happened.
“Bathe and we can sleep” he says and he gives you a towel and a pair of his boxers.
He already had his shower, he already smells like that orange blossom shower gel and bitter almond shampoo that he has, he already smells like clean laundry and you reek of sinful non committal, casual sex.
You enter the shower and the water running is so hot that it could scorch your skin. You like it that way, feeling the water pierce like fire needles through your skin, stripping away everything in its collision with flesh.
You try not to burst into tears— he’d think it’s bad manners, lecture you for it and you’re not in the mood for any of it. It’s overwhelming and self distracting to think of him that way— your therapist says that you should make an effort to understand him and you really do, you do understand why he acts like he does but it doesn’t leave you with anything to do about it.
You just want to go home, in your clothes, in your bed. The feeling in your heart is unbearable.
But your therapist has repeatedly told you not to sweep the problem under the rug; just talk to him. Don’t just sit in the comfort of the scent of his shower gel and his clothes. Confront him. Tell him you love him and that you’ll stick by his side no matter what.
And it all sounds perfect in theory. Really, it does. Except for the part where you can’t even look at him.
When you look at him, even almost ten years later all you can see is his lifeless fucking body laying under Best Jeanists hands.
So Katsuki knows better than anyone why you can’t accept him, why you can’t commit to him and it drives him absolutely insane.
He is always clothed around you, during sex, during coffee dates to catch up; he puts in the most exquisite effort to avoid showing you his scars.
And when he can’t just hide the one on his face, you respond by not even looking him in the eye. That, as a fact, pains him more than anything.
Frankly, he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to bear it.
But tonight— tonight he’s gonna do it — he’s gonna tell you that he loves you. And then his own feelings will be your problem.
When he hears the shower stop running, he sits on the edge of his bed, one leg bouncing in anticipation; is tonight the right time? Should he do it? And if not now then when? Can he really just let you slip away, or will his confession make you force yourself to be with someone you can’t even look at.
Why are the two of you even involved at all if you think he is so repulsive?
The bedroom door creaks open before he has time to actually process a sequence of words to tell you— and you step out, your hair damp, clinging to your neck in heavy strands. His shirt swallows you whole, draping over your frame, and his boxers sit awkwardly on your hips, a poor attempt at comfort that neither of you will acknowledge. You still don’t look at him.
Of course, you fucking don’t.
Katsuki clenches his jaw. His leg keeps bouncing—until he forces it still, pressing his palm hard against his knee. He’s getting sick of this. Sick of watching you shrink into yourself, sick of the way you refuse to meet his gaze, sick of the ghosts that sit between you, molding the shape of your relationship into something that barely resembles one.
You tug at the seams of his T-shirt to hide the scars on your neck and the ones on your stomach and torso sit hidden, snuggly, underneath the cloth of it.
He knows what you’re doing because unlike you, he is looking at you.
“…Come here,” he mutters, voice gruff, barely above a whisper.
You hesitate. You fucking hesitate. But he wants to kiss you. He wants to sit you on his lap and kiss your lips, your neck, your chest. He wants to kiss your scars, no matter the fact that they’re spread all over your body.
This is the first and most major difference between the two of you and that’s what pisses him off the most. He accepts parts of you you don’t accept about yourself or him.
But eventually, you move, each step slow, reluctant, as if walking toward him is some great act of suffering. You sit on the bed—on the very edge of it, like you’re prepared to run, not on his lap like he wants.
You play out of the premeditated scenario he’s crafted in his head for this moment.
Katsuki feels something inside him snap.
His fingers twitch, nails digging into his palm, the words crawling up his throat like acid, burning to be let out.
You won’t even look at him.
And yet—you still come back to him, time and time again, you come back.
“Sit on my lap” he says, patting on his thighs with one hand, coaxing yours with his other. “Want you close so we can talk”
You don’t answer. You can’t answer, just follow his lead and hover your legs over his, as you crawl your way onto his lap.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he asks, his voice quiet, sharp and cutting through the thick silence between you.
“M not doing anything” you mutter in response.
“That’s the problem”
Yet, he cradles you, the problem, into his arms, big, strong biceps pressing you close to him, holding your head right into his chest.
His heartbeat is loud— too loud for someone who once died, too real. Technically there’s nothing you should be scared of, he’s here with you, holding you and all you want to do is run away. Something inside you screams at you to run home, that this isn’t real. That he died and wasn’t saved, that you’re imagining all this.
But right underneath his shirt is his scar. And the ones on his forearm are visible now that he’s wearing a T-shirt.
“Should I go ahead and laser remove the scars?” Katsuki asks while the two of snuggle against each other.
“Huh? Why?”
“Cause ya don’t like looking at em, I’ve noticed. So would you look at me then?!”
Your stomach twists at the mention of the words, even if they’re so soft spoken and without thinking, your eyes dart down—just for a second—before flicking away again. Just the thought of it, the way the skin is raised and uneven, makes your throat tighten.
You swallow hard, fingers gripping the edge of his shirt. His fingers trace circles on the skin over the band of your -his- boxers.
“That’s not—” You take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. “I just…”
“You just think im ugly and you’d rather leave, that’s what you want to say isn’t it?”
“I don’t handle… that kind of stuff well.” You don’t say the word. You don’t want to. Just thinking about it makes your skin crawl. “It makes me feel sick to my stomach. And thinking about how you got them—” Your voice catches, and you look down again “It’s too much.”
Silence.
Then, Katsuki scoffs, but it’s weak. “Figures.”
Your head snaps up. “What?”
“Real fuckin’ great, huh?” He curses “I wanna tell you that I fucking love you and you’re here telling me I make you sick— what the fuck is wrong with me?”
You break free from his bear-like hug, only to stare at him, wide-eyed, heart hammering. You hate seeing him like this—hunched slightly, fists clenched, looking at his reflection in your eyes like it’s something disgusting. Like he’s something disgusting.
He isn’t though, he’s strong, he’s beautiful, he’s anything and everything you can’t lose. Nobody ever tells him, you don’t either, you just act like he’s made of glass and then leave as if he can’t or won’t shutter.
He just told you he loves you.
You love him too. You’re in love with him.
Does he even want to hear it after the shit you just spurt at him?
You grab at his face like it's instinct and press your nose to his, locking your eyes into his, breath hitched in the back of your throat. You avoid making any noise, scared that you’re going to ruin this by just existing.
If it’s been so many years and he’s still alive, you shouldn’t patronise his feelings because of your own trauma.
He’s here. He’s alive and he loves you and the pad of your thumb brushes over the scar on his cheek.
Your stomach still churns at the thought of his injury, but you force yourself to step forward, reaching out carefully. “Katsuki.”
Silence.
It’s just like he wanted. His love for you is your own problem now. He can only beat and scar himself further over the fact that he said ‘I love you’ like a curse.
Your stomach twists for a completely different reason now. “Katsuki, I love you too.”
Your lips brush against his, softly. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even stop you.
He wants to kiss you. Lips, skin, soul. Everything that is yours he wants to put his lips on.
And he does.
His mind goes blank the moment your lips touch his. It’s like a surge of electricity floods his body, short-circuiting everything logical, everything that was screaming at him to hold back, to keep his mouth shut, to not want this more than he already does.
But he does want this. He always has.
Your lips move against his—hesitant at first, unsure, like you’re still trying to convince yourself this is okay. That he’s okay. And that hesitation guts him. It rips through his chest in ways that no explosion ever could, because it reminds him of the truth:
You love him.
You’re not afraid to keep your eyes open and he isn’t afraid to keep his eyes open too.
The two of you probably look like lunatics, kissing with your eyes open, but it’s only because you can’t get enough, it’s never enough, even when you kiss just to have sex it’s not enough.
Katsuki wants to melt into you, he wants to disintegrate into one person with you. He feels like his heart will combust— no, he fears that his heart will combust and he’ll leave you scarred forever.
But he’s done that once already.
His fingers tighten their grip on your waist, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground himself. You’re warm. Real. Sitting right here, on his lap, wrapped up in his clothes, wrapped up in him. It’s a fucking miracle.
He kisses you deeper, almost desperately, parting his lips to taste more, feel more, take more. Your hands are still on his face, trembling slightly, but you don’t pull away. Not yet. And he clings to that like a dying man, pouring everything he can’t say into the way he mouths at you, the way his tongue flicks against yours, the way he tilts his head just right to fit against you perfectly.
His heart is pounding—too fast, too loud. He wonders if you can feel it, if you notice just how much he’s shaking. Because Katsuki does not tremble. Never. He does not doubt himself. He does not need.
Except with you.
With you, he’s terrified.
He’s scared you’ll push him away after this, that you’ll realize just how broken he really is, that loving him is more trouble than it’s worth. He’s scared you’ll come to your senses and run.
Because deep inside he’s convinced himself you’ve been keeping your distance because you think he’s ugly. Disgusting. A byproduct of a rotten hero society.
So he kisses you like he can keep you here. Right in his arms. Like he can erase all your doubts, all your hesitations, all your pain. He kisses you like an apology, a plea, a confession—because maybe it is all of those things.
Maybe it’s all of these things.
And when you don’t stop him,when your hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer, keeping him right here in your arms, he swears he could cry like a newborn.
“I know it’s stupid,” you say, breaking the kiss, only for him to whine against your lips, “but I can’t stop feeling like if I look too long, if I think too hard about it, it’ll happen again. I— I get panic attacks for hours when I remember the way you laid there, lifeless. Katsuki I don’t ever want to see that again. Im scared.”
You don’t have to pull away to continue, you need him as much as he needs you. And so you speak against his lips. “But that doesn’t mean I hate you. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to look at you. I'm scared that if I look at you for too long you’ll stop being real. I wanna be with you always, I want you to be here so bad. All the time.”
Katsuki is silent, staring at you like he doesn’t know what to say. His fingers twitch again before he finally, finally moves, cupping the back of your neck and tugging you against him, sealing your lips in another kiss.
You let out a shaky breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you press your face into him.
His grip is tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from his lap. “I’m here,” he mutters into you, voice soft. You’re not to be fooled with that patchy ass voice he pulls for everyone else “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
“But I still hate this scar,” he continues, whispering “Hate what it reminds me of. But if it means I get to stand here with you, get to hold you” He swallows thickly. “Then I’ll keep it.”
Your heart lurches.
A shaky breath leaves your lips, and without thinking, you reach up, gripping his face between your hands again. His skin is warm, slightly rough, chapped by the sudden change of weather, but real.
You don’t look at the scar this time. You don’t have to. Instead, you look at him as a whole; his furrowed brows, his slightly downturned lips, his tired, burning eyes, his blond lashes that you used to make fun of in high school.
It all makes sense now.
His breath stutters. His hands slide down to your waist, gripping you tightly, and before you can say anything else, he crashes his lips onto yours again.
It’s desperate. A little too messy. Like he’s trying to pour every ounce of regret and relief and love into it all at once. You gasp softly against his mouth, your hands tightening around him, and he groans low in his throat, pulling you impossibly closer.
He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. And you kiss him back just as fiercely, because you need to remind yourself that he is real. He’s not going anywhere but here.
Katsuki’s breath is heavy against your skin, his forehead still pressed to yours, his fingers still gripping you tight. But something shifts. It’s something sharp, electric, crackling in the space between you.
He’s teetering on the edge of restraint.
Your own breath shudders as he exhales, hot and uneven. You’re still pressed against his chest, against the scar that used to make your stomach twist, but right now, all you can feel is him.
And then, he moves.
In a blur of motion, Katsuki grabs your thighs and yanks you, throwing you and himself into the bed before you can even process it. You gasp, hands flying up to steady yourself against his shoulders, but he doesn’t give you a second to think.
His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, nothing like before. The trembling kisses from earlier can’t even compare to this one. This one is feral.
Like he’s been waiting for this moment to break and go berserk.
A muffled sound escapes you as his hands roam, gripping, squeezing, pulling you closer like there’s still too much distance between you. His fingers dig into your thighs, sliding up under your shirt, palms rough and searing against your skin.
You barely have time to process before he’s tilting his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue swiping against yours in a way that makes your stomach twist and turn.
He groans, low and hungry, and the sound sends a sharp, molten heat straight through you. Katsuki has always been intense, but this—this is something else.
This is unrestrained.
This is him. Losing control. And you’re the cause.
His hands move again, gripping the hem of your shirt and tugging it upward, fingers brushing over your ribs. His lips break from yours just long enough to drag hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—teeth scraping, tongue soothing, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, breathless, gasping, barely able to keep up with the way he’s touching you like a starved man.
He doesn’t just kiss you any more. He’s devouring you whole.
His breathing is ragged, his pupils blown wide, his lips red and swollen. His hands are still on you, still gripping you tight, but he doesn’t move or push any further. He just looks at you, like he could burn you, melt you into goo with his gaze.
And then he pleads, “Say it again?”
Tell me you want me. Tell me you love me and it’ll all stop being an amalgamation of emotions.
The unspoken words hang between you and all you can do is lay there, on your side, and watch him watch you like you’re a rough diamond in the making.
You don’t deny him of anything. You speak the words as if your life depends on them.
“I'm in love with you”
He tightens his arms around you, pressing you so close that it’s almost suffocating but he can’t help it. He needs you like this, needs to feel the warmth of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the proof that you’re being for real as it’s written on your palpitating heart. That this isn’t some cruel dream that’ll slip between his fingers the second he wakes up.
His lips ghost over yours again, desperate, frantic. His breath is ragged, shaky, and his hands roam—your back, your sides, the dip of your waist—like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, burn the shape of you into his palms.
“Say it again,” he hears himself crack as he speaks, and he hates how wrecked his voice sounds, how utterly pathetic he must seem right now. But he doesn’t care. He needs to hear it.
You hesitate, and that hesitation guts him. But then your fingers tighten in his hair, your lips brush against his cheek, over the scar he thought you couldn’t bear to look at.
You do something he never, not in a million years, could even allow himself to imagine. You kiss his scar.
And right now he doesn’t even think he can see anymore.
“I love you.”
He lets out a shaky breath, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His heart is a fucking mess, erratic, wild. His grip on you tightens, like if he just holds on hard enough, he can keep you here forever.
Katsuki has never begged for anything in his life, but if you tried to leave now, he thinks he would. He knows he would. On his knees, sprawled all over the floor if he had to.
“Again” he exhales, sharply through his nose “I swear,” he breathes, voice rough and full of desperation “I’ll die if you don’t”
Your breath catches, and he feels it, the way you go still in his arms.
“Don’t say that,” you whisper, voice barely audible.
He presses his lips to your temple, your cheek, your jaw. It’s feverish, aching, his heart is going to give up, caught between his greediness and insecurity. “I don’t wanna live in a world where you don’t love me back, so just say it”
It’s pathetic. Weak. Not the kind of thing he would ever say out loud.
“I love you I love you I love you”
The moment the words leave your lips, the second you tell him you love him again, something in him absolutely breaks. He grabs your face with both hands, fingers digging into your cheeks, thumbs tracing over the curves of your jaw like he’s holding something fragile. Something irreplaceable.
Then he ruins you.
His lips crash into yours again, rough, needy, swallowing every breath, every little sound you make. But it isn’t enough. It’s never going to be enough.
He kisses your lips, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your jaw. He presses frantic, open-mouthed kisses down your face like he’s starving—like he’s been denied of you for too long and now he’ll die if he doesn’t get to taste all of you.
“Love you,” he mutters between kisses, like the words are spilling out of him against his will. His lips drag over your nose, down your chin, along the curve of your cheekbone. “Love you, fuck—love you so much—”
He’s shaking. He can feel it in his hands, in the way his breath stutters against your skin. His lips find your temple, pressing there like a prayer, like if he kisses hard enough, you’ll understand—really understand—just how much he needs you.
He can’t stop.
He kisses the embers of the scar on your neck, then your forehead, then both of your eyelids like he’s blessing you. Then again, your cheekbones, your jaw, the corner of your mouth again—over and over, like he’s worshiping every single inch of you.
His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair, holding you onto him for dear life.
When he pulls back, his pupils are blown wide, his breath ragged. “Tell me you’re mine,” he rasps, voice thick with something desperate, something wrecked. “We’re together after this, right? No more fucking sex on the low and then I don’t get to see you for god knows how long”
"Say you're stayin’," he mutters, voice raw. His fingers slip under the hem of his own shirt you’re wearing, pressing against your bare waist. His lips move to your ear, voice nothing more than a plea. "Tell me you’re not leavin’ me, baby."
Your heart clenches at the way his voice wavers, the way he sounds like he's afraid—like the very idea of you leaving is enough to unravel him completely.
“I’m staying,” you breathe, and before you can even finish saying it, his lips crash into yours again, cutting off whatever air was left in your lungs.
His eyes rake over you, wild and dark and fiery red and shaky, lips swollen and shiny from kissing you too hard. His hands are shaking as they run down your sides, like he’s never touched you before.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, as if he’s finally letting himself believe it. His hands slide under your shirt, palms pressing flat against your stomach, up your ribs, his thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts. He swallows hard. “Mine.”
His kiss is messy, desperate, like he’s trying to fuse himself to you. Like he wants to crawl inside your skin and live there. And maybe he does. Maybe that’s the only way he’ll ever feel close enough to you.
“Katsuki” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and sweet.
“Fuck,” he rasps against your skin, voice wrecked, breath hot. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”
Your head is spinning, body burning beneath his touch, every nerve alight. “Then take it,” you whisper, nails digging into his shoulders.
His breath stutters and he hisses.
A growl rumbles in his chest as he flips you, pressing you into the mattress before climbing over you, caging you in with his body. His hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, pinning you in place like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
He dips down, biting at your collarbone, at the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, dragging his teeth over your pulse before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. A reminder. A claim. One he wasn’t allowed to make until seconds earlier.
You’re his to have.
You gasp, arching into him, and he groans at the way you react, at the way you’re coming undone beneath him.
“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters against your skin, lips trailing lower. “All mine.”
His words send a sharp, electric jolt through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.
Your hands roam his body in return, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, feeling the way he shudders beneath your touch. When your fingers ghost over the scar on his chest, he stiffens for just a moment—then exhales shakily, like he’s letting you in.
He wants you to touch it. To feel that he’s here. That he’s alive. This is a reminder too.
You press your palm flat against it, right over his heart, and his breath shudders. His gaze snaps up to yours, pupils blown, expression dark and desperate.
Katsuki is fire—hot and consuming, searing through every inch of you, making it impossible to think of anything but him. And he’s explosion too, nuclear and annihilating, swiping away every ember of fear you could feel at this moment.
And right now, you’re ready to burn and get blown into teeny tiny pieces.
~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.
Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally
Cute Aggression
Mezo Shoji x Reader
(mild suggestive content; utterly vile fluff)
Something about his face just drives you wild. Always has.
Even the first time, when you were at your place, and Shoji sat you down because he had something serious to discuss. You'd been going out for a while, and dating exclusively for several months. A part of you was terrified that 'something serious' meant something bad. But when he expressed a desire to show you his face, that anxiety turned to relief, then excitement. It was hard to hide your giddiness, but you wanted to show that you were taking this seriously.
Shoji could tell, he could always tell. Your boyfriend seemed to have a gift for reading people, or maybe just you. It made it all the more nerve wracking, knowing that your excitement would sour into shock or pity or disgust. But it seemed too far to go back now.
When he pulled down his mask, he was quiet, giving you a moment to process, maybe ask questions. He was ready to answer the usual 'what happened' or something about his natural features.
What Shoji wasn't prepared for, was your elated look, and you slowly reaching out your hands while asking, "is this okay?" You waited until he nodded his consent before cupping his face, gently and intently looking at his features.
"Mezo." You had straddled his lap, now staring him dead in the eyes. He swallowed. "You are really, REALLY fuckin' cute."
He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. You weren't hiding your giddiness now, and he wasn't sure how to react to this unabashed fawning. His already serious blush darkened as you asked, "can I kiss you? Here, on this mouth?"
The two of you had made out some, but always using a mouth on one of his dupli arms. He nodded, looking unintentionally coy as he closed his eyes. "You may."
You gently swept his bangs aside, still cupping his cheek with your other hand. Your thumb brushed over a pair of scars crossing his lips, but you weren't planning to ask about them now. If he offered the information, you'd take it, but there was no need to push. For now, you just wanted to love on his face, as much as he'd let you.
His lips had an intriguing shape in the front, tempting you to kiss there. As your lips softly molded to his, you felt him go tense, quivering a little. So you moved your hands to his chest, gently rubbing along the clavicle out to his shoulders, then back to center. "Relax baby~" you whispered against his perfect lips, and he obeyed instantly.
When you finally leaned back, Shoji looked happy, dazed, and positively love-drunk from the tender kiss. Then he said something that surprised you. "That was, uhm, my first kiss." He rubbed his neck with a nervous little laugh.
You took a moment to process, then gasped. "Ohmygosh why didn't you tell me, I could've lit candles or something, made it more romantic!"
Before you could stress too much, six muscular arms found their way around your torso, pulling you flush against him. "It was perfect."
~~~~~
"Mezo?"
"Hm?"
"You'd dated other people before me, right? So, why hadn't you ever...yanno? Before." It had been weeks since your boyfriend had first shown you his face, and you'd been wondering how you were his first real kiss.
"Kissed?" You nodded. He sighed. "I didn't show many potential romantic partners my face. As for the ones I did show, they weren't particularly enthusiastic about getting up close and personal."
You narrowed your eyes. "...just so you know, if you ever point out one of your exes to me in public, I will kick their ass."
"Noted. But please don't."
"Fine. Their loss anyway." You cuddled into his side, one hand reaching up to trace the scar tissue on the back of his neck.
Now it was Shoji's turn to blurt out something that had been lingering in the back of his mind. Ever since he told you about his scars, you seemed a little fixated on them. "So, these...they don't bother you?"
"Mixed feelings, I suppose. It makes me sad and pissed off that anyone would've hurt you like that. But at the same time, objectively, they give you kind of a rugged look? And knowing how you got them, it makes me feel kinda guilty that I think they're hot?"
Shoji turned his head to give you an amused, questioning look. "Hot?"
"Yeah, you're stupidly hot. Not just the face, the whole situation. But the scars, they make me just, wanna..."
You trailed off, getting up on your knees so you could reach Shoji's face while he sat. His fists balled up in the couch cushions as your lips softly caressed the scars running perpendicular to his mouth. You kissed along each one, going bottom to top, before moving to the corner of his mouth. Following the massive scar around his neck, you kissed as far as you could reach from your position, then gave it a small lick. He jumped and you giggled, nibbling around the raised flesh as he shivered.
Soon he was leaning into the couch, head thrown back, mouth open and panting while you kissed and adored and worshipped every inch of scarring around his neck and face. He hardly even moved as you switched sides, determined not to half ass your task.
At long last, you stopped, and Shoji started to compose himself and sit up. That's when you rested your chin on his shoulder, giving him doe eyes as you asked, "got any other scars that need tending?"
He stared at you for a moment. Then he started to remove his shirt.
~~~~~
Waking up to the sight of Shoji's face was divine, you thought to yourself. He lay on his back beside you, but his head was turned to the side. So when you woke up, you were met with his peaceful visage.
You sighed, softly stroking his sleep-mussed hair. You watched his pretty silver eyelashes twitch against his cheeks as he dreamed. He was smiling softly, evidently enjoying pleasant dreams.
When you leaned in, carefully attempting to deliver a small kiss without waking him, he mumbled something in his sleep. Mostly incoherent, but you were pretty sure you caught a little "love you" in there. You smiled, cuddled into his side, and rejoined him in peaceful slumber.
~~~~~
There was no point to this collection of drabbles, other than to say Shoji deserves nice things and also look at that face LOOK AT THAT CUTE FUCKIN FACE:
beautiful commission from @mirrorshards of baseball craig and soccer tweek kissing behind the bleachers! i love it so much
"You know, Nanamin," Yuuji started, between mouthfuls, "when we first met, I thought I wouldn't like you at all."
Kento raised one thin eyebrow over the rim of his paper-cup coffee. He sat with you, and Yuuji, at a dirt road Conbini overlooking Tokyo. The sun was setting, casting the city as a silhouette against oranges, purples. You could smell the earthy petrichor of an incoming storm. Yuuji did not mind, thoughtful as he slurped at an instant ramen.
"Like, really," Yuuji continued, his mouth puckered up, "I thought you were boring. Unfunny, grumpy, miserable. Maybe even a little bit mean." Yuuji laughed now, becoming gradually more animated as he set the scene. "And when you tried to lecture me, while I was fighting that curse? Insane. I was like, 'Who the hell is this guy?'"
You covered your mouth, hiding a smile, eyes flicking between your unreadable husband, and the bubbling boy opposite him. Yuuji finished laughing, wiping his eyes and sighing into another slurp of noodles.
You placed a surreptitious hand on Kento's thigh under the table, and he barely reacted, but to tense and cross his arms. Yuuji rested his chin on one hand, eyes softening as he looked over the ant-like lights, moving in scattered formation across the city.
"But then...I realised. You just cared. I mean, really cared. About me. And if I wasn't being treated right. And if I was gonna be okay." Yuuji swallowed, his voice thickening. "And I...didn't have anyone left like that. The only person I ever did have was my grandad, and maybe he just took care of me because he had to, y'know? But you chose to. Even though I'm...I'm a monster."
You saw Kento squirm within. You knew he'd had his misgivings about Sukuna's Vessel, before Kento knew him as Yuuji. You knew the shame and guilt Kento carried for that. His shoulders ached, a pall-bearer of emotions for so many.
"And you're hilarious. Anyone can see it, really. And you're a rebel. And a protester. And you stand up for the little guy when nobody else wants to. And you don't do it to make us like you. You just...believe it's right. And don't get me wrong, I like Gojo-sensei too, but I love you."
You pursed your lips, closing your eyes and trying not to tear up on Kento's behalf. Kento remained silent, arms crossed and frowning down at his steaming coffee. Yuuji looked at you, uncertain. You gently flapped one hand; don't worry, you're alright, you're okay.
Kento eventually broke his silence, his voice gruff. He pushed his bank card across the table to Yuuji.
"Itadori-kun." Yuuji sat to attention, wide-eyed. "Go and get yourself some snacks. As much as you like. And the other students, too, if you know what they'd want."
Yuuji took the card in confusion, with both hands and a little bow, and disappeared inside the shop, the automatic doors booping behind him.
Kento stood, your hand falling off his lap, and grasped the metal railings overlooking the city, with his back to you. His shoulders were taut, stiff, occasionally hitching with emotion. You felt him, as you always had.
"...Kento? Are you alright?"
A thick swallow and a sniffle before a single gravelly, "Yeah. I'm fine, I...I'm fine."
Pupkashi! Congratulations on 1k!! You deserved it!!🎉💙 may I please request a drabble with the prompt “aw, sweetheart you know you don’t have to ask...come here.” From the Water category with “you’re my everything.” From the Cocktails category with our favorite white haired man, Gojo Satoru!💙
thank you friend !! i hope you enjoy this little piece :3 let me know what you think <3 !
warnings: mentions of feeling insecure / not good enough
3:27 am
your eyes were burning, but the second you laid down the tears you were holding back threatened to flow, and the sobs you were keeping at bay would slip past your lips.
it wasn’t something satoru did or said to make you feel insecure, he was always so perfect to you. in fact, it’s because he was so perfect that you felt like you’d never be enough for him.
why you? from everyone he could choose from, why would he choose you?
‘he chose me.’
‘he chose me,’ you’re trying to remind yourself, hot tears flowing down your face. your fingers ghosted over the keyboard, debating wether or not you should message him. you put your phone down, you shouldn’t bother him.
it’s like he had a sixth sense when it came to you. your phone lighting up only seconds later with a text from him.
hi baby <333
through teary eyes and shaky hands you typed out your message quickly, biting your bottom lip as you sent the text.
can you come home?
he replies in seconds, attentive as always.
are you okay? I’m omw
you hear his footsteps before you see him, the door to your shared bedroom opening quietly, satoru quickly taking in your state and rushing to your side.
“oh sweetheart” he mumbles, not bothering to slip out of his uniform as his arms wrap around you, bringing you close to him, one hand rubbing your back and the other smoothing your hair. “I’m right here baby,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head.
when you finally calm down, he’s slipping out of his uniform, sliding under the covers with you. “you wanna talk about it?” his voice is gentle, thumb wiping away a stray tear from your face.
you nod your head, clearing your throat a bit, sitting a bit straighter and fiddling with the edge of the blanket, was that string always there?
“i just” you let out a shaky breath, satoru doesn’t rush you, only staring at you with soft eyes, “am i enough for you? don’t you deserve better?” you don’t look up as the words leave your mouth.
satoru can feel his heart break in his chest, he can feel the shards of his heart lodging into his sides as he stares at you.
“you’re my everything” it feels second nature to tell you that, to tell you how much he loves you and how much you mean to him, “you’re more than enough for me sweets” he’s leaning closer to you, one of his hands slipping under you chin, gently making you face him.
“you’re all i ever need” telling you that was easy to him. it’s easy to love someone as perfect for him as you were.
“who else is gonna tell me off? who’s gonna laugh at my terrible jokes? who am i gonna watch bad romcoms with?” his eyes look like they’re shimmering with love as he stares at you, like you created the universe.
you laugh a bit, sniffling as you tear your eyes away from his, wiping away the couple of tears that ran down your face.
“i love you, pretty” his words are dripping with sincerity, and the feeling of his hand intwining with your serves as a reminder of his words. the warmth of his hands mending your heart, because it’s only you in the entire world who feels the warmth of his palms.
it’s only you that know how warm he runs, how cuddly he gets at night. it’s only you who he never has his infinity on with. it’s only you he drops everything for at a moments notice.
the two of you only sit there in silence for a second, letting you compose yourself before you’re excusing yourself to wash your face, coming back and finding satoru standing at the foot of the bed.
“are you leaving?” you ask, satoru smiles at you.
“you think I’m gonna leave you at a time like this?” he’s throwing his uniform in the hamper and taking large strides to you, kissing your nose before sweeping you off your feet and throwing you onto the bed.
“I’m not going anywhere sweetheart” he mumbles, “just picking up after myself” smiling as he peppers kisses on your face. he only stops when your lips capture his, smiling into the kiss.
the two of you slip under the covers quickly, battling for the blanket for a second before you both finally settle in.
“can i be the little spoon?” you whisper.
“aw sweetheart you know you don’t have to ask” he mumbles, extending his arms and scooting a bit closer to you, “cmere.”
he’s kissing the top of your head, arms gripping you tightly and sighing happily. you felt the warmth of his body on yours, his lips just barely ghosting over your shoulder before he presses a kiss there.
“gnight sweets” he whispers, “i love you so much” he presses another kiss to your shoulder.
“i love you more, my angel boy” you mumble, eyes heavier by the second, the comfort of his body against yours paired with his cologne making it harder to stay awake, “sweet dreams.”
you’re asleep by the time satoru replies, “any dream with you is sweet” giggling to himself before closing his eyes, squeezing you a bit closer to him.
I just finished Eric on Netflix…
I CANT FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE THEY DID NOT HAVE TO HIT ME WHERE IT HURTS 😭😭
s3e22 farscape
crying my eyes out, the chemestry between claudia black and ben browder are so strong and im so mad at him but also like i get it but this has to be so torturous for her i had to pause the coin flip bc holy shit raw emotion time
I was in a mode to draw angst. If you recognize this scene, I apologize.
lonely birthday (pt1)
so, the bear is for smoke and the tiger for kuai liang. Bi Han misses his brothers dearly and it hits more when it's his birthday- After all, no one dares to talk to the grandmaster, not even to wish him a happy birthday...
He bought some store made cake, and he ate a piece bitterly... the taste isn't as sweet as the cakes Smoke used to bake, the alcohol doesn't taste as nice as it used to taste when he drank with Kuai Liang.
The room feels oddly empty without his family.
If you read this far PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REBLOG PLEASE PLEASE I LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE REBLOG WITH SILLY TAGS, SILLY EVERYTHING PLEASE IT MEANS A LOT
Trick or treat
Sorry kiddo I don't have any treats yet cuz it's not Halloween :(
Take this rabbits foot if you wish!!
Rabbit foot aquired
I CANNOT WATCH. I PHYSICALLY CAN’T. I AM WORKING. I CANNOT CRY RIGHT NOW.
(said as i pause the video and return to work with tears beginning to form)
(skhfklsahdkhskahkjfhjsl MEI 🥹 SHIJIMA 😭)
they did this scene so beautifully omg i was gonna start sobbing
WILDFLOWER is the perfect song for Toga, Ochaco and Deku.
How does nobody else stay awake at night thinking about this?
Ochaco can't stop thinking about her, Deku kind of rejected her, and now she's dead...
BUT I SEEEEEE HERRRR
IN THE BACK OF MY MIIIIND
ALL THE TIIIIIIIME
*inhales*
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH
guys i have a STAGE 1 psychology assignment due in 18 hours about Examining the Impact of AI on Brain Structures and Functioning. psychology says I need about 9 hours of sleep. school starts in 11 hours but I cannot sleep cause I have a drama performance tomorrow so I wont be able to submit it regardless.
anyway. what is more important? sleep or finishing the assignment with the knowledge you know have.
today i offer something really short that i wrote. i have a hc that ethari wrote letters to runaan to cope with the loss and this is one of them. hope you like it!
Dear Runaan
Dear Runaan,
today is the start of the Blue Moon week. Everybody is out and about, preparing and harvesting, and the children are even more excited than usual due to the Blue Moon being in December this year. Snowball fights will be unstoppable. I haven't prepared much; barely a few arrows and throwing knives to enchant.
Ethari stopped writing to look up at the weapon-filled wall. Blades missing their swirls and handles simplified, no intricate lines decorating them in any way. He furrowed down his eyebrows.
I miss you. You'd think I would have already settled in, accepted and kept living. But it's hard, Runaan. Not many elves come to the forge anymore, and I suspect it's because they fear they will somehow remind me of you. But nobody can do that. Nobody sneaks into the forge like you do, nobody tries to hide their smile and fails, nobody tilts their head and closes their eyes while they listen to my new project (it's not like I have any). Yet, your presence is never fading away. You're somewhere that's not our kitchen table. It's a new pain and I have yet to find the right healing salve. While your wounds were easy to see and to heal, this wound, my darling, is the one you would hide from me, unless I lit a candle.
He put his quill down and with a shaky hand ruffled his hair. It was longer now, the bangs placed behind his ear and rest of his hair kept in a low ponytail or bun. He didn't know long it really was. The tears blurred his vision and he cursed.
I will go out tonight. I will go into the heart of the festival and feel something unlike the forge sparks. Don't fear; you will learn everything that happened. You always will.
I love you, Runaan. Be here when I'm back.
-Ethari
sabo being luffy and ace's safe space.
sabo being the brother that luffy liked to curl into on cold night. obviously he liked it when both of them would cocoon him in their warmth but ace always took so much cajoling and begging. sabo on the other would just lift up his blanket and luffy could slip right in, tucked away with the steady drumbeat of sabo's heart in his ears.
sabo being the brother that ace could vent to. luffy was obviously too young but sabo was his twin. he could talk to sabo. he could strategize with sabo. he could scream and yell at sabo and know without a doubt in his heart that sabo would still love him. he could push and hit and punch and sabo would come back teeth bared and still loving.
sabo reading to them and teaching them how to read. sabo necer making luffy or ace feel stupid. sabo sitting with luffy in his lap sounding out the alphabet as luffy whines but dutifully repeats the sounds back to him. sabo fixing up the treehouse, pointed not looking a ace bc ace will immediately give up if sabo looks, as ace works his way through a book.
sabo teaching them standard school subjects bc one day we'll be off this godforsaken island and people are going to ask you things and if they think you're stupid, they will scam you. and no ace, you cannot just punch them all. sabo figuring out that ace is kind of a genius at math and that luffy might be a lost cause but he understands most of it.
sabo reading books to luffy when he's sick. sabo doing voices for all the characters and coming up with little props so luffy gets excited. and when ace inevitably gets sick too, sabo reading to him too. ace will never ask but sabo sees the way ace's eyes dart between the book and him and that's enough of an ask for him.
sabo the middleman. sabo the brother that encourages luffy's whimsy and sabo the brother that calms down ace's fire. sabo the one that holds them down. sabo the reassure-er. sabo the softy. sabo the beloved.
(sabo the noble's son. sabo the trapped bird. sabo the self-sacrificial. sabo the dead.)
TMNT Mutant Mayhem | Teaser Trailer
My mom: why are you wearing that wolf mask? You chould be getting ready for your first day back at school, aren't you existed? :)
Me wearing the wolf mask to hide my ugly crying: yep!
I cried because of a sweatshirt
Just started thinking about how I haven’t worn a sweatshirt in forever and how I can’t wear one till it get colder(because I easley overheat). I literally started crying because I missed my sweatshirts. My mom was very concerned and then said that I can wear them while we camp, which helped me to stop crying.
hardly serious art but i feel like sharing some doodles ive done
Waiting
(audio source)
Eu não consegui encontrar o link do segundo desenho
I couldn't find the link for the second drawing
Créditos para os autores originais
Credits to the original authors
I've read/listened to CO more times than I can count, and I think why I have (when I typically don't ever consume one type of media like this) is because I always come out knowing/understanding something new.
Obviously, I'm here for Baz and Simon and the rest of the gang. But I remember my second time reading, I grasped more the actual tragedy of the story. Particularly with the adults story. They aren't the main focus, but there's so much there that you can infer. I think what really hit me was the lost friendship between Lucy and Penny's mom. The scene were they last saw each other doesn't seem that important, but personally I see it as a prime example of how a manipulative partner can influence your other relationships and consequently add distance to them. Lucy had people who truly cares for her. And though maybe the Mage cared for her in his own way, he used her. I couldn't help but morn the life her and Simon could have had. And writing about it now, I believe the second time reading I truly morned for the characters. For Lucy, for Simon, for Ebb, for Baz, etc—they have been and go through so much but you wish they don't because they deserve so much more. But that's life. Tragedy where it's not fair and in the end you just have to carry on.
And now more recently I got in the mood to relisten to the audiobook. This time around, having read WS and many tumblr treads about the series, I noticed more about Simon. How the Mage treated him, how uncomfortable he is with physical contact, how he thinks people view him. But honestly I think this time around, I just realized how sad Simon is. He doesn't really act it, seeing how that's how he lives life. He doesn't think about the past or the future—he more or less always lives in the current. But we know he dreamed of having parents. The best he had was the Mage and Ebb. Physical contact isn't his thing because he never had it. Only kissed on the lips, never a parental or familiar kiss on the forehead or whatnot as a way to show a sign of care and affection. Always sent off to care homes in the summer. A place he never felt safe in where he always had to have his guard up. And the only time he was wanted somewhere was to fulfill a position in their society. It's no wonder Simon is at a loss in his life, let alone his relationship. I know it's been said, but he's no longer the choose one, and the closest thing he had to a father (is his father but he doesn't know that) told him that was his worth. And URG, there's just so much to say about him. Like how he had trouble speaking as a child and he himself recognized "it was easier to take than to ask." (Which is, admittedly, not a good quote, Simon.) He never learned to communicate, so his actions are the closest to speaking his truth. But now he doesn't know how to communicate what he feels and probably doesn't realize how good it can be to figure stuff out together rather than always be in your head. And don't get me started with WS and the ending. I'm glad he's starting to make goals and try to get in a better place, but he's still has a ways to go. So in conclusion: Simon needs a fucking hug, a therapist, and I need to cry.
But the real conclusion is that Carry On has so much to give. I didn't even scratch the surface. But it's what makes it one of my favourite book and how I'm literally dying for the third book.
Now if you'll excuse me, I will be in a 7 monthish comma until AWTWB is out.
Phil immediately looking at Tommy after the announcer says to supervise your children
Video under cut:
From: “riding the fastest roller coaster in England” 3/21/22
Timestamp: 5:32
https://youtu.be/sR5RpqU1f60
*All the seagulls from Finding Nemo at once*
When ya see someone eating something you’d put in the fridge to save for later:
When you’re heading to the bathroom and you see someone heading there at the same time:
When your asshole brothers don’t understand that you’re the leader and you totally know what needs to be done and you need to tell those fuckers that the only opinion that (you think) matters is
