a slight continuation of this
no caller ID pops on your screen, pulling your attention away from your previous task at hand: not fucking up your eyeliner. you typically wouldn’t care if it was a little uneven, but you’re going on a date tonight, for the first time in so long, and you want everything to go as smoothly as possible.
which is why you groan when you end the call, and that same no caller ID pops right back up seconds later. you know who it is—who else would it be? you figured he’s already seen your story of being excited for going on your first date in a while, on the only app you hadn’t blocked him on. petty? perhaps, but it’s on him to be keeping up with you despite you cursing him out for wasting your time and then blocking him right after.
you watch it ring though, contemplating for a while longer than you should. you blocked him for a reason. no need to entertain his same shit that he always spews to you when he realizes that he might be losing you once more?
….but it doesn’t hurt to hear the hero beg for you.
“What do you want, Bakugou?” You sigh irritably as you finally answer his call, putting him on speaker as you go back to even out your eyeliner. You hear him huff on the other side of the phone at the use of his surname, but he doesn’t say anything about it, instead, quickly telling you what he’s been bothering you for.
“Who’s the fuckin’ loser that’s gonna drool over how good your tits look in that stupid green dress you love so much?” Bakugou grunts, and you instantly feel your face heating at his crude words. You glance over with a frown at that same green dress that makes your tits look good, where it hangs on your closet.
“None of your damn business, Bakugou.” You snap at him, wondering if it’s too late to find something else to wear. “Not like you ever took me out in my stupid green dress.” Your voice holds a level of bitterness that only he can bring out of you, and you hear his sigh through the speakers.
“I told you this before, I’m always—”
“Busy.” You cut him off, voice suddenly thick as you think back on the countless rejections he’s splattered at your feet every time you tried to further your relationship with him. “You reminded me of how busy you’ve been since you first started this whole situationship.”
“Situation—? Huh? We were dating!” Bakugou protests with a huff, and you can hear how he paces the floor quickly. You glare at your phone, setting down your liner to instead pick of your (his) favorite lipgloss.
“You’d have to ask me out to be dating, Bakugou. You’d have to court me to be dating, Bakugou. You’d have to make time for me and take me out on dates and not hide me to fucking date me, Bakugou.” You spit at him, venom dripping off of your lips in waves. You don’t know why you answered, why you even entertained him. You shake your head with a huff when the line goes quiet, eyebrows quirking up when your date sends you a text to make sure you’re still on for tonight.
“I’m sorry.” Bakugou mutters pathetically, his voice suddenly soft. You hesitate, for some reason, when it comes to texting your date back. Why do you always hesitate when Bakugou is around?
“Let me make it up to you, court you, and shit. I can take you to one of my favorite places, you can wear that pretty green dress and that gloss you know I love.” His voice is pleading, thickening and sweet and suffocating. You shouldn’t respond, should reply back a yes to your date.
“Please? You know how much you mean to me.” Bakugou mumbles, and you can hear the earnestness in his voice. Why haven’t you said yes to your date yet?
“I’ll do better this time. Just one more chance, sweetheart.” Bakugou’s voice is so soft, you’ve never heard him this vulnerable before. You sigh with a shake of your head, slumping back into your seat in defeat.
…
Sorry, I can’t make it tonight. Something came up. Maybe we can reschedule for another time?
516 notes
·
View notes
punk!soap metalhead!ghost brain blast!!!
ghost trying so hard to get soap out of the bad parts of the scene bc he's starting to get pulled in by the shadows, a group of wannabe anarchists that stand for nothing except themselves, but soap loses his shit; laying into ghost for daring to try and "save" him
no one's ever been there for him when he needed them; no one ever offered him support or a soft place to land, why the hell would he want ghost's help when he's perfectly fine on his own? (when he’s always had to be?)
"you think i can't make my own decisions? well fuck you, ghost, who needs a washed up piece o’ shite like you!"
he doesn’t talk to ghost for days, doesn’t let himself acknowledge the hole he’s left behind until he's getting pissed with the shadows one night in an abandoned house and graves starts waving around the gun he snuck through customs and it accidentally goes off, grazing soap's temple
he's never heard anything so loud, even at all the shows he’s attended and there’s so much blood; it's getting in his eyes, running down his neck and soaking into his clothes and he’s frozen. graves and all his shadows bolt after hearing the gunshot, worried about cops finding them and they leave him there; staring at the growing puddle at his feet
soap's panicking; half-blind, blistering pain lighting up his head and he can't think about anything beyond how much he wants ghost
ghost's been sulking at his flat since soap blew him off; pissed at soap for going off on him when he just wants to help but still worried about the punk. he doesn’t want him going down the same road as him; doesn’t want him to repeat his mistakes when he could save himself so much suffering and he almost doesn't answer his phone when it buzzes on the couch
he lets out a ragged sigh as he picks it up; raking a hand over his shaved head when he sees the bubble emoji and contemplates letting it ring out. contemplates answering with a growl; something a younger, crueler version of him would spit. in the end, he decides on silence and puts the phone to his ear just before it can stop ringing
he almost breaks it when he hears soap choke out, "i've been shot."
he's out the door in a heartbeat, running down the stairs because the lift is too slow; trying to get more information out of him but he can't get anything out beyond a repeated, "i've been shot."
he breaks every law there is as he speeds to soap's location; visions of his cold, bloodless corpse staining his mind's eye. the only thing keeping him calm are the strangled breaths from the other end of the line; he's not dead, he can work with not dead, this isn't tommy, soap won't end up like tommy-
ghost screeches to a halt outside a random alley and throws himself from the car when he sees soap collapsed against a garbage bin. he's covered in blood, soaked, just like that night, it's everywhere and he's not moving, he's not moving-
“johnny!”
he skids to his knees and fits his hand under his chin to check his pulse… but his heart beats strong under his fingertips and soap's eyes flutter open; flooded with blood but conscious and alive
the second he registers ghost in front of him, he’s reaching out for him; babbling apologies over and over, "you were right, i'm sorry ghost, i should've listened; i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."
ghost just gently hushes him, cupping his face heedless of the blood. "that doesn't matter now, johnny. we're gonna get you all fixed up, yeah?"
soap’s hands fist in his shirt, clinging to him. "i got shot, ghost," he says again; lost and smaller than he's ever heard from his punk and it's been years since he's felt this kind of rage but he doesn't let a drop of it touch his voice
“i know, lad. i know. gonna let me take a look at it? make it right?"
soap finally nods, his stuttering apologies coming to a halt and ghost runs back to his car to get a towel. he presses it to soap's skin, trying to soak up as much as he can so he can get a proper look; cooing assurances as soap absently hisses in pain the closer he gets to it
it's only a graze and something in his chest unravels; old fears and grief settling as the shallow wound continues to gush into the towel
ghost slumps, pressing his forehead into the top of soap's head and takes a second to just breathe. “‘s’alright, johnny; it’s not even that bad, not even that bad,” he promises, low; spoken more to himself than soap
his hand starts to grow damp and he forces himself to his feet, gathering up soap and getting him into his car. he puts the towel in his hand and presses it against the wound, trying to coax him through his shock to put pressure on it so he can drive
soap curls up in the passenger seat; eyes distant, seeing nothing and ghost has to tighten his grip on the steering wheel so he doesn't turn around
soap is the priority
he has to get him home; has to get him cleaned up and safe
then he can go hunting for the gutless shadow that hurt his punk
58 notes
·
View notes
PSA ! Because apparently putting this at the top of all my recent posts isn't enough:
DO NOT LIKE OR REBLOG MY POSTS UNLESS YOUR AGE IS DISPLAYED IN YOUR BIO, OTHERWISE YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. READ MY PINNED POST BEFORE YOU SEND IN ANYTHING, OTHERWISE YOU WILL BE IGNORED. DO NOT CALL ME OFFENSIVE SLURS BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T LIKE HOW I ANSWERED A QUESTION, OTHERWISE YOU WILL BE REPORTED. BUT ABOVE ALL, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT WITH ME OR MY COMMUNITY, OTHERWISE YOU WILL BE BLOCKED AND IGNORED AND BLACKLISTED.
Please learn some basic human decency and respect every Tumblr user's boundaries. They're put in place for a reason. And please understand that every blog is different: the very least you can do is scroll through a few posts to understand the general vibe and fandom etiquette before you jump in to send your questions.
Also!! Just because I allow certain things on my blog, it doesn't mean that you can do the same on somebody else's blog as well. Every community is different, and certain things might not be okay to say or do in others. Just because one creator lets you discuss darker content on their blog, doesn't mean you can do it here.
Be kind and give everyone the respect you deserve.
294 notes
·
View notes