#if you know me at all you know I'm embarrassingly earnest more often than not

[canisalbus]

Hello! I just wanted to rave about how much I like your artwork! I love how expressive your characters are--not just in their facial expressions, but their body language as well! You do such a good job at making your characters endearing just by their expressions. You have serious talent by doing that. It also feels like you put a lot of earnestness in your pieces. Thank you for sharing your artwork with the world! It's very inspiring, as a fellow artist.

Thank you so much! Expressiveness and lifelike body language are high on my list of priorities when it comes to character art, it's wonderful to hear the effort I put into them is visible.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

hi, im the person whos sent you those rude asks trying to get a reaction, but after thinking about it, id like to apologise for my behaviour. i realise now how immature and ridiculous it was, and that i was just trying to get negative attention because i was bored and too miserable to be able to have any better form of interaction with anyone. but whatever immature reason, i know taking out my personal issues on a stranger i found mildy annoying is really bad behaviour and i shouldnt have done it. im really sorry if i caused any genuine offence when i criticised your writing of which i know nothing about, and im sorry for all those rude and immature and completely random asks i kept spamming you with just because i was bored. it wasnt personal or anything it was sort of random and i dont even know why i did it, it sounds nuts when i think about it. ill stop doing all this rubbish and leave you alone from now on, i wont even do it to anyone else. i just wanted to say that i recognise now that im in the wrong and was acting really rubbishly

Anon...

Honestly, it became apparent almost immediately that you were trying to goad me into giving you attention because you weren't getting any and you were likely jealous I have figured out how to get attention, and...honestly...

That made it easier to keep ignoring you. Because it was so incredibly apparent that what you were doing was entirely about you being upset and jealous and not having the emotional maturity to admit that or do anything productive about it. It wasn't interesting, or relevant to me.

I've never sent anonymous hate mail to anyone (or signed hate mail), but I definitely had a lot of very unstable years where I reacted very badly in social interactions and behaved honestly embarrassingly for the same reasons. You said that you find actually admitting things and liking attention is embarrassing...but I would rather be embarrassed by that than embarrassed about lying to myself.

It's social media! We all want interaction and attention!

But the thing is, making friends and getting attention is often rooted in being positive and loving and affectionate about things. I have so many followers on here because I talk about the things they love with ardent passion. I had a huge surge of followers recently for making a positivity post for original fiction writers encouraging people.

One of your first messages to me told me I don't respond to hate mail "normally" because I actually express genuine hurt when people are mean to me. But that is a normal human reaction. And you know that. I have always been a very open, genuine, and earnest person, so I cannot relate to wrapping yourself in hate, but I spent many years wrapped in anger and jealousy, and the thing that got me out of it was therapy.

Seriously. Therapy, and psychiatric medication. Because my personal brain chemistry means I need that.

And I encourage you to also seek out some kind of professional medical help, because you seem so genuinely miserable and directionless in your life that you need help finding a direction to pursue.

So I genuinely hope you do do that and it helps make you a happier person who hopefully doesn't go into social spaces intentionally poisoning things and making other people miserable because you are miserable. That's what you're doing right now.

But you can also choose to make social spaces more heartfelt and welcoming and warm and kind by adding that to the environment instead. It's a lot of work, sometimes, but it's worth it to me and to people in general.

And you did still hurt my feelings, even though I knew it had nothing to do with me. That's the cost of how you're behaving: you hurt people, and they don't like you very much or want to interact with you, and then you end up lonely and ignored because you're not acting like the kind of person anyone wants to pay attention to.

I'm glad my inbox will return to normal. I hope you find a great hobby that has absolutely nothing to do with me whatsoever.

[butchwaifu]

6, 22, and 31

6) What made you head over heels for s/i? What lit that spark for you?

"I've never met someone close to my age (now) interested in what we're interested in, let alone the fact she's so geeky she went and got a video game and show tattooed on her arm. I think her being like me was the kindling, but the firestarter was how embarrassingly earnest and genuine she was about it."

22) What’s your favorite thing to do with s/i?

"Not my favorite thing, but I think we make working out more tolerable for each other. I don't like it, she doesn't like it (most of the time). But it's alright when we can manage to do it together. Actual favorite thing I guess would be doing a lot of nothing special; we wake up, do dailies in our games, we go eat breakfast (or dinner, whichever shifts we're supposed to be awake for) together, or even on our days off we just watch cartoons or I read my comics while she draws. She called it coexistence, feels deeper than that."

31) Compliment your s/i. Just gush about them! Go crazy!

"Ugh, do I have to?... I like how she can draw, I like how she'll draw or write characters or whatever from my favorite medias. She's got taste in fiction I can appreciate. She's lazy sometimes I can't lie but when she puts her effort into something it's noteworthy, just wish she'd do it more often. Even if her food kills me sometimes I think its worth risking taking a bite because it's that good, doesn't mean I don't immediately regret it. Nice body... I like how she makes me feel like I'm never alone in thinking something, especially feeling; she seems to know exactly what I've been through and even when she doesn't she pretends and it just works. We're both not nice people, but she calls herself kind and she's made me start saying out loud I am too. She's made day to day easier, my blood pressure has gone down a bunch that's for sure, but it's more than just making things easier. I was just kind of getting by, but now? I'm not happy all the time I can't lie, but I'm a lot less desperately looking forward to when I'm off the clock so I can finally relax and indulge in what's keeping me on a thread. It's still kind of like that. I think I'm just more desperate to get back to her, but my team says I bitch less about hurrying everything up... Alright, I'm done talking about this now."

[kaysayshey]

off paper || e. kirishima

This is a work inspired by a struggle that a lot of those suffering with mental illness experience, particularly those with depression and bipolar disorder; however, it can be applied to a lot of mood-altering medications that cause sexual dysfunction. While medication is a life changing and stabilizing aspect of many lives, it doesn't come without its cons. I think Kirishima would be incredibly understanding in this situation. Please keep in mind that bipolar disorder presents in many ways. There is no one-size-fits-all in mental health treatment or in its subsequent treatment. I wanted to write a bit about the side effects of SSRI medications.

Songs that I listened to while writing include:

Serendipity by BTS' Jimin

Bumper Cars by Alex and Sierra

That Kind of Love by MAX

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, NSFW (no smut, however this work contains sexual topics), mention of prescription drugs, bipolar disorder, minors DNI.

On paper, Kirishima Eijirou was perfect. An impressive sidekick working underneath Fatgum, his cheery disposition more than capable of reassuring even the most terrified of civilians. A hard-hitting, defensive quirk paired with determination unlike anything you'd ever seen. Easy-going enough to work with the difficult heroes - and by difficult, everyone meant Dynamight. Intelligent, reliable, and just the right amount of competitive.

Off paper, he was even better. Hell, the moment he'd asked you out, you'd almost done a double-take. Was he sure? Kirishima could date, well, anyone. However, you'd blurted out 'yes' before your brain had time to catch up, even more surprised at the gorgeous pink that graced the tips of his ears.

And the date went wonderfully. Were you expecting anything different? He was a magnet, and you were willing to be the refrigerator he stuck to - at least, for as long as he wanted. How he managed to remember what flavor of milk tea and boba you preferred, following it up with a quick delivery while working twelves at the agency, was beyond you. Good morning texts wishing you an easy day of your own hero work, good night texts hoping that your dreams were "sweeter than you." The moment a bouquet of roses was sent to your office, you had to admit it.

You were embarrassingly attracted to Kirishima Eijirou.

Not that he minded, no. If anything, he returned the feeling tenfold. After the first date came a string of others before finally labeling it as a relationship. Movie nights, walks through the park, chaste kisses interspersed by giggles as you both laughed at whatever came to mind. The quick meetings between your lips turned into full-on sessions that left your knees weak. Being with Kirishima was easy in a way that nothing else had been.

But let's face it. Working as a full-time hero with bipolar disorder made life, well, tough. A pharmaceutical cocktail and therapy helped, turning what was the disaster of your life into a manageable mess. Episodes were few and far between, the prickling anxiety was quelled by coping techniques and medication when necessary. The days spent in a daze of your own "self-medicating" were long gone, thank whatever higher power was out there. No, life was on the upswing for you in pretty much every aspect of the phrase.

Except for your sex life.

And no, that wasn't to say that Kirishima was doing anything wrong. To be quite honest, he was doing every just right. Kissing the places you loved most, calloused hands lingering deliciously over your skin. A voice like honey whispering in your ear, beautiful moans of how gorgeous you were, how he absolutely adored you. Saying that it left you with weak, knocking knees was an understatement. He was an emotional hurricane, sending butterflies through your stomach as he showered you with praise and carefully placed lips.

Other than a complete lack of climaxing, it was amazing.

You knew this was a possibility once you had started taking medications. A loss of libido was one thing, but being unable to finish was starting to wear on you. Before you could stop yourself, you were doing the unthinkable: faking orgasms.

After all, who wants to spend close to an hour between someone's thighs just to be met with frustrated sighs and potentially awkward conversations? No, Kirishima didn't need to spend so much time on your pleasure, not when there was a high probability that you wouldn't finish at all. As long as the moans weren't straight out of a low-budget porno overly exaggerated, you figured you'd get away with it.

Getting away with it turned out to be the least of your issues. The struggle was real. Outside of the sweetest lovemaking with Kirishima, you desperately tried every trick in the book to reach an orgasm on your own. Something. Anything. You were beginning to feel pent-up, needy. The money spent on toys was starting to reach an uncomfortably high number. Time was wasted and followed up by flopping onto the bed in frustration. No amount of lube, porn, or fantasy was helping. Once you hit the hour mark, you basically gave up.

And you were now pacing the hallways of your apartment, irrational tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Why did it matter? Orgasming was not the end all, be all of life. But the memory of before the medications, the euphoric bliss that would force your back from the mattress, that memory reared its head more often than you cared to admit. God damn it, you just wanted to feel the shudders, the rush of pleasure surging through your body, insatiable heat quenched. And you wanted to stop lying to him. The tears rimming your lash line made their arrival known, long tracks staining your cheeks.

This is, of course, when Kirishima decides to knock on your door. After all, you had planned to have a comfortable night in, a delightful line up of rom-coms at your disposal. Movies that you now wanted to throw out the nearest window. Why, why did you have to try again? He deserved so much more than a broken partner, a partner who would never be able to match him. Someone who could crash at the slightest struggle, who broke when their insecurities were brought to life.

Another set of knocks. Time to face the music.

As you gently opened the door, the drop in Kirishima's face was visible as he took in your state. Where a bright grin had been settled now featured lips drawn into a tight, worried line. After all, you did everything in your power to keep him in the dark in regards to your mental illness. Not necessarily your smartest move, in retrospect. Hindsight, you know?

The moment the door clicked behind him, Kirishima was gathering you in his arms, a large hand gently stroking the back of your head. A kiss to your temple, his forehead pressing against your hairline. Deep breaths weren't helping you at this point. Because regardless of how frustrated you were, Kirishima was safety, the warmth of his embrace a haven for you to let out the sobs that were wracking through your body.

And as the tears fell, darkening his gray tee shirt, Kirishima ran his hands up and down your back, the comforting heat of his body providing temporary relief. After moments of crying, you pressed your head against his chest, eyes glued to the linoleum floor beneath you.

A thick finger and thumb tenderly met your chin, slowly lifting your face to meet his eyes. Those usually warm red irises were dark with worry, the pad of his thumb running circles over and over against your skin. Another reminder of just how good he was. No man had ever made you feel as desired or important as Kirishima.

"Baby, what happened?" he murmured, still caressing your face so gingerly that it brought the threat of more tears.

"It's nothing, nothing important," came your quick response, avoiding any lingering eye contact. It wasn't that important. Sexual gratification came second to emotional connection, and you had that firmly in your grasp with Eijirou. Why would you risk losing someone like that?

His eyebrow narrowed at your words, and he kept your face cradled in his hands. "Please tell me, baby. I want to help."

God, that expression of pure concern. Like you were everything to him, like your hurt was his hurt. It was in that moment you knew: you couldn't keep lying to him. Whether it meant he'd leave for someone else, someone perfectly, indescribably normal; that didn't matter. If anyone deserved a picture-perfect romance, it was Kirishima.

Eijirou, I-" Your voice broke from the nerves, unable to hold his unflinching gaze. How could someone be so earnest? He nodded, those same reassuring circles urging you to speak.

"I think you deserve someone better."

He looked like you'd honest to goodness slapped him. So many emotions flashed over his usually cheerful face that it scared you. Oh, god, this wasn't what you wanted to do, but how could you not? No one wanted someone like you. Once he knew, he'd leave. Better to push him away first and just let it end now before-

"What are you talking about? Baby. I don't want anyone else. I want you." His words came out stammered, tripping over his tongue and falling into the otherwise quiet apartment. Kirishima shook his head slowly, searching your face for some form of reassurance that this wasn't what you wanted. That you didn't want him.

"I don't know why. I just, I'm too much. You'll end up getting frustrated with me and I just, I just can't take that kind of heartbreak."

"Too much? You're never too much, what are you talking about?"

The words fell before you could stop them, faster than should be discernible to the human ear. But if there was anything Eijirou was, it was attentive.

"My medicine is driving me crazy, and I know without it I'll go over the edge again. But I want to feel normal, Eiji. I can't handle feeling like I'm not normal." And it was true. Sex was so innately human, and knowing that there was a chance that you'd never be able to gain that ultimate satisfaction was driving you mad. Was this just an overreaction from a brain exhausted from constantly fighting itself, or was this a logical, albeit emotionally charged, reaction?

"Your medicine?"

There it was. What you wanted to avoid mentioning. Sure, it wasn't fair to keep it from him. But let's be honest, you'd been expecting this to end after the first few months. And now? Now you were shaking in his arms, knowing this confession would be the end of the dreamy love you'd been experiencing.

"My medicine for uh... for my, um. I have bipolar disorder. It's why I can't work on Thursdays, too. I have to go to therapy. I know I should've told you from the beginning but I just, you know, I really, really like you, and I don't-"

One finger met your lips followed by soothing shushes from his own. As if the world's weight had been lifted from his capable shoulders, Kirishima let out a heaving sigh of relief. The arm around your waist pulled you closer, his large hand splaying comfortably against your back.

"I'm not going anywhere. I just want you to be okay. What can I do for you?"

And that left you tearfully admitting it all. Longing for the physicality that would bring you closer together, the bliss of coming undone at your partner's hands. Disgust when you listened to your friends' bragging of delicious, gratifying one-night stands. Aching heat desperate to be relieved by your man only to be left at the edge, the warmth still tingling through your body. How you felt caught halfway between "normal" and "crazy" even with the drugs. And Kirishima nodded, hanging on every word.

"I'm glad you told me," he began, slowly trailing his fingertips up and down your back. "If I had known, I would've worked ten times harder. Will you let me make you feel good, honey? Please?"

How did those few sentences send you into another fit of tears? Clutching the lightweight fabric of his shirt and apologizing for the damp stains, you nuzzled against his chest in embarrassment. But he continued his motions, adept fingers working at your tense muscles.

That night, he gave you everything you wanted and more, eager to please you in a way he never had. Eyes focused, sweet nothings spilling from his lips, tender hands and featherlight kisses. Teasing and romance and dedication over hours, something you'd never experienced before.

On paper, Kirishima was perfect. Off paper, he was even more. And he fulfilled his promise to you, "I love you" slipping from his lips when you finally reached your euphoria.

"I love you too, Eijirou."

"I'll always love you more."

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XX — masterlist

concept: you run into chris again when you return to collect the rest of your things. part twenty-one of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: angst, kissing, profanity

author's note: i'm a hoe. also, this one is for @efferuse cause i miss her

"Are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Yes," you brushed her concern away with what you hoped was an easy smile. Judging by the furrow of her brow, it was decidedly not. "I'll be fine. I'm just picking up the rest of my stuff and giving him back the keys."

"And what if he's there?"

"I'll ignore him."

"I don't like it. It's been two weeks, you're doing much better now. Just let me go in and..." she gestured her hands in the motion of packing.

You laughed off the exaggerated movements. "I don't think Dodger or Chris will like a stranger in their house."

"He doesn't seem to have a problem if that stranger is playing tonsil hockey with him..." She grumbled. The look you shot her was lethal. "Too soon, sorry."

You'd been living on her couch for too long now, and it was taking a toll on you. There was only so much of her you could really take. Don't get you wrong, you adored your friend. But you two were simply too... different. But you had nowhere else to go, and she'd been a major help. With everything. Getting over Chris especially.

"I'm a grown woman," you sighed, already growing tired of the interaction. "I'm sure I can handle it."

———————

For the most part, you handled it quite well.

Without Chris and Dodger being there, it was almost easy. You could slip in and out, like a motherfucking ghost, and they'd never even know, aside from a cleared room and the set of keys on the table. The house felt haunted enough. Luck was on your side.

And then it wasn't.

You'd been looking for your journal when they had gotten back. Just the sound of the door had your heart in your throat, the scamper of Dodger's paws on the tile and wood, and sheer panic overcame you.

You had avoided seeing his face again easily enough. Chris was not a problematic or publicly wild person, so likelihood of him turning up in the tabloids were slim to none in just those two weeks. And your friend had made a big show of dumping all of the old DVDs she had that even hinted to Chris – surname was irrelevant, and she pulled Hemsworth, Pratt, and Pine from the shelf too – in a box and kicked it under her bed the moment you got there.

You didn't know how you would react. You hadn't laid eyes on even a picture of him, and you'd never felt like this before. About anyone. Your mood was unpredictable, and that scared you – you couldn't give yourself away now.

Your search for that stupid book with all your stupid fucking feelings was newly energized, and you were practically ripping open your drawers, flinging cabinet doors to the point their hinges whined.

You didn't care about the noise you were making. The Evans' would find you anyways, especially while you were on your way out. And if that happy bark at the door was any indication, Dodger had caught your scent long before your search began.

You wracked your brain as you heard Dodger paw at the door. Where was it? Where could it have been? It never left your room. Hardly ever, of that you were certain. Too much room for error.

But that night... The last night you'd been there. You had been writing in the lounge – passing time – waiting for Chris to get home so you could leave. Dodger – although able to handle himself on his own – more often than not preferred company.

A wave of nausea hit you. The world spun, white spots dancing in your vision. No. Nonononono.

Not willing to let yourself believe that inevitable catastrophe, you reinvigorated the search in your room. It had to be there, it couldn't–

"Looking for this?"

You had accidentally left it out in a very public area and fuck you were kicking yourself for it now.

He was leaning against your doorframe, non-chalant, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded... And in one hand, a very distinct leather bound book that you had currently been searching for.

The ice in your veins turned to molten lava – anger – but you refused to look him in the face. You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

You didn't respond, your hands curling into fists, nails cutting crescent moons into your palms.

"You know, you maybe shouldn't leave it out like that," he said softly. "Open. Someone might stumble upon it, catch a few words before they realise what it is."

Your voice was strained, whispery. "Give it back."

"Look at me," he responded gently. He sounded so earnest. And you knew it was because he wanted that confirmation, the one your eyes would give him. The confirmation for what he had read, what you had actively tried to dissuade him of.

You reached for it, eyes still looking at his shoes, solely focused and not willing to cave.

He grinned in your peripheral vision and held it out of your reach. "You lied to me."

"Chris," you ground out. It was the first time you'd even let yourself say his name, and it felt strange on your tongue – like you were made to say it, but you had only just discovered that. It tasted foreign and familiar all at once. "I'm not fucking around. Give it back. Right fucking now."

"Come and get it."

He purposefully moved away from you to elude your snatching hands. You followed him, obviously.

But Chris was quick, continuing to evade you.

Always just a little out of reach, Chris easily slid between boxes, vaulting over the bed to keep the distance. You clambered after him, clumsy, sheets twisting around your legs.

He was laughing with the exhilaration, and still, he kept the book out of your desperate hands.

"Give it to me," you hissed, trying to grab at his shirt to keep him still.

He easily manoeuvred away, and you were grasping at air.

You ended up chasing him down – embarrassingly late – and damn near tackled him for ownership of the book. You landed on him, ripping the book out of his hand, triumphant.

And then you realised the position you were in.

The moment was charged with something electric, something intangible yet palpable. Your faces were close – too close for comfort, yet you didn't find yourself withdrawing – and your breaths mingled, and your chests are pressed together, able to feel every beat of his heart synchronising with your own. You were caught in a half straddle, low on his hips, your one leg slotted between his in a way that definitely didn't suggest innocence.

And he was laughing breathlessly and you somehow ended up laughing too. A genuine laugh, the first in weeks.

And you were both just laughing and breathless and then quietly – when both your laughter had subsided, but you're both wearing warm smiles – he asked you so softly: "Did you really mean that? What you wrote?"

You sat up, attempting to extricate your limbs from his, debating lying or coming clean. It was too late for either.

But he must've seen, in your eyes, the truth – because suddenly, he bolted upright to press his warm body against yours, trapping you in his arms and pulling you to him to meet his lips in a gentle and chaste kiss: the choice being yours on whether or not to deepen it.

A choice you made as you responded in kind, mouth moving urgently and feverishly against his.

He moaned, a choked noise in his throat, pleasantly surprised at your response, and his tongue swiped a quick, hot stripe against the seam of your lips, begging for entrance.

You hand slipped between the two of you, under the hem of his shirt. They raked down his musclebound torso, and your hand idly traced over the growing bulge in his jeans.

"Stop," he strangled out. He pulled himself away, keeping you at arms length, catching his breath.

"I-I'm sorry," you managed to stutter out. Embarrassment flushed your cheeks.

It wasn't your fault. And Chris let you know as much, with a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Chris knew that he had broken your trust, and he wanted to earn it back before anything happened. No matter how bad he wanted you.

The romantic in him wouldn't have it any other way. And there was something supremely unromantic about taking you on the floor of your bedroom, surrounded by the boxes you'd packed in the full intent of leaving him.

"I've been thinking of this for too long, if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right."

———————

tags:

all: @fangirlovestuff @rebthom89

ocean eyes: @agnesk @myakai13 @ilovetheeagles

chris evans: @thatoneperson5000