#such a fucking innocuous and petty thing to complain about

[thereweredragonshere]

Just watched the httyd live action trailer and there are so many things I could complain about (just the fact that it exists being one of them) but like

They changed the structure of Toothless' hind legs??? In the original his hind legs function the way human legs do, his heel is flat in the ground and the bend of his leg is his knee, making him a plantigrade. But in the live action the bend of his leg is in his ankle?? They made him a digitigrade??? Why??? For what purpose???

[xazz]

The more it comes up on my fyp and even my dash the more I just... Don't care about your sexuality, or your romance life, or your gender. Like in a positive way. I just don't care about you as a stranger and what the fuck is going on with your interpersonal life.

And god it's so exhausting seeing 1,000 posts from my people even (aros and aces) where I just... I just don't care man. I don't care that you're upset ppl see romance as more important than friendship. I don't care that you think it's crazy people associate sex with being human. Like those are all human experiances and you're being fucking annoying. And I just don't care about your own personal Problem with allo people. Or trans people's stupid issues with cis people. Or is2g I've seen the same 'lesbianism is a gender and a sexuality' post like 15 times and every time I see it I'm this much closer to blocking a mutual (not their fault but I am tired of my fyp serving me that fucking post). Like I'm talking micro petty bullshit. Not hate crime or anywhere NEAR it. But the most asinine complaining about how allos are actually evil for acting like romance or sex is a universal experience.

Listen kids. Asexuals and aromantics make up a microscopic portion of the global population. So yes. To 99.65% of the population enjoying romance and sex is a real thing and that's enough to make it universal.

Or I just see so many posts about how platonic is as good of not better than romance with this veiled insinuation that if you're aro and you like romance or you want to be romantic you're a freak. Like shut up? I don't care about your opinions man. 'your experiances is not universal' well neither is your bitch ass complaining. Sex and romance exists and is important for 90%+ of the global population.

I just don't care, anymore, about aroace posts, or trans posts, or gay posts, or lesbian posts, or queer posts or disability posts, or X marginalized group post that contains so much petty anger. Actual anger is one thing. Petty anger about petty grievances because you don't like some actually innocuous thing in the world is so tired. Get over it. Get mad about something real and not because someone writes robots as 'finding their humanity when they learn to love' is something strange or triggering to you. Get a fucking grip.

[irrelevantwriter]

Unspoken

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, public sex, car sex, unprotected vaginal sex, mild choking, mention of bodily fluids, shitty exes, petty Rio (yaaaass)

Word Count: 5.8K

Summary: Part 6. Feelings were shared. Where does that leave you and Rio? A dinner with your ex? A car in a dark parking lot? 

A/N: The last part is here! Though as I said yesterday I am definitely not calling this the end. I have lots of ideas for Rio and I’ve thought about adding to this in the future as inspiration hits. I’ve also thought about developing a Rio x OFC fic and/or something for Beth x Rio. I’ve had a lot of fun writing and exploring his character so I’m nowhere near close to done. And I also need to shoutout the ladies from the discord for this part. They suggested it and I ran with it (as I do). So big thank you to @woahitslucyylu, @whatupitshuff, and @fvckthisbxtchup! You inspired this. Be proud of yourselves. Anyway, I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Read Part 1 here

*Read Part 2 here

*Read Part 3 here

*Read Part 4 here

*Read Part 5 here

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

*********************

He sighed, turning off the engine and checking his phone one last time for messages. The restaurant lot was full, patrons shuffling in and out of the newest establishment in downtown Detroit. It was in a historic building that had obviously recently been renovated, though efforts had been made to keep its old world charm. The restaurant was a place he’d yet to visit and this impromptu pop-up offered the perfect opportunity for him to do so.

Rio exited his vehicle into the cool air of the night. It wasn’t frigid, but it was enough for those outside to don a jacket. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he made his way to the entrance, noting the stylish fashions of most of the restaurant's occupants. He didn’t worry about the supposed dress code. Wearing black often gave him an air of sophistication, even with the tattoo splashed across his throat. It was a duality he’d mastered over the years. The tattoo kept him grounded to his roots. His nature. His business. The wardrobe kept him aligned with the civilian world. People would often eye his throat warily, suspicion clear in their gaze. But one look at the clean lines of his pressed shirt and somehow they’d come to the conclusion that he’d made a mistake as a young kid. Got involved in the wrong crowd. Hadn’t gotten around to getting the hideous atrocity on his neck removed. They believed what they wanted to believe.

Cowards.

He smiled at the passing elderly couple as he held the door open for them, their smiles making their eyes crinkle at the edges. They probably thought he worked there. He stepped through the threshold, taking in the dim lighting and soothing melody of jazz that filtered through the space. His eyes scanned the open area with practiced diligence until he found what he was looking for amongst the black booths that ran the length of the right wall. They were high and designed for privacy, but he could spot your face anywhere.

The hostess greeted him and he politely gestured to the booth you sat at, easing by the podium as she took a moment to trail her eyes along his body. He smirked at the blatant attempt at flirtation, not bothering to return the sentiment. Instead, he weaved through the aisles of tables as he made his way towards you.

Your brow was tensed, your lips pursed. The discomfort showed on your features, all the way down to your stiffened shoulders. He watched as you took a sip from your wine, nodding along to whatever the person across from you had said. When he came into view, your eyes widened, almost comically so. He grinned, finding your shock amusing. It was the exact reaction he was going for.

“Hey mama, sorry I’m late.” He announced as he made it to the table. He ignored the couple sitting with you and leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, feeling you sway into it despite your obvious surprise.

“Uh...h-hi.” You choked out, shifting over so that he could slip in next to you.

He shed his jacket as he sat down, pulling you close once he’d gotten comfortable. You let him maneuver you, still trying to understand why he was there. He could see the slight panic in your eyes, as if he were here for business purposes, crashing a dinner as a strategic move. But that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

His eyes finally met Paul’s, your ex, and then slid over to his fiancé’s at his left. They both looked just as stunned as you, except for the displeasure that radiated from Paul’s gaze and onto him. His fiancé, Erica, he thought her name was, looked intrigued; curious about his arrival.

“Sup, man…” Rio greeted, extending his hand for Paul to take. He let it hang in the air for a moment, eyes trying to remain unflinching against his. After only a second, the man broke eye contact. He reluctantly took Rio’s hand and shook it, his palm sweaty and warm.

“Who is this?” Erica questioned after she realized no one was going to introduce him.

“Oh, um...sorry. This is Rio.” You replied shakily, looking at him as if trying to convince yourself that he wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

He noticed your nervousness and rested his left hand on your bare knee, gently squeezing in silent reassurance. He felt you relax immediately, your body uncoiling beside his and once again seeking out his touch.

“Nice to meet you.” Rio smoothly directed to Erica, taking her offered hand. She smiled back in return, her lips painted a vivid pink. It was a harsh shade and one that made her look like she’d been playing dress-up. He knew from the comments you’d made to him that Erica was not the woman you’d caught Paul with during your marriage. It’d been someone different. Someone from his firm. But you’d quickly pieced together that there had been many throughout the years. All slightly younger and the exact opposite to you in appearance.

Rio let his eyes covertly take in the woman across from him. She wasn’t unattractive. But she also wasn’t someone he’d ever think about leaving you for.  

“You’ve met Paul. And this is Erica.” You stated, hand gesturing to the uncomfortable-looking couple across the table.

Rio nodded in their direction, Paul’s stare still unmoving. He sat straight and rigidly, the arm that sat around Erica’s shoulders now taut and awkward looking. He found satisfaction in that. He let his own arm rest comfortably across your shoulders, his fingers dancing along your upper arm in soothing patterns. He felt you shiver in response.

“We didn’t know you were coming.” Erica said with a smile, giggling for whatever reason.

“Oh yeah, last minute change of plans.” He propped his chin into his hand and met your eyes, seeing the relief in them.

You’d told him about the dinner three nights ago when he’d been at your house. He was in your bed, lounging against the headboard after he’d fucked you on the stairs. And then once again on the dining table. You were checking your phone, mumbling curses to yourself when he’d asked you what was wrong. You’d complained about your ex and how he was now suggesting a dinner alone with you and his fiancé to “talk some things over”. The whole thing seemed innocuous enough to him, but you’d insisted Paul had an ulterior motive, which according to you, never meant anything good. You’d been worried ever since. Anxious about having dinner alone with them and dreading the reason he wanted to meet.

Rio had funneled the information out, not giving it much thought because your ex was none of his business. But something had struck him the night before when you’d called. He’d been going over some of his books, mind completely focused on numbers, when his phone rang. You were in the bathtub, voice tinged with ease and alcohol. Just wanted to hear your voice, you’d said. And for some unknown reason, that sliver of vulnerability made his chest feel tight. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

The newest development in your situation was slow-going. After that night in his car and the semi-proclamation of feelings, you’d both taken cues from the other, waiting for someone to speak up and declare...something. None of that had happened though. What had happened was amazing sex on the regular and sporadic outings to dine. He preferred not to call them dates because they really hadn’t been. They were usually moments right after a round of rigorous sex when neither of you had eaten. It was usually a decision agreed upon mutually and without fanfare. Just two people who were hungry and accompanying the other. The barest of human needs. Just like the sex. It was satiation.

But even he knew that there was an underlying current of unsaid words. Which is why your tipsy admission had startled him. For so long you’d both denied what was so obvious. It was practically a subconscious act now. And he realized, as long as he let you dictate the speed, you’d come to him. As long as he didn’t push or ask for more, you’d show up. And you had. So now, so was he.

“Something to drink?” The waiter asked, interrupting the tense moment.

“Vodka on the rocks, please.” Rio replied, the waiter nodding and disappearing into the fray.

“So, Rio…” Paul finally spoke up, clearing his throat as he straightened his tie. It seemed he’d found his voice. “I take it you don’t actually deal with home plumbing.” He said the sentence snidely and with a poignant glance in your direction. “So what is it that you do?” He finished, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

He could feel you tense up beside him.

“I own a couple of businesses.”

“What kind of businesses?” Paul retorted, an eyebrow raised in doubt.

“The kind that do business.”

A moment of silence stretched out as Paul took in the nonanswer. Rio could see the wheels working in his head, see him weighing the pros and cons of arguing with him on the matter. The man opened his mouth, more than likely to continue to probe, but Erica beat him to the punch.

“How’d you guys meet?” She implored with an excited gleam, clearly hoping for a magical meet-cute moment that had never happened.

“Bar bathroom.” Rio said with a smug smile, enjoying the sputtered cough you expelled.

“He means outside of a bar bathroom. We sorta ran into each other.” You hastily lied, biting into your lip when his arm shifted off your shoulders and under the table, landing on your knee once again. He let his palm glide over the swatch of skin afforded to him by your dress, feeling your thighs clench together the higher he got.

“That’s adorable.” Eric chimed in, a genuine smile plastered on her pink lips. The same couldn’t be said for Paul, who looked as if he’d tasted something bitter.

Rio snickered because nothing about what either of you had been doing in the time since you’d met was adorable. It was the exact opposite. And he thrived off of it.

He turned his attention on you, hovering close to your ear, his fingers trailing along your inner thigh as he ignored the other diners at the table. “You good, mama?” He rasped, knowing what the action did to you.

Your eyes weren’t on him. They were shifting anxiously between Paul and Erica, concerned with the proximity of his lips and hand. Of course, they couldn’t see his arm disappearing beneath your dress, but they did notice the intimacy of the moment. Erica’s eyes looked on in admiration while Paul’s darted to anywhere but the two of you.

“Yeah.” You breathlessly replied, your own hand coming to rest on his. You squeezed and then set your gaze on his, reassuring him.

“You sure?”

His eyes flicked to your mouth, the flesh wet from both your lipstick and your tongue. He licked his own as he got lost in thoughts of tasting you.

You nodded, your eyes following the movements of his tongue, seemingly just as entranced as he was.  

The moment was shattered with the waiter bringing Rio’s drink and taking food orders. It was for the better. He couldn’t very well fuck you on the table, though he’d save that fantasy for nights when he couldn’t have you.

Everyone kept the conversion polite and vague, choosing to stay away from certain topics. It was rigid and uncomfortable for everyone involved, unsurprisingly so. The subject transitioned to the kids, upcoming events and appointments being the main points. The food arrived and Rio busied himself with eating an exquisite dinner. The food was delicious and he had a fleeting thought about investing into something like this. He owned the bar and had arrangements with other small businesses, but he’d been hesitant to enter the restaurant realm. It was tricky. There were always new places offering something no other eatery could. He’d have to get with the owner, Joel Pinet. Rio knew him from around the neighborhood. His own bar was only a couple of blocks away and he’d met Joel on more than one occasion, the man a regular in his establishment.

“What’d you mean you won’t be here this summer?”

Your question brought him back to the moment, the irritation in your voice making him alert. His dark eyes settled on Paul as he twirled his fork in his pasta. The action annoyed Rio.

“Erica and I are going to Europe over the summer.”

“He promised to take me.” She chimed in, giddy and blissfully unaware of the anger mounting between the exes.

Your narrowed gaze bounced between the two, your irritation palpable. You were stiff as your spine straightened against the booth. “What about the kids? The summer is when they have time with you. They look forward to it.”

Paul raised his hand in a placating gesture and Rio noticed how your lips pinched together in response, as if physically restraining yourself from saying something. You were a better person than he was. The man across from him was barely that, and barely one that deserved your attention, much less the wasted love of a ruined marriage.

“I’ll make it up to them. But we’ve had this trip planned for months.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that?”

“Because I knew how you’d react.”

“Yeah, because the summer is your time, Paul.”

Paul sighed, as if frustrated with your reasonable argument. “So we’ll switch. You’ve had to have my help with alternating weekends when stuff comes up.”

“For work. Not a trip to fucking Europe.” You seethed, voice low but spewing with venom.

Rio only looked on, silently admiring your ability to not beat the guy’s ass. He deserved it. He was a piece of shit husband and an even bigger piece of shit father.

“The kids will be fine. We’ll be gone for a few weeks and then they can come stay with us for the remainder of the summer.” He brushed off your concerns, seeing no real issue with forgoing time with his children to peruse foreign streets.

Rio scoffed at the boldness. The action didn’t go unnoticed.

“Something to say?” Paul directed at him, his chest posturing in a show of male dominance.

Rio laughed lowly, amused by the man’s antics. How you’d ever ended up with someone like that was a mystery to him. After seeing your determination, your fire, Rio had been enthralled. He’d recognized something raw inside of you. Something that matched him. Outwardly, you appeared to be opposites. Strangers from two different worlds. But inside you were more alike than either of you really understood. There was something waiting to be uncaged within you. Waiting for a reason to be unleashed. He was going to get you there. Because you deserved to see your potential, even if the bitch of a man across from you didn’t.

“Nah man...you clearly got the situation under control.” Rio taunted, the sarcasm dripping from his words. He clenched his jaw and swallowed, two sets of eyes watching the bird at his throat move. It was his own alpha display. His own performance of just who king dick was. And it wasn’t your ex.  

When it was clear that Paul wasn’t going to rise to the occasion, Rio drained the last of his drink and turned to face you. He lowered his lips to your ear and spoke so only you could hear.

“You ready to go, darlin’?”

“Yeah.” You said with a sharp nod of your head, chin held high in reproach towards the man opposite you.

Rio stood, grabbing his jacket and helping you slide out of your seat. His eyes never wavered from Paul’s as he did. You smoothed out your dress, clutching your purse and not bothering to acknowledge the couple at all. He dug into his pocket for his wallet and made a show of grabbing a few crisp hundred dollar bills. He pulled out two and threw them on the table.

“Dinner’s on me. Keep the change, yeah?” He offered with a smirk, letting his hand come to rest on your lower back. He led you away, keeping his touch secured to you as you stepped into the night.

You released a sigh immediately and then inhaled, eyes closing as if centering yourself. He watched you closely, wondering if he’d see tears in your eyes when you opened them. Instead, he saw amusement. A laugh erupted from your throat, your chest shaking as the volume grew with each passing second. He only watched, entertained by the sound. For the first time that evening, he let his eyes trail along your body. Your dress was black and velvet, hitting just below the knee. There was a small slit up the side, exposing the smooth flesh of your thigh. A tie was cinched around your waist, accentuating your figure, while short sleeves helped stave off the chill in the air. The entirety of you was elegant...captivating, and far too striking to be meeting up with your ex-husband for dinner.

Your laughter died down when you noticed his gaze. You stepped towards him, holding your purse in front of you so that your cleavage pulled his focus. He licked his lips and waited as you crowded his space, your perfume swirling into a fog around him. He studied your face, noting the tiny details he often overlooked. You were beautiful, a fact that never went unnoticed by him, but sometimes he forgot just how much. And he wondered if you’d always been this attractive or if it was just the blinding haze of attraction that made him think so. Either way, he didn’t really care. It didn’t change how much he ached to fuck you.

“How’d you know where I’d be?”

“I got my ways.” He offered, taking in the way your lashes fluttered at him. It was a familiar tell. One he’d come to associate with you flat on your back and gazing up at him, usually with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Thank you.” You whispered, sobering for a second so that he could read the honesty across your features. There was that vulnerability again. And his chest tightened just as it had the previous night.

“No problem.”

You took a step back and waited as he began to follow you to your car. You’d parked along the side of the building and he noted how full the lot still was. You halted once you noticed his SUV next to your car, stopping at the bumper and turning to face him.

“Your car?” You asked, nodding in the direction of the black G Wagon.

He wordlessly nodded, once again using the moment to appreciate the way your dress hugged your frame. He appraised your black heels and the deep red polish that adorned your toes, remembering that last time he’d seen you they’d been a light pink. He waited and watched as you walked to the passenger side of his car, fitting yourself in the space between the two vehicles.

“How tinted are your windows?” You asked, the innocence in your words making him suspicious. “Like no one can see in kind of tinted?”

You stared at him as you waited for his reply, biting your bottom lip in a way that could only be described as seductive.

“Yeah, why?”

You grinned, pleased with his answer. His face remained expressionless as you looked around the lot, the area void of other people. You slowly reached under your dress, careful not to expose yourself. Your hands disappeared under the skirt and then reappeared a second later, a scrap of dark green lace trailing down your legs. Your gaze stayed on him as you stepped out of the underwear and dangled them on your fingers, a proud grin making its way onto your lips. You flung the panties in his direction and he caught them against his chest.

“Open the door.” You softly demanded, gesturing to the rear passenger seat.

Rio let your words hang in the air, taking satisfaction in seeing you begin to squirm. There was doubt in your eyes, like perhaps he’d turn you down. You hadn’t caught on to the fact that he could do no such thing.

He took mercy on you, figuring you’d had enough unease for the night and found the key in his jacket pocket, hitting the button. The lights of the car flashed as the vehicle unlocked itself. You sent him a playful smile as you got in without another word, the door closing behind you with a resounding echo. He chuckled and shook his head, biting his lip as he pocketed your panties and walked to the other side of the vehicle. He got in, sliding in next to you and discarding his jacket along the way. He seated himself in the middle and you immediately straddled his lap. His hands found their way under your dress, skimming the soft planes of your thighs.

“So that’s what it takes, huh?” He whispered against your lips, leaning into your touch that ran along the back of his neck.

“What?”

“Me being a dick to your ex. That’s what it takes.” He supplied, hands gliding further under your dress until they began massaging your ass. You moaned at the sensation, eyes fluttering shut as you ground down onto his crotch.

“Takes a little more than that.” You insisted, your hips rocking against his in a sensual rhythm.

“Let me see.” He gruffly commanded, chin angling to the hem of your dress that was bunched around your thighs.

You stilled your hips and did as he requested, lifting the fabric and exposing your bare slit to his hungry eyes. He could see the evidence of your arousal, even in the dark. Your pussy glistened in the muted light of the night, swollen and needy for him like aloe to a scathing burn. He reached forward and ran his index finger along your opening, making you jump at the contact. He instantly became drenched in you, the clear stickiness coating his finger. Your hips searched for a firmer hand, wordlessly begging him to slip past your lips.

“You seem plenty wet for me already, ma.” He taunted, letting his finger press against your clit. You gasped and bit your lip, nails digging into the tops of his shoulders.

“Rio...please,” You pleaded, chasing his touch every time it disappeared from your body.

His dick twitched at the sound of his name falling from your parted lips. It was something you’d only recently started doing, using his name in bed. He was addicted to the sound of it. You always said it with desperation and longing, usually while clinging to him in trembling pleasure.

“What do you need?”

You gripped his wrist and directed his finger into your waiting walls in response. He was  overcome with heat and slick immediately. You both released moans that signaled just what it did to you to be so intimately joined.

“That what you need, baby?” He added another finger while his thumb continued to massage your clit. He could feel you clench around him, nipping at your chin as your moans turned to whimpers.

“More.”

“Let me see all of you.” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the neckline of your dress.

You dutifully obeyed, pulling your arms out of the garment and slipping it down to rest around your waist. The same shade of green that had adorned your lower half also encased your breasts, the lace affording him glimpses of your hardened nipples. He curled his fingers inside of you in reciprocation, reaching up to mouth at your neck. Your hands held him to you, running along his scalp and sending bolts of electricity straight to his dick. He shifted his hips in search of friction, feeling the warmth from between your thighs calling to him.

“Feel good?”

“Yes…” You breathed, unclasping your bra and hurriedly pulling the lace away. He followed your lead and trailed wet kisses across your flesh, his tongue reaching out to taste you. You pushed your chest into him in return.

“You can take more, right mama?” He urged, not bothering to wait for your answer. He added another finger, his movements speeding up as he reached that sweet spot deep within.

“Fuck, fuck…” You cursed, riding his fingers while he sucked at your nipple.

He worked your body like a fine-tuned car, hitting each switch with expert precision. He could read your face, gauge the tension in your limbs the further he brought you to the edge. His guilty pleasure was watching you cum, watching you uninhibited and practically blessing his very existence. He knew if he flicked his wrist more to the left and pressed down on your clit at the same time that you’d call out his name. He knew if he bit down on your breast he’d be rewarded with your pussy fluttering around him. He knew if he told you how good you looked, how good you felt, you’d cum...and hard.

“You look so good like this. Like you belong to me.” He praised. You gasped, throwing your head back, and he knew you were close. “Who gets you like this? Who makes you feel this good?”

“You do.”

“That’s right. No one else.” He affirmed, thrusting his fingers as rapidly as he could at that angle. The muscles in your thighs twitched as you came, tightening around his fingers in a way that made him long for it to be his dick instead. He let you ride out the ecstasy, your body rocking into the stiffness pressed along his zipper. Your head was thrown back, your mouth agape as a litany of cries and moans filtered through the air. He could make out the rasp of his name amongst the sounds. He could feel the surge of moisture as it slid down his hand. You were enraptured; a victim to his touch.

He waited until your body had stilled, the aftershocks having long passed, before he slipped from your clutches. He caught your hooded gaze and slowly took his slickened fingers into his mouth, your essence exploding onto his tongue. He savored you, taking in the way your chest expanded with each breath. Your fingers curled into his shirt and dragged along his chest, your hips dropping down to grind into him. He barely had enough time to remove his fingers before you were pulling his lips to yours. Your tongue coaxed his into your mouth and he could taste the remnants of the wine you’d drank. The alcohol mixed with you, creating an erotic elixir, one that had him intoxicated. He hissed against your lips, bucking his hips when you unzipped his pants and licked your palm in a show of lustful desire.

“I need you. Inside.” You panted between kisses, situating your pussy over him as you stroked his throbbing flesh.

Rio slid his hand up between your breasts and grasped your neck, feeling your pulse jump. He tilted your chin towards him and ensured your eyes were nowhere else but on him.

“Put me in. Go slow.” He squeezed his fingers around your throat as you moved, angling the head of his cock along your folds. You released a shaky breath as you eased him into you, gaze not wavering. He rested against the seat as he took in the view, licking his lips. He tsked and maneuvered your chin back in position when your eyes began to close, the fullness of him stretching you tight.

“Keep going, mama. All of it.”

You held his forearm, the one still attached to your neck, as you bottomed out, your ass finally meeting his thighs. Your pussy sucked him, walls gripping him with an unforgiving strength. You both remained still, relishing the myriad of sensations that assaulted your restless bodies.

“Touch yourself.”

You worked your hands over his arm, cupping your breasts at his request. Your movements mirrored his, matching the force and pressure of how he usually touched you. He was transfixed by you. Utterly lost in the way your body begged for him and still wanted more. He respected your greediness. Could understand the need for more once a craving had been satisfied. It was the business he was in. He was an expert on the matter. And he’d deliver for you.

His left hand dug into the flesh of your ass in a show of impatience. You caught on and started to move, leaning down to nibble at his throat. Your pace was languid, almost lazy as you swiveled your hips. Each down thrust had you rubbing your clit along his pelvic bone, triggering your pussy to spasm.

“Rio...”

There was a warning in your tone. He could hear it clearly as you bounced on his cock, the plea almost drowned out by the slapping of bodies.

“Shit, already?” He asked, somewhat surprised at the rate at which your body was responding to him. He let both of his hands fall to your ass, directing you forward so that he could thrust. You whimpered into his ear as his hips pushed up and into you, hitting deep. You clamped down around him, making him squeeze his eyes shut.

“Right there. Don’t stop.” You gasped, face buried into his neck as he slapped your ass. The hit made you convulse. So he did it again.

The closing in of your walls made him double his efforts. He secured his arm around your waist and held you steady. He kept your pussy at his desired angle as he fucked you, hearing that hitch in your breath that let him know you were on the cusp of orgasm.

“M’gonna cum.” You slurred, primal lust making the words run together. His dick swelled inside of you, his balls tightening with every desperate breath you expelled. He could feel that familiar tingle at the base of his spine start to expand, signaling to him what was coming next. He worked his hand between your bodies, gathering moisture and ravaging your clit. You jerked in surprise, yelping when his touch didn’t retreat or ease up.

“Too much.”

“Nah, you take it, ma. You take it and you cum for me.” Rio provoked, forcing you to abide by his commands.

Seconds later you were doing as he said once again, cumming on his cock with a force that made him grit his teeth. Your body shuddered as barely intelligible words floated from your lips. You nuzzled further into him while he continued to chase his own release. He dug his fingers into your hips and thrust, the rapid speed making the car sway. He could already tell the windows were fogged up, the stench of sex permeating the air. You were boneless as you sat astride him, your soft moans of residual pleasure going straight to his dick, luring him off the edge.

“Fuck,” He growled, feeling the eletric shocks of climax start to claim him. He closed his eyes and buried his face into the crook of your neck, teeth biting down into the otherwise unblemished skin. He held you firm as he emptied his cum and filled you, rivulets already beginning to spill from your connected bodies. His chest moved with the rapid beats of his heart as the entire moment culminated into a drug-level euphoria.

Minutes ticked by as you both struggled to catch your breath and calm your racing hearts. Rio felt you ghost a kiss along his jaw; a low, satisfied laugh making him smirk.

“You think anyone heard us?” You asked, beginning to shift in his arms.

Beyond the fogged windows, the lot was still without people. But who knew who’d walked by in the meantime. The SUV wasn’t necessarily equipped to withhold sound, though it could cause a bullet to ricochet.

“Probably.” He let you sit up, eyes falling to your still naked chest. You both seemed to have an affinity for fucking in public spaces.

You eased forward to kiss him, the action much more intimate than it’d been moments ago. Your fingers trailed along his jaw and combed through his facial hair, a gesture he secretly loved. His own hands skimmed your back, eliciting shivers that radiated down your body.

“I didn’t ask you to do this.” You whispered once you’d pulled away, eyes imploring him to understand what you meant.

He did. He knew what this kind of gesture meant. He’d been truthful in confessing his want for you. It was a selfish need. Something that grew because you’d continuously denied him. And then it’d shattered before it’d even had a chance to become anything. And during that time he’d admitted to himself that he was willing to compromise. To follow your rules. And as a boss who ran his own shit by his own decree, it was difficult to come to terms with. But he’d done it. Why? Because something told him it’d be worth it. Whether for the great sex or the companionship.

Time would tell.

He ran his finger along your cheek, observing the way you fell into the touch. “You didn’t have to.” He assured you, meaning every word.

“Thank you.”

“You already thanked me, darlin’.”

“Well, thank you again.” You smiled, pressing your chest to his.

“Call it even.” He joked, gesturing to the state of your bodies still twisted around each other.

“Let’s get some pizza.” You suggested suddenly, pulling the sleeves of your dress back up, sans bra.

He laughed at both your words and the fact that you were getting dressed with his dick still sheathed inside you. “You hungry?”

“I didn’t get to finish my dinner.” You reminded him, retying the tassel around your waist. His hands sluggishly skimmed your thighs, stopping to squeeze whenever you suddenly straightened. “Oh, what about that food truck you took me to last week? The one with the fried mac and cheese?”

Rio took in your enthusiasm, finding it endearing. He didn’t have to use words to figure out where your head was at in all this. It was written on your face. In your voice. Beaming from your eyes and seeping from your pores. And like so many other things between you, it would go unsaid. For now. Because that’s just how it was. And maybe it was fucked up. But it didn’t invalidate any of the chemistry between you. Words just...weren’t needed. And that was sort of how it had always been.

“I got you.” He assured, patting your ass as he did. You beamed at him, not knowing that his words ran much deeper than a meal.

Rio Tags:

@tomhardydallasstarsgirl​

@thebookisbtr​

@beardburnsupersoldiers​

@nina-nkl​

@gemini0410​

[jackrrabbit]

cuffing season /// Ushijima x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: [Shiratorizawa fanweek day 5—Firsts] You convince your boyfriend to try something new in the bedroom, but as it turns out, old habits die hard.

A/N: Heard it was Shiratorizawa week 👀 technically I did originally post this on day 5, but I had to repost bc of tag issues, whoops :P Let’s pray it works this time!! edit: apparently it’s still not listed in the tags :<

The song that I mention is Bruno Major’s Old Fashioned (although it doesn’t fit the tone of this fic in the least).

Tags/warnings: mild bondage, size kink, rough sex!!!, marking (bruises/hickeys/etc.), power play/power exchange, reader tries & fails to dom Mr. Ushijima 😳, all characters are adults

Look, Ushijima’s a great boyfriend. Perfect, almost. Sure, he may not be the most expressive guy, but you’ve been dating him long enough that you’re able to pick up on the little gestures that tell you that he cares about you—the way he presses his face into your hair when you hug him after you’ve been apart for a while; his hands stroking circles into your skin when you fall asleep in bed next to him; all of it. He’s everything you could possibly look for in a man, except for one not-so-little issue:

The sex.

Because Ushijima, your sweet, wonderful boyfriend, who kisses you so gently it’s like he thinks you’ll fall apart if he’s not infinitely careful with you, is for some reason incapable of exercising the same degree of restraint (or any restraint at all) when you’re in bed together. When it comes to sex, your boyfriend is a fucking animal. And you’re not really sure how much more you can handle.

Maybe your concerns would seem petty from an outsider’s perspective. It’s not like Ushijima doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and it’s not like you don’t want to have sex. You’re attracted to him, of course you are! Almost 76 inches and 190 pounds of pure muscle, a body that looks like Michelangelo could have carved it from marble, and that beautifully solemn expression that had you salivating over him from the stands before you even knew his name? You want to have sex with him, you’re just fairly certain you can’t, not when it always ends up with you completely and utterly wrecked, so spent you don’t even have the strength to lift your hips off the mattress so he can wipe his cum off your thighs.

Look, anyone in your position would feel the same way. It’s awful and you’ll never admit it to him, but you almost broke up with him after the first time you two fucked. You knew going in that it wouldn’t be easy—the man radiates big dick energy and boy did he deliver—but it was just too much.

That first time had started off so innocuously, with you inviting him to your place for a nightcap after your sixth date. You’d set candles and put on your romantic sex playlist for a nice backdrop to let him hold you in his lap and make out—how the hell had you gone from that to having him rut you into the mattress, your belly pressed into the sheets and ass arched up so he could pound into you so forcefully that your rickety bed smacked into the wall hard enough to rattle the furniture with every movement, and you couldn’t even hear it over the sound of your own moaning? You hadn’t changed the playlist, and it felt downright obscene to listen to Bruno Major croon about love and courtship while Ushijima fucked into you like he was trying to carve the shape of his cock into your pussy.

You’d had to call in sick the next day because you could barely walk. The bruises from where he held your hips had taken weeks to fade, and by that time he’d already given you new ones. To his credit, Ushijima felt bad when he saw the evidence of how rough he’d been and he promised to take it easy on you next time…but after a few more rounds of mind-numbingly savage sex you learned that the man apparently doesn’t know what ‘take it easy’ means.

To be fair, at least some of it is your fault. You really shouldn’t have offered to go on the pill as a three-month anniversary present to him. At least before, he had to give you a break while he changed condoms after he came; now he has no reason to hesitate, instead going for round two (and sometimes round three) without pulling out. You never thought you’d see superhuman stamina as a bad thing, but…

“You don’t get it! It’s like getting fucked by a stallion. I need to plan to have three days to recover whenever I take him home with me,” you whined to your friends over cocktails when they told you you shouldn’t complain about a good thing—after all, Ushijima is just as committed to your pleasure as he is to his own, and there’s never been an occasion where he didn’t get you off before fucking you himself (probably at least a little because there’s no way in hell you’d be relaxed enough to take him otherwise).

“Can’t you just tell him to go slower?” one of your friends asked. “If he doesn’t listen to you, then that’s fucked up and you need to dump him.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t listen. If I tell him to stop, he stops,” you sighed, stirring your drink with the straw and watching the decorative sprig of mint fall under the surface to be overtaken by a chip of ice. “It’s like he can’t go slower. He’s not adjustable—it’s either crazy brutal or nothing, and then neither of us get what we want. Like a vibrator you can’t turn off the highest level. I don’t even think he realizes in the moment how intense it is for me.”

“Aren’t you ever on top? You can set the pace.”

“I’ve tried, but Ushi just—“ you made a gripping motion with your hands and mimicked raising something up and setting it down vigorously— “like, bounces me.”

One of them raised an eyebrow and then her eyes widened. She turned to your other friend and the two of them whispered to each other for a bit, then shifted back to you. “Tie him up,” she said with the air of an elder imparting sage knowledge, and your other friend nodded.

“Oh, come on.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m serious. Guys usually love it when girls are in control, you just need to take the initiative. Get him tied down and then you can show him exactly how you like it. Let him feel like he’s at your mercy for once.”

The idea had seemed unthinkable at the time, but you hadn’t been able to forget it—which is why after weeks of contemplation, hours of research, and a single extremely awkward trip to a sex shop, you’re now crouching over Ushijima’s naked chest, wrapping a leather cuff around one of his wrists.

“Are you sure that this is something you want to do?” Ushijima asks in that weighty baritone that makes you shiver with need. He doesn’t pull away, but he eyes your actions warily as you thread the chain of the cuffs around a rung in the center of your headboard and reach over to do the other side.

“…Yes,” you tell him, a little less firmly than you would have liked, and you lick your lips to try to make up for how suddenly dry your mouth is. “Anyway, isn’t that my line? We don’t have to do the cuffs if you don’t want to. I won’t force you.”

“It’s alright. You and I both know you couldn’t force me, (Y/N).” Dark eyes pin you down and it’s incredibly unfair how much power he has over you even when he’s the one chained to the bed.

Ushijima’s right, obviously—if he didn’t want to be exactly where he is right now, he wouldn’t be. You’re sure as hell not strong enough to force him to do anything he doesn’t want to, but he didn’t have to say it like that.

“Okay then…good,” you reply, adjusting the straps of the cuffs to accommodate for how stupidly thick his wrists are. When you’re satisfied that they won’t chafe but he can’t get out of them without your help, you sit back next to his chest and admire your handiwork. Ushijima lays on his back, naked, relaxed, even with his arms stretched up to your headboard and cuffed there. He looks good, mouthwateringly good, and you’re ready to get your hands on him when you remember there’s something you need to get straight first. “Wait, before we—before I do anything, remember— what do you say if you want me to stop?”

“…Vanilla,” Ushijima says, reciting the safeword you decided on when you were hammering out details, although the look in his half-lidded eyes is telling you very clearly that he has no intention of needing to use it.

Privately you agree, but everything you’ve read on the kink blogs you’ve been trolling for research tells you that a responsible adult doesn’t put cuffs on their partner without deciding on a safeword first, and you’re determined to do this by the book. “Good boy,” you say, and the diminutive feels awkward in your mouth until you see Ushijima’s reaction—the flash in his eyes, a minuscule hitch in his breathing next to you, and the scrape of metal against wood as he gives a light pull at the cuffs.

With everything safe and accounted for, you give a final tug to the chain to ensure it’s secure, then inch back and swing one leg over the broad expanse of his chest so you’re straddling his abdomen (and he’s so damn big that there’s a twinge of soreness in your thighs just from sitting on top of him). Fuck, he looks good like this, all spread out and pinned underneath you, so masculine and bulky that you’re feeling your pussy get wet just from watching him watching you.

It’s not often you get to appreciate him like this—usually you’re too focused on not losing your mind from how deeply he’s fucking you—so you savor it, massaging his shoulders and sliding your fingers down his sides, tracing the smooth skin with a feather-light touch and then dipping to kiss under his jaw. Feeling more than a little devious, you let your teeth graze over the thin skin at the base of his neck and with your chest pressed into his, it’s not hard to feel his sharp intake of breath.

“The marks...my teammates will notice.”

“Maybe I should stop, then,” you murmur against his skin, lifting up just enough to brush over his nipples. He stiffens, and once again you hear him tugging at the cuffs.

“…Don’t. I want them to see,” Ushijima says, and once you have his permission you don’t waste any time in latching your mouth to his skin and sucking. It’s been ages since you’ve given anyone a hickey. Usually you’re the one marked up like a teenager after Ushijima has his way with you, so this is a nice change of pace, especially when you can feel him flexing underneath you.

Well, kissing is nice…but you’re getting impatient and you know he is too. Once you’re satisfied that your hickeys are going to show up nice and bright red around his neck like a collar, you sit back, walking your hands back on his chest, stroking over his abdomen and giving a little roll of your ass on top of him. Ushijima’s hips twitch—unconsciously, you wonder?—and he glares at you in a way that tells you in no uncertain terms to hurry up and let him fuck you.

And damn it, something about that look has you feeling weak. Needy. Obedient. But this time you’re supposed to be in charge, so you smirk and lift your hips, pulling your body back so his cock is nestled between your legs, not quite touching your pussy. He’s already hard—no surprises there, considering how intently he’s watching you as you mess with him—but you only take a second to stroke his cock up and down before shifting up so he can see you slick your fingers up in your own pussy.

“(Y/N)…” Ushijima’s voice is low, annoyed, and he looks hungry. But you’re so amazed at how wet you are under your own fingers that you don’t bother to pay attention to him shifting his position under you to try to get stimulation. Your juices are literally slicking up your own thighs, just from chaining up your boyfriend and teasing him a little? You should have done this a long time ago.

You push two fingers into your pussy and pump them a few times, making sure to angle your hips so Ushijima can see them go in and out. The stretch is almost uncomfortable for a second and you wince a little before schooling your expression, knowing you’re about to have something a lot bigger than two fingers stretching you open. Ushijima catches it though, and he frowns, trying to sit up before remembering the cuffs that are holding him back. “Let me—let me do it for you—“

“No, stay down,” you say quickly, using your other hand to push him back into the mattress while you continue to touch yourself. Ushijima lets you (and there’s no doubt in your mind that he is letting you), but his eyes narrow as he zeroes in on the way your fingers are glistening with your own pussy juices.

God, you’re—you’re supposed to be in control, aren’t you? So then you shouldn’t be feeling like this, eyes drifting closed as you fuck yourself on your fingers, letting your lower knuckles rub against your clit while you try to curl them to rub against your g-spot. Ushijima’s been spoiling you…you can’t remember the last time you’ve had to do this yourself, and as you feel the tension building up slowly you catch yourself wishing it were him fingering you instead.

His fingers are just so thick. And long, and so rough. You bite your lip thinking about the way he does it when he preps you to take his cock, mashing his palm into your clit, petting along inside you and scissoring his fingers and… “Mmh,” you hum, holding back a real moan for Ushijima’s sake.

There’s another click of the chain sliding over the headboard wood and it reminds you that he’s right there, you could just uncuff him and he could touch you and fill you up with those thick fingers, make you cum, make you cry. But the urge to seek your own pleasure is outweighed by the image he’s making as he looks at you, his expression almost angry in its intensity now that he’s watching you do this to yourself and he has no way to get his hands on you.

“Ahh—“ you whine, letting a real whimper out at the thought of what you’re doing to him. “Ushi, Ushi, do you wanna touch? Wanna touch me?”

His head ducks into a hasty nod and his jaw clenches at the strain of having to ask for what he wants instead of just taking it like usual.

The longer you touch yourself, the closer you’re getting…but you don’t want to cum, not just yet. You draw your fingers out of your dripping cunt and open them up in a V, showing off the juices that connect them, the evidence of how wet you are for him. “Mmm, I don’t think so. I think there’s something else I want in me instead.”

And then you’re reaching to the side for the lube, squeezing a healthy dollop into your palm and then wrapping your hand around Ushiijma’s cock. And—fuck, he’s big. Sure, you’ve had sex with him plenty, but no matter how often you take him, you never stop feeling absolutely torn up after. A tingle of trepidation races up your spine at the thought of riding him like this—can you even put it in by yourself?

Even just looking at it is intimidating. He’s painfully hard, cock flushed red and bobbing up against his lower stomach every time you let it go, and, Jesus, how is it even possible that this thing would fit inside you? When you wrap your hand around him your fingers don’t touch; he must be thicker around than your own wrist.

Halfway. That’ll going to be your goal tonight, to take him halfway. And even that…is going to be a stretch.

The anxiety must show on your face because once again you’ve got Ushijima straining at the cuffs. “(Y/N)—“ he spits as you stroke him up, nudging your palm against the tip. “(Y/N), you need to finish first. Let me make you cum.”

“No, this time I want to—I’m gonna cum on your cock,” you say, adjusting your position so you’re kneeling above him, the head of his cock sliding between your lips. “Gonna cum on your big cock, Ushi, okay?”

His cock jumps in your hand at the provocation. He’s glaring at you, but he’s also leaking precum, the sticky fluid mixing with the lubricant. You give Ushijima a moment to say the safeword if he really doesn’t want you to, and when he stays quiet you raise yourself up a little more and line the head of his cock up with your weeping slit. You hold your pussy lips open with your fingers, easing your thighs down and pressing the head into you and—

“Oh—oh—oh, fuck, oh fuck, Ushi—“ you stutter out helplessly.

It’s been almost two weeks since he last fucked you. One week, six days and about three hours, and at the moment this measure of time seems unreasonably important because it’s been almost two weeks since you last let Ushijima split you in half with his ridiculously huge cock.

You’re not ready, should’ve prepped more, should’ve let him make you cum like he said—fuck, it feels like you’re losing your virginity—and the mixture of dismay and relief that spills over you when the thick swell of his head pushes past that tight ring of muscle is almost nauseating.

The tip? Seriously, just the fucking tip, and you’re already delirious, shaking, your thighs quivering on either side of his. It’s taking all of your strength to keep from going slack—but you know if you do, his whole cock is going to slide up into you and even thinking about that has your cunt clenching and unclenching around what you’re able to fit inside.

“Do you need help?” Despite the strain in Ushijima’s voice at being teased like this, there’s an undercurrent of amusement. He clearly doesn’t have faith in your ability to take him deeper by yourself.

It’s this—this quiet arrogance, this belief that he knows what’s best for you and he’s the only one who can give it to you—that gives you the guts to convince yourself to lower yourself down onto his his cock until you’re literally gasping for air. It fucking hurts, but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing you say it; instead, you brace your hands against the stiff muscle of his chest and try to focus on the way his cockhead is pressing into your g-spot.

Halfway…he’s gotta be at least halfway in, right? You sneak a glance up at him and bite back a curse at the look on his face, serious as ever, so focused on the place where your pussy is reluctantly eating up his cock that you feel your insides tense up around him again.

You don’t even know how it’s possible for you to get tighter around him but somehow you must be able to, because you hear Ushijima grunt underneath you, and his muscles contract under your palms as he tries again to sit up. When he can’t, he hisses in frustration. “Move…now. Or I won’t be able to control myself.”

Funny, aren’t you supposed to be the one controlling him? But it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way when you’re barely able to stay upright just from trying to ride his cock. You nod desperately, chin jutting up and down like a bobblehead, and lift your hips up off his cock until just the tip is left inside. When you push yourself back down you can’t help whimpering at the feeling of him stretching you, sliding up into you, that stiff, wet cockhead dragging over your g-spot.

By now the pain has faded into an uncomfortable stretch, like leaning too heavily into a foreign pose in yoga, enough that you’re able to feel the arousal building in the pit of your belly and hold onto it as you rock your hips up and down him. The pace is slow—almost too slow; you marvel at yourself for wanting it faster—and there’s a fair amount of Ushijima’s cock that you’re not able to take, but this is really all you can handle.

“Mmm, Ushi, fuck, you’re so big, so big and hard inside me, feels so good on your cock—“ you moan, knowing you sound less like the dominant partner in this position and more like you’re teasing him, pushing his limits.

Ushijima’s breathing is heavy. Labored. He’s trying to hold himself back. “(Y/N), deeper—take me deeper, now.”

Part of your brain vaguely recognizes that he isn’t supposed to be giving the orders here, but you’re too drunk on the feeling of fucking yourself on his cock to complain, so you lower your hips and try, but it feels like you’re just too weak to do it yourself. “Ushi please, it’s too much, too big, I can’t, please—“

And your pleading must sound like an invitation, because his eyes flash and you feel him shifting the position of his legs behind you—and then he bucks his hips up and his cock sinks into your cunt, pushing up into your gooey insides until the head is pressing into the tight opening of your cervix.

“Ahn—?” you squeal, startled. What? He—what? Fuck, it’s deep, it’s so deep, you can’t hold yourself up so you flop downward, holding onto his shoulders for dear life, “ohhh Ushi pleasepleaseplease” and you barely hear yourself over the lubed-up slap of his pelvis against your skin.

Fuck, it feels like he’s knocking the breath out of you. Feels like you can’t fucking breathe like his cock isn’t just pushing against your stomach but your lungs too, can’t breathe so you bear down on his shoulders try to hold yourself up try to let yourself adjust but—

Ushijima’s in control now.

Not that he ever wasn’t, you’d think if you were capable of thinking except you’re not because as you try to situate yourself make yourself relax around that monster cock filling you up, he’s not giving you a moment to catch your breath, instead thrusting up into you at his usual breakneck pace. Apparently he doesn’t need to use his hands to make you bounce—you’re not even moving yourself now, just trying to hold still as his hips slam his cock inside you again and again and again, and again, rubbing up against that sweet spot in your pussy so quickly that you think you might go crazy from it.

“Nngh, so tight,” he growls, and you can tell from the way the words are choked out that he’s gritting his teeth. You almost want to roll your eyes—of course you’re tight, anyone would feel tight around him—but it feels like if you do your eyes might roll back in your head so you don’t.

Jesus fuck, you can’t even understand how long it’s been but you do know that it’s absurd for you to want to cum already, only the thick mass of his cock pushing into you is somehow hitting all the right buttons, just like it always does. Even if it’s rough you want more. By now you’re trying to meet his thrusts, rolling your hips in time with him fucking you open, doing your best to participate but really it’s all you can do to even stay still with how roughly he’s fucking you. “Ushi, fuck, so deep, wanna cum I wanna cum please let me cum—“

“Touch yourself,” he commands breathlessly because he’s still tied to the headboard and he can’t do it, and you barely have the strength to pick one of your hands up off of where you’re scratching into his shoulder and pull it down to rub at your clit.

It’s not enough and you whimper desperately, you don’t want your own fingers, you want Ushijima’s, you want him to touch you. You’re probably saying it out loud by now, begging him to put his hands on you—his eyes widen and then the sound of the metal cuff chain grating over wood reaches you—you can see the skin of his wrists get lighter from lack of blood flow, he’s pulling at the cuffs, pulling too hard, he’s going to hurt himself, you have to stop him—and then you hear a snap.

Aw, shit. The bed.

The thought comes in a singular moment of clarity as you watch the rung Ushijima’s chained to separate itself from the rest of the headboard, splintering, the nail that held it in place looking pathetically flimsy next to the veins bulging in his arms as he slides the chain away from it. He flexes his hands, forming fists and then unclenching them to restore the interrupted blood flow, and then you’ve only got a second to prepare yourself before he’s upright, dragging your hips up to meet his.

“Ushi, Ushi, Ushi, I want, please, I want you,” you beg, but you didn’t really have to because you’re pretty sure there’s no force on Earth that could stop him from holding you up so he can fuck down into you with a ferocity that could be mistaken for anger if you weren’t certain it was really lust.

The entire bed is creaking and rocking against the force of his movement, but you don’t really have the headspace to worry about more property damage considering he’s got you supporting yourself on the mattress on your back and shoulders, your spine curled up so he can kneel and still have your hips aligned with his, your legs dangling bonelessly on either side of him.

Fuck. Holy fuck. You open your mouth but words don’t come out, only a choked whimper, but if you could speak you’d be saying yesyesyesyesyes, touch me.

Despite your inability to speak, Ushijima picks up on what you need and then along with his cock carving its way in and out of you you’re getting the feeling of his fingers padding over your clit. Rough and callused, not gentle, nothing like the way you touched yourself earlier, but you’re starting to realize you don’t mind the aggression. In fact, it’s good, it’s so good, so good you’re gonna cum.

You’re gonna cum.

A long, drawn-out whine is spilling out of your lips before you can stop it; you wrap your hand over your own mouth out of shame or maybe courtesy to your neighbors (although by now they’ve probably invested in earplugs after listening to you squeal like a pig on Ushijima’s cock dozens of times in the past). Still, as your climax rocks through you shove your thumb between your teeth to bite down on it, but the sharp pain is nothing compared to the pleasure.

“Ushiiiii—“ you sob around your own fingers. Your spine arches—or rather, you try to arch your back but you can’t, not with Ushijima’s full body weight pressing into you and keeping you pinned to the mattress.

It hurts, it feels good, you’re seeing stars, you’re hearing Ushijima snarl as your pussy tightens up and convulses on his cock. His one-handed grip on your ass gets painfully tight as he abandons whatever pretense of restraint he had left and pumps his cock into you so hard and fast you’re pretty sure the headboard isn’t going to be the only thing broken, but you don’t fucking care because you’re cumming, you’re cumming, you’re cumming so hard you think you black out for a second, holy fuck.

It’s only when you hear Ushijima’s panting breath and feel him pulling your hand away from your mouth that you regain your grip on reality. “You’re bleeding,” he says, holding your hand up and inspecting the shallow indentations your teeth made on your thumb.

“…You broke my bed,” you reply tiredly once you’ve gotten in a lungful of air, what feels like the first full breath you’ve been able to take since he put his cock inside you.

“I’m sorry,” Ushijima tells you, although he doesn’t look particularly sorry.

You roll your eyes. “Did you cum?”

“Yes. When you did.” Without him holding you up there’s nothing to prevent you from sliding down off his softening (but still unfairly impressive) cock. You’re certainly not strong enough to keep yourself in position.

Even if he hadn’t confirmed it, you’d still be able to feel the familiar heat of his semen plastering your insides, and once your still-sensitive pussy is exposed to the cool air your inner muscles squeeze involuntarily but hard enough to force some of his cum out—you sense it, hot and thick, dripping out of your pussy to smear against your thighs. “Can we take a bath?” you ask, knowing you’ll barely be able to walk over to the bathroom, much less stand under the shower unassisted.

Ushijima nods and moves off the bed. “I can carry you,” he adds when you try to stand up and your knees almost give out before you flop back onto the mattress.

At this angle, with you sitting and him standing in front, it’s difficult not to see that despite cumming literally less than two minutes ago, he’s already getting stiff again. Jesus, is he even human? After how hard you just came, the thought of letting him fuck you again is giving you something stronger than butterflies, but you look up at him and offer anyway. “Wait, do you…um, want to go for another round?”

Ushijima’s gaze meets yours and then travels over your body underneath him. You must look like a mess—sweaty, hair all fucked up and tangled, body still shaking with the aftershocks of your climax and barely able to sit comfortably on your aching pussy—and you guess he sees how jittery (nervous?) you feel because for the first time since your relationship started, he shakes his head to turn down an offer of sex. “No, I’ll take care of it. Let’s clean up first.”

“Okay,” you sigh, releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding and raising your arms to let him pick you up.

“(Y/N).”

When Ushijima doesn’t move to carry you, you frown. “Hm?”

“The cuffs.”

Oh, right. The black leather is wrapped around both of his wrists, chain still intact. Apparently these cuffs are stronger than your headboard. Good quality. Too bad they’re going in the trash. You make quick work of the release and then undo the straps carefully, massaging over the light pink marks on your boyfriend’s wrists once they’re free.

“Sorry, did it hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I mean, I just wanted…” You trail off, feeling infinitely embarrassed that despite all your claims of dominating him, he still ended up with the upper hand, cuffs or no cuffs. And you liked submitting to him. There’s no denying that.

“It didn’t. And…I enjoyed having you on top,” Ushijima tells you, lifting you effortlessly into a princess-carry now that his arms are free.

“Yeah right. We’re never using those again,” you scoff, tucking your head into his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. “My boss is going to get mad that I keep taking sick days every time I have sex with you. I’m just going to throw the cuffs out.”

From your position, so close to him, you can barely see the upward quirk of his mouth that would be as good as laughter for anyone else. “Don’t get rid of them. I think…next time, I would like to have you wearing them, (Y/N).”

Well, fuck.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I haven’t written many of these lately for a lot of reasons.  One of those keeps ringing in my head every time I think about sharing information online.  I’m not really a fearful person.  The last year alone is living proof of that.  But there are things out there that actively try to subvert your quality of life.  And they rattle some people’s nerves a lot more than mine.  I had to review some training videos for work in relation to cyber security.  The most impressive of which was a description of the GDPR which is one of the most extensive European privacy laws in regards to the Internet.  The other big one was about Social Engineering.  Great fishing expeditions in the sea of information trying to catch the Great White Shark. for fun and profit.  There were some great videos showing examples of this in the training.  Thankfully there were no demonstrations of cat fishing or reverse cat fishing to which I am relieved.  There was a line in there that hit home about people exposing other people’s private information for profit.  What I’ve learned after being targeted left and right the last few months has been simple.  I bring a lot of it on myself.  Instead of saying it is what it is I stop myself.  It comes with the territory.  Brushing up against a lot of these scams has taught me a few things.  Healthy skepticism towards people with the best intentions is key.  So is having your shit together.  I had to quit drinking three years ago to regain my focus.  This is the first year where I see it all for what it is.  It doesn’t scare me.  It definitely disappoints me. People behave badly.  That includes respecting another person’s privacy.  We bring it on ourselves sometimes trusting the wrong people.  Sometimes we give people second chances for being manipulated.  This city is constantly manipulated into dumb shit.  But there’s a healthy does of resistance after awhile that comes with standing your ground.  One of the people from security spoke about this concept of “putting on the mask” in Chicago.  It’s a useful technique in the Midwest.  Scare people away so they don’t take advantage of you.  Everybody here thinks everybody should be friends. It’s true people are genuinely nicer in Chicago.  But that Midwestern pushiness can wrestle you to the ground sometimes.  In a playful way right?  Gain your trust and get you to talk about yourself more.  Give up bits and pieces of personal information that you feel is innocuous at best.  And then there’s the reality of a million cameras, microphones and devices recording every nuance and tick.  One of the most intense battles in the tech sector in regards to privacy is facial recognition data.  I’d say based on GDPR it’s still pretty barbaric how we value, respect and protect privacy here in America.  The life I live these days is a fragment of everything I’ve ever sharied in public.  A vulnerable space outside my home where I exist only as an avatar of myself.  A hallucination of celebrity every step I walk.  That’s kind of why I stopped writing to be honest.  That and I know the person I write for already care and knows what I’m thinking.  I care about intimacy.  I care about privacy.  I used to be so shitty at keeping secrets.  Until I end up keeping one that means more than I bargained for.  

Reverse cat fishing aside, the modern world has many mysteries that remain unsolved.  Why I keep to myself should be my own business.  And yet I find myself referencing Mark Fisher’s concept of Capitalist Realism more than I am comfortable with.  I was reading about China and their housing market the other day.  It said there are some strict Chinese families that won’t let their children marry unless the spouse owns a home already.  Things have gotten rocky enough lately that the government has started to accept Intellectual Property as collateral.  So there’s hope in that I guess.  Here in America I work a non profit.  I’m enrolled in a credit union.  I make a decent living with a decent rent.  Going into debt for a mortgage by myself to show how productive I am isn’t my kink for sure.  I’d rather have children.  The moderate amount of stability I have and how I achieved it is always under scrutiny by other people.  Everybody ignores me but talks about my history behind my back.  I live with the pain of three generations of people saying they know me yet I haven’t hung out with any of them in years really.  If I thought about all this negatively it would drive me crazy.  With putting my past behind me I planned a lot more for the future.  I train.  I run.  I cook healthier food.  I know what I run on.  I know how much that costs.  And I could sit here for days and complain about money and how fucked I am in the face of the upper class.  And I could waste my entire life worrying about people who don’t worry about me.  Or I can make it happen in a realistic way with what I have.  A full and albeit peppered grey head of hair that keeps growing back.  A cat that wandered in from outside that now sleeps next to me at night.  A weird way of looking at the world that is both tender, cautious and brutal if attacked.  The mind fuck of it all is that you have to be comfortable with what you want to achieve.  And there’s no shortage of people out their that want to take advantage of your confidence and trust for thousands of reasons.  Which is why I’ve gradually thought more about how I share things online.  Also how I spend money in public.  Is it respected?  Is it safe?  Does it have context?  Can it be manipulated?  Will the terrorists win?  Who keeps sending me all these mother fucking political robocalls?  Will I ever make enough money to afford a home?  Does that even matter to me right now?  How much is my intellectual property really worth?  Reach out to attorney’s in your area.  Targeted ads commencing in five, four, three, two you get the idea.  We are all living in this utopia where we are desperate to connect.  Hellbent on being reassured in the face of absolute chaos.  And the switchboard operators are happy to link you into some bullshit that isn’t worth your time in the matrix.  It’s a proven fact.  When you lead there are no maps.  Nobody to follow except your own internal gut.  And facing the gut instinct that my hunches are always well informed with skepticism has been key.  But I still have to live my life in the face of all of it.  That’s my responsibility.

I do prefer being alone than with somebody who isn’t really there.   Fairweather friends are a liability to my responsibilities for sure.  It’s a funny realization because some of my best friendships are vapor at best.  There are people that get me without having to write a word anymore.  I don’t read too much into the why’s or how’s.  And there are some people so chatty and fake that I’m never really part of the conversation.  We all crave intimacy deep down.  We want to share an intimate secret with someone.  Real love.  Care and affection.  And at the core we let our guards down to let that in.  Sometimes just to feel it.  To know it’s there.  And the end result is based on mutual trust.  We seek out validation in places we feel are safe.  And ultimately those spaces become compromised after awhile.  Because the people we trusted abused the connection.  They couldn’t keep a secret.  They didn’t value or respect your privacy.  They threw the bait and caught the shark.  They hunt the whales with shitty harpoons and flaccid lines.  After awhile the sharks stop swimming in those waters.  The ecosystem gets all fucked up.  And the party is over.  The sharks just got smarter.  Or they found safer harbors for their emotions.  However poetic I describe it the realization for me is all the same.  I have not had the best of luck being open and transparent.  We as Americans love our freedom of speech just as much as we love taking it away from other people.  Human nature is flawed.  Revenge isn’t very constructive.  Being proactive about protecting the things you love is a better idea.  Just how draconian you react is bound to show up somewhere in your aesthetic.  I prefer a culture of avoidance.  I wash my hands of the virus just like the flu.  I quarantine myself from the for profit news cycle and the petty scammers.  I set up a bulwark in my life of practical thinking and fiscal austerity.  Sometimes it’s not fun.  Other times nobody bothers me with how I live my life behind closed doors.  That’s a constant negotiation that has nothing to do with class privilege or conceptual art.  I literally am the worker that Marx talks about and at the same time know the unfortunate realities of Capitalism.  I also know a lot of people’s opinion are backed up by hot air.  They don’t put in work.  They live to disrupt.  To make it hard on you.  To justify it as some test of your usefulness.  I’m pretty useful.  I enjoy my life.  I work hard.  I go to the movies by myself like a boss.  I have an empty space next to me at all times.  What fills that space is nobody’s business.  The person walking around in spite of all this in my own skin is testament enough.  I’m still alive.  I’m still pretty done with all of this shit.  And I still understand that I have to live it.  Being vigilant all the time can be shitty especially if you keep surrounding yourself with the same negative influences.  I’d rather surround myself with my cat and the occasional fishing across the ponds.  They don’t call them the Great Lakes for nothing.  There have definitely been some choppy waters out here in the deep web.  You know I’m a pirate of the High Seas.  More like the captain.  Ahoy you fucks.  Keep your ship together.  And I will promise to do the same.  <3 Tim

[animeniac]

Starbomb Ch. 3

Fandom: BNHA Pairing: Bakugou x Uraraka Genre: Romance and Comedy probably Chapter Summary: Class 1-A gets a Sensitivity Training Assignment where they have to tutor a kid. As fate would have it, Bakugou ends up partnered with Uraraka. (See Chapter 1 for story summary.)

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII

Did the tension sincerely settle down when Eraserhead entered? Midoriya studied the classroom and could feel the still air of the room. Bakugou typically took a long time to cool down after his surges of anger. Then, after class, how would the situation pan out between everyone? Would the conflict continue or wither? Also, Uraraka - was she upset or saddened by the sudden dramatic commotion?

In that moment of conflict with Bakugou, her pensive stare and lack of a smile had shaken the class.

Bakugou's proposal was not simply some jibe. He meant every word he said, but why? Before yesterday, he never expressed any interest in Uraraka, and then, the innocuous revelation that she gifted Midoriya a stuffed animal nearly moved Bakugou to tears. To Midoriya, that meant that his old friend had his eyes, heart, and mind set on making Uraraka his wife or something like that. He couldn't understand the details of the situation.

For Midoriya, the confirmation for this theory came when Aizawa told them to pick sticks for a project. Matching colors decided the teams

Uraraka drew red.

Bakugou drew red as well.

The wide, fiery eyes and the giant grin that grew on Bakugou's face evoked Midoriya's memories of when the combustible kid got an All Might sticker from a Gotcha game when they were younger. The rare expression may have only lasted for a second before his typical prideful smirk returned.

That second was enough to raise Midoriya's suspicion of genuine joy in Bakugou's heart. The shift from distraught frustration to rage to sincere delight only confirmed Uraraka's yoke on him. Every minuscule movement of hers could jerk him for miles. Could Midoriya rest easily now that he sensed the sincerity in the situation? While Bakugou may have had selfish aims, there was something more to his intentions that had most likely gone undetected by him.

Uraraka tried to still her trembling frown as Bakugou marched up to her desk and slammed the matching stick onto her desk.

Midoriya failed to pay attention to who his partner was after intensely analyzing the circumstance between Bakugou and Uraraka.

Not far from his desk, Uraraka had to deal with her new partner. Maybe there was a way to get out of the situation. "H-Hey, Bakugou," she greeted him and hoped he didn't carry his grudge for that morning.

"Looks like we're partners, round-face," Bakugou taunted with his slanted, furrowed eyebrows. If this wasn't fate, then he didn't know what was. To him, this game of chance led to the confirmation of his insightful hunch. And, he relished the notion that fate worked in his favor. He savored the troubled frown that sank on her face and the raw fear that dilated her eyes.

Uraraka bit her lip and sighed. Being a hero required working in unfavorable positions, but she felt like she got paired with an undercover villain. How long was this project supposed to be anyway?

Sensitivity Training. She already knew they would probably fail based on such a premise. Bakugou had no sensitive bone in his body save for his fragile ego.

According to the board, they had to work with a kid on the other side of town and spend at least 2 hours a week with him for a month and write a reflection essay at the end. For their particular child, they had to tutor them. Activities would contribute to the rest of the necessary time.

Bakugou teased, "What? Are you scared? Better to be with the best than with some other loser." While he didn't explicitly point back at Midoriya, he enjoyed the fact that he won over him.

She held her tongue. Uraraka had to stifle any anger, but for how long? She didn't want to fight and risk their grade for the sake of her grudge against Bakugou Katsuki, so she gulped down every reservation and drop of animosity in her head and beamed a gentle smile up at him. "Let's work hard together, Bakugou," she chirped as her eyes connected with his.

Insolence! How could she be arrogant enough to smile in a detestable situation? He bore his teeth and hissed, "What was that?"

Uraraka repeated with a giggle, "I said, 'let's hard work together.'" Lemons to lemonade, right? Though, she couldn't quite determine the tang from such a standpoint. Maybe she enjoyed his intolerance of her resilience, and perhaps, she could play with the situation to her advantage. Hopefully, they could get a passing grade at least.

Bakugou's eyebrow twitched as he nearly broke his craft stick, yet he held back his anger and shoved it into his pocket along with both his hands. "We start tomorrow, and we're leaving at the bell, so you can't shit around with your nerdy friends." As much as he wanted to say that he had the advantage of their dynamic, he felt the power slip from his hands.

"'Kay, sounds great," she agreed with a thumbs-up an unyielding grin. This project would be a long one, but she could endure it. Her smile grew a little wider when she noticed her partner's eye twitch. Through the next arduous weeks, she absolutely could not lose sight of herself and allow Bakugou to dampen her enthusiasm and general optimism.

"Jeez," complained Kaminari the next morning in class. He approached Bakugou who sat at his respective desk and flipped through a book. The bright classroom lit by the morning sun had nearly just opened, and so the only students were the two of them plus Kirishima. "You're really putting the moves on Uraraka. Are you trying to ruin a happy home?" He poked fun at the idea, for he doubted that Bakugou would have any chance of interfering with the potential relationship of 1-A's sweethearts.

Slamming his book closed, Bakugou growled, "What did you fucking say to me? I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, but it's probably a load of bullshit." His pride had split into two schools of thought. One-half disregarded anyone's perspective on his marital interest in Uraraka; the other half despised the possibility that anyone knew anything of the proposition. Situations like Kaminari's smug-ass question and Todoroki's high-and-mighty confrontation lent to his inclination to the latter logical thought.

The kids in his class just couldn't mind their own damn business, and if they interfered with his goals for the sake of their petty gossip, they'd have hell to pay.

Kaminari chuckled having had his fun and left to take his seat.

To attempt to remedy the situation, Kirishima approached Bakugou. With his tact and knowledge of Bakugou's tendencies, he knew that there was a specific way to approach him. He needed to translate his advice in a way that would motivate his friend. "Some people are better at talking to girls than others. Not everyone can be that manly, I guess," he suggested in the most roundabout way possible. "But, you can't force a girl to marry you."

"The hell I can't!" shouted Bakugou - probably alerting everyone on in the hallway of his presence.

Kirishima let out a quick sigh. He had to muster through the conversation. There was no way he could leave Bakugou to believe that he could force Uraraka into an impossible situation. "It's just no good if you don't tell her how you feel, though," he advised as he shooed the thought with his hand.

Tersely, Bakugou spat, "I don't feel a damn thing except rage that Round-Face thinks she can lead me around like a dog."

Knowing what he knew, Kirishima leaned over to remind Bakugou of what he told him in confidence. Maybe the brute didn't connect the dots all the way, but he probably wouldn't want other people to know. "Didn't you say that your hands have been sweatier than normal?" he whispered. Backing away, he continued at a normal volume, "Well, that's something, right?" He rooted for his friend to at least be honest with himself.

Love was pretty damn manly after all.

Bakugou glared at his wet hands when Uraraka entered the room with her crew. His bodily functions had betrayed his self-proclaimed stone facade. He lowered his voice more so than his last remark and muttered, "That's none of her business or your damn business for that fucking matter." Suddenly, he regretted spilling such a secret the night before and grimaced. His sweat fueled his quirk, and so, he should have been careful with sharing that information even if it was with someone he trusted.

"But," implored Kirishima with a bright grin, "maybe it'll be enough to tell her how you two as a pair can be more energetic or something."

Watching Uraraka take her seat a few desk behind him, Bakugou corrected, "Synergetic." Her skirt fluttered down on and around her chair like a billowing sunflower as she sat down, and her posture straightened as she bloomed a smile at the people around her. The sun that washed through the room somehow seemed to focus on her wherever she went. Such a realization might have amused most people, but the predicament made Bakugou gag.

Just how synergetic were they? In what way would she need him in a fight? Who was he kidding? Uraraka didn't need him in a fight. She was tough, witty, and formidable on her own, and if he were ever honest with himself, her autonomy appealed to him.

"Hurry up! Get your ass on the train!" shouted Bakugou from the middle of a crowded train car.

As much as Uraraka wanted to deny that she intentionally delayed getting onto the train, she couldn't. She loathed the idea of committing to him for such a long time and for an important assignment. Her racing thoughts kept her up the night before, and she had to force her foot across the metal bar that bordered the bottom of the train. With a gulp, she stepped forward and stood in the only empty spot available - centimeters away from her partner.

She exhaled hot air that bounced back off of Bakugou's school uniform. Looking up at him would have been a bad idea. Would it be better to turn away from him at least? There was hardly enough space to rotate, but she did it somehow.

Suddenly, Uraraka felt vulnerable to an attack from him. Again, she sighed, "You can do this, Ochako." Hopefully, no one could hear her quick pep talk.

Bakugou heard. His eyebrow twitched before he allowed words to slip from his mind as well. "I can't believe this shit. We have to go to the other side of town just to tutor some elementary school brat," he griped to no one in particular.

Why was he complaining? Uraraka had spotted the malicious smirk on his face the day before as he taunted her. He wanted this to happen with her. Something about his suddenly cynical and pessimistic attitude caused her hand to tighten around the strap that she clung to above her. She needed to calm down before she became too annoyed to relate to the kid that they had to watch.

Although Uraraka's motivations for becoming a hero primarily benefitted her family, she enjoyed being happy and wanted to be kind to others. While she wanted to understand Bakugou, after the past couple of days, she began to lose interest. And if he acted unruly towards the kid that they needed to protect and tutor, she would probably become genuinely upset - if she wasn't already.

To get through the day, she decided to pretend that Bakugou just really wanted to be her friend. Of course, that wasn't true, but maybe if she saw the situation like that, her pounding headache would disappear. She sighed again.

"Why are you sighing? Don't get a fucking attitude just because you're sad you didn't get paired with Deku."

Maybe that plan wouldn't work. Uraraka's mouth twitched at the corners. "I guess I'm just tired," she replied and then under her breath, she added with puffy cheeks, "of bein' around you." Why did she say that? There was no way that she could keep up the chore of being nice to him after the harassment from the past few days.

The audacity! He steamed from his ears and growled, "Fucker, don't talk shit to me. Like I said before, you're lucky to have me as your partner." They could volley hostility back and forth all day, and he didn't know what to do with his anger. At first, he reached out to attack her, but then he stopped himself. If this woman truly became his wife one day, he would want to avoid physically lashing out at her. Being entirely honest with himself, he could destroy her in more ways than one - mentally and physically.

None of the options that sparked through his thoughts included sexual destruction despite the connotations. If his mind ever matured to that point, then he would probably list that off as well.

Bakugou told himself that he wanted her to cower beneath his intimidating power, but he knew that she was too tough or stupid to respect his advantage. And as he wanted to deny before, her rare, tenacious glare drew him. When she darted her eyes back over her shoulders and up at him with genuine animosity, he grinned as he lifted an eyebrow, "What? Did I piss you off again?" His heart raced.

Right, she let her emotions get the best of her too often around him, and she tended to blurt out what she felt in the heat of the moment with him. Since that marriage proposal fiasco, her nerves had gotten more high-strung. "No," she said as the anger faded from her body. Midoriya wouldn't have lost his temper. She wouldn't ever want him to see this side of her again. "I'm excited."

No, excitement was what Bakugou was supposed to feel - the anticipation of her grief. She was supposed to be terrified and intimidated so that she learned her damn lesson.

Uraraka continued with that bright beam of a smile, "I can't wait to meet her. Oh! Looks like we just have a couple more stops." If she didn't hold onto hope that there was something deeper to Bakugou's intentions, then she'd lose sight of herself.

He could handle a glare, but not that stupid smile of hers.

"So you guys are heroes, right?" eagerly asked the child as she stood on the edges of her toes. Her wide, blue eyes stared up at her mentors through her dirty blond hair as her agape mouth widened into a smile. She had dreamed of the moment that she met her tutors all day.

Uraraka shook her head and politely corrected the kid, "We'll be pro heroes one day."

"I'm Kotone," she greeted as she bowed. Dirty described more than just her hair color. Smudges spotted her white blouse and black shoes. If it weren't for her skirt, they may have assumed that she was a boy. Maybe her short hair threw them off, but she was at least a tomboy.

Bakugou noted, "That's a girl's name."

"I am a girl!" Kotone argued.

Did he not notice the skirt?

In lieu of Bakugou's error, Uraraka apologized, "Sorry. He's weird. So what're your hobbies?" She would have to pick up his slack.

They began to walk in the direction of the kid's house. Uraraka made some idle small chat with her while Bakugou checked his phone every two minutes. Ten minutes had passed since they left the school, and he already loathed the pace of the day. Traveling nearly an hour across town to walk a kid that lived half an hour away was overboard for an assignment. On top of that, he had to teach her basic concepts that he learned a long time ago. How was he supposed to talk to a kid? "What kind of shit do you need to work on? We're just doing homework," he interrupted.

Snapping away from her pleasant conversation about UA with Kotone, Uraraka frowned, "Bakugou, you shouldn't use those kinda words right now." Was he ever going to turn down his rage in front of her?

Annoyed that he would ever have to censor himself, he barked, "I can do what I want. I don't give a damn what you think."

"I wanna hurry up so that we can play video games," cheered Kotone as she got out her portable Nintendo 3DS. "Can you help me beat my Kirby game, Bakugou? It's really hard. I can't beat any of my friends."

"You can't beat Kirby? That's for babies compared to real fighting games," he complained as he snatched the device from the kid's hands. "Lemme see that shit."

Well, at least they found something to do if she finished her homework early. Kotone lived in a massive estate that spanned at least an acre. Ornate decorations covered the yard. The bland, white house contrasted greatly. Her parents must have made a lot of money, so why did they decide not just to hire tutors as opposed to asking ordinary high school kids to do it for free?

Immediately, they got to work in the house's study. Uraraka could handle that level of work, but Bakugou wanted to rush the situation so that they could play video games afterward.

Was he a good teacher or did Kotone simply have an adequate gist of the material at hand? Either way, Uraraka felt the distance as she tried to look harder at Bakugou. He had not chided the girl since they arrived. His typical scowl had left his face as he softened his crimson eyes to examine the assignment in the warm light of the study. Uraraka smiled, and he caught her in the act.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

"Nothing," replied Uraraka with a slight giggle. Only twenty minutes had passed, and they had a few more math problems to go, so they had 40 more minutes to spend with her. While she wasn't good at video games, she grew interested in seeing more of this softer side of Bakugou. For the time being, however, she felt useless. "Excuse me." She excused herself to leave for the bathroom.

After Kotone had finished the last question, she mischievously smiled, "Why do you say mean things to Uraraka when you like being around her?"

Bakugou raised his head, and he tightened his fist until he broke the mechanical pencil in his hands. "She bugs the hell out of me," he growled. For reasons unknown to him, he couldn't bring himself to say that he hated being around her. "She thinks she can change everything with her cheesy smile, and she hangs out with Deku just to piss me off," he listed out the reasons she annoyed him.

That was simple for him.

Kotone wasn't sure who Deku was, but she understood that something about the way Bakugou tried to portray his emotions was dishonest.

On a separate sheet of paper, Kotone recalled the events over the past afternoon. She sketched sound waves that looked like something seen on EKG heart monitor. The line peaked and rhythmically rose until she stopped her pencil and finished the drawing with a smiley face. Pointing to the high points of the graph, she explained, "This is you when you talk to her. You get the idea, right? You're really happy when you're around her."

"Shut the fuck up, brat," barked Bakugou as he slammed his hand to the desk and got to his feet.

"It's my quirk. I can hear people's heartbeats. I don't think you like-like her. You just like being around her. I'm sorry. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to say that," apologized the girl as she bowed her head. Her parents told her how rude it was to read people's thoughts, but even at that moment, she wasn't afraid. She knew that Bakugou wouldn't hurt her - he was just embarrassed.

Bakugou sat back down in his chair and ground his teeth. Of course, he still didn't like that conclusion either. The entire analysis felt like she cut his insides open. A quirk like that would be nothing but trouble for him. "Your quirk?" he repeated almost like a question, but he didn't care for her to continue.

Uraraka had run towards the room after she heard the commotion. She immediately glared at her partner. "Bakugou, what did you do?"

While Kotone could hear the incongruency in Bakugou's heartbeat with his attitude, she could also sense Uraraka's growing resentment. If Bakugou didn't do anything about the way he acted around her, then he'd lose his chances of becoming her friend. "I'm fine, Uraraka," she smiled. "Do you want to play with us?"

"S-Sure," she replied after a deep breath.

Both Bakugou and Uraraka could sit on opposite sides of the empty train by the time they finished playing with Kotone. Uraraka had calmed down considerably and leaned forward in her seat as she allowed her cheeks to float into a smile.

That day, she saw a side of Bakugou that not many people had seen before. "You're not a bad person," she chirped before she bit her bottom lip. They played video games past the time that they were supposed to be there. He wouldn't have stayed if he didn't have fun. And, for the first time in a while, she could completely relax around him.

"What makes you think I give a fuck what you think about me?"

When she giggled, Bakugou noticed the sudden build up of sweat on the palms of his hands. He wiped them on his pants and groaned. Too many thoughts raced through his mind, and he hated that he suddenly became aware of idle bodily reactions like sweat.

That damn smile haunted him, and her giggle deafened his ears to the point that he could only see and hear her. He had tunnel vision in that train car but with tunnel hearing, too.

Why?

"You're really good at tellin' people how you really feel."

Bakugou rose his head to lock eyes with her plain, startling browns. That wasn't entirely true, but he was willing to listen to her absurd shpeal.

"You tell people when you're mad when you're actually feelin' all kinds of emotions, but I guess that's about it. And, I only tell people when I'm happy or confident when I'm feeling a storm of emotions, too! We're opposites, but at the same time, we're kinda the same. I bet we could help each other out lots, right? Like, sometimes you make me so angry that I can't contain it, so, now, I have to make you feel happy. That's kinda a good thing, right?"

Again, Bakugou had no comment. Rather, he suppressed any commentary he may have had. They would be back at the dorms within minutes. If he could simply silence his mind until then, he'd be okay.

"What's that word? We're synergetic!"

[zephyrthejester]

Reflecting on Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

Please click “Keep Reading” to view my concluding thoughts on Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. Unfiltered spoilers inside.

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood is, simply put, a narrative masterpiece. One of those once-in-a-decade stories. But before I sing its praises, I feel I'd best get my complaints out of the way first thing. They're all laughably petty, as far as complaints go, and I'd hate to leave this reflection off on a sour note.

1: For how important he was, I felt Alphonse's role was too small. He had a very interesting mini-arc about his identity early on, but after that, he was very passive. He took the support role in both dialogue and combat. Though, he did have what is probably the show's single biggest "fuck yeah!" moment all to himself when he turned the tables on Pride and Kimblee. I dunno, maybe I was just hoping for FMA:B to be "The Edward and Alphonse show ft. a ton of cool characters." But it was actually "The Edward show ft. Hohenheim, Alphonse, and a ton of cool characters."

2: Let's be real. Trying to dethrone God and take their place is just about as cliche an anime/JRPG plot you can get. It was a bit underwhelming, but this complaint is completely dwarfed by the fact that the whole narrative I'm about to exclaim love for is written closely around it, and the fact that the villain actually succeeded (briefly).

3: I wish that one of the show's biggest twists, the Country-Wide Transmutation Circle, wasn't revealed so early. Though the plot certainly had some out-of-nowhere reveals (that always made logical sense when they happened), most were foreshadowed or hinted at. But around episode 20, Dr. Marcoh dropped a guess about the plan to sacrifice Amestris, just... out of nowhere. Looking back, I can't help but think it would have been so much better if we first saw the Xerxes flashback story, then learned about Father's plan for Amestris. It would have been a gut-punch double threat. But by the time we did see the Xerxes story, we were well familiar with the concept. We could have been surprised at the same time as "young" Hohenheim. We could have felt that "oh shit!" feeling when we learned it was about to be repeated on a larger scale. But we didn't.

4: Lack of side character screentime. This may actually be a compliment in disguise, because I'm complaining that the characters I really loved weren't around enough! Danny Brosh, Maria Ross, Barry, Alex Armstrong, Sheska, Jean Havoc, Izumi and Sig Curtis, Ling Yao (who disappeared for a chunk of the show, and then when his body was on-screen, half the time he wasn't actually there, if you get what I'm saying)... I guess too much screentime for some of them would have made them grating or tiresome. But as trickle-fed novelties, I ended up loving the characters and just wanting more. More of everything!

5: It's understandable why this happened, as the second half of the show is incredibly grim and serious, but I found myself sorely missing the humor found in the earlier episodes. There was a new joke every minute, once. By the end of the show we were lucky to get one joke in an entire episode. Again, completely understandable, maybe even necessary. But I still missed the humor... because pretty much every joke landed for me.

Um. That's it. That's all the complaining I have in me. Literally every negative thing I feel about this legendary show. Let's get to the good stuff, shall we?

This story. This story is just... it's just mind boggling. It had the illusion that every little detail was planned out from the start. It juggled over 30 important characters and plenty more in lesser roles with breakneck pacing that never felt too rushed (outside the first three episodes). And let me tell you, I am just sitting in stunned awe as I think back about every single nuance. Every major character was admittedly fairly simple, but it is perhaps this very simplicity that makes them so understandable, likable, and sympathetic. Nearly everyone had only one character trait and a very clearly defined goal from the outset of their introduction... The beauty was seeing these various traits bounce off each other and seeing how the characters got to their goal.

This was not a story where characters changed and grew. I think this story was about how the characters fought hard not to be changed. Ed and Al were tempted to drop their morals, and they didn't. Hohenheim was tempted to hate himself, and he didn't. Winry was tempted to take a life, and she didn't. Mustang and Scar were changed-- into monsters-- and were pulled back from the abyss by their friends. It... genuinely feels like everyone was mostly the same person at the start and end of the story. And somehow, it actually all works. Though, saying this sounds a bit silly because Truth scolded Father for not changing... Oh well.

Moving from the macro to the micro, let's talk about the tiny little details. There were so many elements introduced that seemed innocuous and unimportant, but were actually extremely important. Edward's short height, the butt of many early jokes, was because his body was sustaining Alphonse's. The motion of clapping hands to form a Circle out of your body, a "gift" from God, looked like praying. Havoc's family business ending up being a munitions store. The creepy tubes beneath Central, which I didn't even think to question, ended up being the pumps that fuel the Mannequin Army. As I said, it feels like every single remote detail of this grand story was planned from the very beginning. From the small to the large, it all feels so complete. There's not a single part of me wishing something was more fleshed out (aside from wanting more screentime for my favorite characters, of course).

Indeed, I'll be fondly remembering and respecting this show's narrative and characters for a long, long time to come. It started strong, stayed strong, and though it may have slowed its pace at the start of the Briggs arc, it never faltered in its step. Best of all, it even delivered a very satisfying ending. So satisfying. So happy and perfect and sweet it almost made me diabetic.

Let's wrap things up with what's left, shall we? Thinking hard, I can't exactly recall most of the background music in the show. There were one or two standouts, but... Well, I guess none of the songs were jarring or displeasing, but all the same I can't exactly praise them. They were... serviceable. Yeah. Though, I do really like most of the OP and ED songs! They all grew on me more and more, and a few I still can't get out of my head.

Then there's the animation! My goodness, the animation! For an anime of this length, I was blown away by the effort put in to make all the important fight scenes look damn good. And damn, did they look good. This show had some stellar fight choreography, even with the more fantastical magic powers, and I won't lie when I say I immediately went back to re-watch a few fights the moment I had finished a liveblog session.

Well then. That's everything, I think.

I guess there's only one more thing I have to say.

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood has succeeded Gurren Lagann as my favorite anime of all time.

In the hopefully long-running lifespan of my blog, I expect that no show will ever top the final score I've allotted FMA:B. By averaging all scores, I calculate the final score of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood to be a stunning 9.3/10!

Experiencing this show was an absolute pleasure. But even better was taking this journey with you guys.

Thanks for reading.