#the irony is that part of what I need to get done tonight involves writing about executive dysfunction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gallickingun · 5 years ago

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welded hearts || b.k.

SUMMARY: You and Bakugou have to try and pick up the pieces after the incident with Awase, but neither of you are doing a very good job. It leads to distance and lies, and you’re not sure if there’s any way to save the fragments that remain of your shattered relationship. Especially when you find out that Bakugou has been tracking your every move.

Follows the events of Ensnare, an Awase x Reader x Bakugou fic written by @lady-bakuhoe.

PAIRING: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader RATINGS: M/E+ WARNINGS: language, smut, slight violence, etc. WORD COUNT: 11.7k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

AUTHOR’S NOTE: after reading Jo’s fic, I immediately rushed to her inbox to foam at the mouth about what kind of angst would follow when Bakugou and Reader attempt to put back together what is left of their relationship, with Bakugou really not feeling like a man, and reader feeling absolutely suffocated, and this little fic was born. Also, this is my first time not tagging any blogs, I just need to start fresh. I hope everyone understands!

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

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The strange combination of distance and suffocation make your head spin.

Nightmares plague your mind at night, leaving the opportunity for visions to run rampant through your sleep-deprived brain during the day. You spend the daylight hours looking over your shoulder, your forehead broken out into a constant sweat, and you spend the evenings wondering if you might have imagined the whole thing.

You wake up alone most of the time, no matter what phase of the night you are suffering through. The first few times you would go searching the house for him, wondering where his overactive body could have taken him this time. Most nights you found him at the kitchen table going over suit designs and contracts for more hero patrols and brand deals.

You’d ask him when he was coming back to bed only for those familiar vermilion eyes to pass you a blank stare and his dry voice to echo out, “Don’t worry about me. Go back to bed.”

And each night you’d listen.

You curl up beneath the covers, tugging the fabric to your chin, and stare at the wall. You attempt breathing exercises and grounding techniques, but that does not stop the shadowy figures you see in the hallway or the closet. Your imagination gets the better of you as it hallucinates the image of the culprit himself stood in your bathroom doorway, a smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“So fucking pretty,” his mouth snarls around the words, dark hair shining despite the dark. His teeth are pearlescent even in the dim moonlight filtering through your window, “Whose going to stop me? You?”

A shudder shakes your shoulders and when you blink, he’s gone, like a phantom escaped in the night. You rip your hands through your hair and tears drip down from your lids into your lap, staining the fabric of your pajama pants. Your hands shake in front of you, fingertips showing double the harder you try to concentrate.

His presence is akin to smoke billowing within your belly. The tendrils of his black cloud wrap around your spine, traveling up your torso until it sits in the base of your throat, suffocating you endlessly. Every day you spend breathing is another day fighting for relief from this monstrous thing in your chest.

Bakugou turns to much different means of coping.

At first it was sweet – him checking in on you. He would offer to come pick you up from work if you’d ever decided to leave anytime after seven, and if he was stuck on patrol or in meetings, he’d arrange a car to bring you home. When you go on your afternoon runs, he’d volunteer to go with you even though he’d done rigorous amounts of training at work.

The simplest ways he would show his sense of pride in protecting you would be to hover closely, his body within an arm’s length so he could snag you out of any bad situation if there ever were one. Still, even with his insatiable hovering tendencies, he would keep his own personal touch at bay.

At times when he would usually hold your hand or brush up against you, he stays at least three feet away. It’s as if he’s chosen to self-quarantine himself from you, deeming your affections as either insufficient or insufferable, which neither are good options to choose from.

Once it becomes overwhelming, you find yourself in too deep, too bitter. You try to reach out to him in the form of affection – brushing your palm over his hips as you pass him in the kitchen, trying to grab his hand when you’re walking together, and reaching out to touch his shoulders when he faces away from you the few nights he does end up in bed.

To shout out now would be hypocritical, as you have had a part in pushing him further from you, isolating his affectionate touches even further. Yet, the longer he keeps himself from brushing even his clothed thigh against you when he passes you by in the kitchen or at the grocery store, you wonder who is actually suffering from the lack of physical affection and who is merely existing.

Eventually he grows more suffocating.

Bakugou will not let you be out of his sight for longer than a few minutes at a time despite sitting opposite from you on every surface he can find. You have started to hide in the bathroom, proclaiming cramps or bad pork before skittering off to the bathroom with your phone clutched in the grasp of your fingers, if only to find some peace from his prying eyes for a few moments at a time.

He has never been so clingy before, and you know that it is laced with the trauma as a result of the Awase situation. However, this doesn’t make it any easier to stomach his lurking. On the other hand, it adds a stinging sensation at the irony of it all.

Bakugou wants to be completely involved in every facet of your life without even kissing you good morning when he hands you your coffee.

You knew that what had happened with Awase all those weeks ago had to have affected him, coloring his outlook on life no matter how bleak it had been before. With each passing day he grows closer to you, hands metaphorically wrapped around your throat, squeezing every last pound of air from your tongue. But still, you never imagined that he would take t his far.

And so, you lie through your teeth.

Yaoyorozu was invited to the grand opening of a bar in the plaza sector of the city, and she invites you and the other girls for a night out. You know that if Bakugou heard about you going on about visiting a bar and intending to drink, he’d say some new form of the word ‘no’ and persuade you with his big, round, crimson eyes to stay home.

There were too many safety hazards, after all. Especially if you are going to be drinking. Your senses would be impaired, and you would be much easier to take advantage of once you are two shows into the wind. And then Bakugou would casually remind you that Momo normally finds a guy and ditches you, thus forcing you into taking a cab ride home, which creates an entirely new set of problems.

Which is why, when you tell him why you won’t be home tonight, you lie, “It’s just a sleepover, like back in high school! Momo and Ochako wanted to get back together and I think Mina might even be coming too!”

Bakugou nods, looking over the top of his combat training manual, “Just let me know if you need me to come pick you up, alright?”

You nod, not daring to reach forward and try to brush your hand against his forearm, afraid he might recoil or redirect you. Instead you force a smile, nodding your head as you open the door, “Momo is picking me up, and she said she’d be fine with driving me back tomorrow, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

His posture visibly relaxes at the sentiment. It is maddening how one simple shift of his composure makes you want to barrel into him, to forget your entire night and attempt to curl up with him on the couch. It has been so long since you last felt his touch, even in a casual sense. The bar counter top acts like a prison, barring him from you as he isolates himself.

“Have fun,” he manages, eyes falling away from you.

And you’re glad, too. At least when he’s not looking at you, he can’t read your face for lies. Bakugou is like a human lie detector, able to sense any unease in your usually relaxed posture.

Of course he has no reason to disbelieve you – why would you lie to him in the first place? You have preyed on that trust, a thing you feel so despicable for even considering, the fib scraping against your teeth like nails on a chalkboard. You wince at his tone, unbelievably naïve, but the door stays open regardless of your conviction.

The lie rolls around in your belly like a parasite, preying on the poor decisions and leeching on your inhibitions. You feel it suffocating your throat as you blow a kiss his direction, telling him not to wait up as you readjust your backpack full of overnight accessories and a change of clothes that is slung over your right shoulder.

Bakugou smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which only further feeds the parasitic being taken up a home in your stomach. It sits heavy on your tongue when you tell him goodnight, threatening to chew right through your cheek until it’s been bared to the whole world.

He nods, licking his lips as he watches you leave. You wave one last time as you shut the door, guilt eating you alive until you feel tears press against the backs of your eyelids. You swallow your conscience and head towards the car you recognize as Momo’s, the weight of your club clothes sitting heavy in your backpack. You cinch it closer to you, praying that Bakugou hasn’t somehow developed x-ray vision to be able to see through your bag.

And yet, a part of you wants him to come barreling down the stairwell to beg you to come back inside, back home. You want him to whisper your name like a prayer, his hands outstretched so you can reach forward to slot your knuckles between his.

At least in your hallucinations he still wants you.

Once you’re at the club bar, it doesn’t take long for you to find yourself in a drunken stupor.

“Listen,” you slur, pointing a finger into Momo’s ample chest, “I-I’m not sayin’ he’s gotta dick me down every night, b-but like-once?!”

You take a long drag of beer, swallowing the acidic liquid until it’s burning your throat. You slam your cup back down on the table top, pursing your lips as you take in a deep breath, “I mean it’s been months, guys. Months.”

“A-Are you serious?” Uraraka leans in closer to you, eyes widened, “N-Not since-”

“Nope,” you huff, slumping down in the booth seat. “I-I know that since the incident that things have been different, but it’s like he doesn’t even want me anymore.”

Momo reaches her arm around your shoulder, tucking you into her side, “I’m sure he just doesn’t know how to handle all of it, and he’s just trying to do his best.”

“Bakugou?” Mina laughs, bright eyes hidden behind her lids as she screws her face up into a giggle. She takes a sip of her beer, propping her feet on the nearest unoccupied table, and sighs, “Good luck with that one, babes. I don’t see things returning back to normal anytime soon, not with how damn stubborn he can be.”

The beginning of a fresh set of tears presses like a crater into the backs of your eyes, a pulsing headache drawing out a groan from your lips. You drop your forehead to the tabletop and relish at the cool surface opposing your heated flesh, “I-I know that normal isn’t exactly an option yet, but I would like to feel like I wasn’t so fucking alone in my own house, y’know? I mean, he’s right there and yet it’s like I’m there all by myself?”

Your phone buzzes from within your purse and there is a collective grouching that echoes from everyone at the table, sour expressions making it obvious the way they feel about your ringtone. Momo crosses her arms over her chest, “You do realize this is the seventeenth time he’s called you, right?”

You reach into your purse but her hand is on your wrist before you can snatch your phone. She shakes her head and Mina huffs through her nose, “Why can’t you just put that thing on silent? When is he going to stop bugging you?”

“Yeah?” Momo brushes her thumb against your forearm, “Didn’t you tell him you were coming out with us tonight?”

A bright red tinge sits hot on your cheeks, making your skin look flushed. Your friends understand your conflict then, sitting back from you in shame. Mina is the first to speak, “You lied?”

“I-well, I couldn’t just-” You rack your brain for the right words to say to defend yourself, sweat accumulating at the base of your back in droves. You want to run away, but there’s nowhere to go. If you head home now, Bakugou will most likely have a full rant ready for you as soon as you walk in the door.

“You can’t keep lying to him like this,” Momo presses her palm to your cheek, brushing away a tear before it can slip down your face, “You’re going to have to be honest with him eventually. He needs to back off, to let you live. There’s no reason he has to be attached to you like an umbilical cord all of the time.”

“His concern is kind of nice, though,” Jirou speaks up.

Your head snaps towards her and she shrugs, “All I’m saying is at least he’s trying to protect you. He’s not completely self-absorbed after all.”

Before you can try to refute her or defend him, your phone starts ringing once more. Your hand dives into your purse, pulling it from within and looking down at it like that might keep it from ringing any longer.

“I don’t understand!” You’re whining now, fresh saltine droplets settling in your lashes. You wipe at your face, “I-I don’t get why he won’t just leave me the hell alone. I told him exactly what I was doing tonight, exactly where I was going and who I was going to be with. I just-”

“Except you lied.”

You feel all of the heat leave your body, only frozen fingertips and an icy, rigid spine left behind.

You turn your head at the familiar baritone voice that cuts into you from behind, and your heart drops into your stomach. When you breathe, the parasitic thing living there begins to swallow your stomach whole, gnawing away at your most sensitive parts first.

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to feel anger instead of shame, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What, pray tell, the fuck are you doing here?!” Bakugou snaps, eyes a conflagration of brassy tones, pupils dilated to prove his anger, as if it weren’t so evident from his tone.

Mina goes to speak up when she sees you flinch, but you’re already being dragged out from the safety of the booth seat. Bakugou’s blunt nails are digging into your bicep and forearm like little spears, snagging you so you can’t get away. He yanks you into the hallway, your back pressed into the wall as he further infringes on your space with his closeness.

“You fuckin’ lied to me?”

His voice is held together by rage, begging to be broken apart as he lets the feelings seep through the cracks of his resolve. Bakugou’s jaw quivers as he grinds his teeth together, heaving breaths making his chest expand to brush against your own. It’s the closest thing you’ve felt to intimacy since that night in the alley – since he decided to pretend that you and your needs didn’t exist.

You want to start bubbling out another fib, foaming at the mouth with lies so smooth he’d have to believe them. Your brain is stumbling in attempt to keep up with his fast paced thinking. Every phrase you could possibly say to make this go down like honey instead of vinegar passes through your mind, but you know that this will sting no matter how long you put off trying to swallow it.

The intentions you have now, to make everything easier on him and spare his emotions, have been tainted by your conniving words from before. You weren’t preparing for a confessional in the middle of this hole-in-the-wall bar, but not every night goes exactly how you plan it.

The both of you understand that sentiment rather intimately.

Bakugou’s eyes are ablaze, vermilion bleeding to amber nearest his pupils. His jawline is flexed, nostrils flaring, and you know that laced within his anger is something akin to fright, fearfulness. Every single feature he possesses is pinched tightly, as if his body were wound like a coil, and he is going to snap at any moment.

And then, when your mouth bobs open and shut, and you can’t find the right lie to squeeze between your teeth, you begin putting the whole situational puzzle back together. Anger replaces the acrid taste in your mouth, cinders of fury settling on your tongue the more it all starts to make sense.

Your eyes meet his and he feels the shift, his grip on your arm lessening at the sight of your furious irises honing in on him. The reality that he is not as innocent as you would like to believe seeps into your skin, settling like sticky acid, and you itch religiously to get it off of you.

“How did you know that I was here?” you ask, voice eerily calm as your vision begins to blur at the edges. You gnaw on your lower lip, tilting your head to consider every falter in his expression, “I told you I was going to be at Yaoyorozu’s. You had no idea that-”

You can’t help the choking sound that comes from your throat next, gagging on your words as pure fury overwhelms your body. Your shoulders shudder under the strain of these destructive emotions as realization settles in. Even the fear in his own irises cannot stop the tumultuous build of vehemence that seeps through you like molten lava, crawling upwards through your veins until all you can see is red – blinding red.

You’re repeating your question when it appears he won’t answer you to speak the truth; eyebrows furrowed, forehead wrinkled. Your jawline pulsates with muscle tremors as you grit your teeth down fervently, a high-pitched whining sound echoing within your own skull at the action, “What did you do, Katsuki?”

It’s not a question, though, not this time.

Bakugou’s throat bobs and before he can give you some shitty, half-thought out excuse, you’re poking your finger into his chest, directly between the taut line of his pectorals, “Where is it?”

“Wh-What?” he manages to cough out, tongue bitten between his teeth.

You take a step back with each question of the location, chin wobbling in denial, “My bag? My phone? My car? Did you put it in me, Katsuki?”

The sound of his given name dripping like toxic acid from your tongue makes his heart constrict within the confines of his chest. The organ beats at a thunderous pace, so hard that he’s sure there is an outlined bruise in the shape of it if you were to peel his shirt back and look. Still, he knows better than to argue with you – knows even better than to try and deny it. You are a human lie detector when it comes to him. You know his mannerisms so well that you’re able to spot a stuttering breath from a mile off, even the smallest of hints to his dastardly secret-keeping seeming like bright white lights to you.

He has backed himself into a corner in trying to keep you safe, so he admits with his head hung low, “Your phone.”

A shuddering breath makes your chest collapse, jaw fallen slack at the confession. Your spirit was praying that he might have just found out from a friend, maybe Kirishima discovered that you were out with Momo and Mina and told him. But no, now he’s admitted to the crime and he knows that he’ll have to face the punishment.

You want to root around in your purse until you’ve found the offending object, but it’s not the time, at least not right now. He can’t take advantage of using it while you’re both still in the same location. You’ll have to handle it later.

“How long?” you ask, voice small.

Bakugou does not answer immediately. His eyes are downcast, unable to meet yours as his lower lip quivers just enough for you to make it out in the dim light of the bar. Your heart thrums at the sight of him so distraught, but you lock your knees and force your body to straighten your spine and steel your resolve.

You repeat the question, digging your fingertip into his skin until you are sure that you’ve drawn blood underneath the fabric of his black tank top.

He snaps, the blood vessels in his neck thudding against the tanned skin there, “Since Awase, when the fuck else do you think?”

And just like that, your entire body is thrown back in time. You are that helpless woman in that alleyway, your body used for the lustful gratification of someone else, thrown to the side like a plaything when he was through. You feel hands, lips, skin, all over you, torturing your body even now when you are awake. The ghost of his crooked touch makes your eyes water, thick droplets sticking to your lashes.

The sound of that villain’s name makes your ears burn and your tongue turn to sandpaper. A chill runs down your spine despite the massive blanket of heat in the room from all the bodies burning with alcohol and movement. Your head feels fuzzy, eyes unable to focus as you attempt to come back to this version of reality.

A single tear drips down your cheek, but Bakugou knows better than to try and wipe it away like he might if it were any other time.

“I-I can’t believe this,” you murmur, withdrawing your finger from him to cover your mouth with both hands. You blink slowly, turning your gaze from him to the floor, taking it all in with stride, attempting to breathe as evenly as possible while still processing everything unfolding in front of you.

Bakugou reaches up to touch your elbow, just enough contact to try and bring you back down to earth. Your eyes snap upward, meeting his vermilion gaze with an expression opposing your fiery wit from earlier. He’s never seen your body waver in such a way that would leave him to believe you to be weak, but now all he wants is to hold you between his arms, piecing you back together bone-by-bone, vessel-by-vessel.

You’re lost in the simplistic touch of him, the first you’ve felt in what you know to be weeks, but believe to be eons. He has been so distant from you that you almost forget why you are angry when he’s this close to you, suffocating your body in the best of ways. You can smell the telltale sign of his quirk, an ashen sweetness that you are sure you’ve become addicted to throughout the entirety of your relationship.

A breath bites through your lungs and you sharply cut your teeth into the inside of your cheek, trying to snap yourself out of your dazed stupor brought on by isolation. As you open your eyes again, you steel yourself, stepping up with brazen confidence to slap away his hand from your arm.

The burning flames licking at your throat turn to white-hot rage, “I don’t know what the hell your problem is, Katsuki, but this controlling me shit has got to stop.”

His eyes refocus on yours again, pupils swallowing those pretty red globes whole, fear riddling every bone in his fragile body, “Wh-What are you talking about?”

Now it is you who has backed him into a corner, his backside and shoulder pushing against the wall. He tries to reach out to stop you, to beg for your forgiveness, but the stony expression in your irises tells him that he needs to be still an listen no matter how many biting insults and wanton words sit on his tongue.

“You’re breathing down my neck, Bakugou,” you inhale a shuddering breath at the sound of his surname being forced through your teeth. Tears lick at the corner of your eyes, your fists shaking by your sides, “I can’t take a shit without you wondering why I’m gone for longer than three minutes. You’ve been so fucking controlling that I can’t even go out with my friends without you needing to make it a momentous occasion!”

“You lied to me, for fucks sake!” Bakugou presses into you, snarling around his words. “You expect me to just forget that? What else have you been lying about?”

Your teeth clatter against one another, rattling around in your head, “I had to! You’ve been this glass case of emotion lately! And you won’t even let me walk home alone! I feel like I have a damn shadow everywhere I go!”

“I’m trying to-”

A thought hits you then, mulling you over so powerfully that you stumble backward, putting distance between the two of you. Your gaze falters from him to the wall, unable to look him in the eyes as you utter the next few syllables, “You don’t trust me?”

Bakugou is quick to refute you, stepping forward to take you out of your haze, “Hell no, baby! Of course, I trust you.”

“You put a goddamn tracker on my phone!” you snap, muscles quivering beneath your skin as your entire body tenses at the statement. Tears settle in your lids, dripping down over your cheek when you force him off of you. “What the hell am I supposed to think?”

He reaches out and wraps you up in his arms forcefully, despite your thrashing and shoving. You tear into him with your words and your touch, trying to punch him even though your range of motion is rather limited. Bakugou puts his chin on the top of your head, bottling you up like liquid rage, holding you together as you try to fall apart.

Bakugou has one hand against the back of your head, hands tucked into the tresses of your hair to cradle your head into the curve of his neck. His other palm rubs up and down the length of your arm as he tries to calm you down from your frenzied state, the loud music and pulsing bodies in the background of the bar doing little to deter your heightened temper.

You gulp as you feel his mouth bury into the crown of your head, kisses sprinkled into your hair like little flowers, petals of kind words tucked against your scalp. Bakugou wants to take you by the hand and drag you home, to curl up with you for the first time since that horrible night in the alleyway, and whisper promises into your skin until he goes hoarse.

You tilt your head upward, face shining bright with tears, nose bumping into his chin, “The-Then why do you-”

Katsuki nudges his nose over yours, a shuddering breath making his lip tremble against the bow of your mouth. A snarling growl rips his throat wide open as every feral, primal instinct buried deep within him is unleashed, “Are you really that dense, dumbass?”

The insult takes you by surprise, facial expression souring as you roll your tongue against your teeth, attempting to swallow the acidic retort sitting on the tip of the muscle in your mouth. Bakugou watches you with a careful eye, making sure that you aren’t going to speak up before he tries to rephrase himself.

“Listen, I just-I…” The words are caught in his throat, raking into his esophagus like shards of glass. Bakugou hates being vulnerable, especially with you. It makes him feel raw, torn open, and uncomfortable. He wants to be the pillar of strength you believe him to be, and how can he prove that he’s worthy of your trust when he feels so weak?

And yet, with you standing in front of him with expectant eyes and shaking hands, he finds it within himself to say what has been plaguing his mind for weeks.

“This shitstorm happened to me too, y’know?”

He sounds so heartbreakingly honest that it makes your skin prickle. A chill tightens like a coil around your spine, spreading shards of ice throughout your veins until your whole body is burning from the frigid feeling, fingertips numb.

Bakugou’s mouth bobs open and shut before he tears a hand through his hair, the other never leaving your body, frustrated at the fact that he can’t think of the right things to say. He looks up at the ceiling, a breath expanding his chest so he’s flush with you.

“Every fucking time I close my eyes, I see that shit all over again.” The veins in his body are prominent as he stresses himself out by trying to speak, “I see you, helpless, because I fucked up and lost focus. I-I couldn’t do anything and you needed me an-”

He can’t force the words out, can’t muster them up from the back of his throat no matter how many times he licks at the inside of his mouth, desperately searching his own skin for the answers. The reality of what might come to fruition when he says his truth out loud is too much to bear, no matter how much he knows he has to have this conversation with you. This is not something you both can just move on from, not without addressing it in all of its ugliness first. He wills the words to come out, closing his eyes and breathing deep. And even still, his mind will not cal.

Katsuki is a raging sea and you are the rickety lifeboat caught in his violent storm.

You swirl in his vortex for a moment longer before prodding him, hand pressed flat against his chest. You brush your thumb over his collarbone, “Katsuki, come on, talk to me. Please.”

Bakugou’s hand flinches by his side and you wonder if he wants to reach out to touch you with the pads of his fingers; to use you like an anchor, weighing him down in the right in the right way to bring him back to the current version of reality.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, pushing him further, knowing what he’s trying to tell you, but needing to hear it from his own tongue.

You step into his space and crowd him into the tight expanse of the hallway, and he can’t draw his eyes away from you despite the shame he feels from the tears currently clouding his vision. Every naysayer in his life comes to him in that very moment, telling him that he’s weak and spineless, completely useless if he can’t do the simplest of tasks. They scream at him, clawing at his heart until he’s bleeding out tears, hands shuddering in pain.

All he wants is to see you smiling again; a genuine, shining smile. He wants to watch as your eyes light up when he kisses you, or when he touches you here and there, casually in passing. Bakugou misses the old kindling the two of you had before that fateful night all those weeks ago. There was a familiarity that now feels lost in translation, wafting somewhere between the space separating the both of you.

You’re begging him in his ear now, words lodged like knives into his heart, a new syllable signifying a new blade, “Why are you doing this, Katsuki? Please, tell me!”

That is the last one – the proverbial blade that shoves its way through is spine to split him in two. He can’t help the way his voice shatters when he finally breaks, falling forward on weak knees, “To fucking protect you! Goddammit!”

You take a short step backward, shuffling away from him at his sudden furious outburst, the change in volume startling you. Goosebumps pebble on your skin and you feel a wave of anxiety wash over you, settling in your stomach to eat away at your resolve, that same parasite from earlier flaring up all over again. You swallow the pent-up emotion in your throat, but Bakugou isn’t finished, not yet. Now that he’s finally been ripped open, he can’t stop the flow.

“Every night you’d get further and further away from me,” his hands are flexing at his sides, knuckles turning white, little crackling explosions lighting like a warning sign, “And I can’t fucking get over this shit, okay?!”

The familiar ashen sweetness lingers in the air at the bare minimum usage of his quirk, but it’s comforting in a way. You breathe it in and try to stave off any tears from stemming down your cheeks. It is his turn to crumble, to fall down at your feet and beg for you to help him repair the gaping wound in his chest.

As you watch him fall apart, it’s physically painful to witness the way his body quivers, every muscle coiled and ready to spring into use. His lower lip, full and pink, is wobbling while he tries to form coherent sentences. You’ve never wanted to reach out and touch him more, to calm him with a tender brush of your knuckles over his cheek, or a hand flattened onto the plane of his chest. But he is too far away from you now, distant in the worst way.

It’s like he’s a figurative bomb, building up and ready to detonate. Each passing moment only fills him with more gunpowder, stuffing his throat until he’s suffocating under the notion that he can’t save you. Has he ever been capable of keeping you from harm?

“I-I was weak,” his voice breaks and so does his façade, tears brimming in the ducts of his reddened lids, “I let that fucker get the best of me, and i-it cost you. You were hurt because I couldn’t protect you.”

Bakugou’s palms shudder at his sides, fingers curling around smoke. You want to step forward, to reassure him that he is the furthest thing from weak that you have ever seen, but he cowers from you when you get too close. He reminds you of a caged animal finally set free, unsure of where to step, how to breathe all of the fresh air at once. Almost as if he is withholding himself from you now that his confession has broken through the bars around his heart, echoed loud for you to hear.

“Throwing yourself into danger isn’t going to help,” you answer him, “and neither is suffocating me.”

The fire fueling your bones from earlier returns at the realization that he has been distancing himself from you on purpose. You assumed it had been a subconscious decision based on the trauma experienced from the encounter with Awase, but you never would have guessed he was actively choosing to ignore you, especially physically. And now, with his hands shaking at his sides, you are beginning to wonder if he feels the same pull that you do, the desire to let your palms search one another’s skin to find the answers to your innermost questions.

“The only thing I’m any good at is fighting!” Bakugou falls back against the wall, eyes downcast in defeat as his shoulders slump forward. He opens his palms in front of his body, flexing his fingers. “All I can do is work as hard as I possibly can to be the best. I have to be the best.”

He curls his fingers back to fists, fury coursing through his veins like fire, accumulating in his palms to a head, a bomb settled in the cracks and crevices of his skin. “All I can focus on right now is getting stronger, to be a hero that you can trust to keep you safe.”

When his eyes snap up to meet yours, there’s a flame burning deep in his vermilion irises that makes them look alight, the bright amber color in contrast to their usual hue. It frightens you slightly, sending a tremor down your spine until you are curling your toes.

Bakugou’s hands creak as he turns them to fists, knuckles turning white, “I’ll be the best, even if it kills me.”

The very permanent word involving mortality turns your knees to jelly, bones grinding against one another in a desperate attempt to keep yourself upright. Your throat closes, emotion billowing like smoke in your esophagus until it is pushing into every available space, effectively choking you where you stand.

“Y-You don’t have to be so, so,” you struggle to find the words, breath hard to come by as you gasp for air, “so-”

“So what?!” Bakugou’s voice is patronizing now as he grows defensive at your tone, taking a downward turn to the other side of kind. He grits his teeth and you allow yourself to see him for what he truly is in this moment – a frightened child, begging for a savior, or at least some solid ground. He grimaces, shaking his head, “I couldn’t protect you when I needed to. And if I can’t keep you safe, what else am I good for?”

Silence hangs between the two of you at the heaviness of his words, creating an even further distance as his words settle like embers on your heart.

You want to brush the cinders away, blowing the ash into the wind and along with it, the horrific memories from the past few weeks. His name sits on the tip of your tongue, scratching at the muscle and begging to be freed from the cage of your teeth. Your fingertips ache at your sides, keening towards him with the desire to find something to feel, some tactile version of reality to reaffirm that you have not lost everything. The heaviness in your feet keeps you from shuffling forward, tucking yourself into his body and promising him that you’ll never see him as anything short of incredible.

“See?” Bakugou’s voice shatters into another wave of jagged pieces with every longing look you give him, tossing his arms in the air to show his defeat, “And then you go and do shit like this, where you look at me like I put the fuckin’ sun in the sky every morning.”

He’s wheezing the words out now, manic movements jerking his arms and shoulders, praying that his palms might go off in the middle of this club so you both can get booted out and forced to go home. Maybe then he can break through the barrier of how he has been feeling to show you why he’s treated you like a child.

“How the hell am I supposed to live up to this pillar of greatness you’ve made me out to be? This perfect image of me you have in your mind is a lie,” Bakugou is begging you for an answer with his gestures. His hands reach towards you, never touching, eyebrows cocked upward as his eyes search your face for a secret message hidden beneath your skin. “You think that I can do no wrong, that I’ll always be your hero. And now that I’ve fucked that up, and you still look at me the same exact way, how am I supposed to live with that? With being a fraud?”

Bakugou blinks and two identical tear droplets seep over the corners of his lids, tracking down his cheeks as he gasps for air, “I-I can’t help it when you look at me like I have all the answers when I-I can’t even fuckin’ figure out how I-”

You cover him like sunlight, warm and safe. He feels your mouth against his, your hands on his face and chest and its like you’ve pulled him from where he was floating midair back down to the ground again. Bakugou’s body is flush between your torso and the wall, either side of him pressed into something. He is hot, too hot, like his body temperature has skyrocketed. Sweat trickles down his spine, sticking his shirt to his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur as you part from him.

Your nose brushes against his, the bow of your lips still touching when you speak, “I haven’t been very considerate of you. I was too wrapped up in the way I was feeling that I didn’t stop to consider how it has been affecting you.”

You palm at his face, fingertips fawning over his cheek bones and brows and temples. Bakugou’s jaw is quivering, hands still dormant by his sides, flexed until his palms are splotched red with effort. You run your hand up from his chest to his shoulder, kneading the heel into his muscles to try and relax his body.

“Katsuki,” you call to him. “Look at me.”

And he listens.

The trail of your fingertips on his forearm feels like gasoline, trickling down his skin slowly but surely, making its way to his palms where his skin will act like a detonator. Bakugou grinds his teeth together as he tries to stay focused in on your face, the effort from it all makes the vein on his forehead protrude, thudding profusely beneath his skin.

“Take me home.”

The walk up the stairs to your door is tense, quiet.

Bakugou turns the key into the lock, the door opening with a gentle click. The two of you step inside, your bags strewn on the countertop and your shoes kicked off near the mat. Your hands wring in front of you as he faces away, the only visible thing being his backside.

“I don’t deserve you.”

The words take you by surprise, shaking you to your core. You stumble backward, hand clutched over your heart when it starts to sting, “Wh-Why do you think-”

“Do you know what it’s like to have people’s lives put into your hands, and then to fuck it all up?” Bakugou turns to look at you, hands glowing with the threat of his quirk, “To put the one person you care about more than fucking breathing into danger?”

His jaw quivers, “You didn’t see the look in your eyes when he was putting you through that shit. You were looking to me for help and I was fucking welded to a goddamn wall!”

You reach out to press your fingertip into the center of his palm, diffusing the built-up nitroglycerin in the crevices of his skin. Bakugou’s shoulders shudder, his eyes widening at your touch. You force a smile, but it does not reach your eyes, and he notices.

“Hey,” you call to him, your other hand drifting up to cup his cheek, trying to turn him towards you. “Stop that. Look at me.”

Bakugou’s eyes stop flitting around and focus on you, connecting your gazes. He looks frightened again, like a scared child. All you want is to hold him tight and put him back together again until he feels whole.

You push yourself up onto your toes, nudging your nose over his cheek slowly. You’re taken aback when you feel his hesitant touch dredge over your hip, thumb just beneath your top. It’s the most intimate feeling you’ve received from him in weeks, and it sends every atom of you on high alert. Your spine tingles as you stutter-step forward until you’re pressed into him.

Your breath hitches at his closeness, fanning out over him in a wave of heat that makes him shiver. You feel your heart ready to explode from within the confines of your chest, begging to be let free as it tries to claw its way out of your ribcage. You can’t look away from him, it’s like he’s turned into a magnet for your body.

As you graze over his chest with your other hand, the one against his cheek brushes up into his hair to card through the blonde strands. Your thumb catches against the stubble of his undercut just behind his pierced ears and it makes you smile, remembering the conversation where you coerced him into getting the new haircut in the first place. And now he can’t go a couple weeks without getting it shaped back up.

“Kiss me,” you plead, your touch like that of a siren, calling him deeper into the water, “please, Katsuki.”

In spite of him suffocating you mentally and situationally, you know that he’s been distant physically. It wasn’t hard to realize the shift in affections, especially since you’ve grown accustomed to his wayward glances and casual touches. Once he started to withdraw from you, you began to worry but your own anxiety wound so tightly around your body that it drowned out any other inhibitions that might have drawn you closer to asking questions. Bakugou has never been one to bare his emotions anyway.

Every morsel of him wants to dive headfirst into your waters, to drink you in through his nose and mouth until it is only the essence of you that remains. And yet there is something holding him back, like strings attached to his shoulders, forcing him to stay still.

It is that very look in your eyes right now that keeps him at bay. The reality that you’ve not tainted your view of him makes his stomach churn. You should hate him for letting Awase take advantage of you. You should want to slap him across the face and punch him in the gut. You should want to rip your fingers into his chest and slay him where he stands, cutting a gaping hole where his heart once was, filling it with a black ooze that might represent your disdain and disappointment.

Anything other than this overwhelming prideful look gleaming in your eyes that tells him he could do no wrong.

The sight of it brings tears to his eyes and he has to look away, the weight of it all too stifling as he attempts to breathe again. Bakugou struggles with oxygen, feeling lightheaded as you stand so near to him.

“Look at me,” you beg of him, your own voice sounding raw. You swallow every possible reticence you might have in this moment and focus all of your energy on him, “I love you, okay? There’s nothing you could do to change that, Katsuki. Nothing, so-”

You’re cut off mid-sentence by the familiar feel of his lips, warm and full against your mouth. He has captured you entirely, his hands on your face as he steps in closer to you. You shudder with tears at the sensation of him kissing you for the first time in weeks. A wash of warmth seeps through your body, starting at your head and curling around your spin until it has reached your toes. You feel lightheaded at it all, so wrapped up in him that you can’t focus on anything else.

Bakugou’s arms wrap around your shoulders, his body squatted in front of you to push himself closer into every crevice of available skin. You dip your hands beneath his top, the pads of your fingers mapping out the contours of his muscular frame.

“Fuck,” he murmurs between your teeth, your tongue catching the word by lapping against his gums.

His hands find your backside, squeezing the supple skin like his life depends on it. You moan, rolling your hips forward. Your mind is foggy, your entire being in a haze, at the passionate way his hands obsess over your body.

When he taps your hips with his thumbs, you know what it means. You leap upward, his forearms catching your thighs to wrap you around his waistline. You don’t break away from kissing him. You’re not sure after this if he might retreat back into himself, so you full well intend on milking him for all that he’s worth in every aspect of the word.

The next thing you feel is the cool sheets beneath your steaming backside, sweat making your shirt cling to your body. Your hand sifts through Bakugou’s hair and he nips at your lower lip, relishing in the way the moans fall freely from your tongue.

He sits back on his thighs, tugging his shirt over his head, when he mumbles, “Shirt. Off. Now.”

The momentary burst of authority makes your cunt clench beneath the lace of your underwear. Your eyes go wide, but you do not hesitate to pull the offending fabric from your upper half. Bakugou has settled between your thighs when you can finally see him again. He makes quick work of your bra, flinging the garment across the room carelessly before swooping in to begin sucking at your chest.

He tweaks one piqued nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the other side of you preoccupied with his mouth. You whine, bucking your hips upward. Even through the thick fabric of his jeans, you can make out the impression of his bulging erection. The thought of getting to feel his dick again makes you keen, reaching up to thread your hand into his hair, the other palm digging fingernails into the thick, corded muscle of his shoulders.

“Damn, Princess,” he murmurs as he releases your nipple with a pop. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your breath shudders out of your lungs, fanning over his hair to make the strands shake in the darkness of your bedroom. You wrap your legs around his midsection to try and grind yourself up into his clothed length.

Bakugou slips his hand beneath your shorts, unbuttoning them swiftly as his middle finger finds your clit immediately. You can’t help it when your whole body goes rigid, the once lost sensation of his hands on your lower half returning in a blinding wave of white-hot pleasure.

“Please, Katsuki,” you force yourself to look him in the eyes even though you think you’re seeing stars, “I just want you, please. I want you in me.”

He’s hesitant when he looks down at you, eyes stuttering over which of your features to focus on first. The tip of his middle finger is brushed up against your slick folds, not delving in just yet. Your chest is heaving, eyes clouded with the threat of tears while you palm at him, desperate for every inch of his skin to be mapped out beneath your fingerprints.

“You have me,” he whispers, cracking voice barely audible. He nods, slipping his finger slowly between the walls of your cunt, “You have me, baby.”

As he starts to coil his finger within you, the squelching sound of his digit and your pussy echoing off the walls, he looks you directly in the eyes. His free hand is near your head but you wish he’d touch you with it, your body insatiably itching for his next pass. You lick your lips and go to beg for him again, unwilling to sit through the torture of his fingers, but he stops you with a kiss.

“Let me do this, let me make you feel good.”

You are speechless, left only with a gaping mouth that is claimed by his tongue. He licks at your teeth and cheeks, whining for you to reciprocate while his finger still pumps in and out of you, knuckle dragging in a tantalizing way against your smooth walls. You hold him as tightly as you can by the neck, keeping him anchored to you, the fear of him running away from you again settling like a lead anchor in your belly.

It doesn’t take long for him to push you to the edge of your first orgasm. You’ve been denied of him for so long that you’re sure you could come undone under any circumstance at this point. But still, his thick digits curled up in the heat of you, coaxing forth the first white-hot wave of pleasure makes your body shudder.

“Katsuki,” you pant, rolling your hips in time with his finger’s thrusts.

The coil within your stomach starts to bunch up, so you clench around his finger. You whine, throwing your head back, jaw hung slack. Bakugou kisses up the column of your neck, “C’mon, baby, I know you can do it for me, yeah? You’re so pretty when you come apart.”

His encouragement is what throws you over the edge. You’ve missed the sound of his timbre coaching you into orgasm after orgasm. You cry out, your voice breaking, and your hips fall slack against the mattress as the pleasure digs into you. The silvery strands of your slick coat his fingers, but he doesn’t part from you until he’s sure that he’s lured every last whimper from your lips, every last wash of arousal from your hips.

You have him by the neck, digging your fingers in to pull him back towards your mouth for another drawn out kiss. Your nose and teeth clash, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here and he’s got his hands on you. The way your body sings at his caress does not go unnoticed by him, or rather he relishes in it, basking in the sound of your wanton moans and the reaction of your begging limbs.

“Please, Katsuki,” you’re grabbing for him as he pulls away. Your fingers desperately cling to his skin, digging in and forcing half-moon prints into the tanned flesh, “I need you, please.”

The words throw him back to those moments in the alleyway when your eyes screamed the phrase you’re speaking now. He was powerless to help you then, but he can be the one to save you now.

Bakugou stands to his feet and shuffles out of his pants, his cock throbbing between his thighs when he pulls away his briefs. You try to tug down your shorts but your body is so weak and you can’t force your brain to communicate with your extremities, so you end up pouting, hot tears clouding your eyes in frustration.

“Hey,” he nudges his nose over your cheek before kissing you long enough for you to forget about your predicament. Your body molds to his intentions, hands finding his undercut to sift through the short hair there, his skin providing you with some sense of calm despite the raging emotions thudding like thunder in your brain.

He gently tugs down your shorts, peeling them from your ankles before depositing them on the floor. Bakugou runs his hand down his cock, using his bead of pre-come and what remains of your arousal on his hand to lubricate the skin. You’re salivating at the sight of him, inflamed red cockhead ready to split your cunt wide open. You’ve missed the familiarity of him inside of you, and your body notices because despite just having a spectacular orgasm that should have put you to bed for some time, your pussy flutters as a new wave of slick trickles down to the sheets.

The tip of his cock opens your pussy up enough that you’re keening forward, pleading to take more of him with the canting of your hips. You whimper out beseeching words, eyes searching his face as your hands try to find purchase on his shoulders. He shakes his head, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “Hush, baby. I promise I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

The duality of his words is not lost on you.

Your jaw hangs open slightly, eyes wide as you look up at him. Bakugou grips the headboard with one hand, the other guiding his cock into your heat. If you look close enough, you can see the threat of glassy tears washing over his pretty red irises, making them look like little jewels in the moonlight filtering through your bedroom windows.

“Katsuki,” you whimper his name like a prayer as he slowly sheaths himself between your folds. He grunts when the base of his cock meets the lips of your pussy, eyelids fluttering somewhere between open and shut at the sensation.

He drops his head, gritting his teeth, “Fuck, I missed you.”

A relieved, broken laugh shakes your throat, the smile left behind making Bakugou see stars. You palm at his chest, “I missed you too, so much.”

The two of you have still been together every day, even sleeping in the same bed, and yet you’ve been so distant it was heartbreaking. You feel the shards of your shattered heart slowly piecing back together with each thrust he throttles into you, his hips slamming into your thighs.

It’s intense, but somehow graceful. Bakugou is not just ramming his cock into you for the sake of doing it, but he’s proving to you with every stroke of him that he’s never leaving your side again. He’s gripping the headboard so hard that his nails are leaving scratches, but you’re more focused with the tantalizing snap of his hips, the drag of his cock and those prominent veins as they stimulate your pussy even further.

His jaw quivers, hands white knuckling as he clutches the headboard even harder, picking up his pace to start building that starburst in your belly. He’s unwilling to let his hands go near you now that he’s got himself sheathed completely.

He doesn’t deserve every part of you, not yet.

Bakugou’s chest twists as he realizes he hasn’t earned his honor back; he hasn’t won the prize of feeling your skin under the sensitive pads of his fingertips while he’s fucking into you with his aching cock.

His breath stutters, heart clenching within the confine of his ribs, at the sight of you, your irises focused on only him. Your pupils are blown wider with each thrust, black swallowing the color of your irises as you reach that peak subservient headspace. His hips move slow but with purpose, his cock pulsing within your walls as you clamp down on him.

Snapping his hips up into you, the heat of it all starts to overwhelm him and he can’t breathe. The mix of your warm skin and the absolute adoration held for him in your eyes is too stimulating once you tighten your cunt around him, trapping his dick in your heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers, stilling his hips as his nails screech against the headboard.

Your hands are on him in an instance, exploring his chest and shoulders. You lick your lips and force your ass to stay put on the bed, breathing heavy through your lips. You swallow and your throat bobs, only proving further to him how absolutely enamored with him you appear to be.

“Katsuki,” you whisper into the void, cheeks warming with a blush.

Bakugou shakes his head and with the ferocity that he’s gripping the headboard, he wonders if your nailbeds can bleed. He bites down harshly on his lower lip, listening to your pleading calls for a moment too long before responding, “I-I don’t-”

He can’t form coherent sentences, not when he’s buried to the hilt inside of you and you’re gazing up at him like he’s just gotten back from hanging the moon. He squints hard, eyes filling up with tears, “I can’t, fuck.”

“Hey,” your breathless voice catches him in midair, anchoring him back from the dull hallucination that he could never find his way back to you. You reach up to gently press your palm onto his cheek, the cooling touch of your hands doing enough to dispel some of the heat on his cheeks. You push away the sweaty locks of blonde hair sticking to his forehead so you can see his eyes in their full clarity.

Katsuki’s chin wobbles as he looks down at you, forcing his eyes to stay trained in on your face no matter how much he wants to look away. He still doesn’t believe he deserves that look you hold for him within your gaze; the way you tell him that he’s nothing short of a pillar of strength in your mind with a simple look is absolutely baffling.

“Hey,” you call again, tender tone striking a chord in his heart.

Your thumb brushes underneath his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, and you smile at his fragility. Bakugou’s eyes flit around to everything but you, overactive and unable to focus on you when you’re looking at him like he’s painted the stars in the night sky.

His conscience berates him as he lays with his cock buried deep into your pussy, his hips flush with yours, the doubt kicking him in the ribs to remind him that he must be nothing short of a piece of shit – how could he let you fall into someone else’s hands? How could he be so careless? How could he-

“Katsuki,” you rub your hands over his face once more, patiently pulling him from the recesses of his toiling mind, “Come back to me.”

Bakugou’s pupils dilate but somehow you manage to bring his attention back around to your face, connecting your gazes once more. You are struggling to maintain your composure between his cock pulsing within you and the lack of his hands on your skin, your body stimulated but still wanting, but you whimper the words, “Will you kiss me?”

In that simple sentence, Bakugou realizes that he could never truly run from you.

Tears drip down from his cheeks onto your neck, pooling at the little cavity created by your collarbones. You smile up at him, brushing at the droplets as they drip down from his eyelids, cradling his face as he makes the decision to start running back to you instead of sprinting away.

“I love you,” he chokes out the words before claiming your lips with his searing hot kiss.

Your hands dip into the curves of his hips, prodding him to move forward while your lips sink deeper into his. Bakugou groans at the sensation, eyes rolling behind his closed lids, and slowly his palms find your body.

It’s almost like the first time he touched you, his fingertips searching every inch of available skin as if it were new to him. He rolls his thumbs over your ribs, counting each one under his breath as he fucks into you slowly. You whimper when he bites your lower lip, your jaw slack as he starts a biting path of kisses down from your chin to your earlobe.

“Katsuki,” your toes curl when he bottoms out within you, the tip of his cock brushing that delicate, spongy spot at the back of your core. Your nails drag salaciously down his shoulders, drawing little beads of blood in their wake.

“Fuck,” he groans, biting down harshly on your neck. He chokes on a sob before licking and kissing your collarbones, “I love you.”

Bakugou is fucking into you steadily now, his hips slamming into you at just the right angle that the vein running along the underside of his dick drags against your folds. You clamp down on his cock when you feel it begin to twitch again, his cockhead brushing your cervix. He’s sniffling, breath catching at the sound, “I love you so goddamn much. I don’t fucking deserve you.”

He’s overcome with emotion but it only spurs him forward faster. His hips slam mercilessly into you, every rut telling you what he cannot coherently say with words. And you accept his wordless confessions with the tightness of your core, the openness of your eyes.

You respond in fervor, your lips singing his praises as you feel the beginnings of another orgasm curling into a hot fire in the pit of you. It’s like lava has dripped down every vein in your body, lighting your skin on fire with its proverbial heat. You whine, your back arching in the perfect way for his mouth to latch onto your pert nipple.

“Katsu’, please, fill me up,” you whimper, palming at his injured back, finding scars and wounds alike, “I want your come, won’t you come in me?”

He’s nodding around your nipple, affirming you non-verbally, but the gentle tug of his teeth makes you whine again. You are completely distraught with the pounding of his cock into your tight, wet heat, the obscene sounds reverberating off of the walls only to bounce back at you like an echo.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he grunts, hot tears mixing with the saliva that covers your breast, “such a good girl for me. Takin’ me so well. Gonna take this load?”

You can’t help the way you nod ferociously, pleading with him through both words and actions. You whine, a shuddering of your throat making the sound much more desperate than you intended, “Please, Katsuki. I just want you to stuff me full, I want to be full of you.”

The last time your cunt was full, it was with another man’s seed.

Thinking about it makes your tongue turn heavy and your stomach sour. You grit your teeth and the scent of ashen sweetness fills your nostrils, taking over every thought you’d had previously. You can’t linger your memories on the way something made you feel before, you will destroy your mind and your pride.

All you can focus on is scrubbing yourself clean with Katsuki.

He washes over you like a soothing balm, the heat of his body burning away any trace of anything else from any time before this moment now. Every one of your senses are overwhelmed by him – his body, his breath, his scent. You want to drown in him, only fulfilled through his means for the rest of your days, to dive headfirst into his pain and break through until it is only the two of you left.

You lick at him, the familiar taste of his skin settling on your tongue as you lap over flesh and bone. You beg for his hands to touch every inch of you with wanton moans falling from your lips, scrubbing away at the nightmares and replacing them with the fiery blonde with a quipping tongue to match his superpower. If you thought you might could handle it, you’d ask him to blast you with his quirk, to burn away what is left from before until there is only the now.

“I love you,” you whisper into the dark, “It’s only you, Katsuki. Always.”

Bakugou’s mouth is licking at your neck when you feel his hips still, the telltale sign of his release begging to be set free. You palm at his face, forcing him to look you in the eyes because you can’t hold it in anymore, the words making your chest swell until you think you might burst wide open, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He thrusts forward in time with your chanting, his lower lip quivering with desire as he pumps himself forward at a much faster pace. One of his thumbs reaches down to brush against your clit, stimulating you until you can’t speak in full sentences, let alone syllables. You grit your teeth together and beg for his load, “Fill me up, Katsuki.”

Your words mixed with the tone of your voice are what push him over the edge, the cusp of his release washing over the both of you. Bakugou’s hips stutter, sloppily fucking into you as he chases that blinding pleasure only you can provide him.

“Take it, Princess,” he murmurs into your lips as he claims you by painting your walls white, the final part of you that needed to be wiped clean.

Katsuki’s hands rest on either side of your head as he holds up his quivering body, spent from effort and emotion. You brush your thumb over the tear-stained parts of his face, clearing his skin of what remains from his vulnerable confessions, no evidence left behind. He can start anew, pretend that he never bared his soul to you only mere moments ago.

His eyes never leave you, drinking you in religiously as you blink slowly, irises soaking up every inch of your precious expression. Your pupils shrink enough for him to see the color of your irises clearly, tilting one of his hands upward so he can brush his thumb over the curve of your jaw. Your lids flutter closed at the tender sensation, losing yourself in the feel of his fingerprints.

When you blink your eyes open, you reach upward to tenderly cup his cheeks between the palms of your hands, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” he leans his head into your hand, nudging his nose over the swell of the heel. Your pulse thuds in his ears and he can tell that you’re nervous based on the pace.

Your voice is thick when you whisper the words that have always rang true in your heart, but you’ve never said aloud because they seemed so pointless. He hears them every day from citizens, begging him for autographs and screaming his name when they see him on patrol. You’ve been afraid that they would fall hollow on deaf ears, futile and empty. But your heart squeezes within your chest and you know that it doesn’t matter anymore. The two of you have learned how precious a few moments can be.

“You’re my hero, Katsuki.”

Your thumbs run back and forth over the skin of his cheeks, seeking out the heat and also providing him what you hope feels like comfort. His cock twitches within the walls of your aching cunt, mouth hung open slightly, just enough for you to see the pink of his tongue.

You nod, sniffling as tears press hot into the back of your eyelids, “You’ve always been my hero, no matter what. Nothing will change that.”

Bakugou kisses the inside of your palm before leaning forward to press his lips to yours. This kiss is slow, deliberate, as if he’s trying to communicate something between the volley of your tongues. You lean up and wrap your arm around his neck when he snakes his hands up the expanse of your back. He’s fully pressed into you now, your bodies flush with one another as he kisses you.

Secret words are passed back and forth from your throat to his, emotion swelling in your chest, begging to burst the longer he’s pressed into you. You curl your hand into his hair, anchoring him to you despite the growing heat billowing in the lack of space between your bodies. Bakugou licks at the seam of your lips and you let him in, you’ll always let him in, your hips rolling forward to meet him at every juncture of your bones.

And that’s how you fall asleep that night, entwined in such a way that neither of you can tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed it! drop me an ask if you did!!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #morgan writes bnha #my writing

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alexlabhont · 4 years ago

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I didn’t mean to fall in love with you

Chapter five

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing: Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: Canon re-write (Because I can)

Rating: Ehm... 13 years < , I mean, is not that hard, but just to be sure.

I´ll be posting this one over here because Tumblr, for some reason, thinks my secondary blog is a bot...

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

Now, about the PAIRING... I will be using choices style, kinda, because I want to give you choice at some point. If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so... i’m sorry fo the grammar errors

CHAPTERS

The beginning

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

ONE-SHOTS

Just a dance (Zoey x MC)

——————————————————————

“No.”

“What?”

“I'm not doing it.” Poppy laughed, trying to hide her anger towards them.

“Farmsville, come on…”

“I said no.”

The strawberry blonde closed her fist so hard she could almost feel the earpiece cracking.

“Honestly… This seems a little extreme. And I will never support any kind of hurtful pantomime.” Those icy eyes pierced right through her, a strength and courage radiating from them so powerful that Poppy would´ve been turned on if she wasn’t very pissed.

“Am I missing something? I thought you hated Chloe as much as we do.” Oh, right. There was Bradley. She almost forgot about him.

“As we do?” The irony in Beck’s voice was so palpable that she could see it slapping Bradley right in the face. “Has Chloe ever done anything to you that I´m not aware of, Hollywood?” Beck smiled tired, as to making fun of themselves. “Zoey was right; I shouldn't have come… “The simply mention of that girl´s name set on fire her blood to an unexpected level.

“That bitch…”

As Beck tried to walk away, Poppy intervened, full of rage.

“I didn’t think of you as one of those who´s afraid to actually do something!

And that´s where Beck stopped, as if something made click inside them. They turned around and for the first time in her life, someone’s look made her feel naked, completely exposed. The more Beck analyzed her, looking for something they only knew, the more vulnerable she felt. That moment lasted just a couple of seconds, no-one around them notice it but both of them.

“You’re right.” They finally said, reaching out for the earpiece which Poppy gave them doubting, giving out the other one to Bradley. For some strange reason she didn’t want them to participate anymore, but now they were necessary, it was too late. The operation had already begun, so she didn’t have other choice but linked her arm with theirs, walking into the dance floor.

“I´m counting on you tonight, Farmsville. Don’t disappoint me.” Once on the dancefloor, Poppy gave Beck a light shove and took a deep breath, trying desperately to erase any residue of the feeling they made her have. “You take the left side of the club. I´ll take the right. And remember, don’t let Chloe out of your sight.” That was the last thing she told them before parting ways.

~~X~~

The thing is…

She hasn’t seen Chloe in all the fucking night.

What were the odds? Surely the stupid blonde should be in Beck's side, the very thought of it tasting bittersweet… deep down, she knew the real reason to involved Beck.

They were a good person.

The heaviness in her chest was there since the moment she found out Chloe was taking the hook. At first she was thrilled, smash enemies, that was her favorite thing, having plans, blackmailing, humiliating… that was kinda her thing, and she loved it at some point… but Chloe…

Gosh, she hated her. But the memories of them playing, laughing, crying, growing together… a big part of her really wanted to make her pay for her betrayal.

But the other one, the little, small other one… the other one begged to have her best friend back.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t stop Beck when she saw them warning Chloe, telling her she should not trust any word coming out Bradley’s mouth. Maybe that’s why that previous moment with Beck was so intimate yet personal… Yes, definitely they were more observant than she gave them credit for.

After making sure Chloe was far away and all the attention was on Bradley, Poppy walked towards Beck, her bitch mask on as always. She would rather be caught dead before admitting she needed their help to protect her from herself.

“It’s go time. Let’s make this bitch bleed.”

Her words claimed, but her actions were something else. Feeling stupid, like a child, Poppy wrapped Beck's arms around her, searching for comfort, but giving them her back. She could feel their chest behind her, their heat warming her body and their breath close to her hair. Without realizing, her fingers caressed their forearms tenderly, her eyes never looked away from the stage, where Chloe was dazzle by Bradley.

This was it. Her plan was marching flawlessly, even though the first words spoken by Bradley were… well, definitely he did not know how to improvise.

“You’re up, Farmsville. Feed him his first line.” Poppy felt Beck taking a deep breath and hugged her tightly but gentle. Their mouth hided behind her ear, and suddenly, she forgot about the purpose of all the things she was doing.

Because for one moment, Poppy felt as a regular girl, hearing sweet nothings from her significant other.

“She’s got an amazing sense of style… Seriously, she dresses like a runway model. Whatever she walks into a room, everyone turns their head.”

Her heart was beating fast, a strange warm in her chest was growing, and their lips moving closer made her snuggle even more against them, being reciprocate immediately by Beck, holding her still.

“Whenever I’m around this girl, I feel like the king of the world. Not only is she so hot, she’s also compassionate… She shines this amazing light on everyone and everything around her. People who are lucky enough to be her friend can always count on her support.”

Poppy felt the playfully smile on Beck’s mouth, that idiot, even in times like this still managed to crack some joke around.

“You’re a moron.” She whispered.

“Think you could do it better? Be my guest.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“This might sound like a stupid question, but… do you know who I'm talking about, Chloe?”

And, as simple and quick as that, it all went down to reality. Beck broke the hug apart, walking away to the bar so quickly it actually made Poppy shivering from the sudden cold, feeling unprotected, like something was missing… someone was missing.

“Of course I do” she heard Chloe said. A weird mix between excitement and fear taking over her, while looking perfectly neutral from outside. “It’s Poppy, isn’t it? You’re talking about Poppy Min-Sinclair.”

Poppy's honey eyes went straight to Beck, who was pretending to do a toast, alone, in her behalf. She didn’t even pay attention to what was on stage. Beck admitted to her having sabotage her revenge.

And she couldn’t be more relieved about it.

She also reached for the bar, standing up next to them, neither of them looking at each other.

“Poppy, you have to understa…”

“I can’t say I'm not disappointed, but at least we got Chloe to look a little stupid up there.” Poppy interrupted them. Beck looked surprised for a second, nailing their gaze into their drink after that. “… By the way, the lines you fed Bradley were pure, vicious gold.”

“I got inspired, that’s all.” They murmured, almost ashamed.

Poppy didn’t had time to respond, because The T notification buzzed in her phone: Beck was now top nine, and, of course, herself was back on top one.

“Oh, it worked all right. I’m right back on top, where I belong.”

She couldn’t help but smile to them, a real, happy smile. She got her crown back, and the damages weren’t so bad after all. And it was thanks to Beck, they were a completely live saver. No wonder why Zoey was so eager to protect them…

Speaking of her… if she was as serious as she claims to be towards Beck, and since The T spies were already here… maybe it was time to make a really good move to prove her who's better. And she knew exactly how.

“You did your part. Now, let’s dance.”

Decided, Poppy grabbed their hand, trying to lead them out on the dance floor, but she didn’t get much. Beck was rock still, looking uncomfortable… Like with all of those girls.

“No, I… I don’t dance, Pops.” Are they really rejecting her? To her? No, she was not another stupid whatever girl, she was, again, the Queen. Nobody says no to her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you do!” she said. “I’ve seen you dancing around with Wade. Don’t you try to deny it.”

“That’s different.” They defended themselves, making Poppy raise an eyebrow, challenged, before changing it to a flirty grin.

“Well… maybe I want to be different to you, too.” There it was, that precious lamb’s look she wanted so badly to see. “Just this one, tushi-face…”

Beck started walking almost right away. There it was, their soft spot for her Beck didn’t wanted to acknowledge, but it was already within them.

Not letting go their hand for a second, Poppy and Beck reached the dance floor right away to start to move to the beat in time, Beck trying… really trying to do the same.

Seriously, this dude was bad at this.

Was Zoey the answer?

No, they’re nervous, she could feel the tension in all their body. But why?

“What are you so nervous about?” She asked, feeling a little insulted.

“Paranoia.” They said.

“To what?” Beck only managed to shrug, something in their eyes was off, remembering something from… the past? Beck was afraid? Hell, what did Farmsville do to them? Poppy threw up her arms around their neck, leaning closer, trying to make him forget. “Don’t repeat this to anyone, Tushi-face, but… I needed you tonight.”

“Sounds to me like… You want me, too.” They joked, Poppy could feel the tension disappearing, nothing really to do with the conversation, but with the small petting she was doing to the hair close to Beck’s nape. “Be honest. Was this whole plan an elaborate ruse to get me on the dance floor?” Poppy smirked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, this was all about sabotaging Chloe.” She said, laughing. “Of having wanted it from the start I’d already have you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I want you now, and I’m having you.” Beck expression was a poem, the surprise written all over them for a moment, processing the information.

“What are you saying, Poppy?”

“I’m a woman used to get only the best, Hughes. And once I put my eyes onto something… or someone I want, I’ll do anything to make them mine…” The sexual tension was in the air so thick it made everyone around just disappear, the sparks between they both, the way they looked at each other… full of hunger, of need… She wanted Beck, and they wanted Poppy just the same. She could feel it so clear in the way they were touching her back, delicate, yet strong, longing, like begging to the devil to stop, but not wanting to. Please, just end my misery… those eyes claimed, but their body, moving along with hers was screaming to continue, and Poppy got drunk on it, needing more… a lot more.

“Baby, you got lucky cause you're rocking with the best… And I'm greedy… so greedy” She sang whispering, stroking her nose against theirs, playfully, softly, their lips oh so close to hers she could somehow feel them tremble, the sensations intoxicating them both so badly. “I ain't talking money, I'm just physically obsessed… And I'm greedy…”

“Poppy…” They moaned and the strawberry girl couldn’t take it anymore, desperately claiming Beck’s lips with her own.

Her heart exploded.

Beck’s mouth was warm, soft, addictive. As the kiss continued, the need became more and more insufferable, she wanted all and everything. She wanted to feel these heady fireworks on each part of her skin, that tongue taking care of the flames in her body, their hot lips heating her as fire, their breath became poison and the cure at the same time, she stuck her body even closer, trying to feel theirs desperately… Never, anyone, had made her feel so much with just a kiss…

A kiss that suddenly went to a rude ending.

Beck broke apart the touch so promptly that it actually hurt inside her.

“No, I… I just can’t. I gotta go.” Beck was trembling, that was the last thing she managed to understand before being completely alone.

-----

#queen b choices #choices #queen b zoey #zoey wade #trans #ftm #poppy x mc #malemc #poppy min sinclair #bea hughes #Beck Hughes #choices stories you play #choices poppy #choices queen b mc #mc x poppy #queen b

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avversiera-writes · 4 years ago

Text

try again; in everyday we breathe life [tobirama senju/you] - chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Then

Summary: some comedy,, more doing the deedddd, some comedic relief, hah! light-hearted stuff while the glaring dramatic irony lingers

Word Count: ~4k

Author’s Note: ik ik it’s been a while! almost done tho. thank you for reading <3

also on AO3.

Chapter 1 - Now | Chapter 2 - Then, part 1 | Chapter 2 - Then, part 2 | Chapter 3 - Now |

Tobirama is busy meeting with delegates from Kumogakure, and you are stuck being a wife in your own home, trying not to get embarrassed in front of the servants as you talk about replacing the broken bed in your room and changing the curtains around the house, or some other household detail that needs attending. You also talk with the cook in the kitchen about dinner, as Tobirama’s students are going to come over tonight, and you want to make sure that the food will be up to their tastes.

You trudge through your day until past noon, deciding that it is a good time to drop by the Hokage mansion to get your stubborn husband to eat something. The more Tobirama gets busy, the more he ignores the simplest ways to sustain himself. It is even harder to get him off when he is hard at work and is very focused on his tasks. He has a way of zeroing in on whatever he is doing, and while he is quite efficient at it, hours can pass him by before he even considers taking a break.

This part of Tobirama, you admire and loathe him for it, because he rarely thinks about taking care of himself. It has always been work for him, and you know that he enjoys it more than anything, despite the stress that it brings him.

Now that you have taken a step back from being an active shinobi, you are able to look after him in your own way. There are times he resists being looked after, but after some pushing and prodding on your part, he would grudgingly accept it.

Being married to him and getting to know more sides of him is thrilling, and it makes you fall for him even more.

In your bedroom, preparing to drop by the Hokage office, you study your clothes, deciding which kimono you should wear and which outer robe or pair of sandals you want to match it with. You have never really thought about fashion that much, because you often opted for practical clothing. Now that you are the Hokage's wife, you know you have to look the part, and also, it does not hurt to wear something pretty for your husband.

After deciding with a light green kimono with a slit on the left leg, and pairing a yellow outer coat to complement it, you step out of the bedroom to head down the kitchen.

The house is quiet, except for the quiet footsteps just outside the house, indicating that the servants of the house are keeping away to give you some privacy. You really do not mind their company, but they are gone before you can express your sentiments.

You make a mental note to change that. Despite being in a village where classes of people are blurred, it seems to be different within clans. You know that some of the Senju have married with the common folk and into other clans, but since the two heads of the clan are Hokage, that part of the family is treated almost like royalty.

You shake your head. Hierarchies were the least of your problems, especially one that involves family. In the shinobi world, it is simpler, and there are many opportunities to move up your rank. Whereas, being part of the more mundane life, it is a whole different world from what you knew.

You uncover the pan where the cook had left the fried fish that Tobirama likes and you begin to pack it into a box, along with rice and some side dishes that he sometimes eats along with this kind of dish. You prepare his tea, and a few rice cakes, then you wrap everything into a nice blanket to make it easier to carry.

Footsteps approach the long kitchen, and you whirl around, only to spot Miura Kimiko.

“My lady, I am so sorry to interrupt!” Kimiko expresses.

“Oh, it’s you,” you greet. You throw a smile at the last minute to reassure that there is nothing to worry about. You are completely caught off-guard by her presence, since no one is really around you at the moment. “I have been meaning to talk to you.”

Kimiko smiles kindly. “Really?”

You let out a nervous giggle. “Well, it turns out that I may need your help after all. You know, with the...” You trail off and you give Kimiko an embarrassed look.

Kimiko’s face lights up in joy, and you finally let out a genuine smile. “That’s great, my lady!”

You press a hand to your forehead and laugh. “I had no idea that he would be so quick to decide. He seemed very eager.”

Kimiko laughs, and you take Tobirama’s wrapped lunch.

“I see,” Kimiko walks towards you, and pauses at the cupboards. “I will have to make a quick trip to the market. We can talk later, and I can show you and give you your first batch of tea for fertility purposes. Then, along the way, we’ll talk of the supplements that will ensure a healthy birth.”

You meet her eyes. “Thank you, Kimiko-san. I really appreciate this.” You give her a small bow. “I will put my trust in you.”

“I am honored, my lady,” Kimiko replies, and from there, you leave her be in the kitchen to make your way towards the Hokage office.

There was some waiting to be done, once you get in the Hokage office. The mansion is flourishing with many people, delegates and their aides that have been authorized to stay there for the duration of their visit. It seems that peace negotiations are coming along well, judging by the atmosphere of the place. There is no tension that you feel. You hope that Tobirama’s alliance with Kumo will come along soon, though you foresee the many months of more political talks that will ail his office hours.

Sensing that Tobirama will not be available immediately, you tell one of his guards that you will be waiting in the library for him, and make your way there.

You smile at the familiar sight, the moment you step in. It has been a while since you have been here, in this place, where you and Tobirama had spent a lot of your earlier years together, and where your love probably first budded from. You learned more from each other through observation and silence, and of course, your nonstop banter that somehow turned into a dance of flirtationship.

It seems so long ago.

You look to the table where the two of you had spent countless hours poring over research books, record books and writing into scrolls and manuscripts about plans for the growing Academy. This place has evolved–it used to be smaller. There are now more bookshelves that are being filled with newer books, and the restricted section, only accessible to those jounin level and higher, are also growing, no doubt due to your husband’s non-stop inventions. He had a huge hand in writing a lot of academic research and theory that will certainly help the future generations. That is what he is hoping for, after all, to build something that will last.

You finally sit at your table, where dust is gathering and swirling in motes due to the sunlight peering in from the window. There is a clock at the back of the library, and it clicks loudly, echoing in the dusty, warm place to signal the passing time.

You trace a finger on the table, remembering that Tobirama found it childish that you doodle on random things, and then you remember telling him off and to mind his own business.

“What are you smiling about?” Tobirama’s voice interrupts your thoughts and you turn your head to his direction. He comes closer and he glances at the table, probably coming into a realization. “I see. You were a bit of a terror back then.”

Tobirama sits across from you, and you notice that he is wearing his Hokage clothes.

“Long day?” You ask.

“The day has not even begun to start,” Tobirama sighs, and he begins to roll his sleeves back. “It is hard to keep track of the delegates coming in and out, and harder to make sure that our own delegates in Kumo are not messing up anything.”

“Well, have a little faith,” you tell him.

Tobirama rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure a little faith will do it. One of them, by the way, is my eldest nephew, and he is everything Hashirama is and none of his mother’s tact and charm.”

“Your brother is charming, stop it.” You crack a smile.

Tobirama narrows his eyes at you as he unpacks the lunch you have brought him. “Yes, he has charm, and he is sunshine and all about inspiration, that will dazzle the leaders of Kumogakure.”

You roll your eyes. “This is a good thing. He gets to show off the youthfulness that peaceful times can only bring.”

If Tobirama could laugh out loud, this moment would be it. However, he lets out a huff of breath with a small smile, his version of being amused. “Perhaps. That ought to be the winning argument.”

You let Tobirama eat in peace, and instead, decide to wander around the library to find the old places you used to crash into when you and Tobirama had to pull all-nighters, or when you just needed some space from him being a blunt asshole. You pull out the books that he used to recommend you, and flip through the pages where he had left tiny notes and markers for you to find. All of them, you have kept and preserved.

Back then, you found this part of Tobirama confusing and annoying, because he keeps passing you one book after another in the guise of studying it, but now that you think about it, this was his way of letting you know that he was interested. You remember the folded papers and bookmarks that would fall out when you open them, and your miffedness from trying to collect them from the ground. You were convinced that Tobirama was out to get you.

“You know what, husband, I take it back. You were a bit of a charmer back then,” you note as you sense him approaching. You slide the book back into its shelf, creating a cleaner path from the dust.

“And you were quite mean,” Tobirama says with a hint of mock wonder. “What were your words? That I was a senile, arrogant bastard who can go stick–”

“Alright, alright,” you interrupt and shoot him a glare. “I said I take it back.”

“Yes, but my poor heart,” Tobirama sarcastically replies.

You look at him, feigning bewilderment. “Are you joking around with me? Wow ! You are capable of such things!”

Tobirama smirks. “I am capable of many things.”

You scoff. “Your audacity at this moment, Lord Nidaime.”

Tobirama does not even look like there is a hint of shame on that proud, stoic face of his.

You bite back a smirk, and the two of you stare at each other for a short moment. The air between you changes, and before you know it, Tobirama is pushing you against the bookshelves, his mouth on yours, and his rough hands slipping through the slit of your kimono to grope your hips. You hear books fall to the floor and scrolls rolling on its surface, and your hand goes above your head to find some sort of purchase.

“Maybe I should have done this earlier and saved us the confusion of finding out if we really did like each other,” Tobirama roughly whispers into your ear.

“If you did, I would have certainly, absolutely have stabbed my katana into your–”

Tobirama steals your last words by pushing his tongue through your mouth and you moan, pleased.

“Can you really afford to waste time like this?” You gasp as Tobirama delves into your neck intensely.

“I’m the Hokage,” Tobirama answers curtly.

“Some abuse of power right there.”

You close your eyes as Tobirama’s hands cup your ass and presses you against his body, where you can feel his half-aroused erection. You grind against him, and he pushes you into the bookshelf again, where you can feel the edge of the shelves pressing against your back.

“Haven’t you had enough?” You ask him beguilingly.

Tobirama stares at you with a serious expression, and something about it makes you weak. “Of you?” He plants a tender kiss on your lips. “If you begin to impose too much.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, goodbye. I’ll see you at home. Enjoy your erection.”

You attempt to leave his grasp, but he steadies you in one place with firm hands.

“Where are you going, and with this cut in your clothing? Let’s put it into good use, shall we?” Tobirama says in a low voice.

He whirls you around, and hikes up your clothes up to your hips. The cool air makes you shiver, and you grab onto a shelf to steady yourself. Tobirama is taller, and he is pulling you against himself, making your balance unsteady.

Your husband runs a hand between your thighs, and you can’t help but moan when he begins to rub his fingers against your heat. He stops, and then you hear quick shuffling of clothes behind you. You reach behind you to feel Tobirama and you let out a low chuckle when you realize that he has opted to shed his Hokage robes.

“You have got it bad, Lord Nidaime,” you murmur.

“Yes, poor me, whatever shall I do now,” he says quickly. He grips your hip and positions it so that he can perfectly align against your entrance.

Then, he slips in, and you let out a long drawn moan as he sheathes himself inside you completely.

You hear him murmur curses, and you gasp as he rears back, only to slam himself back in with a precision that immediately paints your vision white. You forget you have legs, and you almost fall down as Tobirama begins to thrust into you unforgivingly. You let out a cry, and his hand quickly slaps over your mouth.

You hear his harsh breaths, getting louder and faster. Your lower back curves a little bit more, and the angle changes, and Tobirama begins to pound the spot that makes your body buck into him wildly.

With nothing to support yourself, you accidentally tear the shelf in half above your head, and more books come crashing into the floor. Tobirama moves the two of you away from the mess, and he plasters you against the wall. You can only gasp as he resumes his fucking, and the slick sounds of skin against skin, of the neck-breaking speed that Tobirama snaps his hips to, makes you come so hard that you only remember worrying about the roof or the floor caving in until Tobirama places you on a table, and begins to fuck you there.

You cry out, slewing curses with a creativity that only comes when you are high.

The table beneath you breaks, and Tobirama lowers your conjoined bodies onto the floor. You hold on to his shoulders, and lean back as he uses his tongue and his lips trace your neck and to plant light bruises there. You grind into him, chasing another high, and you end up pulling at his hair to expose more of his neck.

You suck on the side of his neck, and his hands on your hips begin to guide you into a slow, agonizing rhythm. Finally, the two of you kiss, and Tobirama gives you a hard thrust upwards that sends your legs flailing, and you feel his cock twitch inside you as he breeds you with his hot seed.

“Oh my gods,” you murmur, but you are not sure if you have said it out loud.

Tobirama is still breathing harshly against your shoulder, and he is holding onto you like a tight coil. You feel his heart thundering against his chest, and as you come to, Tobirama shows no sign of letting up his grip. Slowly, you run a hand down his arm to soothe him. You give light kisses on the side of his face, and you continue to caress him gently.

"Too much?" You ask teasingly.

Tobirama coughs, and even that sounds embarrassed. "We're really doing this."

"It hasn't set in yet, huh?"

Tobirama squeezes your waist with his arms as his reply and you rest your head on his shoulder.

"Are you going to let go of me?" You ask tentatively.

Tobirama lets out a sigh and you stifle a giggle. It is rare to catch a very soft Tobirama.

"Are you not tired?" Tobirama asks.

"No, not at all." You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. "Are you? Is your age catching up?"

Tobirama scoffs and he immediately scowls. "I am not that old, and I can go for more if you want."

You lean towards him languorously, a victorious smile spreading across your lips. "Yes, but you have a job to do."

Tobirama slowly eases you off of him. "They can wait. I think I'll get a chronic migraine because of some hard to please delegates."

"With that expression of yours, one might think you already do," you can't resist saying back.

Tobirama stares at you blankly. "Now I get why people are wondering why I married you,” he deadpans.

“I beg to differ, Lord Nidaime, I’m quite the catch,” you smile cheekily as you watch Tobirama’s ears flush pink.

You give your husband a few quick kisses on the lips before he can react, and you move away to stand up and gather yourself.

“Whoah.” Your legs wobble slightly as you take a step.

Tobirama catches you by the elbow, and you feel your face blush from his action.

“Careful,” he warns.

“Right,” you say in a quiet voice. You survey the damage and you swallow nervously. “Um...I am going to stay here, and clean up and also make sure that I do not look like I just got mugged.”

Tobirama throws you a dirty look as he searches for his clothes. “Don’t worry about the mess, I will take care of it.”

“I was talking about myself,” you run a hand through your hair.

Tobirama quickly puts on his clothes, and you watch him, surrounded by the broken bookshelves and the books littered on the floor. You can sense that the two of you are panicking about getting caught, or having someone walk in here, especially when the Hokage mansion is housing so many people.

“You’re the worst,” you blurt out.

Tobirama raises an eyebrow and slides on his sandals. His serious expression becomes funnier as his hard features begin to morph into helplessness. You note the blooming bruises on his neck, and you gesture at it, with the same helplessness.

“Right,” Tobirama awkwardly says and tugs his collar up.

The two of you stare at each other with the familiarity of two strangers in the wrong place, and Tobirama skeeters out of the library in the most elegant way that he can muster, and when he is gone, you slide to the floor, staring at the space in front of you, then, you begin to laugh out loud.

Instead of going straight home, you try your best to clean up the library, and to check your image on the glass window to make sure you look representable. Then, you wait for Tobirama in a common lounge since this whole ordeal took the whole afternoon, and it is now nearing dinner.

You wrap your outer coat tighter, and try to mask the slight limp that you have developed over the course of the afternoon.

Finally, your husband is out of his work’s clutches for now, and the two of you hurry home, trying to beat Tobirama’s students there so that the two of you can freshen up.

However, your plans are ruined, when you find the six of them standing on the yard, aghast as the servants haul out the bed that the two of you have broken, and they watch, as a new bed is carried into the house.

Tobirama stiffens beside you, and you manage a small smile, knowing that you look disheveled as you feel.

In the yard, both Hiruzen and Danzo look horrified, Torifu is pale, Kagami and Homura have their mouths opened, and in all of their eyes you can see a growing realization, while Koharu struggles to keep her face from deviating from her usual strict expression.

Tobirama stands beside you, calm and collected, regal and shameless. He nods, and he leaves you in the yard and walks abruptly into the house.

“EW!” The boys shouted.

Koharu rolls her eyes and she starts to walk away. "Get it together," she snaps.

You resist the urge to put a hand on your face to cover up your embarrassment, and instead, choose to walk towards the house with your whole chest.

To be continued...

Chapter 5 - Then >>

#angelica writes #Tobirama Senju #Senju Tobirama #tobirama x you #tobirama x reader #naruto fanfiction #you never said goodbye timeline/au #'til death do us part

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numba99 · 5 years ago

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The Intern - Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

summary: You are an intern at MSG, strictly forbidden to become involved with any of the Rangers. However, this becomes difficult when you catch the eye of a certain player. Word count: 2.3k

warning: nothing really just like alcohol mentions I guess and no proof reading teehee

“Good morning,” A voice chirped, pulling you from your sleep. You let out a loan groan as Jess jumped on to your bed.

“I’m trying to sleep,” you grumbled, trying to pulled the blankets over your head.

“You’ve slept long enough I need to know what happened last night,” Jess said, nudging your shoulder.

“I definitely have not slept long enough,” you replied.

“I got bagels,” Jess singsonged.

That got your attention. “Alright, I’m coming,” you sighed, kicking the covers off. Jess jumped up in excitement and you followed her out to the kitchen. Just as she promised, there was a bag of fresh bagels waiting for you.

“Bribery is a new low for you,” you said, digging through to find an everything one.

“But it worked,” Jess noted, “So some on, spill.”

“Well I am happy to report that Chris is in fact single,” You told her as you spread a layer of cream cheese over you bagel.

“As delighted as I am by this news you know that’s not what I wanna hear about,” Jess replied, pointing the butter knife at you.

“There really isn’t much to tell,” you shrugged.

Jess rolled her eyes, “Every time you say there isn’t much to tell, a shit ton of things happened.”

You sighed and gave her the run down, even though you thought it was uneventful. At least it would satisfy her. “And then we shared an Uber home. See not much to tell,” you finished.

“You’re so naive its precious,” Jess replied, “He obviously likes you.”

“It doesn’t matter how he feels, it just can’t happen,” you replied, “And I appreciate him respecting that.”

“Okay fine I will give him that, it’s cool of him to not push it,” Jess nodded, “All the more reason you should bang him though. Sounds like a greta guy.”

“You’re hopeless,” You laughed, shaking your head, “But he is a great guy, I really li-” You tried to stop yourself before you gave her ammo but it was too late.

“Oohhh you like him,” Jess grinned.

“Oh please,” you tossed a napkin at her, “You know what I meant.”

“Sure... sure,” Jess laughed.

____

The next few weeks you were riding a high. Being at MSG was significantly less stressful when you didn’t feel like you had to dodge one of the players. You were getting along great with guys and Lias never tried anything with you. You really appreciated him respecting your boundaries, and you were starting to develop a great friendship.

On top of that your workload was increasing, but in a good way. You got to be more hands on, and even write up a few posts on your own. It was really great to feel like Beth trusted you and thought you were doing well.

“Hey great game today Lias,” you said as he was packing up his things. The rangers had a come from behind win today, with Lias scoring the goal that put them over the edge.

“Thanks,” he smiled, “Definitely needed that. By the way, did Mika mention his Halloween party to you?”

“Um no I don’t think so.” You got told a lot of things from a lot of different people while you were here, but you were sure you would remember Mika mentioning his Halloween party.

“Guess I’m beating him to the punch, but he wanted to invite you. It’s this weekend at his place and you’re welcome to bring a friend. Costumes are a must though,” Lias told you.

“That sounds great I’d love to,” you replied, however it dawned on you this could be crossing a line and you wanted to check with Beth first. “I gotta make sure I have nothing else though, can I text you later to let you know for sure?” You didn’t wanna admit you had to ask your boss for permission.

“Yeah of course.” Lias took your phone and entered in his number. You chuckled to yourself as you were walking away realizing he made his contact name “Lias my favorite ranger Andersson.” It was sort of juvenile, but somehow from him it was charming.

“Hey Beth can I ask you something?” you asked as you stepped into her office.

“Sure, what is it?” she asked, looking up from the papers on her desk.

“So I was sorta invited to a Halloween party at Mika’s but I didn’t know if I was allowed to go?” you explained shyly. It felt so stupid coming out of your mouth.

Beth laughed, “I'm not your mother, y/n, you don't have to ask me permission to go out.”

“I know, but I just didn’t want to cross a line or anything. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to get around the rules,” you told her.

“The rules are against romantic relationships. Believe me, I wasn’t an intern that long ago, I know it’s fun to get asked to do stuff with players. You work hard and should be able to enjoy the perks. If it’s a big group thing, I don’t see the problem with it,” Beth replied.

“Thank you, that makes me feel a lot better,” you said.

“Of course,” Beth said, “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, I trust you and I know you wouldn’t do anything to break that. Besides, the more the players like you, the better answers I get when you’re around. It’s a win win for me.”

“Glad I can help,” you laughed. With that, Beth told you you were free to go for the night.

You practically ran home, eager to tell Jess about it. “You’re kidding?” she squealed.

“Nope! You’re finally gonna meet Chris,” you told her.

“Oh thank god past Jess had the foresight to take off Halloween. This was all meant to be,” Jess gushed.

You smiled, sharing in excitement as you pulled out your phone to let Lias know you would be able to go. Within minutes he replied:

Can’t wait to see you

___

The day of the party you had butterflies in your stomach and you didn’t really know why... Well you knew why but you were going to ignore that. Instead, you put your energy into getting ready. You and Jess chose to be a devil and angel, you being the devil and her the angel. The costumes were basic, red dress for you and white for her with horns and a halo. It was the best it was going to get with such last minute plans. You did feel really hot in it, though, and really that’s all that matters.

“Oh wow we are both getting some tonight,” Jess said as you checked yourselves over one last time before heading out.

“No you are, I will be cheering you on from the corner,” you reminded her.

She grinned, “We’ll see about that.” She should be the one dressed as a devil.

The Uber to Mika’s place wasn’t too long and boy were your floored by his apartment. Of course you knew it would be nice, but wow, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what the rent on the thing was. It didn’t feel too crowded despite the amount of people present; a miracle for a New York City apartment party.

“Hey! Y/n, glad you could make it,” Mika greeted you with a hug. He was dressed as a soccer player.

“Okay now I don’t feel so bad about how basic my costume is,” you teased.

“You invite someone into your own home and this is how they treat you...” he feigned insult.

You laughed, then introduced Jess, who you could tell was already scanning the room for “her man.” You all chatted together for a little, but Mika eventually had to move on to greet other guests. He pointed you guys towards the bar, where you spotted Lias hanging out.

“Holy shit hes even cuter then the pictures,” Jess whispered in your ear as you approached. You hushed her with an elbow nudge to the ribs.

“Hey y/n, you look amazing,” Lias smiled, pulling you in for a hug. God his body felt so muscular, you thought. Definitely could have done without that realization. “The irony of you dressed as devil around a bunch of rangers players isn’t lost on me.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” you laughed, “And what are you supposed to be?” He was dressed in an all black outfit that fit his body very well.

Lias leaned his head to the side, revealing “bite marks” drawn on. “A vampire.”

“Ah so that’s why you've got red on the side of your mouth, I thought your drink just dribbled out of the side of your mouth,” You teased, to which Lias playfully rolled his eyes.

“Ahem,” Jess interjected.

“Right,” you blushed, almost forgetting she had been there, “Lias this is my friend and roommate Jess. Jess, this is my work friend Lias.” You put a slight emphasis on the word friend, though you weren’t sure if that was more for her or you.

“Great to finally meet you, Lias. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jess smiled.

“Really?” Lias smirked at you. You gave her a death stare; she was very pleased with herself.

“Yeah I guess I talk about work a little too much, she’s probably sick of it by now,” you tried to cover.

“What's going on here?” A voice asked. You turned around to find Chris entering the kitchen with a big smile on his face. You’ve never been happier to see him, knowing it would be the perfect Jess distraction. She played right into it, introducing herself as your friend.

“Great to meet you,” Chris smiled.

“I’ve heard this place has a nice view, care to show me?” Jess asked. You marveled at her boldness.

“I would love to,” Chris replied, and he sounded like he really meant it. Jess wrapped her around him and followed him out with a knowing smile in your direction.

“Wow,” Lias said, watching them leave.

“Yup,” you half laughed. That’s Jess for you.

“Well I hope everything you told her about is good, because if not I’m sure I’ll hear it,” Lias teased. Of course he hadn’t forgotten.

“Hmm I don’t know. May be safer to stay away from her or you’ll know how I really feel about you,” you shot back.

“And how’s that?” he asked, with a slight edge to his voice. It somehow didn’t seem like fun banter any more.

Before you could answer, someone bumped into you from behind, sending your drink sloshing out of the cup and on to Lias’ shirt. They muttered a drunk and giggly sorry before pushing past you.

“Shit I’m so sorry Lias,” You gasped. You tried to catch a glimpse of who ever did it, but you didn’t recognize them.

“It’s all good, it’s not your fault,” Lias replied very calmly for someone who had held a drink on their shirt.

“Let me help you get cleaned up at least,” you said. Lias nodded, and you followed him down a hallway to the back of the apartment. You slid into a bedroom, shutting the door behind you. It was quieter here, though you could still hear the soft thudding of the music through the walls.

“Mika doesn’t mind you borrowing his clothes?” You asked as you watched Lias fling open the closet.

“This is my room actually,” Lias replied, digging through his clothes, “I actually stay here with him.

“Oh,” you replied, suddenly feeling nervous. It shouldn’t make a difference, but knowing it was his bedroom and not Mika’s just felt different. It felt wrong. Lias didn’t seem to notice, he was pulling off his shirt without a care in the world. Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless countless times - the players got changed in front of the media all the time - but it just being you and him felt almost intimate.

When Lias caught your eye he froze, and the energy in the room shifted. You just knew that he was feeling what you were. “I can leave so you can change,” you said quickly.

“You don’t have to,” Lias replied, stepping towards you.

“I- uh- I don't know it probably should,” you stammered, reaching for the knob. Lias’ hand grabbed yours, your eyes locking.

“I don’t want you to,” his voice was just above a whisper. You barely heard if over your heart pounding in your ears. The next thing you knew his hands were cupping your face, pulling you in for a kiss. You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close to you.

It was like everything else disappeared. All you could think about was how good Lias’ lips felt against yours, how strong the muscles of his back felt against your fingertips. His hand slid down your body, playing at the hem of your dress and suddenly a voice entered your head.

“I trust you and I know you wouldn’t do anything to break that.”

Suddenly you were snapped back to reality. You jumped away from Lias with a gasp. Shit, you thought, I’ve fucked up big time.

“Are you okay? Did I h-”

“I have to go,” you spat out, turning away and practically tripping over yourself to get out the door.

“Shit, wait y/n,” Lias called after you, but you ignored it. You weaved through the partygoers, scanning the room for Jess. You spotted her in the corner, making out with Chris. For a fleeting moment you forgot what just happened and was just happy for her. Unfortunately, it didn’t last and you needed to get out ASAP.

“I’m so sorry Jess, we gotta go,” you broke them up. She shot you an annoyed look, but Jess knew you Long enough to know when something was up. She nodded, realizing you needed her and told Chris she’d call him later.

And with that, you got yourself out, but not without creating a giant mess.

#l andersson #lias andersson imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #rangers imagine #new york rangers imagine #the intern

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truthbeetoldmedia · 5 years ago

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The 100 6x12 "Adjustment Protocol" Review

Hello friends, it’s good to see you all again! I’m happy to be sharing my thoughts with you in this form again. Tonight I’m reviewing episode 6x12 of The 100 “Adjustment Protocol”, written by Kim Shumway and directed by Antonio Negret. I found myself underwhelmed by the season’s lead-in to the finale episode and I’m detailing why below!

The Good

1. Eliza’s Exceptional Encore

Eliza Taylor has been on it this season. She’s been given extremely meaty scenes and she keeps blowing them out of the water. Clarke has been through so much lately and I am always excited to see what Eliza brings to the material she’s been given. The last few episodes have perhaps been some of the most challenging in her career and she’s been phenomenal in each of them. This episode was particularly tough for her, having to vacillate between Clarke playing Josephine, to Clarke listening to her daughter’s crazed rants and having to hide her tears, to Clarke experiencing the grief of realizing that her mother is dead and having to camouflage it so that her Josephine cover remains intact — and her friends remain alive. I wanted to reach through the screen and hug her when she broke down, because the girl has been through it!

For several seasons it’s been easy to debate about Clarke being a “worthy” hero because her actions don’t often line up with what we’ve been trained to expect of heroes. She is always ready and willing to make the tough choices, to kill whoever needs to be killed to save her people, to reach into the darkest parts of her own soul to make sure that other people don’t have to. This season Clarke has been unwilling to compromise on the promise she made to Monty’s memory. The promise to “do better” is layered in everything that she does and everything that she says. If last season was about the development of Bellamy into a “fully realized” leader, this has been that season for Clarke and she is extraordinary.

I do find myself concerned about what Abby’s death will mean for Clarke’s determination to be different. It would be so easy to fall back into her old patterns, to lash out and turn her rage to all of the inhabitants of Sanctum (including innocents) instead of just on Russell who rightly deserves it. I’m hoping that she turns to her friends for support in this moment (and in the future) because heaven only knows that she’ll need them to get through this and I believe that perhaps that will be one of the biggest pluses of this season. With all of the crimes her friends laid at her feet this season, after watching Clarke go through so much and consciously continue to “do better”, I hope that we come through this with them realizing how much Clarke has done for everyone, often at her own expense. She’s a hero and she deserves to be treated as such.

The Bad

1. Men Ruin Everything (Especially Female Television Characters)

In a rather shocking (not!) development, Dr. Abigail Griffin has joined the ranks of deceased characters even as her body continues to walk among the living. It’s been clear to me since Season 4 that Abby and Kane didn’t have long for this world, with Kane’s Season 4 quote, ”The youth will inherit the Earth”, playing a huge part in my thought process. I expected Abby to die that season, due to the problems she was suffering post A.L.I.E., but thanks to Raven’s genius (and Kane’s unwillingness to let her walk out of the bunker) she lived to fight another season. I expected Kane to die in Season 5 after he was attacked mercilessly by the cannibal Vinson and yet he survived those wounds as well. For some, that was a relief but I personally found myself confused and after tonight’s episode (and, in all honesty, their treatment all season) that confusion continues. Instead of being treated with the gravity that main character deaths deserve, both felt unceremonious and rather rushed, but at least Kane received a hero’s death.

Abby’s story has grated on my nerves from the moment she first appeared in Season 5 with a drug addiction that was second only to her addictive obsession to Kane. Prior to Season 5, Abby’s story involved Kane but did not revolve around him. After that, all bets were off and Abby was only capable of caring about one person and that person was Kane. Everything she did in Season 5 and Season 6 up to and until Kane’s death served one person: Marcus Kane. Abby, a mother, a grandmother and one of only two qualified doctors for all of the people aboard the Eligius ship, became nothing more than a pawn on a romantic chessboard. She, like so many women on this show once they become romantically involved, became nothing more than a support for the man in her life. Even her death, which should be a hugely pivotal moment for this season, as Abby is the only mother of the original 100 we have any connection with, became wrapped up in the irony of what she’d done only three episode prior to save Kane.

I believe that it also says quite a bit about how this show (which features women quite heavily) understands feminism. It is tragically horrific to kill a woman only a few episodes after killing her male love interest. It sends a message, even if unintentional, that she is only worth keeping around as long as her man is there, too. Abby’s arc could have been finished well in the closing scenes of Season 4, it could even have worked in the mid-season finale of Season 5, but after giving her a drug addiction (which she had not completely conquered), showcasing the absolutely insane lengths she was willing to go to save Kane (which she was not given time to properly “learn” from), it was clear that Abby still had some growth left in her. Unfortunately, it’s a story we’ll never get to see.

In addition, the lead in to Abby’s death was painfully obvious. They needed to make 6 hosts, they only had 5 bodies. After making herself an obvious threat to Russell, Abby made herself a nightblood (“Like mother, like daughter”, says Jackson in the background for additional foreshadowing) and she’s in just the right age range to be suitable to host a 50-year-old man’s wife — unlike Ash (aka: Echo). She makes up with Raven in a rushed moment and conveniently learns that Clarke isn’t as dead as she thought she was — all in an effort to “finish” her storyline. As she dies, we’re treated to Raven and Jackson sobbing through flashbacks of her loved ones. It’s a death and not one particularly suited to a character of Abby’s standing on the show. More, fans of Paige Turco are likely going to have to prepare to watch “Abby” die once more — just as they did with Kane. It’s been a rough season for fans of Kabby. May we meet again Abby Griffin, you deserved more than you were given.

2. Forced Female Friendships are not Feminist (Say That 3 Times Fast)

This episode felt like a good reminder that most TV writers do not understand female friendships (yes, even if the writers identify as women themselves). In this episode we are treated to a moment that is still confusing me as I write this (after my second viewing of the episode): Clarke and Echo (and Gaia and Miller) are reunited and in a moment of relief, Echo hugs Clarke after realizing she’s managed to kill Josephine and that ...doesn't make sense. This season has felt like a huge attempt to retcon Clarke and Echo’s relationship into a friendship that does not exist; in fact Echo has been kinder to Clarke than people who have known Clarke for longer (albeit only by a few months) and that doesn’t work for me.

In the Season 5 two-part finale, Echo literally threatens to kill Clarke, because she is enraged that she left Bellamy to die, in the Season 4 premiere she does the same, in Season 3 she is responsible (in part) for killing many of Clarke’s “people”; and yet, the show, in a strange attempt to portray “friendship” between two women who the audience largely believe to be romantic rivals (because that’s how they are written), would have us ignore all of these previous transgressions, pretend the characters don’t need to have at least a conversation about mending their relationship and have jumped onto the bridge of friendship together. Echo and Clarke honestly don’t even know each other. It’s disingenuous and another example of the horrible ways in which a show that primarily features women treats those women.

Even worse is the fact that, after repeating Monty’s mantra all season long through many characters (but primarily Clarke), we watched Echo murder Ryker last episode in cold blood. (I have yet to come up with a reason his death makes sense. Yes he was going to wipe Echo, but Miller had him at gunpoint and he’d surrendered. It would have been easy enough to force him into the chair, tie the restraints and gag him — leaving him to be found later by the guards, or in this case Josephine.) What about Echo’s actions this season (in the small amount of screen time she’s been given) equate to “doing better”? We watched people castigate Clarke for killing people to save her people, but no one has anything to say to Echo for killing people to save….herself? It’s baffling that this show continues to have Echo act in ways that are antithetical to those of our confirmed heroes (Bellamy and Clarke) and suffer absolutely no negative pushback from anyone. At what point do we see the consequences of her actions? Especially with the messaging for this season?

3. Plot Holes Big Enough to Sink a Ship In

As per usual, The 100 once again crafts a season that is perhaps too big for its season length. This problem has been consistent since Season 4 and it’s largely because, after Season 3, the show which once prided itself on the fact that “anyone could die” has now become afraid to kill even the most useless character, if at least one fan likes them. This episode attempted to wrap up several character and plot arcs and as a result it felt overcrowded and rushed. Between bringing the Flame into the plot, the nightblood, making new primes, Emori and Murphy becoming Primes and pretending to be Kaylee and Daniel, Gabriel returning to Sanctum, Russell bombing his people and forcing them to kill each other, Priya’s kidnapping, and Abby’s death it’s just too much for one episode to handle!

If they needed all of these things to happen before the end of the season they should have begun the wrap up sooner (and or gotten rid of two characters in Season 4 and 5 respectively as mentioned earlier) and this is one of the prime reasons I support and advocate for smaller casts. Because every character with even an ounce of screen time is given the “main” treatment, all of their storylines must somehow be wrapped up in the final two episodes and it has historically not worked. In fact, this particular episode’s issues are so glaring largely because this season seriously pared down the amount of time it spent with people who weren’t Bellamy and Clarke (much like Season 2), greatly alleviating the audience’s need to care about so many different characters and it worked! Season 6, up until this episode has been one of the best seasons (my current order being 2, 1, 6, 4, 3, 5) because it felt like they were returning to the heart of the show: Bellamy and Clarke and their relationship to one another (however you might describe that). With this disjointed episode I was again reminded that there are too many characters I don’t have enough time to care about and it sapped the joy out of an otherwise excellent season for me.

But perhaps that’s my own fault. Perhaps I’m expecting too much from this show in its sixth season and of course I’ll wait to pass final judgement until the finale airs next week. I’ll be writing that review as well! I can’t wait to close out the season with you guys. See you soon!!!

April’s episode rating: 🐝🐝.5

The Season 6 finale of The 100 airs Tuesday, August 6 at 9/8c on the CW.

#The 100 #Adjustment Protocol

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freedom-shamrock · 6 years ago

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Exceeds Expectations

Also on AO3 This follows the Improvements story “Dressed for Success,” though it can be read on its own. This is also day 23 of my ML WIP-Completion project.

It was late, and all Adrien wanted to do was go to bed, unfortunately his father had other ideas.

"Adrien," his father said, his voice sharp in the quiet of the mansion.

Adrien looked up and mentally slouched in response. He'd only just come in the front door, and there was his father at the top of the staircase, looming down at him in what had become his traditional we-are-having-a-conversation-whether-you-like-it-or-not mode. "Good evening father," he said, not bothering to mask the weariness in his voice. He'd just worked a fourteen hour day, and he didn't care if his father didn't understand how exhausting runway was.

"We need to speak about this evening," his father said, clearly ignoring every cue Adrien sent him through body language and tone. Or maybe he was oblivious. That seemed too charitable.

"Can we do this tomorrow?" Adrien asked. "I'm beat."

Gabriel shook his head. "This should not take long." He turned on his heel and strode back to his office.

Adrien briefly considered ignoring the clear summons and letting his father see what it felt like to be ignored for a change, but knew he'd end up with some other unsavory job or task as a result. Last time they fought, Adrien suddenly found himself added to multiple underwear campaigns. The photoshoots didn't bother him, since he had about as much physical modesty as an actual cat, but the uptick in rabid fan interactions was not worth the risk. They'd gotten more lewd, too, and that kind of grossed him out.

Plagg wriggled in his pocket, something he'd started doing when Adren was frustrated, and for reasons he couldn't understand, it calmed him. So he was able to drag himself up the steps and into his father's office without letting the irritation get to him.

"You wished to see me, father?" Adrien declared as he crossed the threshold into his father's atelier. He'd taken to announcing his entrance this way in the past year, hoping to point out how rarely his father actually talked to him personally, and how it generally had to do with work. When it had no obvious results, it went from an attempted notice to something bordering pure sass.

"I wish to discuss your presentation for this evening," Gabriel said, straightening up in his chair, and pushing aside the tablet he'd been focusing on despite the fact that he'd summoned Adrien not two minutes earlier.

"I see," Adrien said. While he knew he could draw this out just to toy with his father, he was too tired for that to hold any amusement tonight, or rather this morning, as it was nearly three. "Let's just skip the niceties and get straight to the point where you tell me what I did wrong so I can apologize and get to bed," he suggested.

That prompted an unexpected reaction. Gabriel's eyes widened and he frowned. "I wasn't aware that you'd done anything wrong this evening. On the contrary, I was going to compliment you on your music selection and clothing choices."

Adrien stared at his father in disbelief.

"However," Gabriel continued, "if there's something you need to confess about your performance today that I was previously unaware of, by all means, feel free to do so."

Adrien scowled across the desk at his father. "Seriously? I can't win with you." He shook his head. "You don't compliment anyone , least of all me. I can't honestly recall the last time you told me you were proud of something I'd done, so you'll have to forgive me my assumption." He paused to gather his thoughts from his exhaustion-muddled brain, speaking up before his father could respond. "I handled myself like a proper Agreste today. I performed my walks and poses as I have been trained to. I was professional and represented Gabriel to the best of my ability."

Gabriel let out a huff. "You're getting emotional."

Adrien rolled his eyes. "I need to go to bed. Unless you want fatigue to be featured on my face in tomorrow's publicity piece."

"Fine." Gabriel glowered at him. "I will make this quick. Your work in the show was professional, as expected. Your performance at the after-party exceeded my expectations."

Adrien stared at his father in shock. "Exceeded expectations?"

Gabriel nodded. "Your music selections added to the ambiance in a way that suggested adequate familiarity with the setting and it's needs. The music was neither too loud, quiet, lively, or dull, so it brightened the atmosphere."

Adrien managed to keep his mouth in check when he really wanted to sass off about how he'd spent his whole life both in this environment and playing piano, so of course he had the knowledge to pick the right music. Normally he was eager for any shred of positivity that could be interpreted as praise, but in the last few months, he'd grown weary of scrambling for such scraps.

"That wasn't the surprise, though," Gabriel admitted. He steepled his fingers in front of his chin. "Your apparel for the after-party could not have been better chosen had I done it myself."

"They were your designs," Adrien said, shrugging. He knew he'd been right in enlisting Marinette's help, but he'd merely hoped to avoid a scolding and hadn't anticipated praise.

"True," Gabriel agreed. "But they were not pieced together as I'd originally intended them, and the way that was handled enhanced your appearance while minimizing your temporary defects."

"It's called a growth spurt," Adrien grumbled. "You wanted me taller."

"Yes," Gabriel said with a sharp nod. "And while it's temporary, the transition is ungainly."

Adrien reminded himself, yet again, what Marinette had told him. She thought he was impossibly beautiful no matter what his father said.

"The only reason you didn't upstage the show-stoppers, is that your clothes were slightly older designs, still fresh and intriguing, but not flashy." Gabriel stood up. "The match-up was innovative, brilliant, and the fit was perfect."

Adrien nodded. "I would be happy to express your appreciation to Marinette for her assistance, then."

"Marinette?" Gabriel asked. "As in Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

Adrien nodded. "She came over a few weeks ago and helped me pick my look for the after-party. She told me what needed replacing in a larger size and re-tailored everything to ensure a good fit."

"Hey Marinette," Adrien called, jogging to catch up to her on the sidewalk approaching the school.

"Welcome back Adrien." She smiled at him, and it brought him some unexpected happiness. "How did it all go?"

"Really well, actually." He was still a bit baffled by the odd three A.M. conversation with his father. "And honestly, I think a big part of it was because of you."

"Me?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "I hardly did a thing."

Adrien shook his head. "I was pretty nervous about the after-party," he admitted. "I knew the music would be fine, but… I was really unsure about the rest, and my father has been on my case about representing Gabriel in the right fashion." He grinned at his own pun.

Marinette scowled a little. "He needs to lighten up. You're his son, not an employee or indentured servant. And it's a design house not an empire."

He laughed, unaccountably struck by the irony of her words. "Honestly to hear him talk about it, I am the scion of a noble house, far more important than the common folk I surround myself with." He snorted. "Anyway, your help with my suit made me feel a lot better, because even if he came down hard on me for failing to do my best, at least I had evidence that I'd gone out of my way and sought the best resources to fill the informational gap he'd left for me ."

Now she looked angry, and that hadn't been his plan. "Adrien, you're making me worry. More than I already did."

"Sorry, I'm not good with words, especially when I'm excited." He beamed at her. "He loved the outfit! He actually complimented it. You made him regret not making me a headliner." He shrugged. "Though to be honest it was nice to have a break from that pressure." He was getting off track, dammit. "Ugh. Let me start over." He took a deep breath and straightened up. "Thank you so much for helping me; it reduced my stress for the whole event, which allowed me to be at my best." He held out his arms and tilted his head before pulling her in for a hug.

"Okay, okay. You're welcome." Marinette giggled. "Now put me down."

"Oops." He hadn't realized he'd picked her up. "Still not used to being so much taller than you," he admitted, setting her back on her feet and letting go.

"I'm glad it went so well." She patted his upper arm. "And hearing this actually explains a few things."

Adrien thought for a moment, but spoke up when she didn't continue. "Explains what?"

Marinette rolled her eyes. "Nathalie stopped by yesterday with information on the internships that will be available at Gabriel this summer. It was… awkward and seemed really out of the blue."

"That's… unexpected." While he liked the idea of working with Marinette, the thought of her working at Gabriel made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He'd heard that it was a hard place to be an intern, and that the position generally involved fetching coffee and doing administrative stuff, with occasional on location gopher work. "Didn't you already apply for summer internships?"

Marinette nodded. "And I've actually heard back on three of them, two yes and one no."

"So you're not going to apply for one at Gabriel?" he asked.

She patted his shoulder. "I'd love to work with you again, Adrien. But I want nothing to do with your father."

Adrien grinned. His father was so used to getting his way, this would come as quite a surprise. "I approve of your plan. I never get to work with interns anyway."

Planned to do this yesterday, but felt a bit bleh after too much wassail and tasty food at game night Saturday.

I still have 5 WIP pieces to write, and it's safe to say those won't get all finished today. Alas. But ideally this week yet.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Fanfic #My Writing #Improvements #mlfluffiction #WIP challenge

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hillywooddestiel · 7 years ago

Text

The Real Royal Highness

Characters: Tom Hiddleston x reader, Matteo (ofc), reader’s parents, Neil (ofc)

Warnings: fluff, teensy bit of angst

Word count: 2.6k (Woah!)

@bemyqueenofdarkness asked:

Hey! I saw that your requests were open so.. Here is one! How about a Tom Hiddleston x Reader, where the reader is part of the royal british family, which was always treated different, like a royal, but she only wants to be famous for his classic singing and treated like everyone else. So what if Tom meets her in one of her concerts in some high society event, and fells in love with her voice, and without knowing who she really is, goes to talk to her.. (I will send another ask with the rest )

Hi again! (?) So when Tom goes to talk to her, she thinks he is going to be like every other man that just interested in her title, but Tom proves her wrong, and the reader realize that he doesn’t know who she really is, so at the end she accepts the invitation to a date from Tom and doesn’t tell him the truth until their date its finally over, and idk, its ends all fluffy and stuff? So.. That its, I hope you really like it, feel free to change whatever you want, and I love your writing! Bye<3

A/N: Another request! I had a lot of fun with this one hence the massive fic. I’ve wanted to write Tom Hiddleston for the longest time so I think this is a good place to start. Also, I have a challenge on right now but only one entry so far so if you would like to enter please message me. Another thing, this fic could be set at any time but for the purposes of a smaller age gap it is set in 2012 xx Masterlist

Story:

I stare blankly into my own eyes in the mirror, lost in my own mind, whilst my stylist braids my hair into the perfectly regal updo to match with my simple yet elegant (and most importantly, rule abiding) makeup. And it all has to flow with the gown that I’ve had fitted: sky blue with a floral detailed bodice and a silk organza train falling from the off-shoulder sleeves. Mother had to approve it all first, of course. Check that no royal faux pas was being made.

“Perfetto mia cara!” Matteo spritzes my hair one last time with hairspray with a wide grin. I can only smile meekly in return, my nerves getting the better of me. He notices, having stared at and studied my face in the mirror for most of my life, and squeezes my shoulder encouragingly. “You have the voice of an angel my darling, they will love you.”

“It’s not my voice that I’m worried about.”

“I know, it is daunting, yes. But, you have been raised for this and I know for a fact that you are ready. And don’t tell the others but you are the most gorgeous princess around.” Matteo assures me, giggling a little. He’s right, about being raised for this. I’ve had lessons from the age of two on public etiquette and persuading the people to like me, it’s just that my time in the spotlight has come much later than most others in the family.

My family are not in direct line for the throne. Far from it. In fact, I think that my father is 15th in line and I come in behind at 16th. For this reason, my family are rarely in the public eye which in turn means that I am pretty much a mystery to most people. They heard the news when I was born and bought the gossip magazines with the first few photos of my childhood but then I dropped off the radar- until now. Mother (and a couple of my uncles and aunties) decided that 26 years was long enough for me to stay quiet and so tonight is a debutante ball of sorts. I will be presented to both my wider family and the world press this evening as Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, eldest daughter of the Duke and Duchess of York and eligible for marriage. That last part, I’m not happy about at all. I’ve barely travelled, I haven’t done most things that other 26 year olds have like clubbing or going to music festivals and I never got the chance to pursue my real dream of being a world class singer.

As a young child, I fell in love with classical music and the opera as well as musicals and playing the piano. I loved music. Mother would sit in her armchair with my baby sister in her knee as I played the family’s grand piano and Father and I would sing the duet. It was like something out of a cheesy Christmas movie. I always wanted to perform though, following in the footsteps of Catherine Jenkins and Maria Callas. However, being royalty meant that I could never do it. I wasn’t allowed to drop everything ‘just to sing’ as Mother put it. It took weeks of begging and convincing before she said yes to me singing tonight. Still, the dream lives on within me.

“Sweet pea, it’s me.” Mother taps on the door. I open it myself, watching the tears well up in her eyes as she looks at me. “Darling, you look wonderful. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you Mother. Is it time to start?”

“Almost. Many of the guests are arriving just now so we’ll wait a few minutes before finally introducing you. Are you ready?”

“I think so. Father’s not making a speech is he?” I ask with a moan, having suffered through many of them in the past.

“I would imagine so, yes.” She laughs, opening her arms to give me a hug.

“I love you.” I whisper, holding onto her tightly like in a little child again.

“I love you too sweet pea.”

“Are you ready?” The conductor approaches me and I can only nod. There are a lot of people in the ballroom at the moment and they are all waiting on me to start my performance. The pianist gets seated whilst the string orchestra run their bows along the strings to warm up, the choir take their places and the conductor takes his place behind his music stand. Fiddling nervously with my own hands, I step up to the microphone, all eyes seemingly turning to me. It’s now or never. The first bars of Habanera begin to play and I count them in my head, listening and waiting for my cue to begin. And when I do… it’s like all of my nerves dissipate. I close my eyes eyes and pour all of my emotions into the song without hesitation, getting lost in the music and just having fun with the uplifting beat. I even manage to smile. I finish the final note on a high, raising my arms in the air with a grin from ear to ear. Everybody in the ballroom immediately erupts into applause, thankfully. A little girl walks up to me and hands me a large bouquet of red roses. I thank her before promptly joining my parents and sister.

In need of some fresh air, I make my way outside to the gardens. They’re always beautiful at nighttime with candles flickering in hanging glass lanterns and reflecting off of the many ponds and fountains, wildflowers lining the paths in perfect disorder, fruit trees releasing their blossom into the air like pink snow getting ready to grow their crops and a peaceful silence after all the wildlife has gone to bed.

“Pardon me, might I join you?” An unfamiliar voice asks from behind. It’s a young man, possibly my age or maybe a little older, with short blond curls and stunning blue eyes. He’s tall and friendly looking, a sharp black tuxedo fitted to his slender body. My memory isn’t the best but his face is far from generic.

“Of course you may.” I flash him a charming smile, not too much teeth as Mother would have scolded me for.

“You were beautiful earlier, your singing. Your voice is very impressive for someone so young.” he compliments me, nothing I haven’t heard before, not to sound narcissistic. They tell me I should tour the world and share my talent with the world like that’s not what I’ve been trying to do for the past ten years.

“Thank you, you’re very kind.” My response sounds a little flat.

“Sorry for the terrible ice breaker. I’m Tom.” He reaches out a hand for me to shake. Now that can only mean one thing. Normally, anyone of a lower status must address me as ‘your Highness’ and bow. Everyone else at this event has done so for they now know who I am. Tom must not know who I am.

This is fantastic! Somebody genuine to talk to. I can ignore all of that formal nonsense and just talk like a human being, that’s all I’ve ever wanted!

“It’s nice to meet you Tom. I’m Y/N.” Still no realisation. How clueless is he?

“What a beautiful name!” He smiles sweetly, stepping closer to stand next to me, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, ask away.”

“What is this evening celebrating? I have no idea.” What?! How can he not know? This is good though. I can keep him in the dark for a little longer. Lying is never a good thing but in this case, I think I’ll allow an exception.

“It is a musical showcase of sorts, I suppose. May I ask how you could possibly be here without the faintest clue of what is happening?” I turn to look into those magical eyes of his. I imagine in better lighting I would be able to see him blushing to match with his adorably shy smile.

“Truthfully, I was invited last minute by a friend. I’ve been out of the country for a long time and he called to ask me to join him. Never told me what the event was, my only instruction was to dress extremely formally.” Tom gestures to the tuxedo, fiddling with the bow tie for emphasis. Knowing who he is, I can only assume that the trip abroad involved film cameras and all the glitz and glamour of Hollywood.

“How thrilling. Is this your first time in the presence of royalty?” I can’t help but smirk at the irony of my question.

“No. Though it is my first at a royal residence. Previously my meetings with them have been at theatres and benefits. What about yourself?” he now asks me a question, a genuine look of curiosity in his eyes.

“I have been known to entertain members of the royal family quite regularly actually.”

“I can understand why. You really are a remarkable performer.” Now it is my turn to blush, knowing that he truly means it and there is no ulterior motive at play.

“Thank you, you are very kind. Would you like to continue this conversation on a walk around the gardens? They really are quite lovely.”

“I would be honoured.”

I have never been so excited in all my life! Tom actually asked me to dinner at the end of the evening and here I am in the car, driving to the restaurant like a normal person. Well, half normal: I’m not actually driving myself, the driver is, we’re in an incognito black car and there’s a personal guard in the front passenger seat who will be watching the whole evening from across the venue but other than that, this is the most normal my life will probably ever get. Mother was hesitant to let me go at first meanwhile Father couldn’t have been more thrilled (he’s always been excited at the prospect of grandchildren). The restaurant comes into view through the blacked out windows and the butterflies go wild within my stomach. Neil, the guard, leaps out and opens my door with a small bow before following me inside, close enough to protect me but not too close to arouse any suspicion. As promised, Tom is there waiting for me in the foyer.

“Y/N, you look wonderful!” He greets me with a kiss to the cheek, referring to my dress of choice for the evening.

“So do you. Shall we get to our table?”

“Yes let’s.”

Dinner is as close to perfect as I think it can be. Tom is charming, the food is delicious and if it weren’t for Neil watching from the corner table I think we’d be doing more than just occasionally holding hands. It’s nothing flashy like a horse ride through the gardens and I don’t have my parents watching from the balcony- it’s just so normal. I’ve been on very few dates so I have very little experience with the kind of small talk that’s expected but Tom more than makes up for it. We just click instantly and the topic of conversation flows with ease from work to upbringings to where we want to travel. I never really have to lie about myself, I just leave out some of the truth that would lead to him figuring out who I really am. I never want tonight to end.

Tom walks with me to the foyer, draping my coat over my shoulders and holding onto my hand. Neil gets up shortly after we do, following four feet behind us.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, thank you.”

“I did too. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if we could do this again.” Tom mentions coyly.

“Are you asking me on a second date Mr Hiddleston?” I reciprocate his playful attitude.

“I believe I am.”

“Your Highness, I don’t mean to disturb you but we have a problem.” Neil interrupts, a worrying feeling washing over me in an instant.

“What is it?” I ask him, ignoring Tom for a moment.

“Your Highness?” He parrots in bewilderment; so much for keeping him in the dark.

“Paparazzi spotted outside. Lots of them. The car is parked out the back, we’ll have to go that way.”

“Alright, let’s go.” I sigh. Why do the press have to come and ruin my evening?

We hurry to the car via the kitchens, myself dragging Tom by the hand so that he doesn’t get lost. He’s gone rather quiet which is a little concerning- I hope that he isn’t upset with me. As promised, the car is ready and waiting with the door already opened. Neil ushers myself and Tom into the back before taking his seat in the front.

“Why did he refer to you as your Highness?”

“Because it is a rule that all staff hired by my parents must follow. I don’t really care for it myself.” I explain, trying to remain calm despite the nerves fluttering in my chest.

“Rule? You’re royalty?!” he raises his voice a little, getting rather hysterical for a minute.

“Yes. It’s fine that you didn’t know, hardly anyone did until the ball. It was too re-introduce me to society and to the public eye.”

“You’re Lady Y/N of York…”

“Correct.”

“Wow…” Tom takes a second to think, sinking back into his seat. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because when I tell people, it’s all they want to talk about, it’s all they see me as. You’re the first person to ever treat me as just an ordinary person.” I confess, staring down at our still intertwined hands. It’s true, whenever I’ve told somebody that I’m of royal descent they change how they are around me immediately and the conversation turns fake. Or they’ll come knowing what I am and they won’t care about me, just the title they could potentially procure from marrying me.

“… Well… I’ve gotten to know the real you tonight and she’s wonderful.”

My driver takes us back to my home, a normal sight for me but I imagine it’s quite daunting for Tom. I squeeze his hand in encouragement as I spot Father stood by the front doors. Neil opens my door again and I step out, bringing Tom with me.

“Darling, are you alright?” Father comes closer, sweeping me into a hug and I have to let go of Tom’s hand for a moment.

“I’m fine daddy, honestly.” I reassure him as he places a kiss on my head.

“And who is this young man?” he spots Tom shuffling from foot to foot behind me.

“This is Tom. My date from this evening.”

“A pleasure to meet you, your Highness.” He nods his head and shakes Father’s hand warmly.

“It’s good to meet you too. I’ve arranged a car for you to take you back to your own home. Between you and me, the beds in this house are a little uncomfortable.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.” Tom laughs, glancing to me. Father bids us both goodnight before turning inside.

“I think he likes you.” I giggle, standing in front of Tom.

“So is there still a chance of a second date?” he asks. I gaze up at him before leaning up on my tiptoes and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Most definitely, yes.”

#tom x reader #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #marvel #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #rpf #marvel rpf #royal au #fluff #angst #marvel fic #hillywooddestiel #reader insert #avengers #avengers x reader

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47mel47 · 7 years ago

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So, it has been over a month since I have really been on here...

And it’s not because I didn't want to, but because I was (am) in this super shitty headspace, and when I get like that, my instinct is to kind of retreat. Like, my stupid head tells me that the best way to let people know that something is up is by withdrawing and stopping communication. Common sense is most definitely at play. The fact that I am writing this is more than I have ever done before, but I need to do something if things are going to shift.

While there are other things at play, it has kind of stemmed from shit going down at work. My job, which is kind of most of my life, the thing I pride myself in working hard, and striving to always do better (and strive we do- I think that all teachers are their harshest critics) started to fall apart for me, at the hands of others. I won’t go into details, but it sucked and I have been made to feel as if I am so completely incompetent even though I know I am not (though, might not always believe it. And I am having real trouble believing it at the moment). And now, I have no idea what my place is. And the thought of having to walk back in and face my snake of a principal and vice-principal in two weeks is making me feel kind of sick.

But the worst part was, that as my world was kind of falling apart, nobody noticed. In their defence, I didn’t say anything. But how was I supposed to march up to my friends and announce this shitty thing, when they had great things happening for them? (Yes, I understand the irony of what we see vs what is actually going on here, but hey, shitty headspace.)

2017 had some pretty massive highs, the biggest probably directing my first musical. (And the only thing that stopped me from throwing in the towel is the fact that I will be directing the musical again this year. I can’t wait to get my crew of students back to together and top what we did last year). But, like it seemed for most of the planet, there was a lot of shit as well. Nothing major major, but many things piled on top of one another. My mum and brother in hospital at different times (they are both totally fine), my car hit by someone else on two separate occasions (nobody hurt), numerous issues involving water in my home (the latest which happened only this Friday, which involved freaking water running out of my fuse box) etc. etc.

I know that in the scheme of things to go wrong in life, I am pretty lucky in that these things can de dealt with. Bu then this culminated with work thing, and I just couldn’t...And, each time something happened, it just reminded me that I was alone, and that I had to deal with these things alone. I know that I am not really alone. I have family. But I don’t have “people”. You know, the people you can call and tell anything. This is on me, because I kind of don’t know how to talk about these things. Does this make sense? But then, I also look at my friends, and see the people they have, the support that surround them and all I can think about is, I am not a “person” for them. We hang out, do things etc., but I am not a person they come to when things get tough. I would love to be, but I’m not, and that’s ok. I don't have to be that person for them. But, how can I go to them. How can I expose myself in such a way, to tell them what is really on my mind and how I feel when it feels like I can’t breathe.

Sometimes, this place can exacerbate these feelings of being alone and inadequate, when I see what others are doing, and the interactions they have. Again, this is on me. But that is why I stepped away. I was trying to protect myself, but instead I was just missing out. Because there are some pretty fuckawesome people here, and I want to keep knowing you and being a part of this amazing little community. Hey, I have opened up more to you all than I have to the people that are actually physically around me.

So, this turned out to be a lot longer than I expected. And right now it is after midnight (yes, I am on holidays, but stupid me is getting up in the morning for a pilates class...no, not stupid. Going to the gym has actually be one of things I have been enjoying in the past month. Along with binging a disgusting amount of television while on holiday), so I do need to get to bed (in my new pyjamas, which have probably spurred me to do something tonight. I have said it before, pyjamas are my happy place), but I guess this is my simple, not over the top or dramatic way of saying that I am back. At least, I want to be. Which I suppose is the important part.

#me stuff #putting this out there #when it has never been put before

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

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Older (Biadore) 5/? - nellie

A/N I wasn’t planning on writing another chapter so soon, but inspiration struck, mostly in the form of a bad day. I tried a bit of a time jump to keep the story flowing and I’m not sure how successful it was, and the tone is a little different in this chapter but go with me here.

Adore would be the first to say she’s not romantic. On a scale of one to fuck no she sits firmly in the Valentine’s-Day-is-commerical-bullshit-and-never-give-me-flowers-they-only-fucking-die camp. She doesn’t believe in love at first sight or fairytale endings. Which is why she’s surprised when the moment she realizes she’s in love with Bianca feels a little anticlimactic.

They’re sitting on Bianca’s couch watching Dirty Dancing when it happens. Bianca had suggested it, and Adore had gone along with it because she’d assumed that “let’s watch a movie” was code for “let’s make out and eventually fuck”. By the time she figures out that Bianca just actually wants to watch the movie it’s far too late to protest. Instead, she lets her mind wander, thinking about far more entertaining things like cataloguing everything she’s learned about Bianca. It’s been a month of this – hanging out at Bianca’s apartment (never Adore’s, with a vague “I have roommates” as her excuse), going on random dates, drinking for free at the bar when Courtney’s working. A month of lying about who she is until the guilt has all but faded away entirely because Bianca is far too hard to give up and Adore just isn’t that selfless. A month of beautiful undefined and unlabelled moments that seem to feel increasingly more and more precious as time goes on. A month of fabrication and fornication and… well, she can’t think of another word, but she’s pretty sure Bianca could and that’s almost the same thing.

And that’s the moment it hits her. She’s in love with Bianca. Bianca, who is firmly engrossed in the love story between 17 year old Baby and the significantly older Johnny (and the irony of that is not lost on Adore). Bianca, who is funny and so fucking smart and who just seems to balance Adore out in all the right ways. Bianca, who hasn’t done or said anything and yet suddenly Adore is in love with her and the entire world feels different. Adore feels different. There’s electricity on her skin and she’s almost surprised when she touches the palm of one hand with her finger and no sparks fly. It’s all so normal and surely it’s wrong for such a huge moment to pass by unnoticed, but it’s not like she can tell Bianca. They’re not even officially dating yet. They’re not even unofficially dating, if Adore is honest. She’s pretty sure a heartfelt I love you would be completely the wrong move, so she bites her tongue for once and nestles herself against Bianca’s side instead.

Bianca merely smiles and wraps an arm around her and oh, Adore is so fucking gone.

Well. Fuck.

***

The next day drifts by in a kind of quiet, uneventful way that makes Adore nervous. Things in Adore’s life don’t go smoothly. Adore doesn’t get simple and uncomplicated, she gets one small disaster after another. In her experience, if things are going well that can only mean that some kind of catastrophe is right around the corner.

She’s restless. The waiting is unsettling, like the calm before the storm or being in the eye of a hurricane. It’s only a matter of time before everything explodes around her and as happy as she is, a large part of her wishes it would hurry the fuck up. Adore doesn’t do well with calm. Or with happy. Or with nice. She doesn’t do well with anything that isn’t chaos and mess and fucking destruction. She’s tried explaining that to Bianca on more than one occasion, but every time Bianca just looked at her with an expression that very clearly said ”ah, the wisdom of youth” and Adore has long since given up. It would have been patronizing except, well, she is young and she can’t say it isn’t accurate. Being young is about rebellion, and Adore is all about that. She doesn’t have the quiet poise that Bianca has mastered – although she’s pretty sure that has nothing to do with age and everything to do with the fact that Bianca is some kind of ethereal goddess.

But she’s in love with Bianca and so far the world hasn’t ended, and it’s good and it’s nice and so long as Adore ignores the vague feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, everything is fine.

“What’s up?”

Lunch period. Violet sits on the grass next to her, obviously more interested in looking beautiful than eating any actual food.

Adore briefly considers spilling everything. Violet knows about Bianca, of course, but Adore has been underplaying their relationship without even being sure why. All she knows is it feels like something precious and she doesn’t want to taint it by talking about it. “Oh, you know.”

Violet shoots her a look. It’s the kind of look that says “I know there’s something you’re not telling me, but I’m not interested enough to bother asking.” It’s the sort of look Violet specializes in, and Adore has often marvelled at the fact that Violet can be both a supportive friend and so blatantly disinterested in anything that doesn’t involve her.

“I’m just…” Adore trails off, sighing. She’s not even sure she has the words to explain how she’s feeling. Restless and unsettled, yes, but there’s more to it than that. She’s buzzing, skin humming with that same energy she felt last night mixed with layers of irresponsibility. It’s been a month now of being on her best behavior. A month of drinking the wine Bianca likes, because she’s too scared to admit she fucking hates wine and doesn’t understand why anyone drinks it. A month of going out to dinner and not just ordering fries, and of sitting on Bianca’s couch watching a movie when she’d rather be out at a club. A month of going to clubs but not being able to really let go because there’s Bianca and Adore needs to pretend she’s not some dumb fucking kid. It’s overwhelming. She needs to let loose and just let go. Everything is heightened, her emotions are running hot and she feels like she’s going to explode if she doesn’t get some kind of release.

She groans, slamming the palm of her hand into the ground. It doesn’t help and she swears under her breath. “I need to go out. Can we go out tonight? Somewhere new, I want different.” She wants fucking nothing that she’s done since her life became disturbingly perfect. She wants – no, she needs - something new. A change, something that shatter and sparkle and break and bring her back down to earth.

“Somewhere new. Sure.”

It probably says a lot that Violet doesn’t even bother asking questions. Sure, it’s probably less because she understands and more because she just doesn’t fucking care, but Adore appreciates it anyway.

***

The club Violet takes her to is dark and grungy and filthy and completely fucking perfect. Adore’s not sure if she’s looking for someone to fuck or fight, but this is the kind of club that has both in abundance. The music is awful but loud enough that she doesn’t care, separating herself from Violet soon after they’ve finished their first drinks and letting the crowd carry her away. There are enough people dancing that Adore can close her eyes and lose herself in the music without feeling self conscious. It’s not enough, but at least it helps and she doesn’t even bother opening her eyes when she feels someone’s hand on her hip. Violet, she figures at first, until the hand begins to trail up her body and she realizes it’s someone else entirely. She knows she should probably stop them, but she’s high on the music and whatever the fuck pills Violet handed her before they went inside (probably more the pills than the music if she’s honest) and it feels like everything’s moving so slowly.

When she finally opens her eyes and sees a man easily twice her age she only smiles. It’s funny somehow and she doesn’t know why, but when she giggles he starts laughing too and then his hands are all over her and that’s not so funny but it feels kind of nice so she doesn’t pull away. She can feel the throb of the music all through her body and her skin is crackling with electricity again. She wonders if the man can see it. And then he’s taking her hand and pulling her though the crowd and the next thing Adore knows she’s standing in an alley with her back against the wall. He could have at least bought her a drink first, but his mouth presses against hers and Adore realizes what he wants with a moment of clarity. She should probably say no, she thinks, but she’s so fucking keyed up and everything is a little hazy and her skin burns everywhere he touches her. She feels his fingers dig into her thigh as he kisses her and the pain makes her gasp into his mouth.

“Oh, you like that?” It’s the first thing he’s said to her, his voice rough and a shade too close to threatening. “Fucking slut, aren’t you?”

She can feel the rough brick scraping against her arm as he pushes her back and he tugs on her hair hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. But it’s good, he’s fucking solid and real and he murmurs approvingly in her ear as her fingers scrabble at his fly, easing it down and pulling his dick out.

“Turn around.”

And no, she doesn’t want to turn around so she shakes her head. There’s a loud sharp crack and a moment of calm before she feels the bloom of pain along her jaw and realizes he’s hit her. The drugs in her system don’t stand a chance against finely honed instincts, channelling all the restless energy she’s feeling in a burning rage. It doesn’t take much to make Adore angry and she feels it building inside her, the familiar heat pooling in her stomach and spreading out across her body all the way into the very ends of her fingertips. Maybe she was looking for someone to fight after all, because she’s fucking furious. The man takes a half step back and Adore wonders if it shows in her eyes, but it’s too late. She’s angry now and she doesn’t think twice, her fist connecting with his jaw hard enough to hurt her. His eyes widen and she sees him fall backwards in slow motion, his hands grasping at nothing as he falls onto the ground.

He’s lying still and Adore suddenly discovers that there’s fucking nothing that sobers you up more than thinking you’ve just killed someone. She feels the anger drain away instantly, leaving her cold and shaking as she stares at him and wills him to open his eyes. Please,she thinks. Please don’t be dead. The seconds stretch on like multiple fucking lifetimes and Adore almost collapses with relief when he opens his eyes and groans.

“Are you okay?”

The man groans again, wincing as he reaches a hand up to touch the back of his head. “Crazy fucking bitch,” he says, looking at Adore like she’s just murdered a family of ten and is standing in their living room holding a severed head.

It’s all too much. Fucking everything, it’s all too much and Adore stumbles away from him, making it out of the alley and a few feet down the street before vomiting. She throws up again and again until there’s nothing but bile and she gasps for breath, collapsing on the ground and blinking back tears. She knows she should find Violet or at least get back inside the club but she’s pretty sure she can’t move, let alone stand up. Her phone is in her pocket and she pulls it out, scrolling to Bianca’s name and pressing call without thinking about it.

“What the fuck Adore, it’s 1 in the fucking morning.”

Bianca sounds pissed off and Adore would normally care more, but all her energy is going towards keeping herself together and she just shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I… can you come get me?” She knows she sounds pitiful. So much for acting like an adult. But she’s too exhausted to pretend and she just wants Bianca to hold her and tell her everything will be okay.

“Yeah. I’m on my way. Where are you?” Bianca doesn’t sound worried exactly, but Adore can tell she’s concerned.

“I don’t. A club.” She can’t think. She can’t remember where she is and nothing looks familiar. “I can’t.”

“Okay.” Bianca’s voice is reassuring and Adore holds the phone tighter like it’s a lifeline. “Text me the address, okay? If you don’t know, open up your map and screenshot it for me. I’ll come find you. I’ll be there soon.”

Adore nods before she realizes Bianca can’t see her. “Okay. I’m gonna. I’ll send it now. Thank you.” She hangs up the phone before Bianca can reply and opens up maps. It takes her a few attempts to get a screenshot of her location but she eventually manages it, texting it through to Bianca. And then there’s nothing to do but wait, shivering and blinking back tears, praying nobody else will walk past and see her curled up on the sidewalk looking pathetic.

It feels like an age before a cab pulls up and Bianca jumps out, and Adore can’t stop the tears of relief as Bianca wraps her in a tight hug and pulls her to the feet.

“Hey, c’mon.”

Adore lets herself get pulled into the waiting cab, clinging to Bianca. She should be embarrassed, she knows that, but even just being in Bianca’s presence is making her feel calmer. It must be love, she figures, because she doesn’t usually gravitate towards anyone when she feels like this. She’s used to being a fucking emotional out of control wreck; what she’s not used to is having someone to help her through it. Bianca’s sitting in the middle of the back seat, close enough to keep one arm wrapped around her, the other hand carding through her hair. The repetitive motion is soothing and Adore finds herself trying to match Bianca’s breaths, almost feeling relaxed by the time they get to Bianca’s apartment.

She’s silent as Bianca takes her hand and leads her inside. She feels numb, which is kind of an improvement but it also feels a little like there’s a solid glass wall between her and the rest of the world and no matter how hard she tries she can’t break through it. Bianca seems to get it though, because she doesn’t push. Instead, she just quietly leads Adore to the bedroom and helps her slowly undress.

“Come on. You woke me up bitch, I’m exhausted.” Bianca’s smiling as she holds the covers back.

Adore immediately curls up against Bianca, holding onto her a fraction too tightly. “Thank you.” Her voice is rough from all the crying and she clears her throat before repeating herself. “Thank you.”

There’s a long pause, long enough that Adore would think Bianca had fallen back to sleep except that she’s begun to play with her hair again. “You want to tell me what happened?” Bianca’s voice is soft but determined and she tugs Adore a little closer as though she wants to reassure her.

Adore sighs. No, of course she doesn’t fucking want to tell Bianca what happened. But she owes her that much and she knows it. “I was just kind of restless, you know? And there was this guy and some shit went down. Nothing important. But I got so fucking mad at him and I punched him and he just… went down.” Adore bites her lip. She really doesn’t care that the guy got physical. Men are assholes, that’s not exactly news. But it terrifies her to think back on how angry she got and she’s grudgingly beginning to accept that maybe her teachers are right and she really does have an anger management problem. “I get so angry and I don’t know how to control it. I could have killed him. And… I don’t know. It scared me.”

She knows even as she speaks that it’s the beginning of the end for the two of them, but it wasn’t like she could hide her true colors from Bianca forever. She’s a juvenile delinquent waiting to happen and no matter how hard she tries she always winds up in the same place. She’s so tired and what’s the point of trying anymore? What does she even have to lose now?

“Here’s the plan.” Bianca doesn’t sound disgusted. She doesn’t even sound surprised. Her voice is even and she’s still holding Adore just as close and it’s confusing but Adore doesn’t have the strength to query it. “We’re going to go to sleep because it’s fucking late. In the morning I’ll make us waffles and then we’re going to do some meditation together – and don’t fucking argue, it’ll be good for you. And then we’re going to figure out what calms you down so you don’t wind up killing someone. I work on weekends bitch, I don’t have time to visit you in prison.”

It’s stupid, but for a moment Adore actually believes Bianca. She’s dumb but Bianca is smart and if anyone can figure out how to help her it’s Bianca Del Rio. “Okay.” Because really, what else can she say? She stifles a yawn, focusing on the steady in-out-in-out of Bianca’s breaths, listening as they slowly deepen.

“You calm me down,” she whispers once she’s certain Bianca is asleep. “Just you.”

#bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #lesbian au #high school au #nellie #rpdr fanfiction #submission #older

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televinita · 7 years ago

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kateschechterxthorwasmyfirstotp replied to post: If you did not watch the last episode, they kind of righted that wrong...

Eh...I read what they tried, but I deemed it Not Good Enough. That was a pretty fundamental betrayal of my deepest shipping principles and too many years apart for me to ever feel okay about them again.

#I have been trying to coherently explain it for like 20 minute and I keep getting bogged down in anger and sadness at the memories so tl;dr: no

EDIT: actually you know what, I am gonna explain it, via copy-pasting the long ass 4-part blog post I made about it the night it aired (I didn’t watch because I was behind on the season, but I hung out in the Tumblr tag and read live reactions), which incidentally was the night after we put my dog to sleep so those two Sadness Memories are wrapped around each other. I always meant to post at least part of it to Tumblr and I regret not doing that.

February 2013

Wednesday: Unedited Ranty Version LOL NOPE BYE. Literally just...not accepting this. Never watching the episode, done with future episodes, the show can just stop here. Unlike with Glee, I am above this. I don't feel it hard enough to be canon, and god, I am so much better for it. Sucks for all the fans who can't just handwave it and decide not to believe. I'm not even going to bother repeating all my Kurt/Blaine rage from last fall, because Sara and Grissom met late enough in life that they aren't in quite the same category of fairytale romance, even if they are soulmates, but -- my anger about relationships losing their magic if you break up in the middle and see other people after finally getting together? So very applicable. (Honestly, show, what happened to them having a marriage that worked for them and no one else needed to understand? Why couldn't you just leave that alone? Why did you have to pick? There was no reason to pick. No picking! /nasally Seinfeld voice.) I'm kind of sorry they already lost their spot in the Top Five All-Time OTPs Kingdom to Kurt and Blaine, because I would have really enjoyed kicking them the fuck out tonight. If I believed this were happening. Which I realized, 5 seconds after writing the above, that I am not. Goodbye, and good luck. Thursday morning (a.k.a. just kidding I’m still mad as hell and back to yell) I like how they keep talking about "implications into next year" and how the story will continue. No, it won't. You've separated them before, a fact I had forgotten about because I refused to watch 9x05 and it was clearly just a pause button on the way to spinny-camera grand reunion kissing as opposed to a real breakup, but there's no way to fix this now. There is no more to the story; you don't get to tell a story after this. Glee already proved to me that there is no way to make a worthwhile arc out of a vile bomb drop. Although I am kind of sorry that this relationship could actually have withstood cheating and it would have been easier to swallow than divorce. Maybe because it still feels like cheating. You're meant to be with someone, you can't have extracurricular people! I have some unfinished business with those first 7 episodes of season 13, and I'm not sure what to do with that -- they were great and I hate to leave them unwritten about, but if I go back there is a slim chance it will get devious like Grey's Anatomy and suck me back in underhandedly, and I'd rather spite myself than give it that opening. So I'm not totally sure if this is the end. But it sure has that really certain Bones Episode #100 level sense of THIS IS UNFORGIVABLE. GAME OVER. Thursday night Reading other people's opinions is always a dumb way to go, because instead of saying my piece and being done, now I'm riled up and feel like I need to FORCE people to understand something they just don't seem to be getting, whether they're being practical and pragmatic or writhing about it in "but they were my first real ship!" angst. (as if they are only a ship, instead of so much more) The thing is, this isn't just a dumb writing choice you can complain about. This isn't even about whether it's in character or not. It is literally. Not. An option. Some couples just aren't allowed to break up. A UST couple that takes more than 5 years to get together is one of them. And once they get married, that's absolutely it. A victory for permanent commitment and contentment. There's no divorce in good storytelling, there are no separations. That lazy nonsense is reserved for books, movies, and silly soap opera types like Grey's Anatomy. Couples like Grissom and Sara, they are foundations. Institutions. When you want to change the look of your house or test out something new, you work with the existing structure. You don't knock it down and build it back up from the floorboards. To be fair, I was always upset by the "long distance marriage" - there was no reason for it; there was never a reason Grissom couldn't be off screen right here in Vegas, teaching at a local university or simply pursuing his own research supplemented with travel when necessary. The longer it went on, the less happy I felt. But since they told us it worked, I put up with it for the joy of having Jorja Fox back on my screen. I see now that was a mistake, and the only way to keep them safe was to push them away. The point is: TPTB broke television law. I can't judge this like other shows as a good or bad direction for the characters, or wonder how it will affect Sara in the upcoming episodes, because they are untouchable. It's honestly laughable that anyone thought it was okay to even try this. Can you imagine if the second X-Files movie followed through on its misdirection and went "lol yeah Mulder and Scully haven't seen each other in 5 years"? I

[2017 edit: FYI I have not stopped being angry about the bitter irony of this comment since the revival spoilers hit.]

If you need more universal examples, that's like tuning in to find out the Brady Bunch has split back up into two separate households, or Disney is going to experiment with a new movie where Minnie elopes with Goofy.

You don't get to pretend you're setting up for a season or two-season arc. This isn't an arc. This is a slash and burn project. Let's pretend, for a minute, that this is planned as an emotionally complex journey that will force them to examine what they mean to each other and get them back together, Costa Rica style, in next year's season finale. Do you think that would be worth it? Do you think the struggle to get there will make the ultimate conclusion heartwarming, fill you with elation as you see them beat all the odds? It will not. It will be long tainted by then, a sour coda to an unfixable mess, because what you had wasn't important enough to preserve. You can't ever get back to what you were, and it's already too late. That is the best case scenario. There are no character motivations to explore. There is nothing to dig into. A death warrant was signed and went up as effectively as a brick wall in stopping the development of this relationship in its tracks. Televinita out. #breakingupwithCSI #I reject your canon and substitute my own Thursday: Post-Essay Messiness Oops. Reading my old reviews because I can't remember GSR's chronology off the top of my head, and...there is no way I'm letting anyone use this as justification for being in character, but this conversation does seem sort of relevant all over again. "Sooner or later a relationship in stasis withers. You get angry. You need more than the safety of knowing that you're not alone." "Then he should've just walked away." "Well, maybe he couldn't. Maybe he needed her to leave him." Apparently I also got kind of angry in the early part of season 9 when Sara left again, and may have threatened to break up with this show at that time? *chagrined look* But 2008 Me seems to have still accepted this as a possible, if highly undesirable, turn for the couple. What changed? And am I crazy, or is it possible to decide neither of the times Sara left were actual breakups as opposed to pause buttons? Oh, that's right. What changed is they got married. I repeat, when it comes to long-running couples on TV, wedding bands are as much a promise to the audience as they are to the people involved. You put a ring on it after proper courtship, that's a universally accepted sign for "you win: permanent freedom from being jerked around for Drama/Conflict/ratings."

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etirabys · 8 years ago

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documentation of psychological changes: talking about schoolwork, medication, weed, therapy type things

Re-evaluated courseload and dropped the really difficult required one. Spent half an hour getting increasingly stressed, reorganizing courses along three different options – what's my schedule for the next three quarters if I take this (difficult but not as difficult, less interesting) other required course instead? what if I take a fourth quarter? What if I try to take it this quarter anyway? Reasoning that I could identify by the most desirable/reasonable future and stick with that one's schedule. Was a third of a way to tears when I left for the easier class that I hadn’t decided then to replace my hard class with.

On the physically unpleasant, angrily-squinting-against-rain bike ride to class, I first had a couple minutes of thinking about unrelated stuff (philosophy) but with the same unhappy frantic pace of thought, and then my brain kind of calmed down and said, look, this class I'm heading towards is something I want to take, the class I'm dropping is also something I want to take, I'm stressing out because I want to fit in all my requirements to graduate as soon as possible, but is that really how I want to do school? I've prepared over break to start this quarter at a sprint and get a lot out of it – I'm finally in a place where I have the ability and mindset to really get something out of school. Why am I in such a hurry to leave – should that be a priority?

...and it was clear from about a couple dozen seconds of thinking that the answer to this was no, for me. So, all right. I'll take an extra quarter. I want to take an extra quarter. There are things I want to do and have irl that aren't compatible with school, but I'll get to those. The anxious voice that says "yes but shouldn't I –" is... not something I need, once I've come to that conclusion.

So. That's nice. This is also the kind of thinking that I was plain incapable of six months ago. This way of stepping back and actually figuring out what's important and what I really want to do. I have a similar new ability where I have a super unproductive line of thought and I can usually kind of bat it away because it is super unproductive. I did it last night while I was worrying about my units – I need to sleep now, this is something to deal with next morning, I'll stop thinking about it.

I have a better general ability to identify and think and do what is good for me. Where did this come from?

It definitely started when I got on Ritalin, which has feel-good effects, and I remember this kind of... sudden clarity / better knowledge about tasks and values and objectives. Like which ones were important. Which ones could be done how. When everything was undoable and hopeless it was one uniform dense list of stuff that was unsatisfactory in my life and I had no real intention of changing anything on it because it was undoable and hopeless. When they started being doable they started having gradations. That was the first thing. The second was that I started being invested in my happiness – like I want to graduate at my leisure* because I want my education to fulfill me or something, and I have expectations for myself as someone who's majoring in computer science that haven't been met yet with the classes I've taken so far, and graduating three months earlier or later really doesn't make a difference on the timescales I've started to think of my life in. Six months ago I wasn't capable of thinking about my life a decade from now. Life was just something that happened to me; where the waves buffeted me was their business.

*furious leisure, of course

An odd second chemical factor is marijuana. Weed is, broadly, not good for me. It's way too easy to use when I'm stressed, it makes me noticeably unsocial for about twelve hours, and I don't intend to have any around me this quarter. I did not use it in any productive way before starting Ritalin. When I'm on it and Ritalin – not necessarily at the same time, just when the windows of influence are overlapping – about half of the time, I'm doing some sort of behavioral therapy to myself all the time. Really obvious babying stuff that used to just annoy me when sober. "Is thinking about this subject stressing me out? I don't need another justification to switch to another topic." or "Huh, I have this unpleasant emotion, can I figure out why?" or "I notice I regularly do this thing that has a bad effect. I should stop doing it / find a way to do it less." in this very singleminded, no-dithering way. And I write a lot when high, so I record all this and actually do follow through.

I think I've cumulatively spent about ten to fifteen hours doing this kind of self-therapy while mildly high – two thirds of it last quarter, one third of it in the past week. When I started doing it last quarter, it was not directed or intentional – I was on a low dose of Ritalin, I was behind on work, I would fail to concentrate on or understand my work for a few consecutive hours and get so unhappy that I wanted to be unconscious, but since I wasn't sleepy I would get high. And one time while high, I noticed that I was unhappy. Which I had noticed before, it was really obvious. But I noticed I was unhappy in large part because I was high and procrastinating. And I wanted to be happy, which felt like a really new thought. So I should structure my life and space and habits so that was easier. I opened up a text file and brainstormed things I could do to improve my workflow, and strategies I could try before getting high if I was miserable in the evenings. And I explicitly wrote that I should forgive myself if I got high again when it was a bad idea, because I was noticing that blaming myself for that never actually worked for preventing it next time and just made me feel shitty. And I was tired of feeling shitty.

A week later, I was high again but even more miserable (school wasn't going well) and I just reevaluated how much good having weed around was doing me, decided my emotions about it were too obsessive, and I threw all of it out. It was great. I took out the trash kind of calmly and joyfully, knowing this was the last time in a while I was going to be high. The quarter didn't go great after that, I took a leave – not a choice I made without ambivalent, but I did make it clear-headedly and it turned out to be a great idea.

I acquired one cartridge in Washington my last week – before I did so I prodded all the "is this a good idea" (and follow-up "am I lying to myself") buttons, and the answer I got in the end was "not the greatest idea, but my thoughts around it don't have that obsessive edge they have when I'm trying to use it to escape the horribleness of everything, and I definitely miss the kind of creative writing I do on it. I am okay if I don't and okay if I do". I brought it back with me and used a small amount because I was having trouble with my appetite and I was getting legitimately worried about how little I was eating. I hate this cycle of okay use flaring into bad use when I'm under pressure, and I get dramatically more out of vaping when it's actually a choice, so I'm handing the cartridge off to a friend tonight, but I really appreciate how easily and... healthily... I made the decision about my courses today, and I think having vaped some yesterday for dinner was a factor. Or more specifically, the six or so hours of aggressively positive/productivity-focused thinking that dominated my thoughts before I went to sleep.

Some miscellaneous thoughts.

I don't know how to quantify how much good those cumulative hours have done me. A lot of them were intense hours, in that I was doing something in my head that I had never done before, i.e. root out undesirable thought patterns, beliefs, habits, strategies, and values. I'm pretty sure hour for hour they were at least ten times as useful as any therapy I've ever done, and they were twice as useful as the best therapy session I can imagine. I may have naturally done this more slowly, as a background process, if I'd never brought marijuana into it. But I've also heard the best stuff is therapy of some sort plus the correct medication. I haven't been getting great literal therapy, and I think it would be odd if I became this well adjusted in six months on the effects of medication alone.

Usually it's LSD or MDMA involved when people anecdotally talk about ameliorating their badbrains with self therapy on drugs or with a friend who knows what they're doing. Maybe those are good for having revelations or doing more heavyweight judo with your emotions? I am not sure.

I am never going to laugh at a self help book again.* I think self help books look silly to people who doing fine with life, even sillier to people to people who are doing badly and have wrapped themselves in a dozen layers of irony and resignation, and revelatory to people who are doing so badly that they'll do anything to make their life be something else, even take with the utmost seriousness stupid truisms about forgiving yourself for your mistakes and being nice to everyone and taking a walk every day. I think I got to type three without hitting any really bad life obstacles and am somewhat surprised I did so, because this is the sort of life turnaround I expect in narratives about middle-aged people. I expect to slip occasionally, but I'm genuinely pretty dedicated to making good decisions, in the way I used to jokingly laugh about other people (not me) doing, without any intention of emulating them. I mean good decisions with relationships of all sorts, schoolwork, jobs, intellectual growth, sex, drugs. And I will make these good decisions with the kind of flabby-sounding, cheerful, unfunny sincerity, even if part of me is grinding its teeth a bit, because the alternative is being unhappy and I am tired of that.

*David Foster Wallace's ghost, on the other hand, is never going to stop laughing at me.

#rambl #emo repletion

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pianobarfeels · 4 years ago

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My Favorite.

Welp, the last thing that I thought would happen, happened:

T contacted me... from prison.

Yep. Waking up to use the restroom at 5 AM turned into a total freak out fest: calling my two best friends over and over again and pacing for a few minutes then finally, a seven-second cry session.

T is a subject I have avoided writing about because this man has broken my heart in the weirdest of ways. Have you ever met someone who is so full of potential to do the most amazing things yet wastes it all? That’s my T.

I met T at an afterparty. I was sitting in a lawn chair in a ratty-ass garage when I heard the ratty-ass garage door squeak open. Yikes, that thing could reeeeally use some WD-40... even now. Anyway, in walked a friend of mine and following him was this giant of a man: 6′4″ and sexy as alllll get out. He didn’t say much and I didn’t even attempt conversation. He was just nice to look at, ya know? But I loved the way he moved; the way he observed his surroundings rather than trying to be the center of attention like everyone else. He was just... different.

At this point in my life, I was somewhat freshly single and was having an incredible time doin’ my “thang”. I wasn’t so much as entertaining the thought of hooking up or dating, but I knew that if I was going to involve myself with anyone as more than friends it would be more than a hookup. So, when I plopped my little butt down next to him at the bar, my intentions were to introduce him to some folks and help him make some friends.

Oh, the irony: he quickly became one of my favorite people in the entire world.

Numbers were exchanged that night. He asked to exchange phone numbers first but it wasn’t because he thought I was cute; it was because we was a drug dealer and he wanted customers. Whatever. I took it with a grain of salt and didn’t think much of it or him through the weeks that followed. Finally, I found myself at the bar around 1 AM, so painfully bored and over the bullshit. So what did I do? I texted him. Why? I have no idea.

1:30 AM and I’m pulling up to this T’s house. I wasn’t going for drugs or a hookup and honestly still have no idea why I went. I didn’t know the guy at all. I mean, holy shit, anything could have happened: he could have raped me, sold me into sex trafficking, forced a needle in my arm, killed me, whatever. The possibilities are endless. Thankfully, he wasn’t and isn’t that guy. We just talked for hours and hours about everything you could possibly think of and I was so taken back. Like, he was so fucking cool.

As the night was ending, he asked me “So, why did you come over tonight?” I was confused and asked him what he meant. He said “Did you come here for drugs? Do you want to have sex? What are your intentions?” Damn, I love men who are upfront. I told him the truth: I was there because the bar sucked, I’m always down for new friends, and that I had no interest in having sex or using him for drugs. Then, I went home.

We hung out again and again and found ourselves doin’ the tonsil-hockey thing one night. I stopped him and let him know that if anything between us were to happen, it’d be a relationship and not a hookup. **Communication**. He agreed!

Few weeks later, someone told me that he took part in shooting crack cocaine and smoking meth.

I confronted him.

It was true.

I was heartbroken but accepted the situation for what it was: a man who was incredible in ways, but would lead me down the roughest of roads if I were to continue to romantically involve myself with him. It would be a road that would ruin my life and break my family’s hearts which was and still is a road that I refuse to ever step foot on. So we talked about it and decided to just be friends.

Ha haaaa that didn’t work: he became a friend with benefits. We kept feelings out of it but they were always there. As time went on, our conversations got better and better and he ended up becoming my best friend.

According to yourdictionary.com, a best friend is “is a person who you value above other friends in your life, someone you have fun with, someone you trust and someone in whom you confide.” He was all of that. No matter what, I could call him and he would be there. I could come over any time of day and bitch about guys or family or friends or work or absolutely whatever. The great part is that when I was done ranting, he’d give me the best of advice.

Advice from a drug dealer... Mhmm, I know what you’re thinking: no way in hell it was great advice. WRONG. This beautiful soul was heading in an incredible direction at one point. He was an incredible football player and ended up catching a free ride to college because of his talent. In college, he studied Sociology, Psychology and something else I can’t remember right now. So yeah, his advice was legit whether or not he practiced what he spoke. He was always patient and understanding with me which is a lot more than I got from anyone else in that point in time.

Having someone who understands you is a blessing most people don’t get to experience. I have been blessed in ways most others aren’t, but the things I’ve experienced and seen are rough. T got me in a way no one else ever has and vice versa. Maybe it was the drugs, who knows, but I’ve literally never felt a connection to someone the way I felt with him.

~This seems like a good place to stop for now. I need to sleep and I know if I keep going the tears will hit. I’m an ugly cryer so we’re gonna avoid that for now lol.

To be continueeeed....

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wishingfornever · 6 years ago

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10/14/17 – No Contact: Total Relapse

Current time is 1am. I went to bed early last night. Can’t remember my dream. Ariel unloaded A BUNCH of fucking information on me. Like… a lot. I’d fill you in but it’s more personal stuff.

I really should go back to sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll cook myself a couple of eggs. Not scrambled. Fried, I think. The one where the yolks runny. I made a big egg sandwich today using an ENTIRE can of corn. The irony is that there was like… more corn than egg and then there was too much egg for a single sandwich, which I ate with spinach and cheese.

It’s… all I’ve eaten today. And an apple. Probably should eat more throughout the day.

Whatever. Tomorrow, I’ll make myself a sandwich with those fried eggs I was talking about. Over easy, I think? Never been good with food terms, I fear. I’ll use my seasonings. As soon as I’m done with that Himalayan pink salt, I’ll get some seasoned salt. I can’t wait. I’ll make it tomorrow morning. Which is technically today. Right now. We’ll need to go grocery shopping in a bit. Probably today or tomorrow, seeing how it’s the weekend. I’d want to get there early to actually get avocados.

HEB sucks at restocking. Like… the avocados they had last week were fucking gross.

I… want to learn what to do to make slushies like you make. Unfortunately, I can’t ask you. I guess I can ask in a month and a half. And then you can block me. El oh el.

Yeah, probably an accurate guess right now. Regardless… I didn’t do my sets yesterday. I’ve been trying to get my sleeping schedule to work again. Been waking up and not going to bed. Unfortunately… I basically took a nap. I’m not that sleepy. Maybe I can go to sleep soon? But even then, I’ll try to wake up at 10. I’ll talk to Adela and see if we can go shopping today. I want to go there at about lunch, maybe. Just while they still have shit.

I should be trying to sleeping. Watching a video though. It’s titled “It’s Too Quiet.” You know… that’s an actual thing. My dad said that you could feel when you were about to be ambushed because it’s literally too quiet. I think the reason is is because animals tend to avoid humans. If it’s quiet, that means the birds aren’t leaving or moving because there has been someone there for a while. Thus, they stay away. People intentionally don’t make noise, so it’s just you in the middle of a jungle with stillness.

We’re always hearing. It’s… maddening when you don’t hear. The if it gets too quiet, you can hear your own blood run through your veins. You use your senses at all times. When one sense stops working then your brain panics. For example, white room torture where everything you see is white because you’re in a white room with no colors and you’re only fed white rice. It’s a torture that lasts LONG after it’s over.

I think sometime this week, I’ll order myself a pizza. I want to get it with ham but it’ll just be pineapple. Oh, I’m sorry. Did I stop talking about torture and blood and ambushes to talk about how hungry I am?

Kidding. I got that gal from yesterday a pizza. Now I want a pizza for myself. I wonder if Pizza Hut finally learned that we’re in their district. If not, there is always PizzaFino. That’s probably Italian for Fine Pizza. Sounds like something that’d happen. Considering it’s a Latin language, I wouldn’t doubt it. English is technically Latin but it’s also German. That sucks because instead of having the best of both languages, we have the worst. Foreign. You don’t pronounce the g. I HATE words with silent letters. Like… seriously? Why do you need a silent letter? It doesn’t change how the word is pronounced. Maybe it used to be pronounced for-ayg-in. Like… Foreagan. Hrm… Possible name origin? If that’s the case, why’d we stop saying the “G”? I don’t know… Language is weird. It evolves with the population and culture. You know, Korean’s written language was supposed to be written by a linguist. Thus, you could hypothetically learn how to read in Korean in a day. What it means? Can’t tell you. Makes me wonder who the hell came up with writing the other languages like Kanji and shit. That was not written by a linguist, it was written by the clone of Hermann Fucking Goering.

It’s a joke. Hermann Goering was German, obviously he didn’t write Kanji. And Kanji was written before Hermann Goering was born, so obviously it’d be older than his clone. See? I’m so funny. At least I would be if I didn’t steal the original quote. Whelp!

Anyways… I didn’t call my dad yesterday. Or Starbucks. I have a terrible work ethic. Maybe today, hopefully after I wake up at a decent time. I wanted to rewrite the chapter but I was so sleepy throughout most of the day that it’s literally bad if I try to write. I need to be awake (sort of like now) or otherwise things will turn to crap.

My dad used to have a teepee. He was part of a group called Mountain Men who basically longed for the days where it was frontier. Not the settlers traveling by wagon but before that with frontiersmen. That flintlock rifle above the kitchen he used in some events. “Bringing home the bacon” comes from one such historical event where they win like a bucket of bacon by shooting a rope.

I remember when I was younger. I remember the crispy marshmallows and campfires. Cast iron pots and pans. His teepee had this long snake wrapping around the outside. A lot of bearded old folks in tanned leathers.

Current time… 4:30. Still sleepy. I’ve spent most of the previous 24 hours in bed. I was hoping to wake up at 10am but I overshot my intended goal by six hours. Still… sleepy. I’m having a hard time resetting my sleep schedule. It was better in California when everything went down. Not because I was being good but because my family let me be. Then my sister and dad kept insisting I join them for their reindeer games which takes FOR GOD DAMN EVER.

I’m not bitter, not trying to insinuate anything. Well, maybe a little bit. Because I tried going to bed at 11pm while I was there. Accounting for jet lag? That’d be… 1am. Thing is Janis kept trying to get me to stay up. Saying she’s never there. Then when I told her I wanted to go to bed she’d be like, “Boohoo, I never sleep ever.”

You know that sort of bullshit.

Regardless, I think I’m relapsing. I miss my upswing surge but that’s passing now. I wish I took more advantage of it. Honestly, I had hoped I wouldn’t need therapy because of it. I guess I’ll still need it… or medication which I’ve completely been ignoring. Maybe I should get on that again. Use the Attend stuff. Hrm…

I had a series of dreams last night. One of them involved me living life through your eyes at Dennis’s. Of course, it could have been Dennis I was living through but I spoke to your mom during the dream so I think it was you. It was a little awkward feeling. I think that feeling, however, is just my predetermination of what you must be feeling thus is my own bias. The dream that followed involved a hospital and my Marxist friend who got pregnant recently. There was also a lady cop there.

It ended with my dad and I driving through old towns and stopping at antique stores. That was the most dramatic of the dreams for some reason. Not because of my dad, but because I ended up sleeping with someone who constantly tried to get you out of my life. Moving on. There was more but I can’t remember…

Huh… I realized something. I’m sleeping on your side of the bed… I’m going to experiment tonight and see if I sleep better by switching sides. I’ll keep this in mind today.

When you called yourself a whore… that haunts me. I can’t get over it. You said it was true. It’s not. You’re so hard on yourself. And you wonder why I was trying to keep you motivated. I worry about you. Because I love you. I love you unconditionally. Even if I completely move on, years from now you could show up at my door and ask for help and I’d help.

It’s my character. I told you this before. You’d REALLY have to fuck up to have me cut you out of my life.

What about Dennis then?

Yeah, well you don’t seem to understand what he did that upset me. And even then, I tried to give him a chance to apologize. With my niece, when she screwed me over, I publicly shamed her. I haven’t done that with Dennis. That’s my nature. I will publicly shame someone who I think is a parasite.

You’re ignorant. You’re naive. You’ve fucked up, but you’re not a monster. I know you… it may not seem like I listen but, I listen more than you know.

I hope reading this journal doesn’t make you feel bad. I feel like it’ll make you angry rather than guilty, tbh (guess I don’t know you that well if I’m so uncertain; lol) but know it’s not my intention.

I got nothing done today. I should probably just… roll with it. Like, I said I was more awake last night after a dumb little nap. Maybe I should just write at night and sleep throughout the day. I could always get sleeping pills, too. Something that’s not organic to force me to sleep.

I haven’t done my sets in a while. Haven’t had a shower for a while too.

Ugh… this is a familiar feeling. Negative thoughts tend to overwhelm me. The smallest things need the most extreme solutions… and I mean most extreme. >< Christ, I’m isolating myself again. About two hours ago, Adela asked if I were alright. I just said I was fine. I have yet to leave bed today. She walked Max without me. Currently 9pm.

Just went to the bathroom… I should probably drink more water. Yeah, I think my body might be pretty dehydrated. :/

What if that’s why I’m depressed? I’m only sad because I don’t drink enough water. It’d explain why I get so depressed during the summer. Because I’m always sweating and it’s hot and I’m miserable. But it’s not hot here. I haven’t drank as much water as I was hoping to. I have, however, cooked more. I mean… I am hungry now but I don’t want to go get food.

Eh…. Well, that’s one way to lose weight.

I’ll probably cook myself something in a bit. Refill my water bottle. Then clean my room. Then maybe write. Of course, I told Shane I’d be available today. I guess not. So… feeling like a piece of shit right now. :/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3DrpmXtpFtw

If you open the link, you’ll discover that it’s not a song. Not this time. Rather, it’s confronting a problem in Hollywood. Just finding out about it. Guess I should probably pay more attention to the news. I really have no clue what’s happening right now. However, this video talks about something that’s happened to you.

You claimed you consented by letting it happen. You tend to reference fight or flight a lot. With Mark and Dennis, you consented because you allowed it and because you didn’t fight or run away. Turns out, it’s not just fight or flight. So, yeah. You don’t need to justify that shit. So fucking don’t. Don’t try to justify their actions with your submission. Admittedly, you confronted Mark but you haven’t confronted Dennis. I guess you feel like you cheated on me with Dennis, but the way you put it… he and Mark are no different.

Dennis is a piece of shit.

Maybe when this is all over, you can. Whether we connect or not, it’s irrelevant.

Sorry. Serious topic, I know. I’ll just blame this all on myself again. ><

Anyways… Current time is 11pm. Just made myself breakfast. Two fried eggs in a sandwich. Two slices of Swiss and a ketchup drizzle.

It wasn’t as good as I thought it would be. Not because it’s bad but because I’m bad at cooking. My hands are clumsy. Couldn’t flip the egg very well. I like it when the yolk is running but… it would appear that I’m not very good at working a spatula. I basically broke the yolk twice. First time was because I cracked the egg poorly. So, it came fucked up. Second time? I failed at flipping.

Then I put too much garlic on it. Was good but was kind of salty from it. I know I didn’t put too much salt on it because I had to twist it as I cooked it. I felt pressured and rushed, so quality suffered. Not to imply that it was going to be great before. That said, Swiss cheese is kind of… losing it’s charm. I used to actually enjoy it. When I was younger I didn’t. Now? Since I stopped eating meat? It’s become dull. I don’t know, I guess I’ll start eating it with other cheeses. Like cheddar, which you and Adela don’t seem to like. Not sure why.

She made sure to mention that the Mexican four cheese shredded cheese pack or whatever the hell it’s called isn’t Mexican because of the cheddar. She emphasized how they only use white cheese in Mexico and I told her, “Well, I’m not making quesadillas with it.” I intended mix it with some veggies. Of which, I probably use too much of it.

Eh… Monterrey Jack is a viable option. I might make myself some more eggs later. I’ll have to do the dishes though. Or something. I don’t know, I’ll probably have some peas and carrots later with an apple. I might have an apple now. Then I need to organize my room. Living out of my suitcase is fun. Not sure if that’s sarcasm, yet.

I brought a lot of clothes. Obviously, I’m here for a while. Right now, they’re in a hamper. A clean hamper, mind you. There is a dirty hamper too. We purchased a light net hamper thing while we were in California. You didn’t take it… so it’s mine now! HA HA!!! >:D

Seriously, though. It folded and fit so nicely. Great for travel. I’m glad we got it.

These apples… are so sweet. The first bite is like candy. And the shelf life is incredible. I think I mentioned it before, but they’re great. They didn’t even have to be sweet, they just had to last to impress me. Above and beyond the call of duty, right?

Eh… maybe not so much. I’m feeling better. I’ll organize a bit and then take a shower, maybe. Then write. Maybe take a nap later on. Try to wake up early and go grocery shopping with Adela. I wonder if the Attend will help. I haven’t touched it since I got here, so… yeah. Might be worth taking.

#breakup #slice of life #frustration #depression #getting over it #moving on #journal #a year ago today

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