#because nobody gets it or I’m too fucking stupid to articulate it in a way that doesn’t sound insane and delusional

[imdressinguplikeacat]

i was supposed to be a small bird or perhaps a deep sea creature. not this

#in my flop era bro. its not giving #I’m basically always in a bad fucking mood unless i take adderall #lowkey kinda suicidal as fuck but I’m not gonna do anything about it #just kinda sick of being completely alone in all my experiences its just lame for real #being like ohh talking to someone about it might make me feek better but it always makes me feel worse #for my whole life it just makes me feel worse man #because nobody gets it or I’m too fucking stupid to articulate it in a way that doesn’t sound insane and delusional #genuinely really truly its like being an animal trying to communicate with a person so I’m like. why the fuck am i not just an animal?? #it would be easier #anyway I’m gonna go turn into a fucking shrimp #I’m so over it

[fuckandfable]

winter’s presence 🍂

So now you know what to look for. Vulnerability in the trees, naked and without leaves.

It’s inanimate presences makes me feel the animation within myself. The way my body responds to mind and the way I can push thought around. Rustling like leaves but always sounding like rain.

What I love the most about beauty is its ability to spontaneously create itself out of nowhere. The ability to make me feel something when I look at it but NEVER know when that feeling may come, keeps me alive.

It gives me more than what any hope can ever hope to give me. It gives me feeling and I fucking love feeling.

God damn it it’s hard to find other angelic earth beings. I always worry about if I’m being too isolating. But yet I feel there is no real negative effect that I can observe. I am here to just shut up and sit down and completely learn from it. I will never to beat myself up about it.

I like talking to angels before they know they are one. Angel doesn’t have to be angelic, they are simply messengers. What if we were all angels here and we just don’t remember? It would explain our dedication to the ideology of worship.

I read very vulnerable and deep entries in the memoir of Höss. The man is practically naked in front of the world. His recollections keep me on the edge of my seat. I have never wanted to keep reading a book as much as I always want to read this one. To be able to put yourself in a first person perspective view of anything tragic, deeply intrigues the mind because essentially it wants to learn how to survive. Hence our love for true crime and horror.

His descriptions of human behavior and psyche have me so deep inside his fucking mind that I feel as though it’s a bit sadistic on my part. I am incredibly impressed with the way he articulates his thoughts and is able to easily read the intentions of the human mind. Not human being. Human Mind. There is a difference.

I have spent most of the day in the most perfect rays of sunshine while I read this book. It was the most peaceful I have done in a long time. I sit back and shake my head at the stupidity of the human race. We will forever indulge in the togetherness that any type of propaganda tends to give us.

Nobody knows anything unless they were there to experience it. I figured reading his memoir was the most efficient way to gain this knowledge. At the end of the day we are all learning and reading about someone else’s view of the world, or events as horrific as this. People know nothing of suffering. People think suffering is having to get a medium size meal instead of a large. Yeah. That’s where we’re at.

World War II survivors are falling off the face of the earth. Will there be anyone left to warn us besides what is written and documented in history? Do we keep trust in the word of what’s written while leaving the rest up to our imaginations because we were never there? These questions only tune me into the human race that much more.

I have to be able to separate sex, drugs, money (which all have very fucking broad definitions) from mind, body, soul, which really don’t have many definitions because it is always up to us to define those, and truth be told I don’t think many people can even come up with any viable definitions for the words mind,body, soul. We are waaaaaaay too lost in the sex, drugs, money. And that is something that I am learning to accept every day of my life.

Dare I say a revolution is needed?

-x

#sunday #seriously #make sense? #maybe im delusional #diary #tumblr diary #diaryposting #personal diary #poetic #writeblr #writing #writers and poets #poetry blog #poetry #deep writing #free writing #free write #spilled writing #writblr #spilled truth #spilled feelings #spilled words #girl interrupted #raw thoughts #deep truth #deep post #deep questions #deep feelings #deep thinking #deep thoughts

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Forget That Extra•

Summary: Porn with very little plot, just a lot of self induldent smut then some super soft Bakugo. FWB trope and all. This one gets RIGHT INTO THE NEWS (starts with smut immediately) so strap in.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader (both Bakugo and Reader are aged up to 18+)

Warnings: Rough sex, degredation, impact play, choking, ddlg terms, squirting, spitting, dumbification, a dash of breeding/impregnation kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation if you squint, multiple orgasms, marking, possession kink, switch reader, switch Bakugo. (Primarily submissive reader with primarily dominant bakugo.)

Word count: 7,402

A/N: This was,,,, depraved,, and it's only gonna get worse.

Part Two • Part Three

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"Fucking- shit- you take this cock so fucking well." Bakugo huffs out as he plows into you from behind, he punctuates his sentence with a harsh slap to your ass. The action earns a high pitched moan from you. Your right hand flies to his headboard, desperate for some kind of a brace against his punishing thrusts.

Sex with Bakugo has always been like this, rough, fast, and urgent. Everything he does in the bedroom is exactly what you would expect from somebody with his explosive personality. You two had started out as "just friends", with immense tension, until one day that tension broke and you introduced the benefits side to your relationship. It happened in an abandoned janitor's closet in the building of the hero agency you both worked at. Ever since then you became Katsuki Bakugo's personal plaything. Your little arrangement had created something truly volatile. One minute you would be all over each other, the next not even willing to speak to each other. You would never cross over the line into an actual relationship, though. That was the only rule set for this shitshow you've both created.

You're in your current predicament because you were caught flirting with some extra at the bar you two were at while Bakugo was in the bathroom. While you're not technically his, he's very territorial. He's decided to teach you a lesson of sorts about flirting behind his back. Something he has no right to do given the dynamic of your relationship, but you're more than willing to pretend if it means he'll rail you like he is right now.

"Who's pussy is this?" He nearly yells as his hand fists into your hair so he can yank you up, your back bends painfully, but you're quickly distracted from the pain by the feeling of his other hand wrapping around your throat.

"I asked you a question bitch, or have I fucked you so stupid you can't even answer?" His tone is nasty, teasing. The harshness of it all renders you incapable of articulating anything. All you can do is moan like a whore while he drills his thick cock in and out of you. His hips slam against your ass and you can feel your juices dripping down the insides of your thighs. Only Bakugo can get you like this, you want to tell him too. You want to stroke his already pompous ego, but all you can do is cry out and take what he's giving you.

"You're so fucking wet, bet you would've let anybody fuck you, huh? You- little -whore." He says the last three words with malice, ramming himself into you as each one leaves his mouth. The hand that isn't on your throat snakes around your waist to tease your clit, he doesn't do much though, just rubs light and slow and it drives you fucking insane. You can feel your body begging for an orgasm, but with the way he's touching you, all you can do is sit on the edge and wait for him to have mercy. Your walls flutter slightly, but not enough to bring you much satisfaction. You groan impatiently, biting your bottom lip hard enough to break the skin. Bakugo chuckles behind you, the sound irritates the hell out of you. Of course he's laughing at you.

"What's wrong baby? Can't cum unless I make you?" He sneers against your neck, he finishes the sentence by releasing your neck just so he can plant his hand between your shoulder blades and force your chest against the bed. Your back arches up in that sinful way you know he loves. His thrusts have slowed slightly, becoming almost gentle, his left hand is still roped around your body so his rough middle finger can trace lazy circles on your clit.

You bury your face in the mattress and cry out, you're right fucking there. Your body is screaming for it, it's like your orgasm is starting but it won't progress past the feeling of falling. It's almost fucking painful. You hear his dark laugh fill the room again and you want nothing more than to turn around and deck him in his handsome face.

He bends down and gathers your hair again, this time his movements are more guiding than demanding. He pulls your roots to turn your face to the side, he presses a sloppy kiss against your temple. His hips continue their lazy push and pull out of your soaked cunt. You let out a pathetic sob like sound and ball the sheets in your fists.

"What is it baby- tell me what you need." He's taunting you again, his voice has that teasing edge. He fucking knows what you want, but he won't give it to you until you say it. Anger bubbles in your chest, creating a strong desire to be defiant. You'll definitely pay for it, but you love it when he gets pissed off.

"I need to cum." You moan, trying to sound pitiful and desperate. You pout slightly, knowing your antics will spur him on.

"Do you think you deserve that?" He growls as he applies just slightly more pressure to your clit, only enough to tease you, making your walls ache and your head spin.

"I bet- fuck Katsuki-" You choke when he pushes himself all the way into you, circling his hips a little once he's fully encased by your soaked hole.

"You bet what?" His voice is dripping with amusement, it pulls you back down to earth long enough to spit out the words you know he'll make you pay for.

"I bet that extra could've made me cum by now." You let your lips pull into a deviant smirk, you look back at him and your chest seizes immediately. His crimson eyes are ablaze with fury, his upper lip pulls up slightly to sneer down at you. He takes a deep breath in, his strong chest expands and your mouth waters at the sweat rolling down his pecs. He stops all movement against you, you internally scream at the loss of stimulation.

He doesn't say a damn word, before you can even say anything to fix this he's ripped himself out of you, his muscular right arm slips around your waist. His hand grabs at your side and he pulls it back swiftly, flipping you onto your back like it's nothing. He leers over you, placing both hands on either side of your head. His movements are slow, almost primal. His gaze is intense and vengeful, you cower beneath him and hold your breath.

He slowly moves his right hand to grasp your chin. You let out a weak breath as soon as his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip. He pulls your soft skin down and you immediately open your mouth to pull his thumb in and swirl your tongue around it. His lack of words and action is making you increasingly nervous for what's going to come next, your heart is hammering in your chest and you have a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. He's never this quiet during sex. He's always groaning or barking orders at you, did you go too far?

"I'm sure he's still there." He sighs, pushing his thumb further into your mouth.

Your face scrunches in confusion. Where is he going with this?

He braces himself on his knees on either side of your hips, straddling you so he can move his left hand up your body. You steal a glance down between your bodies and see his cock is still painfully hard, glistening with the slick you covered him in. The sight makes you sigh against his hand while your eyes flutter back to his. His left hand snakes over your breast, flicking your nipple on his way, the action makes your body jump and him chuckle. Soon his hand is around your throat again, squeezing in a warning way that makes your heart beat even faster.

"How about I find him and bring him back here for you?" His eyes flicker to your mouth, watching you suck his thumb intently.

"But first…" His hand leaves your mouth abruptly so he can grab your jaw again, your mouth hangs open while he chokes you further.

"I'm gonna cover you in my fucking cum so he knows how much of a whore you are." He spits into your mouth then forces your jaw shut, then gives you a fierce look as he raises his eyebrows. Between his brutal words and his feral appearance, you don't dare push it. You swallow like you know he wants and open your mouth to prove that you've done it.

"Good girl." He almost moans the words.

"Is that what you want then?" He growls, visibly irritated by your lack of argument with the implications that you want somebody else to satisfy you. The hand on your throat tightens even more, causing your own hands to inch towards the vice he's created around your airway.

"No- I don't want that." You gasp out, electricity pulsing through you at the intensity of it all.

"So what do you want?" He asks impatiently.

"You- I fuckin- shit- You Katsuki, I want your cock, nobody else's." You're sputtering, white stars start to spark in your eyes.

He tears himself away from, you gasp as soon as your throat is free of his crushing grip. He maneuvers down your body so he's kneeling between your thighs, he gathers your shaking legs and presses them together, letting them lean to the left side slightly. He reaches down his body and grabs his thick cock to start stroking himself lazily. Your walls clench with longing as his deep red eyes glare at you.

"You want this?" He asks, nodding down at his impressive length.

"Please…" Your voice is absolutely pathetic, laced with need, you find yourself grabbing at the sheets again.

He doesn't say anything else, just rolls his eyes then lines his tip up at your entrance. You hiss at the contact, so desperate to be filled by him again.

Much to your dismay, he's pulled back out as soon as he's pressed himself in. Then you feel the most maddening sensation you've ever experienced. He presses his dick right between your thighs, using your slick as lube. Your eyes roll back and you huff, you feel the sting of tears gathering and gaze up at him with the most pitiful expression.

"Oh, what's the matter?" Bakugo taunts as he slides his length between your soft thighs again.

"You wanted me to fuck you again, huh?" He asks as his hands trail down the backs of your thighs, coming to the curve of your ass to finish his ministrations with a harsh squeeze.

You nod weakly, the horrible ache in your pussy is absolutely maddening. You take in a shuddering breath as you feel your legs begin to shake slightly. Bakugo doesn't miss this in the slightest, in fact, he seems to get a kick out of your desperation. His face lights up in a ferocious and sadistic way, slowly pulling himself in and out of your squished thighs the whole time.

He brings his hands back up to hook them under your knees so he can spread your legs open again. He glares down at your aching entrance and he lets out a condescending chuckle.

His right hand slithers down to your core, he lets his middle finger skate over your puffy clit. Your whole body jolts at the contact, his eyebrow tweaks up at your reaction, that knowing smirk spreads across his face.

"There is one way you can get this cock inside of you again." He drawls.

This grabs your attention shamefully fast, you shift so you're braced on your elbows. He lets himself settle down between your legs so his hot breath can fan over your dripping folds.

"I'll do it, whatever it is, please Katsuki." You're more than just slightly embarrassed to be pleading in this way, but your body needs release desperately, so your pride is nearly non-existent.

"You can squirt for me." His words send a chill right up your spine. You shiver in anticipation and relax against his touch. He presses his lips into the inside of your thigh as his arms snake around your legs so he can hold them against his strong shoulders. He gives you a few more gentle kisses, nipping your heated skin every once in a while.

His eyes flicker up to yours, the beautiful scarlet irises are flooded with lust and his pupils are blown wide. The sight of him looking at you like that from between your legs makes your chest ignite with exhilarating desire. He opens his mouth, letting his tongue loll out, not breaking eye contact for a second. He flicks the tip of it over your clit with lightning speed, you throw your head back and huff at his agonizing teasing.

You're jolted back to reality with smack the side of your leg with brutal force. The sharp sting makes your walls contract as a whimper leaves your throat.

"Eyes on me, sweet girl." He mumbles against you, lips pressing into your clit as he sighs.

You internally scream, you want to tell him to use his mouth on you, you want to tell him to quit his teasing and be a man. You don't fucking dare though, you're miserable enough.

Then he finally licks a long strip up your lips, letting the tip of his tongue flick your clit like he did seconds ago. This time he applies more pressure and moves slower. Your body reacts instantly, cunt clenching as your thighs jerk inwards. He absolutely hates that, he growls and pulls his hands from your hips to press them against the insides of your thighs so he can pry your legs open.

"Don't make me tie these down." He warns, giving you no time to answer before pressing his hot mouth back against where you need him most.

You cry out but you don't dare let your head fall back, remembering his command from before. Your head is spinning and your body is trembling against your will. He's completely devouring you, his mouth is creating lewd smacking sounds as he tongues your aching clit. Before you can't even process it when you feel two of his thick fingers shove into your fluttering cunt.

"Fucking hell, Katsuki!" You cry as he starts to pump his digits in and out of you, his tongue doesn't slow down at all as he finger fucks you furiously.

Your nerves are on fire as the pleasure in your center builds until you're on the edge again. Your body's reaction is to squeeze your legs together. Just as you start to pull them inwards slightly Katsuki raises the hand that isn't two knuckles deep inside you and lets it fall against the inside of your thigh with a crack. The sweet sting makes you moan, you're pushed even closer to your release and you feel an unnatural pressure build close to where he's working your cunt.

"I'm gonna- oh my god- Baby, I'm gonna-" You spit the words out between gasps, the confirmation that you're about to give him what he wants only spurs him on further. His fingers move even quicker, he lets them curl up against the sponge-like skin, jerking his wrist harshly. As soon as the pads of his fingers find that sweet spot inside you, the dam breaks. Your body collapses against the bed as your back arches off the sweat soaked sheets.

"Oh that's it baby girl, that's what I wanna see." He huffs out as you start to squirt around his fingers. He's replaced his tongue with his other hand, letting his middle finger flick your clit in fervent up and down motions. The change of stimulation has you crying out and thrashing your head as you squirt forcefully, the feeling is so foreign and intense. Blinding pleasure catches every single nerve of your body on fire as your pussy clenches and gushes against him. It's almost embarrassing but it feels so incredible.

"-Feels so fucking good, Suki don't fucking stop." You wail, hands grasping at the bed as your hips lift up. Your cunt gives him one last powerful burst as you sob his name over and over.

He keeps his hands working against you, but slows his movements down as he watches your body ease back out of its rapturous pleasure. As soon as you're flat against the mattress again and he sees you catch your breath, he rips his hands away from you. You want to object, but before you can he's shoving his fingers into your mouth. Your own spunky flavor spreads across your taste buds as you suck him into your mouth so you can clean your release off.

"First of all, don't tell me what to do." He huffs as he pulls his fingers out so he can capture your jaw in a possessive grasp.

"Second of all, I'm not going to stop until you want to fucking worship me." His words send you reeling, still trying to catch your breath from the electrifying orgasm he's just given you.

He bends down and kisses you fiercely, all teeth and tongue as he claims your mouth.

He pulls away and settles back onto his knees between your legs. His hands trail down your sides, his feathery touch raises goosebumps all over your flushed skin.

"You were such a good girl." He mumbles as his hand comes to grasp his hard length, he strokes it lazily as he looks down at you.

You lick your lips at the sight, of course he doesn't miss the action. He lets out a patronizing chuckle.

"Is this what you want?" He asks with a mocking tone.

"Yes." You say quietly, your voice is ragged from your previous cries.

His eyebrows shoot up as he lets himself drop to cage you with his arms. He shoves your drenched thighs apart with his knee so he can settle between them. He presses himself against your folds and you his at the teasing sensation.

"Yes what, baby?" The sweet nickname betrays his menacing tone.

Your hands slide up to claw at his muscular sides, your lip quivers and your thighs squeeze his hips.

"Yes, Daddy, I want you to ruin me with that cock." Your voice is light and begging, just like he likes it.

He glares down at you, still pissed at you for bringing up the guy from the bar, but you see the small crack in his facade at your confession. You decide to keep running with your little desperate act. Well, it's not really an act, you truly are so fucking desperate for him. Pride be damned, you need to get railed.

"I'm so sorry I said anything about that stupid extra." You sigh, letting your hands slide up his tense abs.

"He could never make me feel like you do. Nobody ever could." Your hands find their place on the sides of his face, you let your hips roll up against his aching length as you bat your eyelashes.

"Do you mean that?" He asks. The tone in his voice throws you off. He's the one that sounds desperate now, like he wants you to keep reassuring him. Of course he fucking does. He said it himself, he wants you to worship him.

"Nobody has ever made me come that hard before." You admit. His face almost quivers at your words. You take advantage at the moment of weakness, you wrap your strong thighs around his hips and flip you both so you're straddling him. It's a gamble of a move given how much you just pissed him off, but he's all too ready to have his ego stroked. He submits to you beautifully, allowing you to settle on top of his lap so you can run your slick center on his needy dick. His hands cling to your hips, finger tips digging in when you rake your own hands through his messy blonde spikes.

"You make me feel so good, Suki." You whisper against his ear, reveling in the way his entire body relaxes. Maybe he doesn't need to dominate you, maybe he needs you to prove your devotion to him.

"Yeah? Is that right?" He tries to maintain his intimidating tone, but the feeling of his tip against your soaking hole makes him bite his lip while his eyes roll back.

"That's right baby, your name is the only name I want to scream." You punctuate your sentence with a nip at the soft skin under his ear.

A sweet, breathy moan escapes his throat. Now it's your turn to be power hungry.

You snake your hand up to his jaw, letting your fingers grasp the tense flesh with a delicate hold. His eyes meet yours and it takes every ounce of self control in your body to hold you back from jumping on his dick right that second. He's looking up at you with big, doe like eyes. Desperation is etched on every handsome feature, it's enough to make your knees go weak.

"Can I please make you feel good?" You ask sweetly, letting your thumb trace over his kiss-swollen bottom lip. He just nods and sighs, never letting his eyes leave yours for a second.

You roll your hips against him again, the action only makes his grip on your hips tighten as he throws his head back.

"You're already doin' that." He huffs out. His cheeks have a dusting of blush across them. He looks so beautiful like this, all flushed and desperate. You've never really been in control before, not like this anyway. Sure, you've been on top, but you've never seen Bakugo so… submissive?

You grab the sides of his face instinctively, pulling him towards you to place a gentle kiss on his lips. He moans into your mouth as he lets his hands snake around your waist to pull you against him. He lifts your torso against his and you bite his bottom lip when you feel the tip of his dick press into your dripping hole. You pull away to glance down at him and you notice the strained look in his ruby eyes.

"Don't hold back, pretty boy." You breathe out. Your words break his resolve completely, he snarls at you as he plants his feet on the bed so he can drive his cock into you with one sharp thrust. You scream his name and throw your hands out to brace against the headboard.

"Are you sure about that, princess?" He taunts as he pulls out again, stopping once his head is pressed at your entrance again.

"Yes- fuck- please fuck me like tha- FUCK!" You don't get a chance to finish your begging, he sinks himself into you again but this time he doesn't stop. His pace is immediately unforgiving, your whole body starts to shake and all you can do is cry out with each thrust.

"That's it, fuckin' scream for me, baby." He pants. His mouth then moves to attack your neck with hot open mouthed kisses and nips. Whiny moans fall from his lips between each bite. The sweet sting of his teeth against the delicate skin sends shocks of pleasure straight to your core where you're being split open by his incredibly harsh thrusts.

"I don't want to ever hear you talk about another man like that, not when I can fuck your cunt like this." He gasps when the words make you clamp down on him even more than you already are. His possessive statement makes you want to submit completely, any hint of the dominance you felt seconds ago flies from your brain. You're left with nothing but the need to surrender and please him.

"I'm sorry." You sob against his shoulder as he kisses your cervix with his pounding.

"For what?" He grunts. He's testing you now, seeing just how far you've slipped into your submissive headspace.

"I'm sorry for even talking to him. He's nothing compared to you, Dynamight." Your voice is filled with broken desperation, your mind is set on earning atonement for your behavior at the bar.

The name sends him over the edge, without stopping his hips he flips you both over so he can shove your back into the bed. One hand flies to the headboard while the other comes down to form a vice around your throat. He doesn't choke you though, just applies enough pressure to keep you on edge. His mind is set more on possession than punishment now.

"Is this how I get you to behave? I gotta fuck you senseless so you'll fucking act right?" He snarls at you, nothing but fury in his eyes as he buries himself in you again and again.

You nod your head furiously, your jaw drops when he delivers a particularly rough thrust that sets all of your nerves on fire. Drool slips out of the side of your mouth and you feel hot tears fall from your eyes. Your legs tremble around him and your hands cling to the sheets as you moan and sob beneath him.

"Who makes you feel this good?" He barks.

"You do." You say pitifully, immediately kicking yourself for not answering him the way you're supposed to.

In a flash his hand has left your throat so he can send his knuckles cracking across your cheek as he back hands you with a growl. The hand comes back to grab your jaw and jerk your head to face him, he brings his hips to an agonizing pace. He rolls his body against your a few times before pressing himself into you completely, then he stops moving completely. You cry and squirm against the painful stretch, blinking up at him with blurry, tear filled eyes.

"You have one more chance." He says against your ear, voice low and full of warning. He lets his hand squeeze your face even more, inevitably decorating your jaw with little bruises.

"Who makes you feel this good?" He asks you again, his voice has a slight tremor to it, giving you a heads up that now is not the time to push him.

"You do, sir." You gasp, another sob wracking your body. You want to push your hips up against his to gain back even a trace of the feeling he was previously giving you. Your body trembles like a leaf when you realize how pathetic your voice still sounds, knowing he won't be satisfied.

"Speak up, bitch." He says, letting his palm crack across your other cheek. The pain makes your pussy clench around him, he just chuckles at your slutty behavior.

"You do, sir!" You try to scream, but you just end up crying. You know you have to look like an absolute wreck.

Out of your peripheral vision his hand moves again and you brace for impact, but he shocks you by placing his hand gently against your check. The hand on the headboard comes down to rest beside your head, letting his body come even closer to you. You gaze up at him and wait with baited breath for his next command.

"That's my girl. Now, beg." He says plainly as he pulls his hips back by barely an inch to rock back into you. The motion pushes more tears out of your eyes and more drool from your mouth.

"Please fuck me, Daddy, please- OH FUCK!" Just like that he's ripping you apart again with his relentless thrusts.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you thank you thank you." You cry like a prayer as your eyes drill shut and your back arches off the bed, your walls seize up and your muscles quake when you hear him moaning praises.

"You're so fucking tight, princess." He knows what he's doing, he knows exactly what to say when you're like this, and it's fucking perfect.

"Thank you, daddy." You sob against the hand still pressed to your cheek, you're both surrendering now. Your bodies are aching for that sweet euphoria you offer each other after all this teasing. His other hand mirrors the one holding your cheek so he can cradle your face and lean his forehead against yours. The tenderness sends you careening towards your orgasm, but you know better than to finish without permission.

"Can I please cum." You beg as your hands slide to his back so you can drag your nails down the sweat soaked skin.

"Not yet, you better fuckin' hold it." He huffs out above you, he brings himself back up to brace on one arm. The other slides down to flip one of your legs up so he can hook it around his elbow. The way this new position has your hips angled is absolutely maddening for both of you. You're spread so wide for him that he's able to plunge into you to the hilt with every thrust, and the way your leg is hiked up makes you feel even tighter around him. An all too familiar pressure builds in your core, your walls flutter and your abs tense as the muscles in your cunt shutter.

"I'm gonna fuckin' squirt again." You pray he doesn't punish you for stating it instead of asking if you could, but the look in his eyes tells you he's not in an orgasm ruining mood. His red eyes light up with an animalistic glare, wild blonde hair glued to his forehead by the sweat pouring out of his overworked body.

"Fuckin' do it then, slut. Let me feel that messy cunt cum all over my cock." That's all it takes.

Your hand flies down to assault your clit, and the stimulation sends you straight into your electric orgasm. Your body convulses against Katsuki as your cunt spasms and gushes around his cock, you revel in the sweet pleasure that spreads between your legs and sob out broken cries. He doesn't slow down his thrusts in the slightest, if anything he speeds up. The sight of you squirting around him turns him completely feral.

"Oh fuck yeah, good girl, fuckin' soak me." His voice shifts to that beautiful higher pitch that makes him sound so needy.

You let out gasps and shrill moans as you come undone, between your fingers and his thrust your release is being spread all over the two of you, inevitably ruining the sheets as well.

"Thank you sir- fuck! Thank you for making me squirt." You moan, fingers slowing down as the gushing from your cunt stops. Nerves twitching with the aftershocks of your blinding release, you gain some mental clarity. As Katsuki continues to drill into you, you make sure to not let your walls relax, desperate to see him come undone. You know exactly what he needs. He needs that big ass ego stroked.

His thrusts slow slightly, setting a much less brutal pace. It's not the slow, sloppy pace he sets when he's close, though. His face is scrunched up in deep concentration, breath leaving his lungs in harsh puffs. While he has stamina unmatched by anybody you've ever slept with, he is human. His body is exhausted from all of the exertion it took to get you to finish so forcefully, you look down his body and see his muscles twitching under his lovely, porcelain skin. You owe him after that, big time. It's your turn to make him a mess.

"You ruined me, Daddy." You say as you watch his eyebrows squeeze together, your tone is feather soft as you run your fingers along his sides. His body reacts with a gorgeous shutter, now you've got him.

"You're the only one baby, only you can make me cum that hard." A stunning moan leaves his throat, your sweet talk is doing a number on him, and a wicked idea enters your brain.

"Let me ride you, please, I wanna make it up to you." You beg.

"Make what up to me?" He's so caught off guard by your request, and the fact that he doesn't immediately know what you're talking about tells you he's hanging on by a thread.

"I was such a bad girl, Daddy. I gotta make it up to you." You say with a sweet, innocent tone. Another gentle moan leaves his mouth and his hips stall slightly. That's the exact window you were looking for. You use the same move you did earlier to roll yourself on top. He huffs out as his back meets the mattress, cock still buried inside you. Your hips settle down against his as you lean forward to press your torso against his. One strong hand slides to squeeze your ass while the other sneaks up your side to grab your breast, skilled fingers pinch the nipple and you hiss at the stimulation. You roll your hips against his as your body sings for him.

"Please, baby." He sighs, leaning up to press a kiss against your collar bone.

The gentleness of his request makes your head spin, as well as his willingness to ask so sweetly. Katsuki doesn't ask for anything in the bedroom, or in general. Seeing him in this submissive state makes your mind and body buzz. If you were in a more sadistic mood, you might want to hear him beg a little more, but your body is already so worn from the intense orgasms he's put you through. You settle for lazily rolling your hips against him, gazing down to watch every gorgeous expression cross his fucked out face. His head falls back and his eyes flutter shut, his lips part as and a strained moan leaves his mouth.

"Look at me, baby, please, I want you to watch me." You coo, letting your hands slide up to run through his messy hair. He opens his mouth to say something, probably sass you for even remotely attempting to give him an order. He's cut off as you raise your hips to back down on his length suddenly.

"Oh shit, keep doin' that." He glances down between your bodies, desperate to see where you're connected.

"This?" You tease as you raise your hips again to repeat the motion, this time setting a gentle pace as you bounce on his cock.

"Yeah, just like that, good girl." He sighs, head falling back. Of course he's not going to listen to your request for him to keep his eyes open, even when he's the one underneath you, he won't be told what to do. You're not in the mood to challenge him though, your overstimulated body is already responding to the feeling of him inside you. You sit up and throw your hair over your shoulder as you bring yourself down against him with more force. You grab his wrists and drag his leathery hands up your sides, causing his eyes to snap open as he lifts his head up to gaze at your bouncing breasts.

"Play with me, Daddy, please." You moan softly, guiding his hands up to grasp your tits. He squeezes them greedily and groans at the feeling of the soft flesh. You plant your hands on his strong chest and focus all of your energy into riding him. As your hips snap down against him, he fills you perfectly and you feel your own orgasm starting to build. You're on a mission though, Katsuki has to cum now, and you know exactly how to make that happen.

"Fuck- I wanna feel you cum baby, please fill me up." You beg as you throw your head back, his hands fly to your waist at your confession and his fingers dig into you.

"Yeah? You desperate for Daddy's cum?" He's maintaining his dominance, but his resolve is crumbling.

You nod fervently, grabbing his right hand so you can bring it to your mouth. You take his thumb into your mouth and wrap your pouty lips around it, you feel drool drip out of your mouth to slide down your chin and land on your chest. You look down to see him watching you like a hawk, eyes glued to the spit sliding between your breasts. You let his thumb fall out of your mouth so you can dirty talk some more.

"Make me yours, put a fuckin baby in me, Suki." You throw yourself forward so you can plant your hands beside his head and bare down on his cock even more. Obscene, wet, smacking sounds fill the room as your sopping cunt slams down on his length repeatedly.

"I'll make you mine, slut, I'll fuckin fill you up." He huffs out.

"I'll put a baby in that perfect body, ruin you for everyone else- shit, baby- I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fuckin cum." As he finishes his sentence his voice climbs a few octaves, starting at his usual manly tenor to end at a pitiful wine.

"You feel so good Daddy, let me feel you cum, I wanna make you feel good." You run a hand down his chest, letting your nails leave angry red marks in their wake. He throws his head back to cry out as his hips buck against you, the sight sends you hurtling into another earth shattering orgasm. It's so fucking perfect, as soon as he starts cumming your walls start pulsing around him. You both still against each other as you feel him start to fill you up with ropes of his hot cum. You collapse onto his chest as you both work your hips against each other, moaning incoherent praises about how good you both did. You ride out your orgasms in tandem, his beautiful, broken moans fill your ears as hot tears cascade down your pink cheeks.

You both pant as you come back down, nerves firing and bodies twitching. You bring your face up to glance down at him. His ruby eyes flutter open to meet yours, his hands move gingerly up your body. His fingertips glide over the bruises already forming on the skin he abused with his teeth. He moves to press a thankful kiss against your battered neck. You run your fingers through his hair and let out a content hum at his affectionate gesture.

He continues to place kisses up your neck, across your jaw, then he grabs your chin so he can tilt your face to the left to kiss where the impact of his knuckles have welted the skin. He does the same with the other cheek so he can kiss where he slapped you on that side.

"Let's get you cleaned up." He mumbles against your flushed face. He timidly slips his softening cock out of your well used hole, you feel warm liquid leak out and spread down your thighs, but at this point it's impossible to know who it's from. You roll off of him and huff when your back hits the bed. He slides off and stands with his hand out for you, you take it and wince when you stand. Your legs threaten to give out, trembling beneath you as you attempt to walk.

"Come here you big baby." He rolls his eyes and scoops you up bridal style. You sigh and lean your head against his shoulder as he hauls you off to the bathroom. He gently sets you in the large claw foot bathtub, you shiver as the frozen porcelain bites your hot skin.

"Here, move forward." He says simply, you obey thoughtlessly. He slides in behind you after flipping the faucet on. He gathers your hair in his hands then moves it over your shoulder so it can fall across your chest when you lean back against him. He brings a hand up to smooth the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead back, placing a sweet kiss to your temple while he does so.

Your eyes flutter closed and you bask in the warmth of his aftercare. Katsuki might be a rockstar in bed, but he really shines in the quiet moments after. He always cares for you like you're something precious that he doesn't want to break. The thought sends a pang of longing through your chest, knowing the security he offers after his rough sex isn't the result of romance.

"Thank you, sir," You sigh out as the water rises over your shaking legs. He smiles against your head, amused at you still addressing him with the name he demands you use in the bedroom, knowing you're still stuck in your obedient headspace.

"Use my name, baby." He says, coaxing you back out of it.

"Thank you, Suki." He hums at the nickname as he reaches for your hand, bringing the back of it to his soft lips.

Soon the water has covered both of your bodies completely, you reach your foot out to turn the faucet off. The heat of the water feels devine against your exhausted muscles, your legs stop trembling and you relax against Katsuki.

"Can we talk?" He asks, head dropping to kiss along the shoulder not covered by your hair.

"What about?" You ask, taking his hand in yours to observe the scars littering his broad palm.

"I meant it." He says, voice deep and intentional.

"Meant what?" You inquire, bringing his hand up to kiss it like he had yours.

"Be mine." He says it like it's obvious, like you should've known better.

Your heart soars at the proposition, but you have to make sure he isn't just talking out of his ass because he's high on endorphins.

"Suki, we agreed that-"

"I know what we fuckin' agreed on." He says gruffly, there's the harsh Bakugo you know.

"I changed my mind." He says, taking a deep breath after changing his tone back to a more caring one.

"Plus I'm doing you a favor." He says, voice laced with mischief.

"How so?" You ask.

"This way you won't have bad sex with lame extras." He states, making you both laugh a little.

"Yeah, good point." You giggle. You turn so you can straddle him, water splashing around you as you do so.

His hands find their home on your waist and his eyes study your face as you settle on his lap.

"You can't have all your ladies though." You sigh, giving a fake pout as you bring your hands up to cradle his face.

"There haven't been any others since this started." His honesty nearly knocks the wind out of you.

"What?" You ask, absolutely dumbfounded.

"Nobody but you." He confirms, leaning up to kiss across your collar bones. He presses his lips into your skin again and again, you pull his face away to look down at him seriously.

"I don't like seeing you with anyone else, I don't want anyone else to have you." He looks up at you through his lashes, an unusual look in his eyes.

"Ok." You breathe out, causing his eyebrows to raise, an almost excited look on his face.

"I'm yours, Suki." You smile down at him. A rare grin spreads across his handsome face and his lips are on yours instantly, kissing you passionately as his arms snake around to grab at your hips.

"Say it again." He mumbles against your lips, still smiling like a fool.

"I'm all yours, Dynamight." You say with a wry smile.

He chuckles, low and dark, before scooping you up by grabbing you under your thighs. You giggle as he pulls you out of the water, he moves quickly back into the bedroom then throws you on the bed. You laugh as you bounce against the mattress.

"What are you doing? We're gonna get the sheets wet!" You yell.

"We already did that, sweetheart." He laughs as he crawls over you.

"Plus, you're my woman now-" He grabs your waist and starts kissing down your stomach, your body reacts to him immediately, head thrown back as his kisses inch lower.

"I've fucked you, now I've gotta make love to you." He says against your hip bone, punctuating his sentence with a sweet bite.

The promise of something so passionate with Bakugo has you reeling. You're more than ready for whatever he has planned for tonight.

"Take me, sparky." You tease, letting him spread your legs.

"Oh baby, I'll do more than that." And just like that, you're seeing stars again.

#bakugou x you #bakugo smut #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo x reader #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #my hero academia smut #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha smut #bnha #katsuki x you

[iamanartichoke]

Another totally unprompted ask, on the assumption that you are definitely no longer in need of them… another thing I’m trying to work out about Loki characterisation in preparation for perpetrating fic torture on him is how suicidal the poor sod is most of the time. This is another thing I’ve seen referred to a lot but only in passing. Though obviously this is a pretty triggery topic, so ignore if you want.

I am always in need of totally unprompted asks, otherwise I just assume no one wants to talk to me lmao

So, hoo boy. I have been mulling over this for, apparently, three days now bc there's just ... there's a lot to unpack here. Putting under a cut for obviously triggery content and also for length bc fml.

In my opinion, the response to "how suicidal is Loki most of the time" is "very, but whether or not he wants to do anything about it varies from moment to moment" (see what I did there? I'll see myself out). In other words, I have always had a headcanon that Loki is consistently, passively suicidal. This is a headcanon that comes straight from TDW, bc I'm certain that Loki never had any intention of surviving their mission. And that could be a whole other post, really, but the point is that even though this is a TDW-centric headcanon, I have come to adopt it as applying to Loki in general as well, not just in those specific circumstances.

When I say passively suicidal, I mean that Loki is just sort of ambivalent about the value of his own life. He feels like he doesn't deserve to be alive, and feels like there's little point in being alive. Which - I don't mean to sound all gloom and doom, like, poor uwu emo Loki (and I kinda hate that I have to pause to disclaim that, no, I don't just have a fixation on Loki being depressed for funsies/the aesthetic/whatever); I think that this mindset stems from really complicated places that I'm not sure I can articulate, but I will try.

I view Loki as someone who suffers from a severe inferiority complex, and I feel like it stems from being abandoned as an infant. Loki's life started with a traumatic event and, even if he doesn't remember the event itself, the feelings he experienced stayed in his subconscious. Feelings of loss, of fear, of despair and abandonment, of suffering - these are all feelings that burrowed into his bones and lived there for his entire life, feelings that colored how Loki viewed himself as a person as well as how he compared to the people around him.

Keep in mind that Loki didn't know he was abandoned until the events of Thor 1, obviously. We don't really know how old Loki is, in human years, but I have always assumed that he and Thor were at least adults (not teenagers), maybe the equivalent of early twenties - and the reason I bring that up is because it means Loki made it all the way to adulthood carrying the weight of a trauma that he did not remember or even knew had happened, so to him, there was no real reason for how wrong he felt. There was no explanation for the feelings of loss, of neglect, of fear. So on top of struggling with those feelings, Loki was also burdened with the alienation that comes with wondering why one can't just be like everyone else, why one can't just "snap out" of depression, why one's sense of self-worth has always been lacking.

So imagine what it's like to grow up as Loki. He was traumatized as an infant. The trauma has been with him his entire life, along with the confusion/alienation of not understanding why he feels the way that he does, and then on top of that, his basic personality lends itself toward introspection and isolation, so he likely felt even further removed from Thor and from his peers. Loki's too smart for his own good, and he's got an enormous capacity to feel and I feel like this is a combination that works against him as much as it does for him, bc it probably means he spent a lot of time examining himself and identifying all of his perceived flaws - and then berating himself for said flaws.

People with depression are probably pretty familiar with the bully that lives in your head, the one who is always there to remind you that you're stupid, or ugly, or that nobody likes you, or that you have nothing of value to contribute to anyone, etc. Loki's no different; he's got that bully in his head, too. Add onto this the fact that his brother is literally perfect, that he feels his father doesn't love him (or love him as much), that his interests in things like magic are looked down on in his culture, and that he's a prince (meaning that along with the privilege comes pressure, and being in the public eye, knowing that everyone around him is comparing him to Thor as much as he compares himself to Thor, well.) and you have a total clusterfuck of a mindset, and Loki's been existing inside of that clusterfuck for nearly all of his life.

I always go back to the quote where, when filming I think the vault scene, Kenneth Branagh directs Tom by saying, "This is the moment where the thin steel rod holding your brain together snaps." And it's such a significant moment for Loki bc this is where it all crumbles for him, learning the truth, but I also fixate on the "thin steel rod" part of the quote bc that's not how one would describe a healthy, stable person's mind. The implication, to me, has always been that Loki wasn't that stable to start with due to his general upbringing, his internal struggles, and his personality, so of course the devastation of learning he's adopted, and Jotun, would send him over the edge. One doesn't go from zero to 60; one doesn't fall over the edge unless they were balancing fairly close to it in the first place. And to me, the "thin steel rod" basically equals the aforementioned clusterfuck of a mindset.

THE POINT IS. (Holy shit, I ramble.) This is the foundation on which I'm basing my headcanon that Loki neither values his life nor feels as if he even deserves to live it - bc his default mindset is one of inferiority, of loss, of pain. And I think that going from being a general unstable person pre-canon to being passively suicidal post-canon is a thing that happened because, somewhere between the vault in Thor 1 and the dungeons in TDW, Loki just stopped caring.

Life is exhausting for everyone, but even moreso when your mental load becomes more than you can carry. Loki is exhausted. His experience is that things just keep getting worse and worse for him - he's never been valued, he's always been found wanting. He discovers that he was literally thrown away as an infant, unwanted and left to die, and things haven't gotten much better for him since then. Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. His plans spin out of control. He's unable to prove his worth and his value and when he is, in fact, rejected, he literally tries to kill himself (only to survive and end up in an even worse situation).

It all just continually goes downhill, and Loki is fucking exhausted. He's done. He has no hope that anything is ever going to change - he will never be valued or even seen, he's unable to connect to anyone, he has no family (aside from Thor, but their relationship is so fraught with pain). As far as he's concerned, his life has been nothing but a waste since he was born and if no one else values it, why should he?

So - passively suicidal. He places no value on his life, and doesn't shy away from situations that could cost him his life. It's possible that the only reason he's not actively suicidal is bc his previous attempt not only failed but led to such a horrible situation that he's probably too afraid to intentionally seek out death again. He doesn't want to fail and end up worse off for it.

And - not that you asked this in particular, but - my biggest disappointment in the series is that none of what I've just written is addressed in a satisfying way (to me). That is, we don't get any real explicit acknowledgement of the trauma of Loki's abandonment as a baby or how that affected his mental health growing up; we don't get to explore how devastated he was to learn of his adoption; we don't ever see him reconcile his ingrained belief that jotuns are monstrous savages with the fact that he is jotun. He says "I betrayed everyone I loved, but I'm different now" and we're supposed to infer what he means without Loki actually articulating why he feels that he's the only one who should be held responsible for all these things that had happened or what "I've changed" even means to him (aside from not betraying Sylvie).

I would have liked to see these things addressed for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that I would want to see how Loki comes to terms with all of his issues and his pain enough that he stops being passively suicidal. We never get to see that; after TDW, the time that passes allows for Loki to kinda chill, resulting in the Ragnarok version, but if there was any real healing or recovering going on, it was happening off-screen, with the audience expected to just go with "yeah Loki was going through it for awhile but he's kinda better now."

Furthermore, much of what I've written here is based on prime Loki's development through TDW, but doesn't account for series Loki's split from that timeline nor the theme of "Lokis survive" that's so prevalent in the series. So I don't think the "passively suicidal" headcanon is really appropriate for series Loki but, at the same time, I'd like to have seen why. I'd like to have seen Loki learning to value his life, or where the "we survive" mindset comes from, since that's not really been a thing before now. (Out of universe, I suspect it comes from the context of Loki just not dying whenever he tries to, but since TDW and IW haven't happened, and Loki didn't intend to survive his fall from the bifrost, framing Loki as an innate survivor doesn't really make sense, but to be fair, I'm just being picky.)

So, yeah. I'm not saying Loki doesn't experience growth or development in the series, I'm just saying that his arc left much unsaid and, furthermore, framing his growth as "wanting a throne to not wanting a throne" without addressing that Loki doesn't actually want the power of the throne, he wants the value and self-worth he associates with the throne, is - well, again, unsatisfying. Not bad, but it leaves viewers like me wanting bc we're cognizant of how much more could have been done.

I ... am going to end this now. This is probably nonsensical and all over the place, so I'm very sorry, and I'm sure this is why I don't get meta-starter asks lmfao bc no one's out here trying to read my dissertation submission for a Ph.D in Loki, but well, sometimes it just be like that.

Thank you for the ask and the opportunity to ramble.

#asks #charlotte replies #loki pokey artichokey #loki series #loki series criticism #loki meta #tw suicidal ideation #tw suicide attempt #tw suicide #tw mental health #tw depression #i spent two fucking hours on this yet i still feel like it's rambly nonsense #i hit stream-of-consciousness at some point and just went with it #and now i'm too lazy to revise #so i'm sorry #this'll probably only get like 10 notes anyway bc that's how it be on tumblr #put effort in and get little validation; put no effort in and everyone loses their minds

[a-lil-perspective]

.

I wonder what it’s like to not be on edge every second of every day. To not feel nervous—God, I’m such a skittish thing—to feel at ease and not the sheer tension radiating through my body, fueling that fight-or-flight even if things around me seem relatively normal.

I wonder what it’s like to feel normal, to not be seized by crippling anxiety that everyone around me is so blissfully ignorant to. I’m practically screaming warning signs and they’re all so fucking stupid or they just don’t give a damn. And I’m not sure which is worse.

I guess that’s my fault for expecting people to be as emotionally astute as I am.

I wonder what it’s like to not feel maniacal, to have healthy thoughts. I wonder what it’s like to not remember every little thing I do or say, replay it in my mind over and over and over again until it makes me physically sick. I wonder what it’s like to not feel like everyone’s watching me, waiting for me to mess up.

The thought of messing up sends me into a panic, the kind where I can’t catch my breath and I think, “God, this is it, I’m so fucking stupid, I can’t do anything right, they’re gonna get rid of me”-

I’m sitting by myself sobbing, and I feel like all eyes are on me.

But at the same time, I feel complete and utterly alone. I’ve never felt more alone.

I wonder what it’s like to not work myself into a frenzy. I constantly have to talk myself down from the figurative ledge.

I wonder what it’s like to have friends, to not be isolated, to not be stuck with my own fucking thoughts for one minute. I wonder what it’s like to function—I can fake it so well. Scarily well. Everyone thinks I have my shit together. Nobody has me figured out—and I like it that way. I shouldn’t, but I do. There’s this part of me that craves it, the confusion—I get this morbid enjoyment from being an enigma to my family and peers.

That’s not normal.

Nobody knows me—nobody ever made it a point to. Nobody ever made me feel like I was important. And at some point, my brain stopped begging for someone to care and just embraced the fact that nobody ever will. When all I’ve ever wanted was to be known, a part of me says never. I’m simultaneously crushed and fueled by the fact that everyone thinks I’m aloof, severe, and generally lacking substance.

Which, I am.

I genuinely, from a place deeper than my soul, believe that I have nothing to offer anyone. I have no positive or redeeming qualities about myself. I really can’t name one. I have thoroughly convinced myself. That nobody would ever want someone like me. That I’ll never have companionship, or understanding, or healthy love. I feel like I’m not good at anything. I can’t articulate myself. I’m not smart. I’m not dexterous. If there’s a way to fuck something up, rest assured I’m to do it.

And so I make myself indispensable.

I tell myself if I bust my ass enough, work tirelessly and perfectly and without complaint, then, and only then, am I worth anything. I’m only “worthy” when I’m serving others. Any other time, my brain tells me I am nothing more than the dirt under people’s feet. And I believe it.

I tell myself I need to be on medication. Because I know I do. I feel like I do. Because this thought process is not normal. The blatant anxiety and depression is not normal.

I don’t know if meds could even help me at this point.

But I loathe myself so much that I could never bring myself to ask for help, because I just don’t care anymore, about what will happen to me. I’ll either power through it or I won’t. Like, I’m kind of just in “survival mode” at this point.

Come to think of out, I’ve been in survival mode for as long as I can remember. Thanks, childhood.

Honestly in my mind, all I can think about is that a professional will deem my problems “typical for my age” and thus not important—I’ve always had people make assumptions about me. Downplay me. Because I’m not important. I don’t matter.

And so I don’t matter to myself.

And people get mad at me, when I say that—they tell me I’m too “negative” and should “be kind to myself” or whatever.

You can’t blame me for never learning how to love myself.

I don’t know how to—nobody ever showed me or made me feel like I was worthy of love or that I was even a person with an identity. I grew up submissive and in constant search of purpose. I don’t know anything about myself outside of my mental disorders (which I’m only just now acknowledging I actually have). I don’t… I don’t know who I am.

It feels like an out of body experience. Like I’m just a wandering soul watching myself lose my shit from afar and it’s pathetic. People around me have lives and love and their qualities and I’m over here breaking down over everything I’m not. I lost my sense of identity—or maybe I never had one. And I just, I don’t know how to find it.

The idea of talking to a professional makes me spiral, sincerely. I can’t do it, it makes me so nervous, like, what the fuck am I literally supposed to say??? “Hey I’m malfunctioning and I should probably be locked away”???

Not to mention it makes me bitter—why would I waste my time and money on someone who (more than likely) sees me as nothing more than a paycheck stub?

Sorry. I’m very cynical I guess.

Distrustful, to say the least.

I hate spending my days like this. I’m constantly on the verge of a breakdown. At any given moment. From sun up to sun down. I literally wake up nervous. The only time I feel better is when I’m sleeping.

I’ve found out that sleeping is my brain’s way of protecting me. It’s a defense mechanism. Because it doesn’t know what else to do at this point.

When I break down, I go to sleep. Sometimes I just want to stay asleep.

[ciaran-archive]

“some of us do it to cope” is kind of a joke these days but like. it is actually not a joke for many people? like it’s obviously unpleasant to interact with people who are mean and hostile and uncharitable for no discernable reason and nobody is obligated to. but also...lots of people exist in situations where they have no choice but to be mean and hostile and uncharitable. lots of people are made angry and mistrustful and rude by trauma. i don’t want to have the whole ‘this isn’t making excuses for them’ spiel in this post. like...sometimes we deify kindness too much i think? at the real cost of survivors who struggle to express negative emotions or struggle to feel anything else. all else being equal it’s better to be kind but frequently all else isn’t equal and some people really had to work to be demanding and entitled and angry. just because being nice is good doesn’t mean it’s bad to be mean, especially when so many situations in life do call for you to just be a bitch and get it done.

re the deification of kindness i uhh don’t know how to say this but like. you can be too ‘kind’, you can give too much of yourself or give away things you’re not comfortable with in the pursuit of niceness. and like. it’s okay to be kind of mean imo. it’s okay to tell someone to stop venting to you continuously because you have your own problems, it’s okay to leave a shitty friend on read, it’s okay to ghost people you don’t want to talk to. and it’s okay to be worse than that. sometimes the situation demands it. like i think about this article on the meaning of self-advocacy that better articulates what i’m trying to say. 

also...you are not going to be nice sometimes. you’re going to do dumb and fucked up things. you’re going to do stuff you wish you hadn’t done and you’re going to wish you’d done worse. it’s taken me a long time to really emotionally arrive at the fact that there’s no such thing as good or bad person. not only are you what you do but also that isn’t all you are. people make mistakes. people contradict themselves. you’re going to hurt your friends and you’re going to cut people off for being annoying and you’re going to have people you love doing that to you. sometimes there’s abuse, sometimes there’s an overarching pattern, but more often people are just petty and mean and stupid. 

and that has to be okay, i think. we have to embrace the fact that we can fuck up, that we do fuck up, that it is part of who we all are. ‘being kind all the time’ isn’t not fucking up. and i think that’s what a lot of talking about kindness fails to get at - this very deep fear and knowledge that we aren’t able to stop hurting each other. it’s not all we are. but erasing it only makes us worse at dealing with it. we have to live with the way we harm others. we have to forgive ourselves.

#mine #i think this maybe doesnt make too much sense #and it doesnt include some of the stuff i want to say #but ive been trying to articulate this thought for a while.

[andie-cake]

perhabs,, early relationship, Paul wanting affection but being anxious and not knowing how to go about it?

Ceej, you understand me and my Paul hcs on a spiritual level, thank you for my rights and an excuse to write soft nonsense. It's uh... It's a little long.

Being in an honest-to-god romantic relationship was taking a bit of re-getting used to for Paul. He hadn't dated anyone since college, and suddenly wham, he's head over heels for a cute, snarky barista who seems to return his affections. It was odd, but no less wonderful, feeling his heart flutter in his chest whenever Emma so much as smiled at him. He hadn't felt this way about someone in damn near a decade, and then this beautiful 5'0 biology student walked into his life, and god, his brain just didn't know how to handle it.

Paul and Emma had started seeing each other around late October, hooking up in the Beanies break room during a Halloween party her boss Nora had thrown. It was mid-December now, a week and a half before Christmas, and things were still going strong between them. Though there had been... something strange on Paul's mind for a few weeks now, something that had never bothered him before in his past relationships.

Paul was a tactile guy with people he liked, something his friends all knew well. He was never sure exactly how he'd rank the five love languages as applied to himself, but touch was definitely his number one. Casual shoulder squeezes and light nudges were common gestures of his among friends, as Bill could easily attest. With romantic partners, this was cranked up a bit. Lots of light kisses to their temple or resting his hand on their back, stuff like that. It was always the easiest way for him to show that he cared. His partners... were never as tactile as him. It was very all give and no take on Paul's end when it came to physical affection, and he hadn't really minded it. At least, he was pretty sure he hadn't...

But now? With Emma? Her touch was something he actively craved. And it's not as if Emma never touched him outside of sex, far from it, she was probably the most physically affectionate partner Paul had ever had. She held his hand, kissed his cheek, cuddled up against him during movie nights, and gave him playful little jabs in the side when he was being a smartass. But she wasn't quite as casually affectionate as Paul was with her, and he couldn't help but wish she was.

And sweet jesus christ, did Paul find it embarrassing. It made him feel like some dopey lovesick teenager whenever he thought about it. Like, what was he supposed to do? Ask her to touch him more often? He'd sound like a total fucking weirdo if he tried to explain it to her. But still, he couldn't help but think about it a lot.

It had been a lazy Sunday evening, the one day of the week when neither half of the couple had work. And of course, they were... taking advantage of their day off, as it were. On Paul's living room couch, no less. They'd just finished up, and Emma had gone off to use his shower and whatnot. After washing up a bit, Paul had promptly put some comfy sleepwear on (because it was December in Michigan and Paul was not one to lounge around in the nude with temperatures like that outside), and was now absentmindedly channel surfing whilst laying on the couch.

Nearly half an hour later, Emma had emerged from the bathroom, hair tied into a braid and clad in a bright red hoodie that Paul recognized as his own. He couldn't help but smile, it was so big on her, and she looked adorable in it.

"Find anything to watch while I was in there?" she asked.

"Hallmark movies, a bunch of stock Christmas faire, and like three separate Harry Potter marathons," Paul replied. "None of which I'm particularly interested in watching, so we might have to retreat to the DVD shelf again."

Emma shrugged. "Hey, fine by me, TV edits are usually garbage fires anyway," she said. She strode over to the other side of the living room, where Paul kept his DVDs, and eyed the shelf. After a minute or two, she plucked a case off the shelf, snickering. "Monty Python: Life of Brian, that's a Christmas movie, right?"

"Absolutely," Paul quipped. "Anything can be a Christmas movie if you stretch the definition enough."

"Good, because I wanna watch Monty Python."

After popping the disk in, she turned back to the couch, and Paul sat up to give her some room. As she sat back down, Paul took in the sight of her. God, she was lovely. And she looked so cozy in his hoodie, it was hard not to find the sight of her absolutely heart-melting. His heart fluttered a bit, he was getting that feeling again. Unfortunately, Paul found himself staring at her instead of the screen for a bit too long, and she took notice.

"Paul?" she piped up, snapping him out of his trance with a befuddled smile. "You good, babe?"

Paul felt his cheeks flush. Had she ever called him "babe" before? "It's, uh... it's nothing," he stammered unconvincingly. "I just zoned out for a bit."

Emma, being the observant person she was, eyed him with skepticism. "You look like you have something on your mind," she noted. "What's up?"

Well, shit. Feeling his face burn hotter, Paul attempted to weasel himself out of this inevitable awkward conversation.

"N-nothing's up, I'm fine!" he tried to assure her, perhaps too defensively to sound convincing.

"That's the voice of a man who definitely has something up," Emma observed. She grabbed the remote, and paused the film before continuing. "Something's bothering you, Paul, I can tell."

"It-it's just..." Paul tried to begin, feeling momentarily reassured by Emma's soft gaze. But when the right words wouldn't come to him, he groaned and buried his flushing face in his hands. God, why was he like this? "Nevermind, it's really stupid, can we just watch the movie, please?"

"Paul, I know stupid, I work at Beanies," Emma retorted playfully, earning a brief chuckle from Paul. "Whatever's bothering you, it can't be any worse than the shit my co-workers complain about on the daily. I promise you I won't laugh."

Paul removed his hands from his face, meeting her gentle gaze once more. "You mean it?"

She nodded. "I'm all ears."

Exhaling a deep breath, Paul took a moment to think of how to word his self-imposed predicament in the least stupid way possible. Probably best to start small.

"Um, y'know how... when we watch movies or whatever together," he began, trying to force himself to talk above a whisper. "You'll like, lean against my chest, and I'll wrap my arms around you and play with your hair and all that?"

Emma nodded, looking somewhat confused. "Yeah...?"

"Do you think we could... do that the other way around this time?"

There was a brief moment of silence, and Paul was pretty sure his face had turned a shade of red that had only ever been seen by shrimp before. Jesus, that must've sounded so stupid.

"That's all?" Emma asked.

Yep, there it was. Paul looked down at his lap again, embarrassed beyond belief. "Basically, yeah..." he chuckled despite himself. "I know, I know, it's really dumb, and I probably got you all worried for nothing-"

"Whoa, whoa, Paul, slow down!" Emma cut him off, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him softly. "I mean, sure! If that's what you want, we can do it!"

Paul took another deep breath. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Emma replied. She leaned back on the arm of the couch, and opened her arms. "Come on, bring it in."

Still nervous and flustered, Paul slowly eased himself against Emma, resting his head against her chest. He could feel her heartbeat, even through the thick fabric of the hoodie. Emma rested one hand on his back, and began to thread her fingers through his hair, just like he would do with her. Paul felt a chill go down his spine. God, he forgot how much he loved having his hair stroked. He wrapped his arms around her torso, face still flushing like nobody's business.

"How's that?" Emma asked, undoubtedly noticing the ridiculous smile that had forced itself onto his face.

"Wonderful..." he sighed, finally beginning to calm down a bit. "Thanks, Emma."

"No prob," Emma snickered, still stroking his hair. "But before we un-pause the movie, can I ask why it was such an ordeal for you to ask me about this?"

"It's kinda hard to articulate," Paul explained, adjusting himself so that he wasn't muffled by the hoodie. "My, um... my past partners weren't really the, uh... the affectionate kinda types, y'know? So it just kinda felt weird to ask you to... do this... I guess..."

"...Well," Emma began after a moment's pause. "I'm not your past partners, so I'd be more than happy to do this more often."

"You would?" Paul inquired hopefully.

"If it makes you feel as loved as it makes me feel," Emma said, rubbing a calming circle between his shoulder blades with her thumb. "Then I'll do it anytime."

Paul could've melted right then and there. He was loved... In a somewhat indirect way, Emma said she loved him. Perhaps now was the time...

"Thanks again, Em," he said, slightly choked up. He craned his neck a bit to press a kiss to her neck. "I, um... I love you."

Emma briefly paused in her stroking of his hair, only to resume moments later, and press a kiss to his forehead.

"I... I love you too, Paul."

#hatchetfield #paulkins

[shingia]

Hello!!! I love ur fics sm 😭💖 This is weirdly specific and been plaguing my mind for days,,, Can I req an angsty fic where Atsumu broke up with the reader because he wants to chase his dreams and ultimately leaves but with the reader saying "I'll wait" . A few months later he seeks for the reader again and finds out the reader has terminal illness and is dying. You can decide if there's major character death or a miracle,,,, please and thank u so much!!

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐨 - 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

aw thank youuuu <33 and also WOW this request is in-tense, i modified the ‘terminal illness’ part a little bit for plot convenience, but i rly hope you’re gonna like it ! i am : stressed. also, i’m a sucker for happy endings (just ignore my last bokuto fic) so i couldn’t go full angst on that one 😅

quick storytime : my great grandpa died from heartbreak and i always thought it was a beautiful (yet very sad) way to die, so i guess that’s where i got my inspiration from <3

⤷  atsumu x gn!reader | angst | word count : 1.7K

warnings : hospital environment, heart condition, mild description of ‘illness’ and mentions of death (a little)

your first kiss with miya atsumu had been sloppy, dizzy, with a strong scent of rum and smudged lip balm all over your lips. but there was no doubt that it had been the best kiss of your entire lives…

…just like your last had been the worst. 

two months later, atsumu still couldn’t forget the salty taste of your lips that begged him not to leave. if he focused hard enough, he could even remember the feeling of your hands desperately clinging to his jacket in a last attempt at making him stay by your side.

but he didn’t, and as much as he hated himself for putting an end - even temporary - to what had been the most beautiful chapter of his life, he had never regretted his decision ; and he knew exactly why. you had promised to wait for him, and in pure egoism, he knew and hoped that you would. because no matter the distance, he was still madly in love with you.

which is why he did not understand why osamu was so outraged when he told him that he was finally ready to come back to you. but the younger twin knew things that his brother didn’t - he had seen you let yourself waste away, like nothing else mattered without the one you loved.

but more than that, atsumu did not know about the secret his brother promised to keep. he did not know that, two weeks ago, osamu had found you unconscious in your living room with an alarmingly slow heartbeat. the poor boy had not understood everything the doctors had told him - but whatever a cardiogenic shock was, he knew that it would have carried you off if without his intervention.

however, you had been categorical : atsumu shouldn’t not know about this, under any pretext. you refused to be a burden to the pursuit of his dreams for which he had already sacrificed so much for. but now that atsumu was back, something about this promise didn’t sit right with his brother. and so he decided to tell him everything.

« …most doctors thought about a standard heart attack » he told him after explaining the situation, on the lookout for any impulsive reaction from his brother. « … but one of them talked about something else. you might want to sit down ».

but atsumu couldn’t care less about his brother’s advice. actually, he didn’t care about anything else than you right now. it was already taking a lot of effort for him to stand there listening to samu instead of being on his way to the hospital - but he stayed. for an obscure reason that he didn’t really understand, he stayed.

« did you know that people can die of heartbreak ? » osamu asked, more serious than he had ever been in his whole life. 

the blonde twin felt like the ground had suddenly swallowed him whole - although his brother was trying his best not to sound too accusating, it was more than obvious that whatever situation you were in was because of him. and only him.

« no they can’t » he tried to protest, not even believing in his own words. panic was beginning to win him over - and in a matter of seconds, he lost all his composure « WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU NOT MOVING ? LET’S GO ! » he shouted, already opening the front door. at that moment, one question burned his lips, but he knew he would never have the guts to ask it out loud. 

‘did i kill them ?’

——

the steady beeps of all the machines around you were the only thing disrupting the deafening silence of your hospital room. you were sick of spending your days alone. but you had no right to complain, osamu had offered to come and see you after work every day, but you had politely refused. well, politely was a big word… your body was so exhausted that you had trouble articulating simple phrases, and therefore exclusively communicated through nods or hand gestures.

your phone had been confiscated and the doctors kept you away from the news - or at least from the negative news, because they knew that your heart might give out at the tiniest emotional distress.

which is why you were so surprised to hear a knock on your door at about 3pm, outside of the nurses’ shift hours. knowing that you were too weak to talk, osamu let himself in, slowly closing the door behind him before coming closer to your bed.

« how are you doing ? » he asked, resting his hands on the other end of the bed. you shrugged, pointing at the IV and all the monitoring surrounding you. as long as these machines were there, it was hard to feel better than just ok. « listen, um… someone is here for you. the doctors said i could bring him in, but i wanted your authorization first… » he started before clearing his throat. « atsumu is back. do you- are you ready to see him ? ».

ready was probably not an appropriated word. but after two months spent pretending that he was still laying next to you in bed every night, still texting you good morning every day, still sending you the dumbest memes at the most random times, it would have been a huge mistake to refuse osamu’s proposition.

and so he let him in. obviously, atsumu had orders from the doctors and his brother : don’t run, don’t move too fast, don’t speak too soon, don’t touch them without warning. but nobody had asked him not to cry. and how could his eyes stay dry when you looked so fragile and so vulnerable ?

osamu quietly left the room, leaving the two of you together not without apprehension. but if there was one thing he could trust his brother on, it was taking care of you. two months could not have gotten the better of four years of relationship.

but as much as he cared about you, atsumu had always been - and still was - pretty bad with words. and the first ones that left his mouth were a great example. « are you going to die ? » he asked in a shaky voice, brows knitted.

you would have given him an answer if you had one, but you didn’t. the doctors said that you had gone through the most painful part, but the risks of aggravations were still too important to let you go home. you were not 100% safe yet.

« i told you i’d wait » you spoke in a hoarse voice, the beep of your heart monitor getting a little bit faster.

the steps atsumu took towards you were slow, like he had been told, but just one glance at his eyes was enough to know that deep down, he was dying to feel your skin against his.

« i know you probably hate me right now. and for good reasons » he started as he sat on the chair next to your bed, still painfully avoiding any contact. « but there’s something i need to tell you, in case… in case… well, if something were to happen ».

his eyes lingered on your fingertips, blue and cold, and his whole body tensed at once. the thought that everything you were going through had been caused by his own selfishness was driving him crazy. but he had one last thing to keep himself grounded, and that thing was exactly what he was about to tell you.

« i love you. but i caused you so much trouble that i think there’s only one way to prove it… » he said, taking a deep breath before finally resting a timid hand on your arm. « i want to marry you. right now. i don’t fucking care if it’s not considered official, i just want you to know that leaving you was probably the biggest mistake i ever did. and that i’m not leaving ever again. so fuck it, let’s get married ! you almost died, life’s too short to plan a stupid ceremony ».

he stopped for a few seconds, panting from his teary monologue and paying attention to any beep or other sound that might indicate that he had made things worse for you. but it seemed like you were doing ok. how could you not be ? the love of your life had just proposed to you - sure, it wasn’t how you had imagined it, but wasn’t it even more beautiful like that ?

the tears that started rolling down your cheeks were undoubtedly tears of happiness and relief to know that, finally, your life was back to normal. atsumu was your normality, and for the first time in two months, you finally felt like you had a purpose. you had no idea if soulmates existed, but what you had with atsumu seemed more than close enough.

if someone had entered the room at that moment, it’d probably have taken them several minutes to understand what was going on. two young adults, crying yet smiling, one of them laying on a hospital bed looking like they had been through hell and back, and the other tearing off two pieces of his t-shirt and looking genuinely proud of himself -  nothing about this made sense.

« my apologies, it was the easiest way to make us rings » atsumu chuckled, eyes still blurry as grabbed your hand in his with infinite tenderness. slowly, he tied the piece of cloth around your ring finger, loosely enough so that the doctors would not consider it dangerous for your blood circulation.

« i’m keeping that until you’re getting out of here. by my side. » he affirmed, pointing at his own makeshift ring before looking right into your eyes, as serious as ever. « and i’m also keeping you. forever. consider this my wedding vows »

as much as he hated to phrase it like that, you could both die in peace now.

i spent so much time on medical sites to be as accurate as i could, i felt like meredith mf grey for a few hours

@toworuu @catwithangerissues

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu angst #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu one shot

[visceraah]

Intrulogical week day 7- Free day

“Smoking causes an extremely damaging buildup of tar in your lungs and, in some cases, cancer.”

Remus licked the edge of it, rolling it up without even looking at Logan. “Maybe I like choking.”

So that was how it was. Logan shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked. “You are aware we’ll have to act as though we like each other for this, yes?”

“You’re saying you don’t like me?” Remus pouted. If Logan didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he saw a flicker of hurt on his face… But whatever it was, it was gone in an instant. “Why, that completely changes things.”

“I am saying, we must act like a couple.” Logan corrected, unimpressed.

-

Or, a ridiculously self indulgent fake dating AU

AO3

Content warnings: homophobia, cannibalism mention, smoking, and the usual for innuendos.

Logan wanted to punch something.

Ordinarily, he was not a violent man. He believed resolving your issues with fists was an outlet for those too unintelligent to properly articulate themselves.

He also believed, had he spent any more time in that room, he would have tried to pummel his father to a pulp.

Hands shaking with rage, he pulled out his phone. It took a few tries to click the correct number, and he slowly raised it to his ear.

“Logan?” Pattons’ voice was full of concern and, for the first time in years, he wanted to cry. He didn’t trust his voice, but apparently his silence was enough. “We’re on our way.”

-

“Allow me to duel them!”

Romans anger might have been sweet at first, but it was beginning to wear thin. Logan rolled his eyes. “Even if I believed they would accept, violence solves nothing.”

“But they deserve it.” Roman muttered, sitting back down dejectedly.

“Hey, no mister! Violence is bad.” Patton reprimanded, although even he wasn’t too firm. Nobody was the biggest fan of Logans’ parents right now.

“I was expecting this. They have expressed their… distaste, for gay people. It was foolish to expect any other kind of reaction.” Logan tried, hating how his voice shook as he spoke.

Patton put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re their son, Lo, it wasn’t fo-”

“I’ve got it!” Roman declared loudly, startling the other two. Patton opened his mouth but Logan, glad for the shift of focus from his emotions (... because that was uncomfortable), shook his head.

“You take home to them the worst boyfriend ever! Fake, that is. He can be rude and dismissive and swear-y and the total opposite to a gentleman. That way, when you actually bring home a boy you like, they’ll be so relieved it’s not.. That.. and have no choice but to accept him!”

Patton clapped politely. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even if I consented, what makes you think this would work?”

“Oh, trust me. It’ll work.” Roman told him confidently, and Patton leant over to whisper “I’m convinced.”

What was he getting himself into?

“... I assume you have the perfect delinquent in mind.”

Roman grinned.

-

“What do you want, fuckwaffles?”

Roman spluttered, and Logan was already regretting this. The ‘delinquent’ in mind had been his twin, and even though Logan had been his friend once… That was a long time ago. He barely recognised the boy in front of him, lounging on bench and smoking what he sincerely hoped was just tobacco.

Logan figured he would cut to the chase, to spare any more stupidity. “Allow me to be frank- I recently informed my parents I was gay.” Remus seemed to perk up at that. “They did not take it well. Your brother seems to think pretending to date the worst possible influence will persuade them to accept a less abrasive boy, and I… Am out of other ideas.”

“That sucks.” Remus said, sincerely, and took a drag from his cigarette. “But I’m not interested. Fanfic rules say if you fake date, you fall for each other or whatever, and no offense Specs, but I don’t wanna bang a nerd.”

Logans brow furrowed. “Fanfic..?”

“Yeah, you know- works of ‘fanmade fiction’. Where you have a hard on for some made up guy and write about him fucking a different character you project onto. Ro writes it all the time.”

“I do not write smut!” Roman said indignantly, going red.

“I know.” Remus sighed sadly. “That’s why your fics suck.”

Logan was pretty sure they were speaking another language, but he decided to power through. Whatever they were saying, it didn’t seem too important. “It’ll be purely professional.” Logan reassured him. And, because he was a little desperate… “And I can pay.”

Remus stared at him for a long minute, before finally putting out his cigarette on the bench. Logan cringed at the burn mark it left on the wood. “My first job as a male escort… Fine.”

Roman sighed in relief, and Logan nodded, sticking his hand out. Remus eyed it, then spat onto his palm and slapped it against Logans, giving it an unnecessarily tight shake.

Logan didn’t bother to hide his disgust, making note to wash his hands ASAP. Remus just grinned back at him.

“I’ll bring a spliff. When dya need me?”

Ah. Logan cringed “... Now.”

“Lucky for you, my evening’s free. We should probably get a story straight, first though- you wanna go for a walk?”

What choice did Logan have? He nodded curtly, and they started the walk in silence. He heard Remus drag out a sigh, and glanced over to see him pulling out some paper and starting to roll himself another cigarette. He frowned disapprovingly.

“Smoking causes an extremely damaging buildup of tar in your lungs and, in some cases, cancer.”

Remus licked the edge of it, rolling it up without even looking at Logan. “Maybe I like choking.”

So that was how it was. Logan shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked. “You are aware we’ll have to act as though we like each other for this, yes?”

“You’re saying you don’t like me?” Remus pouted. If Logan didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he saw a flicker of hurt on his face… But whatever it was, it was gone in an instant. “Why, that completely changes things.”

“I am saying, we must act like a couple.” Logan corrected, unimpressed.

“So you do like me?” Remus teased, elbowing Logan in the side. “But… Alright. We hooked up at that gig down The Crown the other week- naturally, I was the top- and it’s been non-stop sex ever since. Happy?”

“I am not telling my parents any of that.” Logan said firmly. Once, he would have blushed at that, but he knew by now better than to take Remus’ words at face value.

“Why?” Remus tucked his cigarette behind his ear- just to crown the ‘troublemaker’ look, Logan supposed. Smoking was repulsive and all, but… It did kind of suit him. “Chose it cause you were there- don’t want them to know you go out?”

“No, actually. Whilst that was not my primary issue with your suggestion, it is not a detail they know, or I intend on sharing with them.”

Remus stared at him, and he shifted awkwardly under his gaze. “You didn’t tell them?”

“You… Remember what they are like.” Logan reminded him. “Can you blame me?”

Remus nodded, but for some reason he was still looking at him. “How’d you avoid getting caught, then?”

“Some of us are good at it.” Logan replied with a smirk

Remus gasped and elbowed him again. “Fuck off. Not my fault my parents don’t trust me!”

“I sincerely believe it is.”

Remus laughed, and Logan couldn’t help watching him. For someone so harsh, he was… Cute. He blushed when he was caught looking at him, quickly shaking his head and looking away.

Remus didn’t like silence, though, no matter how comfortable. It didn’t take long for him to open his mouth again. “What happened to us?”

Logan turned to look at him inquisitively, waiting for him to continue.

“I mean…” Remus seemed to hesitate, almost embarrassed. Huh. Logan hadn’t thought he could get embarrassed. “We used to be mates, yknow? We talked about weird shit together, like- fuck, I don’t know, how tigers have spikes on their dick.”

Logan snorted at that. “I suppose we did.”

And the silence was back. It didn’t feel right, though- Logan knew there was more to say, so, reluctantly, he explained, “We were just… Very different. I was interested in my studies, you were interested in…”

“Eh, I get it.” Remus dismissed before he could even finish. “M’a bad influence- couldn’t have the model student associating with me.”

Logan frowned, looking over at Remus. “I don’t see why that should be the case.”

Remus startled, almost dropping his cigarette. He seemed shocked, and Logan almost smiled.

Before either of them could try and make sense of this strangely emotional moment, though, Logan had stopped walking and turned to look at the nearest house. They were there, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“... I am unsure if I can do this.” Logan admitted, taking a step back. He felt a weight on his shoulder, and looked up to see Remus’ hand. It was strangely comforting.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be the worst boyfriend you could ask for.”

Logan snorted and took a deep breath, holding out his hand. When Remus just stared at it, he explained, “To sell it.”

Remus made a small ‘ah’ of understanding, linking their hands and walking forwards with him.

Before he even had the chance, Remus rung the doorbell for him. Once, then again, and again and again and-

His mother opened the door angrily. “Logan, that’s immature and, quite frankly, rather idiotic.” Her eyes landed on Remus and they narrowed. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, I’m Remus. Pogan’s boyfriend.”

Her eye twitched. “That isn’t- Logan, can I have a word?”

Logan, who had until now just been watching in fascination- Remus really did have this down- subconsciously straightened his back. “Yes mother?”

“Alone.”

“Oh, anything you can say to him, you can say to me.” Remus supplied, leaning on the doorframe. “You gonna let us in or what?”

The colour drained from his mothers face and, if he weren’t so nervous, Logan would be genuinely impressed. “I have invited him back for dinner. I hope that’s alright.”

The look on her face said it very much wasn’t, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. She stepped back, forcing a thin-lipped smile to her face. “Of course.”

“Sick.” Remus walked straight past her, dragging Logan with him. “What’re we eating, then?”

“Pie. Your father will be home soon.” She said, message clear as she turned on her heel and left the room.

“I’m a vegan, so leave out any meat!” Remus yelled after her, before shooting Logan a grin. “How much more of a Karen could she be?”

Logan let out a surprised snort. “I must admit, you have this down.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started~”

Logan doubted Remus could get any worse than this, but a large part of him was rather excited to see him try.

-

Remus got so, so much worse. He insisted on sitting on Logans lap despite the whole sofa being free- and he did not blush because of it. Nope- and spoke loudly about how much he wanted to smoke.

When Logans father arrived, the ‘couple’ were met with a stare of confusion and, after a whisper in his ear from his mother, a glare. He cleared his throat. Logan looked up, but Remus just fiddled with a lock of his hair- something that definitely didn’t make him blush, either. His father cleared his throat again, and Remus seemed to acknowledge him.

“Oh, hi. You must be… Pat?”

“Matt.” He snapped, and Logan realised just how well it worked to get someones name wrong. “Aren’t you that kid Logan used to hang around? Real trouble maker, always in detention.”

“Sure am- guess you could say Lo and I have a long history.”

It was honestly impressive how pissed he looked already. Logan squirmed but, before this could get any worse, there was a loud bang behind them. Everyone turned to look, just in time to see his mother slam the plates down onto the table. “Dinner.”

Logan watched in awe as Remus strode up to the table and seated himself at the head, awkwardly shuffling after him. He saw his parents exchange a look, but they thankfully sat down, too.

The next few minutes were painfully quiet. His mother served up the food in a way that could only be described as aggressive, and his father glared at the wall ahead of him.

“You guys read Titus Andronicus?” Of course it was Remus to break the silence. When Logan realised nobody else would reply, and he’d have to continue… Whatever this conversation was, he shook his head.

“The Shakespeare play? I am afraid not.”

“Oh, shame.” Remus picked at the food. “This Roman war criminal, Titus, brings back like four prisoners whose family he brutalised and whatever. They’re kindaaa pissed so, as revenge, they kill a couple his sons and mutilate his daughter. He finds out and kills them, then cooks them into a pie and serves it to their mother. He’s killed by the emperor or whatever, but that’s not important. This just… Reminded me of that.” He poked the pie again.

Logans mother actually turned green. “I… Thought you were a vegan.” Was all she could think to say, thoroughly disgusted.

“That’s the thing about vegans!” Remus jiggled his fork in her direction. “We won’t eat animals or animal products, yeah? But we eat human products. Soooo, by that logic, we could eat a person, too.”

“Are you saying you’re a cannibal?” Logans father asked coldly, speaking for the first time since they sat down.

Remus shrugged in a way that concerned even Logan. “Just a hypothetical.”

“This boy’s a maniac.” Logan heard his mother mutter, and his fist curled around his cutlery. His knuckles turned white.

“Don’t.”

Everyone looked at Logan in surprise, Remus included, and he found himself going red- not from embarrassment, but anger.

“Excuse me? You bring a fucking… Deviant, like this, into our house, and then you have the nerve to speak to your mother like that? Apologise, right now.” Logans father snarled. He clutched the cutlery tighter.

“Only if she does.”

“This, uh, really isn’t necessary-” Remus whispered to him, cut off by a shrill laugh.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said all day to make any sense.” His mother spat.

“Probably.” Remus agreed, easily, and Logan stood up suddenly. His chair clattered to the ground.

“Don’t agree with them.”

Logans mother glared up him. “You sit down and stop this right this second”

For the first time in his life, Logan ignored her. “We are leaving.” He said coldly, grabbing Remus by the arm and storming out.

-

The second they were out of sight of the house, he stopped walking. He shut his eyes, pressed his back to the nearest wall, and slid down against it. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone until Remus’ voice, uncharacteristically soft, called out “Lo..?”

He looked up, wiping at his eyes. “Apologies. That- none of it was fair on you.”

“What? No, I don’t give a shit about that. I signed up for it.” Remus dropped down next to him. “More concerned about you.”

“... Me?”

“Yeah, that was fuckin rough- just give the word and I’ll feed ‘em to the pigs, because damn.”

Logan laughed, a half sniffle. “I believe the phrase is ‘feed them to the fish’.”

“Well that’s stupid. Everyone knows you feed bodies to pigs.”

Logan decided not to question that… Instead, he hesitantly leant into Remus’ side. To his surprise, the other boy put an arm around him. “Specs?” He asked, after a minute.

“Hmm?” Logan shifted a little to meet Remus’ gaze.

“How come ya reacted so badly?”

Ah. Logan swallowed. He wasn’t too sure himself, really, but… “They had no right to speak to you like that.”

Remus stared at him quizzically, and Logan found himself meeting his gaze. They stayed like that, for longer than Logan cared to measure, before Remus finally asked, “Can I kiss you?”

For some reason, the question didn’t take Logan by surprise. He nodded and, grinning, Remus brought his mouth down to meet his.

#woOP #day 7 and finally #finally i write a decent length one #sdkjsdkd 2714 words baybeeee #smoking / #intrulogicalweek2020 #intrulogical #remus sanders #the duke #logan sanders #logan logic sanders #day 7: free day #day seven free day #mads' writing

[lilbabycee]

may we be blessed with a smutty birthday drabble w Steve where he has everyone pretend they forgot readers birthday when in reality there’s something big planned 🥺👉🏼👈🏼 never had a big bday so I will be living through this lolz

change of plans // steve rogers 

↳ pairing: steve rogers x reader

i’m actually sorry this took so long and sorry that it’s so long too lol:

you don’t know if you’re ready to face today.

it’s your birthday and you’ve never done anything big or extravagant - you think that maybe you’d like to keep it that way, though you’ve never had a big celebration before so you don’t even know how that’d feel. maybe there’s something comforting about the predictability of how today is going to go, but you can’t help the part deep inside of you that longs for something new.

waking up to an empty bed, you brace yourself for some kind of over-the-top present from tony but as you head out of your bedroom, you find the rest of you and steve’s apartment entirely unchanged. you tentatively walk through empty hallways into the kitchen and everyone is standing around aimlessly, chatting to each other about insignificant things and attempting to make themselves breakfast.

“hi guys,” you smile at all of them and they return the sentiment. “what are you making?”

steve breezes by you to press a brief kiss to your forehead before shoving a piece of burnt toast into his mouth. his voice is muffled when he says, “mornin’ doll.”

“looks like it’ll be cereal cause none of these idiots know how to cook,” natasha sidles up to you, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head playfully at the group of men crowding the kitchen. “sam’s still working out and we don’t wanna have to wait until he’s done. we probably should’ve though: he’s the only one who knows how to make anything decent in here.” she nudges your shoulder, “any plans today?”

you’re momentarily thrown, blinking in confusion because natasha always remembers your birthday. 

“uhh,” you shake your head and plaster a smile on your face, “no, nope. not up to much really. how about you?”

bruce strolls by and waves at you while natasha plucks a grape from his bowl, popping it into her mouth. he gives her a look but she just smirks as she chews slowly, ignoring him and turning back to you. 

“actually, fury called not too long ago. he’s got some important mission lined up for us somewhere in alaska... surveillance or something.”

“oh,” you frown, brow furrowing because you thought that you would’ve heard about it. “should i go suit up or...?”

“actually,” natasha swallows her grape and stands up straight, “it’s only some of us going. sam and bucky are staying here with you: the rest of us are heading out in about an hour.”

your heart sinks at the thought of not being able to spend your birthday with the whole team, though it seems as if they’ve forgetten anyway so maybe it’s not that big of a deal. but the thought is fleeting because you realize that you’re going to be able to spend some quality time with two of your favorite people who will definitely have remembered your birthday. 

when the quinjet takes off an hour and a half later, sam, bucky, and yourself are all left standing on the launchpad, bucky’s hair blowing dramatically in the gust of wind that it leaves behind.

“so,” bucky rocks back on his heels and stares at you with a mischievous smile on his face. “what do you wanna do?”

“neither of you have any plans?” you look at them skeptically but they both shake their heads. you look down, disappointed because they always do something fun for you on your birthday. sam always bakes a cake and bucky always lets you win when you’re sparring but since neither have happened today, you’re assuming that they’ve forgotten... just like everybody else.

sam shrugs noncommitally.

“nope,” he adds, giving you a charming gap-toothed grin. “i mean, i’ve got some paperwork to do and i’m sure bucky’s got some knives to sharpen or something-”

bucky pins him with a glare but then looks back to you. “-but otherwise, we’re totally free...so, doll?”

“we could watch a movie?”

“yes!” sam exclaims excitedly, already sprinting inside. you and bucky are still staring at the door he burst through when you hear him call out: “i’ve got dibs on the first pick!”

that makes bucky’s eyes go wide and he quickly starts to chase after him. 

“fuck no- sam!”

you’re sandwiched between your two heavily muscled best friends, cuddled up on the sofa with your body spread across the laps of both sam and bucky. a thick blanket is draped over all three of you while die hard plays in the background, but none of you are paying attention because you’re all making each other cry with laughter which drowns out the sound of the movie. 

“we should go out tonight,” bucky casually suggests during a lull in the conversation, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the table.

“true,” sam agrees, nodding his head. you look at him in shock because his default state is to always disagree with bucky. “the others aren’t supposed to be back for a couple of days so i don’t wanna stay all cooped up in here. you down, sugar?”

“yeah, i’ll go,” you nod, playing with your fingers because you’re still so shocked that they’re just casually making plans like today isn’t your birthday. of course you’re not going to point it out to them - you don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but you think that it’d be nice to be wished a happy birthday at least once today.

hours later, you’re wearing your favorite outfit - “we’re going to dinner, darlin’,” bucky let you know earlier - and just touching up your face when bucky and sam pause their incessant bickering to call you downstairs. at this point, you’ve come to terms with the fact that not a single person in your life has remembered your birthday. you’d shed a couple of tears in the bathroom not because you are dying for a huge birthday celebration, but rather because it goes to show that you don’t hold a lot of relevance in these people’s lives. 

nobody on the team has ever forgotten a teammate’s birthday, so it cut deep this morning when they all went about their day as normal and barely even acknowledged your presence. you tried to brush it off but the moment you were alone, it all hit you like an oncoming freight train. 

ready to forget this disappointing day and move on, you come down the stairs as quickly as you can and head to the front door only to see sam and bucky dressed impeccably and... still arguing. they stop when you stand in front of them. sam whistles loudly which makes you roll your eyes playfully while bucky just nods his head.

“you look great, doll,” he smiles at you and not being able to take any more compliments, you clear your throat loudly and step in between them.

“let’s go,” you say and grab a coat, stepping into the garage. once you all pile into one of tony’s many cars, you take off into the night. 

you’re too distracted by your racing thoughts to notice the moment that you pull up outside of an extravagant hotel. you frown as you get out of the car because you thought you were going for dinner at the restaurant on the other side of town. 

“change of plans, lil bit. tony recommended this place to us a few weeks ago and we just never got around to going.” sam smiles at you, offering you an arm as bucky flanks your other side. when you step foot inside of the luxurious building after handing the car keys to the valet outside, a well-dressed usher leads you down a hallway to an entirely separate part of the ground floor. you don’t think much of it because you’re used to private dining when tony’s involved, but you manage to lose both of your friends by the time you’ve made it through the labyrinth of hallways. 

“excuse me, have you seen the two men i was with just a second ago?” you ask the usher kindly. he looks back at you and just smiles.

“this way, please,” he gestures for you to open the doors however, something doesn’t feel quite right. you’re on high alert but you tentatively push open the heavy gold doors anyway, hand ready to grab the knife that’s resting snugly in your thigh holster.

what you’re not expecting is a lounge filled with balloons and a chorus of “surprise!”, so loud that your bones threaten to jump out of your skin.

the room has been decorated in all of your favorite colors, lights strung up everywhere and banners in bold letters that say happy birthday, y/n!, as well as all of your favorite people with beaming smiles on their faces. sam and bucky are standing with rhodey in the corner and as you stare at them disbelievingly, bucky just throws you a wink.

“wh-what,” you stutter, teary eyes round with confusion, “what the fuck?”

“happy birthday, angel,” a very familiar voice comes from behind you and you spin around to throw your arms around your boyfriend’s neck in glee.

“all this?” your voice is muffled in his shoulder. “for me?”

“all for you, baby,” steve murmurs, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “you didn’t think we’d actually forget, did you?”

“i- i mean,” you exhale, shaking your head, “maybe? i just didn’t know how important it was to you guys-”

“y/n,” he takes your face between his hands and stares at you solmenly, “you are the most important thing in my life-”

bucky clears his throat in protest but steve ignores him.

“-and i would be a fool not to celebrate you everyday. it really got me thinking when you told me that you’ve never had something big done for your birthday. you deserve something extravagant and over-the-top because you deserve to be appreciated every second of your life because you’re so loved by everyone here. are we clear?”

you can’t help but kiss the stupid lopsided smile off his face because you love this man more than you’ll ever be able to articulate. to give the two of you some privacy, everyone else has started drinking and dancing, speaking to their friends animatedly as they avert their eyes from you and steve’s private moment.

when steve slips his tongue in your mouth and his hands wander down to grab your ass, you moan into the kiss only to pull away seconds later, blinking up at him as you both try to catch your breaths.

“steve, we’re in a room full of people,” you remind him.

“then let’s get out of here,” he presses you into his front and you can feel the hardness of his cock against your stomach. 

“but i haven’t said hi to anyone else yet,” you whine, not wanting to be rude. 

“we’ll come back, baby,” he brushes his nose against the curve of your jaw. “just a couple minutes. you look so fuckin’ good right now i don’t know if i’ll be able to last any longer without getting my cock in that tight little-”

“steve!” you gasp, swatting his arm and then looking around to see if anybody’s heard him, but he just chuckles low in your ear, soft lips dropping kisses on your even softer skin.

“c’mon, doll,” his teeth catch on your earlobe and your bite your lower lip, contemplating whether or not you should give in to your horny boyfriend. “they won’t even notice we’re gone-”

“uh, we definitely will,” tony strolls over and butts in with a smirk on his lips and a drink in his hand. “happy birthday, babe.”

“thanks, tones,” you give him a one-armed hug because steve still won’t let go of you. 

“your real present from me is over there,” he gestures vaguely to a huge pile of presents that makes your eyes go wide again, “but out of the kindness of my heart, i can also give you the gift of my wonderful storytelling so that people won’t notice that you guys have gone off to f-”

“thank you, tony!” you kiss his cheek quickly and proceed to drag steve towards a hallway that you assume leads to the bathrooms. you wave to your other friends briefly as you walk out, finding that the hallway you’ve gone down doesn’t lead to the bathroom, but rather a set of elevators. you and your boyfriend both pause, taking a minute to look at each other and you can almost see the lightbulb that pops over the both of your heads.

steve presses the up button and then his lips are on you, hands roaming your body eagerly against the closed doors of the elevator. slowly, his fingers travel underneath your clothes and start to massage your bare skin. you do the same, one hand gripping his hair and the other undoing the button to his slacks, shoving your hand into the band of his underwear desperately to palm at his manhood.

he hisses, stopping his assault on your body to throw his head back at the feeling of your deft fingers stroking him like that. you’re about to pull his lips towards yours again when you hear a chime and promptly stumble backwards, taking your supersoldier with you. 

you cry out a laugh as you fall into each against the wall, drunk on desire and your adoration for the flustered man in front of you. chuckling, steve stabs the first button on the panel and is immediately kissing you again, tongue delving deep into your mouth as his large hand tightly grasps your jaw. 

as the doors close and you start to move upwards, steve wedges one of this thick thighs in between your legs, pressing the muscle of his leg into your core. 

“ride it, darlin’, c’mon,” he breathes into your ear, leaving wet kisses down your throat and framing your hips between his hands. you do as you’re told, pushing your hips down onto his thigh to get some friction to relieve the heat that’s building in your stomach.

“so good for me, that’s it sweetheart.”

it’s a quick ride to the top but with steve rutting against your hip with your hand down his pants and you against his leg with his fingers in your underwear dancing over your center, the two of you gradually push yourselves to a climax, almost there until there’s that same chime again. your boyfriend swiftly picks you up and you squeal, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. his hands massage the globes of your ass as you walk across the roof, onto the edge of the balcony that overlooks the upper east side.

he rests you against the ledge and you keep one of your legs around him as he gets both of your clothes out of the way so that he can run the tip of his hard cock along your needy hole.

“shit, baby,” he spits right onto it, slapping his cock against your swollen skin, and you groan loudly, involuntarily clenching around nothing. “m’not gonna last.”

“neither am i,” you reassure him. “please steve, i need it.”

“i’ve got you, doll.”

he doesn’t say anything else because his eyes are glued at the mesmerizing way that his bulbous tip gets swallowed by your tight entrance. he rocks his hips back and forth, burying himself deeper and deeper into you until he bottoms out with a loud moan.

there are tears in your eyes from how good it feels; the open air on your nipples and the fact that someone could see you like this, vulnerable and open with a cock buried deep inside you, makes you shudder, trails of water spilling onto your cheeks. 

“oh my god, sweetheart,” steve murmurs reverently. usually he takes a minute to let you adjust to his size, but the two of you are so close that he just goes for it, the sound of your lovemaking echoing into the night sky. 

“yes, yes- fuck, steve, please,” you blink up at him and he uses his thumbs to wipe the tears off your face, pressing kisses to both of your cheeks. 

“i know, baby, i know,” he reassures you, his own skin slick and cool in the evening air as he continues to drive into you relentlessly. you ignore how uncomfortable the exposed stone on your naked body is because you’re almost there and you know he is too.

“m’gonna come, honey,” he tells you, hands coming up to pinch your nipples at the same time he bites into your neck. “you gonna let me come in you? give you my birthday present?”

you can barely speak, babbling incoherently as your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head but you nod eagerly, nails digging into his back as he uses you to chase his orgasm.

“come for me, baby - c’mon, milk my cock, s’all yours.”

his words push you over the edge, your entire body convulsing as your breath is snatched from your lungs. you contract around his length and he stills entirely as he spills his release into you, the guttaral moan that leaves his chest raw and animalistic.

“fuck,” he drawls as he presses his forehead against yours. 

“right?” you agree, looking right into his pretty eyes, brighter than the lights behind you.

he presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

“happy birthday, baby.”

“thank you,” you kiss the corner of his mouth and run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, “i love you.” 

as his chin rests on your shoulder, you take a minute to appreciate how thoughtful the big blonde man in your arms and you don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone this much in your life. 

“can we do this every birthday?”

you laugh at his suggestion and tug lightly on his hair, heart about to explode from adoration.

“sure we can.”

“hey, lovebirds!” tony’s voice makes the two of you jump in surprise. “i’m not gonna turn the corner because i know for a fact that you’re not wearing any clothes, but i should definitely warn you that bucky and sam are on their way up with their phones... so unless you want a pornhub feature, i’d haul ass and get back downstairs if i were you. happy birthday, y/n!”

you both look at each other and then the mess that is your pile of clothes, and in unison you both realize that you’re fucked either way. but you know that it’s worth it since you’ve had the best birthday surprise ever, but you still don’t know how much steve is gonna love having his ass on display for his best friends.

“y/n! stevie! wh- oh fuck, are you kidding me?!”

that’s bucky, sounding traumatized as he sees the two of you stark naked. 

“wh- damn, i didn’t expect you guys to actually be fuckin’.”

sam sounds genuinely shocked but simultaneously looks impressed. you close your eyes in amused mortification because steve’s body is shielding yours entirely and now, sam and bucky have a full view of his pale backside.

“guys,” he groans, blood rushing to his cheeks. 

a flash goes off and steve cries out in protest. you laugh in disbelief, staring at bucky holding his phone up with a grin.

“happy birthday, y/n.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers drabbles #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers headcanons #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers blurbs #requests

[fly-like-a-phoenix]

House of Lust (part 12)

Abbé de Coulmier x reader

Summary: Five years has passed since the events of Quills. The Abbé de Coulmier is released of prision by a misterious event. And he will know again those feelings he never thought will meet again: love... and lust.

Warnings: some swearing, a little smut...

Note: Hey! I'm giving you three chapters right now, because I had them written, but I didn't publish them before, so, there they go!

You arrived to the Villa and entered your room almost immediately. Nobody saw you. You closed the door and went to your bed, feeling so stupid for rejecting him at the perfect moment.

You were laying down, watching the chimney with no fire, thinking. You felt so bad, because you wished that to happen, and your brain telling you to stop while his fingers had just started to touch your breast... You felt stupid.

You fucking wanted him. You wanted his body, all his, against you, inside you. You wanted his hands, his mouth, his skin and manhood to give you all that you were so needy for.

Amd those hours at the lagoon with him, alone... Every minute, every second, it didn't feel wasted. The way you confessed what you felt was as overwhelming to him as the kisses he gave you as an answer. And you wanted more: more time, and more of him.

Were you really scared of sex? Or you were actually scared of yourself being as wicked as your sisters? It was the second option, probably.

At Hell all those fears and feelings you had about sex, you said to yourself. Your sisters didn't change your ideas. You were not going to be a pervert who liked sodomy and punishment. You wanted something as normal as it was love to happen with him. And he was more than ready.

You were about to get up an go out to find him, to tell him again that you wanted him, when you heard the door opening and the how it closed.

You turned around your body, seeing François in there, his back against the giant wooden door, watching you while he let the basket aside in the floor.

He said nothing, until he started to walk to you, some drops of water falling from his hair. He sat in the bed, next to you. And then, he talked.

"I don't have to forgive you for nothing, because you didn't do anything wrong. Do you remember what happened in Charenton, during the play? A big inmate named Bouchon tried to rape Madeline, a chambermaid, and she burned his face in self defense."

He remained silence, breathing out, remembering how he went to hug Madeline, and how Roger-Collard, as humiliated as he felt because of the play mocking him, seemed to know he loved the girl. He continued.

"I was in love with her. I never thought I would be, because I committed to God for life. She helped the Marquis to take his stories out of the Asylum. When I knew about that, I decided I would transfer her to another hospital. She was corrupting me as much as she was being corrupted by the Marquis."

It was still difficult to him to talk about Madeline. When she died, he cried everytime, even when he had to say her name for any reason, and mostly while he was in the cell, with his mind as the only company.

"And one night, she came to my room. She begged me not to let her being transferred, claiming her heart was tied to Charenton. At first, I thought she referred she was in love with the Marquis. Then, she alone made me realize it was me the one she loved. We kissed. And we were alone, and nobody will disturb us. I wanted to make love with her right there, in my bed, as I wanted since I met her. But I stopped the kiss, demanding her to go to her room. I was just too scared. My life work was in flames, as my vows and everything in believed in. I tried to apologise the next day, but she didn't accept anything from me. She died that night. Bouchon killed her. And I couldn't say that I truly loved her. She died being angry with me. And that made me crazy."

He took your hand in his, and looked at you deep in your eyes. He passed his tongue over his lips, and added something that made your heart almost stop.

"I never thought I would know love again. A man is always under the lust temptation. But not always feels love, tho. Love is a difficult feeling. Strange. Not usual. And for me, it was always a sin. I couldn't love anyone, because God didn't allowed me in that way. But now, I can't deny myself of that feeling. Since I met you, I feel that love is surrounding me, even with all the crazy things that happen in here and all I have to do and did before. Did you think that when we were at the lagoon, all I had to say was about you making your sisters bring me here? You're so wrong as much as I was thinking about that: I wanted to say that I love you. But the feeling of that kiss and your own words saying the same made my head go away, and I didn't think well what I was doing."

He took your head again, as he did before kissing you at the lake. You wanted to feel those lips against yours so bad... But you contained.

"I love you, Y/N. And even if last night I would found a way out, I wouldn't leave, because I don't wanna leave you. I know you're a little scared of sex, but for me it's not that. I was scared too, but I realized that, at your side, it will not be sex. It will be a love proof. I want to be with you, to feel you, to make you happy and see you fine. And knowing that you also feel something for me, I ask you permission to make love with you, knowing that this carnal type of love it's not the only way for me to say that I love you. Desire and lust are usual in humans. But love and feeling each other, pleasuring each other, is a gift."

You kissed him suddenly, tears coming from your eyes. It was so perfect that the fear you felt everytime you thought about sex disappeared completely. He was amazing when he talked, and his words conviced you. He loved you as much as you loved him, only in a few days, the feeling was stronger than anything.

His fingers touched your face as his body went closer. He approached so much that he laid down upon you, between your open legs, kissing you neck so gentle that you shivered.

He kissed you so carefully, almost like if you were about to break, that you couldn't even control your hands, that went to caress his back and scalp. You closed your eyes, your mouth opened, a needy moan escaping again your throat.

You thought about your sisters. If they knew about you both having sex, what would they do? You'll have to be very careful and remain in silence. By now, you couldn't even articulate a word, but you had to ask him something.

"Ab... Abbé..." You said, a moan winning over your words. You controlled. "Have you ever fucked a woman before?"

"I never did it. And I will never do it." He answered, his mouth traveling to the other side of your neck. "I want to make love to you. Not to fuck. You said that to me. And I'm not only respecting you. I think the same as you, Y/N."

You smiled, falling for this charming, sexy priest and his skilled hands and tongue. He lowered the necklace of your dress, and suddenly he saw your breasts, his fingers briefly touching them, making circles around your erect nipples.

"Can I kiss them? I'll be gentle." Said he, with a low, husky voice. You nodded, almost desperate to feel him.

He kissed your right nipple a few times, just giving picks and cupping both breasts in his hands. Then, he took one in his mouth and started to suck it as he did with Josephine's.

The sensation was a mix of feelings, and it couldn't be compare to anything you felt before. He was skilled with his tongue as much as when he talked, licking and sucking it with care but power.

You started to moan, one hand covering your mouth while the other touched his hair, your hips went up to meet his body, and he remembered being with Josephine, and how he desired she was you. Now, you were. And he wanted to taste you.

He entertained with your breasts a few minutes, and then he crawled down to lift your dress, seeing your panties. Just one look from him was like an answer, and you nodded as a response.

He took them out, finally seeing your wet womanhood, his fingers caressing your legs, going slowly to your thighs, until his mouth united to them, and his tongue licked your skin.

"You're so perfect, Y/N, that not God, angel or demon could make me stop now."

Oh, how wrong he was! Because no god, angel or demon was in there. Only Odelle: She was outside your room, hearing everything.

And at the moment he was about to put his mouth on you to finally give you pleasure and feel you, with all the evilness that covered the inside and out of her body, she entered the bedroom.

Tagging: @darknessisafriend @five-miles-over @yukis-writing @thegirlwho @jokerflecker @missrockabilly99 @luperugorria99 @weirdflecksbutok @skaraboo @starksclown @sgtsavoytruffle @joaquinisart @beautifulyoungprospect @sophiefleck @the-queen-of-things @joaqz-phoenix @ajokerfangirl @bailaycantaconmingo @joaquinphoenixdaily @joaquinfeed

[dendrite-blues]

Fluff, and Why it Triggers Me

Odd start, isn’t it? I bet most people reading this are like “whaaat?”

Which....fair. I know it’s weird. I didn’t have an explanation either, for the longest time. Like 15 years. Seriously.

I just knew that fluff fics made me irrationally sad, angry, and lonely.

I avoided these stories so hard that I left whole discord servers just to get away from them. I developed aggression and frustration with the people who posted about it. I starting getting annoyed just by looking at the prompts channel because it was most often used by the fluff mongers. It’s super unhealthy.

But that begs a really obvious and hard to answer question:

How the fuck could fluff—a genre explicitly about heaping the reader in good feelings—be triggering?

Well that really gets to the heart of trauma and the ways it warps cognition, particularly childhood trauma. If you’d like to see me unpack that trauma, keep reading. Otherwise, have a nice day. :)

We learn to process the world through our parent’s eyes, so when our parents are not good blueprints we end up with some whack ass mental hallways and trapdoors to the haunted basement that healthy people just don’t have. 

For instance:

Fluff-->feelings of comfort, love, support, acceptance Angst-->feelings of hurt, sadness, fear, loneliness, depression

But when I read fluff the story doesn’t have that intended effect on me. I actually feel most of the words listed after angst when I read fluff. And vice versa, reading angst makes me feel seen, validated, comforted, and like I’m not alone.

Having given the matter lots and LOTS of thought, I can finally articulate why.

Because when I look back at my life and particularly my childhood I cannot remember a single specific incident in which I was given comfort or support when I needed it. (God and I’m tearing up just typing that out, fuck’s sake.)

My parents were not outright abusive. They were wealthy, they gave me the best clothes, food, toys, and education money can buy, but they were utterly oblivious to the emotional needs of a child. If I cried I was given a toy or food or told to stop complaining when I had it so good. 

Any negative emotions were treated as an aberration, and when someone broke down in our house it was seen as a display of that person’s weakness, or laziness, or lack of gratitude for the riches we had been blessed with.

To my parents happiness was the natural state of a person, and being unhappy meant you must have done something wrong, or you must be broken in some way. 

Receiving comfort or support required you to first prove that you were entirely the victim, because otherwise your pain and hurt would be answered with a lecture about how you deserve whatever happened because of X, Y, and Z.

The worst part is that my parents are exceptionally logical, orderly people and so most of the time they had very coherent, rational reasons behind their painting of you as a bad person who caused your own problem. It’s a very insidious kind of message that leads you to punishing yourself in their stead, since you leave totally convinced of your own culpability and badness.

My family has two children, me and my sister. I think it’s pretty telling how we turned out because we really are the two most natural responses to growing up in this kind of environment.

I am a hyper competent perfectionist who cannot handle even the slightest insinuation of critique. She is a pathological victim who seems allergic to success and accountability.

When negative emotions are a punishment for wrong doing there are only two ways you can respond. 

Either you eliminate failure and unhappiness from your life so that you do not need support—me.

Or you focus all of your energy on deflecting blame to others so that you can present yourself to your parent as a helpless victim and receive the emotional support that you need—my sister.

But this post is about fluff so let’s get back to that.

Why does fluff trigger me?

Because it confronts me with how healthy people respond to a loved one in pain, and in the course of witnessing that freely given love, I am subconsciously told/reminded of how my ‘loved ones’ failed to do that.

It’s not a conscious thing, as I said at the beginning I went 15 years without ever making this connection. I just knew that flew filled me to the brim with resentment, disgust, discomfort, and anger.

And all of these feelings happen because on some level, my soul is hurting. It’s hurting so bad because I know that I deserved that. 

I know that I deserved to be the protagonist of a fluff fic when I came out. I know I deserved that when my busted wrist killed my illustration career. I know I deserved that when I failed to finish my Masters degree. I know I deserved that when my film work dried up and I lost everything. I know I deserve that now, for no reason other than because I’m sad and doing nothing in particular with my life.

And I wasn’t.

Not because my parents didn’t offer me comfort, but because I learned to never offer myself comfort. I learned to regard my own pain as a weakness, and my desire for support as a character flaw. I learn to hate and resent that weakness inside me, and to project that hate bitterly onto other people who were capable of being comforted and were capable of enjoying soft, fluffy stories. 

Because we humans never want to think that we are the broken ones. It’s too scary. Too much cognitive dissonance. It’s easier to think that everyone else is just stupid or weak or shamefully self indulgent in their reading habits.

But that’s not true, and thinking in that way certainly isn’t healthy for me. In fact it works against my recovery to regard stories about healthy coping/relationships with distain and resentment.

So I’m making the effort from now on to retrain myself, and to unpack all of those emotions I denied myself. To—as some psychologists say—re-parent my inner child.

I might never be a fluff fanatic, and I certainly am not going to stop enjoying angst. I will always love hurt/comfort (or ‘earned comfort’ as I’ve started calling it, to remind myself of why I conveniently allowed myself to enjoy this genre even though it is basically the same as fluff). But from now on I’m not going to let myself look down my nose as fluff and fluff readers. 

I’m going to take those negative feelings and ask myself, “Why do I hate this?”

Is it because fluff is stupid, shallow, annoying, and pointless? Or is because I’ve been conditioned to see love and comfort as things I’m not allowed to want, and that I am weak for wanting?

I’m not sure if anyone else has this reaction to fluff. I know that it’s without a doubt the most popular genre in every single ship tag ever. I know that I have felt freakish and deformed for disliking it because it was so overwhelmingly popular and so universally regarded as harmless and pure and good.

I don’t know if I’m the only one, but if I’m not then I hope this helps the one other person with this problem. I hope it helps you in your recovery, and that it makes you feel seen.

Pull out your inner child, and give them a hug from me. Because we’ve both been deprived of things every single human being needs, and that’s a wound that nobody deserves to carry into adulthood.

#personal #mindfullness #journaling #fluff #fanfiction #recovery #meditation

[caseyscartwright]

☕️ alex leaving jo for izzie

*sighs* Okay, so I have several thoughts about this, but I don’t know if I’m going to do a good job at articulating them properly. This is going to be long.

So, this is probably my most unpopular opinion of all time... I don’t like Alex Karev. I never have. I think he’s annoying, a bully, and quite frankly, he did a lot of terrible things that the fandom doesn’t really address. I mean, when I finished Grey’s and I went online to see if others disliked Alex, I was disappointed that I found very few people that agreed with me. This fandom LOVES this guy, and I’m just here in my little corner like “nope, he sucks.”

I think the thing that bugs me the most is the hypocrisy in the fandom when it comes to Izzie vs Alex.

When Izzie left the show, because Katherine Heigl left the show, she became the evil bitch who abandoned Alex, that horrible ungrateful woman who didn’t stay by her husband’s side despite all he did for her. We know the reason Izzie’s exit from the show was so poorly handled was because of Shonda’s issue with Katherine not submitting herself for an Emmy for season 4 (which tbh, I can’t blame her? She was right when she said the material she received that season wasn’t Emmy-worthy, especially in comparison to Izzie’s storylines in the previous two seasons, which were actually heart-wrenching and better developed), so I genuinely don’t get where people’s beef with Izzie comes from. She was written that way because of issues behind the scenes.

And if I’m honest here... people forget that when Izzie left the first time, she was under a lot of emotional distress. She was BATTLING CANCER, JUST LOST HER FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WORLD, AND GOT FIRED FROM THE HOSPITAL!!!! Sorry for yelling, but this fandom doesn’t have any consideration for Izzie’s feelings. Webber fired her in a stone-cold way and heavily implied Alex helped him with that decision. So of course Izzie left. She was traumatized!! And then SHE CAME BACK. She came back and wanted to make things right with Alex, but he told her TO LEAVE. He was the one who did that. So what was Izzie supposed to do? Stay in a hospital where she has to work with a man who told her “I love you so much I almost hate you” (wtf was that line)? Yeah, I can’t blame her for leaving.

People always wanna talk about how Izzie is selfish when she donated 8 million dollars to open a free clinic, was the only resident who bothered to teach the interns (while Alex complained about working on the clinic and said the interns were stupid, lmao, what a guy), donated money to pay for a girl’s back surgery, decorated the house for Christmas and made socks for Meredith and George (and Doc!!), tried to be nice to the doctors from Mercy-West (and ended up getting called a bitch for it :///) and was overall a happy, sweet person who cared about her patients and her friends. Izzie was amazing, why are you all so mean to her?? Because she left Alex’s annoying ass?? If that man was my husband, I’d leave him too, lmao

ANYWAY... so yeah, Alex ain’t shit to me. The first thing he did when he met Izzie was tell her she wouldn’t last as a surgeon, then sexually harassed by hanging pictures of Izzie’s modeling days all over the locker room, cheated on her with Olivia, made fun of her relationship with Denny, called her a stupid bitch and stole one of her surgeries, made her cancer all about himself, didn’t comfort her after George died (seriously, this was so fucked up and nobody ever talks about it. Alex was so jealous of Izzie’s love for George and he showed it all the time)... that man was not “the perfect husband”. He’s lucky Izzie gave him the time of day after the stunt he pulled in the locker room. She was the only one of the interns who gave him a chance, when Meredith, Cristina, and George wanted nothing to do with him (and who could blame them).

He also bullied the hell out of George and April, especially April. People defend this by saying “oh, but everyone bullied April!!” (that isn’t a solid defense, btw), and while the other characters were annoying for that (I love Cristina, but her treatment of April was so awful, same with Meredith, Lexie, and even Jackson was a dick to her at times), Alex always took things to an extreme level. When they’re in the on-call room and are about to have sex, Alex starts yelling at her and saying all that gross stuff about not wanting to hold her virgin hand, and then we see April choking on her own tears at Cristina’s house and Alex never apologized to her for that, he just continued to bully her. He ALMOST KILLED Andrew, and I know that he beat him up because he thought he was assaulting Jo, but he didn’t even try to make things right with him?? He could have killed him or ruin his entire career, but the show had Alex be portrayed as the victim and the other characters didn’t seem to be bothered by what he did?? How did Bailey appoint him as temporary chief when he had a record??

Okay, so this turned into an anti-Alex rant more than anything else, but all this needed to be said. I know he became a better doctor and everything, but he never clicked as a character for me. His friendship with Meredith seemed forced (Cristina was gone, so Meredith needed to hold on to someone, right??), and it was very shitty how it took Meredith TWO YEARS to respect Jo as Alex’s girlfriend and Alex just let Meredith treat her like crap?? Never change, Karev. I don’t care about his friendship with Arizona, either.

So... this guy left Jo. He cheated on her, lied to her, and then left her in a letter. And the fandom is like “okay, but Alex didn’t do it!!! The writers ruined him!!!”, oh, wow, so when Izzie leaves Alex she’s a bitch, but when Alex leaves Jo, it was the writers??? Alex should be the most hated character on the show because what he did was horrible, but the fandom gives him a pass. Y’all hate Izzie, but this guy is okay in your eyes???

Another unpopular opinion, but I don’t like Jo either. She’s boring to me; I don’t care about her storylines (I find them quite repetitive), and I never cared about her relationship with Alex (they had zero chemistry to me). So no, I don’t care that they’re over. I do wish Alex had taken her with him, lmao.

I hate that they made Alex and Izzie end up together because now EVERYONE is blaming Izzie for Alex’s exit. “She hid the children from him!!!” Alex SIGNED his rights away and told Izzie she could do whatever she wanted with his sperm. It’s not Izzie’s fault Alex decided he now wanted to be a dad to those kids. Why does Izzie get all the blame for all of this? Alex is a grown man who made a choice. We also never saw them reunite on screen, so we have no idea what they spoke about. Maybe Alex didn’t even tell her he was married. I mean, he had no problem lying to his wife about where he was, so who’s to say he didn’t lie to Izzie, too?

I know, I KNOW that Alex leaving Jo like that is bad writing. But the only reason I care is because I hate that this storyline made my favorite character the target of fandom hypocrisy and hate. But to be honest, Alex got a better ending than most. George, Lexie, Mark, and Derek died horrible and painful deaths. Callie and April also had shitty exists. The ONLY one who had an exit worthy of her character was Cristina (not counting Addison because she went to have her own spin off).

I don’t know if I have anything else to add, tbh. If you hate Izzie but love Alex, you’re a hypocrite.

Oh, and George and Izzie forever <333

#anon #replies #anti alex karev #izzie stevens #grey's anatomy #I WENT OFF #if you disagree block me #i don't wanna argue

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

"Explorers raided tombs and paraded the remains of ancient monarchs and dynasties to their homes. Mummies were unwrapped at social affairs and examined—and it was such a popular pastime that tourism companies in Egypt sent such delights to European countries to satisfy their morbid curiosities and struggled to fuel the growing trend."

“So you see,” Sebastian continued, “There is a historical precedent for this sort of thing. I’m hardly the first businessman to notice the wasted resources just rotting away underground. Or stuffed into an urn, depending on customs and family sentiment.”

“There’s historical precedent for a lot of fucked up shit, Shaw. That doesn’t make it okay!” Pyro stared, aghast, at the website. “Does the Council know you’re doing this? They can’t possibly approve!”

“Are you going to run and tattle on me?” Sebastian sneered. “That doesn’t seem like you, Allerdyce, but you have become more of a conformist rule-follower in Krakoa, it seems. At any rate, some of the Council are aware of my side business. They have elected not to bring it to a vote in meetings, so presumably I am breaking no law of the island.”

“But….it’s wrong. It’s bloody grotesque is what it is!” Pyro exclaimed.

“Is it better or worse than burning people to death during a bank robbery, or as part of some half-baked political protest?”

“Oh, give me a fucking break, Shaw!” Pyro snapped. “I know I’ve done some bad things – “

“Some bad things. What an adorable generalization, ducking out of all serious responsibility – “

“I know I’ve killed people, okay?” Not quite as many as some X-Men wanted to pretend, though. He mostly went for guards, police officers and soldiers, who, as far as Pyro was concerned, had it fucking coming. He hadn’t wanted to kill people to rob a bank, and there was never a need to if the civilians were smart enough to stay well back.

“But killing people doesn’t mean I can’t draw any moral lines, ever,” Pyro continued. “And I’m drawin’ a line right here. This is not okay.”

“Why not? Who does it hurt, really?”

“Well, surely the people whose bodies are getting rented out to sickos! No one would want that.” Pyro wasn’t sure he could articulate the sick churning in the pit of his stomach. It was something that went beyond logic, just a deep sense of disgust that seemed to well up from the center of his being. He was an open-minded fellow, he was willing to play fast and loose with a few morals, but surely some things were just….wrong. Right?

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Sebastian said, waving a hand dismissively. “And apparently X-Factor is running some very interesting experiments with discarded mutant corpses over in their appropriately named “Boneyard.” And I’m quite confident that Sinister is probably churning out clones in his little lab, no matter how he might deny it. So whats the harm in my business?”

“Just because other people are doing it doesn’t make it okay! It’s like a….desecration, isn’t it?” Perhaps there was some of his Gran’s staunch Catholicism lurking under the surface, despite Pyro’s current status as…well, not an atheist, exactly, more like an agnostic who didn’t want to think about things too hard. He had to admit, a childhood of Mass and Confession and Hail Marys really got under your skin, no matter how long ago you walked away from the church.

“All this fuss over discarded meat,” Sebastian shrugged. “That’s all it really is when you remove religion and sentiment from the equation. Really, Allerdyce, I’m surprised at your squeamishness.”

“Are you really okay with it, then?” Pyro asked. “Letting some human fuck a mutant corpse? That’s what they’re doing it, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily. I believe that’s the most common activity, but a few people want to cook and eat choice pieces.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly all right, then.” Pyro’s words were so heavy with sarcasm, they practically thudded onto the floor.

“Understand, Allerdyce, I find all this personally distasteful. I am disgusted by the idea of necrophilia, and even cannabalsim. But I see no reason to deny others, if there is money to be made. The ‘sickos’ will pay top dollar for discrete fulfillment of their taboo desires.”

“But do you really want to be putting mutant corpses in human hands? Haven’t they got scientists trying to study us or clone us or whatever? Put our DNA in Sentinels to make super-weapons?”

Sebastian laughed heartily. “Really, I didn’t think you were so naïve. Mutants have been in the public eye for several decades. The various governments of the world have been capturing mutant test subjects for a very long time. There are hundreds of mutants buried in graveyards and millions in the heavy layer of ash that still covers Genosha. If some enterprising human scientist wants mutant DNA, it would be very, very easy to lay hands on it. In fact, your own corpse is probably preserved in a government lab somewhere. In other words, there’s no point in closing the barn door at this point. The horses are long gone.”

Pyro couldn’t resist a full-body shudder at the thought. He knew, deep down, that his body was probably stuck in a metal drawer somewhere, or cut into chunks sitting in labelled glass jars. The US government had probably been interested in him as a Legacy Virus victim, back before the cure. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow, it did.

“And the bodies are only available for a limited amount of time, at any rate,” Sebastian continued. “Aside from the obvious natural impermanence of a corpse, I’ve had Sinister inject the bodies with a kind of “kill switch.” After five days, the corpse will dissolve, leaving no trace behind. The humans are only paying to rent, after all.”

“But wait…..” Pyro ventured. “What gives you the right to sell other people’s bodies? Shouldn’t they be the ones to profit off that?”

“What gives people the right to collect discarded trash?” Sebastian said, spreading his arms wide. “Would you begrudge the little old lady collecting aluminum cans for a few pennies from a recycling center? Or the struggling student who takes a sofa from the side of the road? That’s all these corpses are. Trash. Their previous owners have shiny new bodies – bodies gifted to them by Krakoa and the Five, by the way – and left no instructions as to disposal. I don’t use bodies from people who requested to be cremated, or some kind of ritual burial. Just bodies have have been carelessly tossed aside, by people who clearly don’t care.”

“Oh, well I’m sure you’ll be happy to explain that to everyone else, then,” Pyro said. “I’m sure they’ll all be totally understanding.” He realized a moment later, with a nervous twinge, that threatening to tell on the unscrupulous businessman while you were sitting alone in his massive castle and no one else knew where you were was a very stupid thing to do. Fuck. He should have at least claimed to have evidence left with a trusted friend or something, but he’d only just stumbled across this, while exploring the so-called “dark web.” Maybe he could bluff his way out of this.

“I told you, some Council members are already well aware,” Sebastian said, sitting back and regarding Pyro across steepled fingers. “I don’t think you’d find those in authority quite as willing to turn on me as you imagine, Allerdyce. In fact, it’s entirely possible that any attempt to inform the public will lead to a hasty mind-wipe for you.”

“I’ve got proof. I left it all on a flash drive with……” Freddy? Dominic? Mystique? “….a friend,” he finished, not wanting to actually put anyone else in the crosshairs. Hell, Mystique might even know about this. He’d like to think better of her, but she always had schemes within schemes going. He wondered which telepath on the Council might be in on this. Was Sinister a telepath? That arrogant piece of shit Exodus? He seemed too high-minded to approve, but that mission in the Savage Land had shown Pyro that Exodus did not give a single fuck about mutants that he considered weak or “unworthy.” Frost? Even Xavier? Pyro had never trusted that creepy bastard. Something about him had always seemed too good to be true.

Sebastian laughed again. “Oh, you think I’m going to kill you? That’s cute. Allerdyce, you are not in some ridiculous detective story. I am a practical man, and despite your bleating about morals, I know you are, too. I am willing to make you an offer. It’s an easy job. All you have to do is ‘keep mum,’ as they say.” Sebastian wrote a number down on a piece of paper, and slid it across the table.

It was, in fact, a very nice number. Enough to make some of Pyro’s disgust quickly fall away.

“After all, why shouldn’t you enjoy the same kind of luxury experienced by Krakoa’s elite? You serve aboard the Marauder, and you’re obviously on the lowest rung of the crew. None of the power and privilege weilded by the X-Men, none of the wealth bestowed by birth on Christian Frost, my own son, and the Von Struckers. And you do significantly more work than for the Hellfire Trading Company than those spoiled idiots. Why not take a little something for yourself?”

Pyro’s mind whirled. Of course, taking the money now would mean he was “in it,” so to speak. And if the secret got out, he’d probably be implicated along with Shaw, at least in the eys of his fellow mutants. Which would hurt a bit, after all his heroics with the Marauders. He was starting to feel, at least a little bit, like a good guy.

But on the other hand, if Sebastian was telling the truth, and some of the Council already knew, trying to tattle would just get him in the shit. It was all well and good to have movies about heroic whistle-blowers, but in the real world, they got slandered, ruined, and sometimes murdered. No one would stand up for a relative nobody like Pyro, especially if Frost and Mystique already knew. At best he’d just get mind-wiped.

It would be safer to just walk away and keep his mouth shut. And if he was going to walk away anyhow, why not pick up a paycheck for it?

They were just corpses, right? What a resurrected mutant didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

And it didn’t seem to actually be breaking any Krakoan laws.

And it was a lot of money.

And Pyro really did like money.

It wasn’t like he was a proper journo anymore, was he? No need for integrity.

Pyro pushed the paper back across the table.

“You’ll need to add a zero to that number before I’ll even consider it,” he said. “And this is just for silence, understand? I’m not gonna be your employee, don’t start expecting me to fetch and carry.”

Sebastian grinned, making a mark on the paper, and held it his hand to shake.

“I knew you’d see sense. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Allerdyce.”

OOC: I was going to make that sillier, but the more I thought about it…..Sebastian probably would bribe Pyro to shut up, and Pyro would probably just take the money. He’s trying to be “good,” but not that good. Also, no offense intended to Exodus. After the story in the Quicksilver min-series, when Pyro is working with Acolytes on a mission for a supposed Legacy Virus cure (which doesn’t exist), Pyro probably holds a serious grudge against him.

#sebastian shaw #pyro #st john allerdyce

[princesssarcastia]

yes, ghosts CAN time travel, actually, don’t be such a Richard, Klaus

titled “frozen time between hearses and caskets” in my fic folder, aka idea #3 from my poll two weeks ago on which Umbrella Academy Season 2 fic I should write.  vague vibes also from this poem which I adore; “I AM TIRED OF RE-WRITING TRAGEDY WITHOUT CHANGE. LET THEM LIVE. LET THEM LEARN. LET THEM LOVE.”  Because let people grow, goddammit.

this mess to follow is dedicated to @levhach, the only respondent to my poll.  I hope you enjoy!  also dedicated to Klaus’ genuine kindness and empathy for others in season 1, may it rest in peace.

                                        —————————

“Well, unfortunately, ghosts can’t time travel,” Klaus says, playing at exasperated and put-upon.

“Klaus, don’t be an asshole,” Ben intones from the corner of the room, but Klaus can hear the edge of desperation in his voice. 

It’s been years since either of them could even lay eyes on their siblings, let alone speak to them. When Allison appeared at the edge of that pool, it was like heroin; that kind of emotional high could be addictive, if he let it, and he would know.  Seeing and being seen are kind of important, apparently.

Nobody ever sees Ben but Klaus.

Except for three years ago, in Vanya’s theater.

Klaus heaves a sigh, letting his shoulders rise and fall.  “Oh, fine, you big baby.” He throws up his hands as they take on a distinctly blue hue.

And the whole room…stops.

“Ben,” someone says, or maybe they all say it, and then Diego is in front of their dead teenaged brother and clutching desperately at his stupid leather jacket, and Ben is clutching back and crying. 

He sighs again, for real this time, and lets them have this moment.  Even Five seems swept up in the emotion of it all, hovering just on the edge of the crowd with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a constipated look on his face.

“So that’s our brother?” Vanya says from right behind him, jesus christ!

“God, we should have put a bell on you,” Klaus says.  “Yeah, that’s Ben.”

“Ben,” Vanya draws out his name, like she’s trying it out, and Klaus glances back at her.  There’s a hint of some je ne sais quoi, a glimmer of confused grief, in her eyes—like she wants to cry with no idea why, or how.

Vanya, who got teary when they stepped on ants as kids, went berserk and killed the whole world…and then conveniently forgot all about it.  Hmm. Klaus has some ideas about that, personally, but he sees no need to share with the class; in his experience, people will remember terrible shit in their own time.  Trying to force it will only set her off again.

Plus, he’s not nearly drunk enough for that conversation, even after a morning of margaritas with Allison, who’s turned into a wonderful enabler.

Ben finds him briefly from the center of their little gaggle of siblings, seemingly content with more attention than he’s had in decades.

“I missed you all,” he hears Ben say, and watches their dead brother look at Vanya with grief that isn’t confused at all.

—

They stumble out of Allison’s house, away from her lovely husband—really, Klaus can’t even begin to explain how hard it is to find a partner willing to hide a body for you—and straight into the car Klaus sped over here in.  Diego, of course, insists on driving, but Allison is still upset over Raymond and Klaus can’t be bothered, so it works out.

Ben calls shotgun and Klaus automatically pulls Allison into the backseat with him.

“I just,” Allison clears her throat, “Vanya?”

“Again?  What are the odds, am I right?”  Klaus jibes, and flinches dramatically away from Allison when she elbows him.

“Last time, it was Luther and the rest of you morons that set her off.  But none of us have seen her since she left after the dinner from hell, so it couldn’t have been one of us.”

“What is she even doing in the federal building in the first place?”  Ben asks.

Klaus hums, “good point, Ben,” and relays it to the others.

He can hear the leather steering wheel creak as Diego tightens his grip.  “I don’t—I’m not sure, I was moving pretty quickly to avoid getting caught at Headquarters.”

“But?”  Allison prompts when he doesn’t continue.

“But,” Diego’s jaw tightens, “I think she got arrested.  By the FBI?”

“The FBI?” Klaus screws up his face.  “Who the hell—Allison, did you get her involved with the SJCC in the, what, ten minutes we were all together?”

“No, no I didn’t.  But…I mean, someone named Vanya with memory loss in 1963 when the president is in town…” Allison trails off, like the words she emphasized will make some sort of sense when put together.

“They think she’s a communist spy,” Diego says flatly.

“Oh!”  Klaus exclaims.  “Oh,” he repeats, when that sinks in.  “Oh, that—that won’t be good.”

“No, it won’t,” Ben agrees.

Silence fills the car like Agent Orange, and Klaus is just choking on all the implications.

—

His ears haven’t rung like this since helicopters and machine guns and Dave and medic!  I need a fucking medic!, but Klaus foists the memory back into the arms of his subconscious because now’s not the time for a panic attack, goddammit. 

Allison and Diego are saying something, but he can’t quite hear them; it’s hard to focus with wave after wave of energy flowing into him and into him, into that terrible void he doesn’t like to think about and in fact has spent his whole life drowning out. The energy Vanya is pulsating through the federal building feels like nails on the chalkboard of his soul. 

“Question, guys,” he interrupts, “Who are we trying to save Vanya from, again?”

“The FBI,” Diego, Allison, and Ben all say together, and in the same you’re-an-idiot-Klaus tone of voice, too, isn’t that adorable.

Joke’s on them, he’s about to say something relevant. “But if they’re all sucking ceiling right now, why hasn’t she stopped?”

All the bodies scattered about with their eyes burnt out of their skulls is a pretty graphic kind of horrific, even for Klaus, who’s seen pretty much every kind of dead body there is.

Actually…

Klaus waves to get Ben’s attention.  The others turn to look at him and Klaus ignores them.  “Why aren’t there any ghosts?” He shouts, hands still tight around his ears.

Not Ben, though.  He’s just standing there, arms at his sides, like Vanya’s energy isn’t on quite the same wavelength for him as it is for the rest of them.  “I don’t,” he frowns, “yeah, that is weird.  Can’t you feel that, though?”

Klaus hesitates, then nods back, refusing to explain to Allison and Diego when they make encouraging gestures.  There’s no way to articulate it to them, anyway, not in time for them to understand what it means that Vanya can affect his connection with Ben.  That Vanya can, apparently, banish the other ghosts, the ones Klaus isn’t anchoring here in the land of the living.

Pressure is building in too-tight air, like a balloon pushed to the brink of bursting.  According to Diego, Vanya will defrost the Cold War in another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes or so. 

“Can Ben go find out what’s going on with her, then?”  Diego shouts at him, and Klaus looks at Ben, who nods and strolls down the hallway more easily than they could, but it feels…weird.  Something in his chest tightens, in that same place Vanya’s reaching and Klaus doesn’t like to be aware of it the way he’s forced to be right now.

God, he wants a drink.

It takes almost five minutes for Ben to get there and back, and Klaus feels the blood drain out of his face when he gets a look at Ben’s expression.

“They hooked her up to some kind of generator.  Klaus, the readout says it’s up to a thousand volts,” Ben says quickly.  “She’s seizing pretty violently; I don’t think she even knows what she’s doing.”

Klaus lets out a blistering string of curses, the kind Sarge would be proud of—come to think of it, Klaus probably learned it from Sarge. 

“What, what is it?” Allison shouts, leaning in and trying to look where he’s looking, where Ben stands, intangible and desperate.

“They’re torturing her!” Klaus shouts back.

“So, this is some kind of defense mechanism?” Diego adds his two cents, though Klaus doesn’t think the what of this is really relevant right now.

“We have to go turn it off,” Klaus darts to look at Allison and Diego and then back at Ben.  Pressure keeps building in his ears, against his skin, in his brain, in his soul.  How the hell are we going to get back there?  He’s pretty sure they won’t even be able to stand, let alone walk a hundred and fifty feet.  They’ll pop like grapes before they reach the halfway point.

Allison and Diego are shouting something else, now, but it doesn’t matter, because Klaus is looking at Ben and Ben is looking at him and Vanya is reaching that point inside him that anchors Ben, even from all the way back here, and Vanya’s going to blow up this building with them inside it and start World War III and they can’t reach her but Ben can.

Ben can.

He shivers.

Seventeen plus years together means Klaus knows exactly what Ben is thinking, because he’s thinking it, too.

“Are you sure?” He leans into Ben’s space, and Ben crouches down so they’re eye to eye.

“I’m sure,” Ben says easily, like this is easy, god, what a prick.

Something twists in his chest, and he can’t tell if it’s Vanya or his own stupid feelings.  “No take-back-sies this time, mein bruder. If we do this—”

“We?” Ben raises his eyebrows and smirks.

“Oh, please, this is at least forty percent me and you know it,” Klaus narrows his eyes petulantly. 

His brother shifts weight he doesn’t have back onto his heels, freeing his hands to rise in front of him, palms toward Klaus.  “You remember the first time we tried this?”

“We?” Klaus mocks, but takes his own hands off his ears and presses them into Ben’s, letting that peculiar shade of blue envelop both their hands.  Not quite visible, not quite tangible, but it’s power.  Parts of Klaus flow into Ben like Vanya’s energy waves are crashing into everything around him, twining with the anchor between them until it’s a constant stream Ben can feed off of.

He sucks in a shuddery breath and blows out a shaky one.  Allison and Diego are staring at him, wide-eyed, but he keeps ignoring them in favor of Ben.

“Do you think she’ll remember me this time?” Ben asks, smiling at him in that soft way Klaus thought they’d agreed to stop doing years ago.  Rude!

Oh, what the hell. 

Klaus quirks a real smile at Ben and squeezes his hands.  “She’d better.”

—

“I remember everything.”

“Tell Klaus something for me, would you?”

—

fin.

#umbrella academy #fic #fanfic #umbrella academy fanfic #tua fanfiction #season 2 #look i believe klaus is fundamentally the most kind/empathetic of all of them #season 1 shows this well #diego is probably a close second but my main genderless babe klaus is in the lead #also klaus totally knows more about his ghostly powers in season 2 #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #guys that torture scene with vanya was messed up #between that and Klaus' LOVELY session with hazel and cha-cha #there's a nasty habit in this show of not addressing extreme physical and mental trauma #which you know #duh #but also let's explore it in fic for a while #let klaus say goodbye to ben goddamit #even if it's just #in their own snarky special way #let them have a MOMENT jesus fuck #at least a little something more than that weak-ass eye contact #grief #major character death

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “ What Death Tastes Like” Part 5

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 1    Part 2   Part 3     Part 4

The Joker feels his face covered in soft kisses and although generally speaking he loves being pampered, this particular instance awakens his self-defense mechanism.

“What time is it?” J mutters.

“Let me see,” you stretch for your phone. “12:03 am.”

“I should go,” he lifts his head up from the pillow and you pull him back in your arms, yawning.

“Stay for a little bit longer, ok?”

“Why?”

“I wish to hold on to my birthday present for a few more minutes,” Y/N pleads with the man she senses doesn’t want to be there anymore. “Don’t worry, I’m aware it was a casual affair,” your sad smile prompts a completely out of context answer:

“If you noticed I fell asleep, you should have woken me up!” The King of Gotham complains.

“I fell asleep also,” you snuggle to him and since J is suddenly quiet you whisper. “It was amazing.”

He keeps staring which makes you wonder what the hell is going on in his mind right now.

“At least for me,” you underline after you grasp he won’t comment on the subject; you didn’t have a clue he’ll convert the night you spent together into awkwardness for no reason. “Get out of my tent!” you snap at his behavior, irritated. “Get out!” you shove him and The Clown Prince of Crime doesn’t budge.

“Why are you mad?” he finally addresses the annoyed Y/N.

“Because you’re a jerk!”

“Come again?!” The Joker frowns and Scarecrow’s daughter has a clever response; she doesn’t share his genes for nothing.

“I would but I guess you’re not a big fan of us having sex a second time!!!”

“Wow!” J bitterly scoffs. “You sure can twist a guy’s words, huh? If you really must pry into my personal life, I’ll have you know that I’m not used with small talk afterwards, understand?”

While you wonder if he’s bluffing, you can’t help offer the benefit of doubt served with a side of insolence.

“Well, maybe if you would give it a try with someone that actually cares, you’d have stuff to discuss.”

“Miss Crane, what makes you think Mara doesn’t like me?”

The Joker expects a feisty reply to his audacious remark yet he receives a piece of sturdy logic instead:

“If she was crazy in love, she wouldn’t agree and with this on and off relationship you two have.”

J is obviously displeased at your statement thus Y/N has to unleash her creativity in order to push him comprehend what she’s aiming at.

“The problem is you don’t approach anything important, you only shut down everyone. Even Emma believes she’s not yours.”

The King of Gotham was preparing to lash out but your latest sentence totally catches him off guard.

“What do you mean?!”

“You never talk about her mother granted she keeps asking so Emma presumes you probably stole her from an individual you consider your enemy and raised her as revenge.”

“Huh?!” The Joker gets on his elbow, appalled. “She is my daughter!”

“I say that to her when she panics, unfortunately random people do look similar…,” you twirl a strand of his green hair around your fingers. “Steering clear from issues we’re uncomfortable with doesn’t necessarily result in a positive outcome,” Y/N concludes and her partner is not excited at all.

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?!”

“I’m a Crane,” you peck his lips. “It’s in our blood.”

A lot of thoughts rushing behind those blue eyes and you’re confident his patience is running low; add a short fuse to the combo and according to your flawless instinct J will bite soon.

“Take me for example,” you attempt to cram in the main point of your dialogue before it happens. “I don’t care you’re older, I fancy your company nevertheless: you’re super handsome plus emotionally unattractive…”

“I’m what?!” The Joker interrupts.

“Umm… emotionally unattractive?” you hesitantly repeat while watching him jump off the pillows and start to collect his clothes in the semi darkness.

“Serves me right for sleeping with somebody half my age!” he growls at the young woman realizing she upset him with her rant.

“So you’re 46?” you struggle to joke at his affirmation.

“Listen here, Miss Crane!” J dresses in a hurry, angry at your stunt. “If you imagine you figured me out, you didn’t!! Nobody fucks with me!” he violently kicks the mattress and you can’t avoid it:

“I think I just did. Literally.”

The hate in his demeanor makes you regret opening up; your goal was to imply you like him no matter what yet the aftermath is way off what you intended.

“I apologize, OK?” you sigh and reach your hand for his.

“I hope you perish!” he strikes your fingers with such brutality it stings. “You’re dying anyway but hopefully the Cromyxillium kills you faster!” The Joker unzips the tent and leaves a shocked Y/N breathless at his hurtful tirade.

“That’s all you got? Stupid old man…” you whimper and cuddle under the thin blanket with his cushion.

Grief is not the correct term to describe what you experience for the moment: a perfect birthday turned into exactly the opposite in a blink of an eye simply because The Joker proved once more he has no concept on how to handle dynamite; fire suits him better.

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

Next morning, 10:14am

“Are you hot or cold?” your father inquires since your intravenous therapy commenced 10 minutes ago.

“No,” you gaze at the IV bag and Jonathan lingers by your bed, reminding his offspring about their plan.

“We’ll do 3 hours on, 3 hours off; I’ll monitor your vitals and if you feel strange alert me immediately, deal?”

You nod a yes and his perseverance in aiding you with your terminal cancer evokes a sincere confession:

“Daddy…Thank you for trying to save me…I’m sorry I’m a burden…”

“A burden?!” Scarecrow mumbles.

There are a million facts you should evoke, yet the predominant one keeps hunting you.

“You buried yourself in the lab because of me…and Evelyn left…”

“Evelyn and I broke up for various motives,” your parent grumbles. “Saying I immersed myself into working because of you hints that I was forced into it against my will which is not true. I did everything out of love… I can’t bear the idea of losing you,” he kisses your temple; you wrap your free arm around his neck, squeezing him tight.

“You’re the best dad; I’m lucky you’re my father. If I die… you think mom is waiting for me?...”

Jonathan Crane has the weird sensation he’s choking; his wife died after you were born due to leukemia, now their daughter is fighting for survival: she’s plainly the last fortress separating him from utter madness.

“I couldn’t save your mother, but I’ll be damned if I let you die kid,” he caresses your cheek. “She can wait; I bet she’s not eager to take you with her,” Scarecrow reassures his daughter. “Rest honey.”

“I will…” you consent and Emma barging in the bedroom with her duffle bag switches your attention.

“I’m here, I’m here!” she exclaims. “Traffic was horrible, bad accident on the freeway!”

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

11 am

“Are you comfortable?” Emma checks with her friend, not entirely certain how to bring up a very delicate topic clouding her usually bubbly disposition.

“Of course,” you smile and she wiggles in her recliner. “Are you?” you wink at her visible restlessness as you attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

“Y/N…,” she taps the fluffy carpet with her feet. “Mmmm… last night after we returned from the river I dropped by to see how you’re doing and… I came to your tent…,” Emma pauses seeing the stupefied expression on your face. “I…I found my father sleeping in there with you…”

You lick your lips and strain to keep your calm even if your heart is pounding out of your chest.

“Did my dad take advantage of you?” she lowers her voice and you can tell she’s torn apart by the horrible notion.

“He didn’t,” you shake your head.

“Dumb girl…” Emma admonishes without any trace of resentment; what else can she articulate in these circumstances regardless?  

“I can’t believe I’m inquiring… Did you use protection?”

“No…It just happened…”

“Oh my God!” the concerned judgement pressures you to continue:

“It didn’t end well so it’s fair to assume we’re not in any danger of me becoming your stepmom,” your tone diminishes and she leans over to scold when The Joker passes by the opened door without bothering to peek inside your bedroom; you didn’t spot him but Emma did.

“I’ll be back!” she hisses and you’re confused at her desire to leave you.

“Hey, where are you going?”

She ignores your question and races after The King of Gotham, catching up with him at the end of the long corridor.

“Dad!” Emma shouts and he turns around.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?!” she interrogates the clueless Joker.

“I’m meeting Crane. Is he downstairs?”

“In his lab compounding the next batch of Cromyxillium for Y/N,” she fumes at J’s impertinence. “Didn’t you forget something?”

He seems puzzled and Emma is not tricked by his deceiving performance.

“My best friend is in her quarters, uncertain if she’ll survive the cancer treatment. Are you pretending she doesn’t exist?”

“Meaning?” The Joker sneers.

“I know you slept with her!” the accusation follows instantly. “Don’t deny it! How could you take advantage of her?!”

The Clown Prince of Crime straightens his shoulders, aware he can’t negotiate his innocence out of this complicated riddle.

“I did not take advantage of her! How dare you accuse me of such low move?”

“You didn’t?” Emma closes the gap between them. “You know she has a crush on you and she’s vulnerable; what type of man would prey on that?!”

J is not thrilled with the innuendos and cuts her off:

“She basically begged for some and I obliged out of pity!”

Emma slaps him and The Joker gasps, enraged she had the audacity:

“Do that again and I’ll neglect you’re my daughter!” he growls and the serious threat doesn’t faze her.

“Hurt her more and I’ll forget you’re my father! If you are indeed my father,” she emphasizes while stomping away towards the kitchen.

“I am your father!” J simmers at her impeccable strategy: Emma is retreating to a different corner of the house giving him the opportunity to choose.

Who the heck knows if she’s actually his?

One thing is undeniable though: they share the same despicable temper.

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

You discern The Joker in the doorway and your body stiffens; you stare at the TV screen wishing he’ll disappear.

“Where’s Crane?” J analyzes Y/N’s IV pole.

You don’t engage so his crankiness emerges.

“I suppose you didn’t flatlined yet!”

“Nope,” you grunt at the provocative declaration that served its goal: you did reply to The Clown’s rubbish.

“Where’s Crane?”

“I heard you the first time and I’m not sure why you focus your energy on a useless interrogation. You know where my father is!”

“Where?” The Joker’s vile attitude can’t compromise for less than instigating his fling.

“Please take your stuff that’s firm now but will get saggy in maximum 20 years and vanish!” the poisonous remark makes him groan.

“What stuff?!”

You check him out glaring at his mid-section before dismissing his presence.

“That’s the rudest fucking criticism ever!” The Joker barks and Y/N crabbily indicates:

“It’s not criticism, it’s reality! Gravity’s a bitch! Mara won’t mind, won’t she? After all, you two share a very special bond: on today, off tomorrow, hookup next week, take a break next month. Such dreamy relationship!”

“Do you have more derogatory references to my private life?!” J grinds his teeth ready to unleash several atrocities your way.

“No, too busy dying…” you show him the needle in your arm. “I don’t feel the pain from the medication burning my veins; I’m used with my sickness, with the ups and downs. What I do feel is the pain of being taken for granted.”

The Joker is not a fan of the insinuated context.  

“You said no strings attached!” he stresses the lack of commitment consented the previous evening.

“You’re the one that came to me; I thought it meant you were accepting to be the center of my universe.”

J ogles the ceiling of Y/N’s bedroom and assembles a couple of harsh disclosures in his brain when her entitled smirk halts the project.

“You’re buying it, aren’t you?” you chuckle at his astonishment. “I’m just messing with you Mister Joker; who in their right mind would make you the center of their universe?! You have 10 seconds to leave, otherwise I’ll scream and security will come!” you shelter your head with the quilt so you don’t have to see his mug anymore.

No outpour of vexation from his part which is cool: means he bailed.

The blanket is slowly pulled until your eyes emerge; J hovers your face, pissed at the unwelcomed clash.

“I’m checking if you kicked the bucket; corpses are usually covered thus my dilemma.”

“Go away!” you advise. “Or I’ll scream!”

You inhale preparing to yell: The Joker didn’t predict you’d defy him and he swiftly kisses you in order to stop the sounds.

The door is cracked and Emma witnesses the scene, reckoning bizarre elements:

Her father holds grudges and was mad at Y/N earlier due to whatever happened yesterday; nevertheless he still kissed her.

On the other hand, you were definitely miserable after your escapade, yet you didn’t reject him.

Emma may not be informed about the entire story, but one detail is crystal clear: the future is far from being simple.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagines #joker leto #joker suicide squad #mister j #Mistah J #dc #dcu