#you didn't know you were going to be reading a book when you asked

[sangunary]

Yandere BatFam x other dimension Reader.

SYPNOSIS: In another world they did love you.

IMP: Reader did get neglected in her dimension.

You've never been a figure or anything important, not something worth the light. Even in picture everybody looked so good and you're just there, even just from a glance it's hard to notice you.

You've tried to shine to take that light everybody else have in their grip but the light was purposefully avoiding you.

No amount of grade, beauty or perfection would make you their baby. Someone they cared for.

You weren't some star like them just the black sheep, everybody else have a life they can call theirs but your life was already written out for you, every possible things already carved out by everyone else but yourself.

Unlike Dick you weren't charming or good looking everything about him was amazing and admirable... The first Robin and the first to become their own person. Not even Bruce get to curve his story...

He treat his siblings equally, that was what he preached... It was true. You weren't a family to him, you didn't matter enough to be apart of his family.

Even when Jason decided to started killing you stayed by his side, brought him food and even tried to build an actual relationship but it was no use.

Everybody called you desperate for crawling to him when he needed somebody and the moment he healed(kind of) he throw you away. Ignoring how you were the only one who stood up for him, took all the insult and humiliation for his sake yet he took you for granted.

You took the word, hit and almost got disowned, for somebody who doesn't even care. You almost died for somebody you thought was your brother yet he didn't do shit when the family almost disowned you for staying by his side... Didn't offer home or solace. Just ignored your suffering for his sake.

Tim was smart everything you adore in a brother, stayed by his side spent sleepless nights just to watch over him when he was in the hospital, trying your best to support your brother who you fear might die.

Yes, everyone didn't get enough sleep but you didn't even sleep stayed by his side to make sure no harm could happened to him. Took your time to read book's knowing he can't even hear you, doing everything.

Yet when he opened his eyes he hugged the family and not you, even have the audacity to ask you to go out while they had some 'family' catch up...

Damian was one hell of a monster, yet you never gave up on him. He was just a kid and you wanted to be the admirable older siblings you never had.

It wasn't easy it never was, the constant lie about you to everyone and yes nobody in this world pity you enough to hear your side... Yout life was already hell and it wad just unfair how everybody else got what they wished for and you never get anything... Not even a family.

To the eyes of the media you were the black sheep often left out even in family portraits or any major Wayne gala, just some avarage citizen that was living the life...

Bruce couldn't remember your name's at times blaming it on old age, Alfred only saw you as an extra mouth nothing more nothing less.

Even when The joker kidnapped you and made Bruce choose between you and Catwoman he almost hesitate, you were never the first or second, you weren't an option to everybody... Just some extras living with them to make them look better.

Being you was painful itself, when your family who were supposed to be the hero rejected your presence.

So, when you accidentally step into another dimension you became attached.

Your false family loved you to no ends, you were dead in that universe... Dying a gruesome death.

Yet when they saw you alive even tho you weren't their family they cherished you and most importantly treat you like a family.

There was no more I no more threats just a loving family.

Who will do whatever to make you stay.

"I like this" You told them, you couldn't help but smile.

You've never played games with your actual family before, to them you were an actual bot with nothing interesting.

"Oh, you won't like it for long... I'll beat you"

Tim said as he aggressively nudge at you to make you lose control.

"Hey! That's cheating, someone take him out!"

Barbara stood up for you.

"Everything is fair in games... As long as you're the winner"

Damian speak up as he instinctively grab Tim hoodie and cover his eyes with it. To let you win.

"That's cheating! I should have won"

"Everything is fair in games... Just gotta have the right support"

You couldn't help it, everybody were together. You were finally in the picture, you didn't have to fit in they just have to accept you and they absolutely did.

You couldn't help but tear up, your heart aching slightly.

"Little wing are you okay? Should w-"

Dick spoke before he was cut off by Damian.

"Let's beat up Tim, he made them cry"

"Huh?! Im the one that lost... Your violence towards me make them scared!"

Before anyone else could argue on who made you cry Jason who was just there because of you spoke up.

"Don't be so obnoxious and loud... They're obviously emotional for a good reason. Bunch of wannabe adult in this room"

With that said he would gave you this handkerchief which was very unusual of him.

Taking a seat next to you on the ground as he pick up the extra controller, not even weirded out by your suddenly burst of tears just pure understanding.

Your Jason was the one who kick you aside the moment he felt healed but this one... He was trying his best to comfort you, he didn't like to be so upfront yet he was doing this to save you from embarassment and a little comfort.

Looking at the Handkerchief you couldn't help but smile, the same one you gave to your Jason when he came back but the one you made was burned into crispy by the very person you made for. He took it and throw it inside the crumbling building that was ignited into flames by him.

Called it a waste of fabric and time, not worth his precious time or life even tho you spend weeks stitching everything by hand... You just wanted to encourage him to be better you didn't knew he would take offence to your kindness.

There was some holes on the handkerchief yet it was extremely clean and ironed... He seems to cherish it alot.

"Took it everywhere and I ruined it, it was my lucky charm but you're here now so you'll be a good replacement"

"I don't think being compared to a literal fabric is fulfilling"

Duke commented.

"It's not just a fabric it's made by our beloved sibling here, shame on you Duke, shame on you"

Stephanie tease him with a fake offended look.

"They only made it for Jaybird... Im abit upse- Very upset"

Dick decided to bring another reason to start a full on war again.

"Hey! I want one but with our special logo!"

"This is childish, but I need one for a good purpose"

"Im the oldest so I should be first"

"Want one"

"Enough!"

Bruce spoke up, seems like all the arguing had finally went into his brain.

"As your Father... I am first priority"

"Master Bruce, as your somewhat father I must be the first I insist"

This was what family should be, united and happy. One that are willing to be by yourside even at your worst, willing to take the hit with you and just be ourselves to eachother without shame.

While you were finally getting the life you deserved your actual family were crumbling. Trying to find you, turning every nook and crook up side down.

Gotham was turning into literal hell, they were acting like dog hound pounding onto anyone who they assume have information on your whereabouts.

It seems like they have finally realised your worth. But you've already replaced them.

You were slowly healing but too bad they won't tolerate being replaced.

Watch me flop.

[yourmessagehasbeendenied]

~ AGAIN, MAYBE?

Tw; p in v sex, nsfw, MDNI, idk tbh, comfort, insecure!reader, shy!reader, simon riley things again <3 and yes, chubby reader/ curvy.

Some people lay their life out in front of you like they are a book, ready to be read, wanting to be read. It was easy to make friends with those people, they were friendly, they wanted to be around others. That was you. And there was him. Reserved, quiet, a book that refuses to open, locked with the key thrown into the ocean, you have to break it up just to read the first page. He hated people, he hated being around people.

There we went again, spiraling into the void. The sunshine isn't supposed to meet the moon but once in a lifetime, it happens. You were looking at him with doe eyes, staring like he was the prettiest man you've ever seen, from across the coffee shop. And it made him hungry. Curious, interested. What's a pretty bunny like you doing, staring at the big bad wolf? Like he wants to bite into your neck. You were hoping he wanted to. You stared like you could take him. You stared like you could handle him. It made him almost smirk, laugh at the thought. You, a pretty small little thing? But listening to your friends for 5 minutes talking about how "you should totally, no, need to go there", you caved in. You swallowed as you held your hands together in front of you and blushed, walking towards him. "..Ex-excuse me.." He slowly turned towards you. He raised an eyebrow and when he saw you, he smirked. He tilted his head, "What do ya need?" He asked, like he didn't already know. You swallowed, words almost stuck in your throat. "Well, I was wondering.. Maybe, you know, if you were uhm.. Interested? And not taken of course uhm.. If you would give me your-.." He fully turned towards you and crossed his arms. He smirked fully and cut you off. "You want my number, sweet thing?" He asked before you finished your sentence. You were rambling like you were doing it to save your life. He found it adorable, he found it amusing how you were actually brave enough to come up to him. You sighed and nodded, defeatedly. "Yeah.." You looked away, expecting rejection more than anything, when he stood up and put his rough hands on your soft cheeks, caressing it. "How about this, sweetheart? I'll take you out to dinner tonight, like a real gentleman. And if you decide you still want it, I'll give it to you." He said, his thumb still working it's way to give you the butterflies you never had before. You nodded, now turning as pink as your lip gloss. He smiled and spoke. "Great. Meet me out here at 6, alright pretty? Wear something cute." He said, and let go of you, and gestured his head to your friends. "Run along now love." And so you did. For some reason your feet moved on it's own when your friends looked at you with a smirk, amusement and utter happiness, excitement for you. Looks like you have a date. ~~

And you showed up right exactly at the time, no later, maybe a little early. He showed up in semi fancy clothing, nothing too much, no suit or anything, just not casual clothes either. You wore a pretty dress, and it surprised him. Not how pretty you were. He knew from the start you'd look like a damn fucking angel if you come here, the thing that surprised him was your braveness. You actually came, and it was a little shocking. Foolish little bunny. He grabbed your hand, softly. Way more gentle than what he actually looked like he would be. Rough on the outside, gentleman on the inside. He brought you to his car and opened the door for you. Once he also got into the car, he reached behind your seat. He pulled out pretty red roses and spoke as he handed them to you. "Didn't know what you'd like, so figured I couldn't go wrong with roses." For the first time, he sounded nervous, his cocky confident attitude gone for a second. He sounded like he was afraid you'd hate it, in a way. You smiled at him, and looked at him in his gorgeous brown eyes. His heart skipped a beat, but not just metaphorically. He swallowed and he felt the feeling of something crawl up his stomach. You spoke, in the softest tone he's ever heard. "Thank you. They are very pretty.. uh.." You trailed off, realizing you don't even know his name yet. He smiled. "Simon. It's Simon, love." You smiled back at him, and spoke. "Mine's *name,*" You said, fidgeting with your fingers. He noticed, he noticed every bit of you. It made him hungry. But not yet, he couldn't, not yet. He spoke with a tone a little darker than before, but it's barely noticeable. He smiled. "What a pretty name, for a pretty girl." He said, and looked at you up and down. You just had to wear a dress with the prettiest laces at the end of your thighs, didn't you? He swallowed visibly. He drove to the restaurant in mostly silence, trying to keep the talking to the date. He put on some music, even told you to do it, he wanted to know your favorite songs to rail you to to listen to.

The restaurant was very pretty. People weren't noisy, it was well built and people followed the rules. Like an elite restaurant, just not really. You were amused, you were surprised by how beautiful everything was all around. Practically in shocked, you gasped. "Woah.. Such a pretty view." Simon didn't take his eyes off of you as he swallowed and looked at your face. He spoke quietly. "Yeah. Mesmerizing.." As he snapped himself out of it and got your reservation. He smiled at the receptionist and admittedly you wish it was towards you. You two sat down and ordered. The start is always awkward, but the tension quickly broke with him cracking a joke about the food here and you two started talking about your favorite foods. He listened to your every word like you were teaching him the ways of life. Your favorite drink, favorite food, how you eat your favorite food. Everything you said just stayed in his mind, locked up in a memory of his most treasured events that were already filled with two encounters. You coming up to him, and now you having dinner with him. Towards the end of the date, you got yourself a little tipsy, but still completely aware of what you were doing. You were already sobering up when you started being more bold, making jokes. Cracking a joke about the waiter being into him, you smiled as you made it. Something about how handsome and perfect he must be, for everyone around him to want him. He looked surprised. "What do you mean by everyone around me?" He asked, with one of his eyebrow raised. Questioning you. You smiled and rolled your eyes, the alcohol hitting enough to be a bold truth serum, you spoke. "Everyone in this place probably wants to get on their knees and suck your cock." Bold. You didn't even realize what you just said, as the second of silence passed and it hit you. But it was too late. His eyes darkened and he practically stared at you hungry, but not for the food anymore. His tone lowered as he asked, "Do you?" And you didn't know what to say. The alcohol in you didn't want you to deny and lie, but the mature version of you in your mind begged you to not agree, begged you to not seem like a desperate little bitch. But you didn't have to say anything. Your breathing quickened and your thighs pushed together at the thought and he noticed. Every single part of your body, every single thing about you, he noticed. The flush on your cheeks. It made him wanna stop holding back on you. Made him wanna go feral, fuck, it made him go feral. Drove him crazy. And suddenly, he smirked. A challenge.

"Like you could handle it, bunny." It echoed in your head. Bunny. Your eyes widened and you took it as a challenge, too far gone in your head as you swallowed and you screamed "Fuck it, fuck you" in your head to the only part of you that was still somewhat smart. And you spoke. "You wanna bet on that, Riley?" You called his last name. He loved it and tilted his head. "Let's ditch this fucking place, then." Yes, absolutely. Let's do it. For fucks sake, did you really just do that? Did you really just get yourself into that? your cheeks felt hot as he rushed to pay for the damn dinner and practically pulled you out of the damn restaurant, a starved, hungry man. Won't you be kind enough to feed him love? He's so hungry for you. He swallowed and he opened the door for you again, making sure to still be a gentleman even while wanting to rip your clothes off with his teeth. He was feral, like a dog. He drove home the quickest he could and the second you stepped foot into the stupid apartment and he could lock the door, the only reaction you could have was, "Wow, this is huge" before he was already on you. Kissing your lips like it was a lifeline, holding onto you like you were his savior. He needed this. He needed you. You were such a brave, stupid little bunny, walking right into his arms and practically begging him for this. Wouldn't it be rude to refuse? By the time your first kiss with him ended, you were panting an so was he. He started unzipping your dress from the back, and his lips travelled down to your neck.

He picked you up, which caught you off guard. He carried you to his bed, stopping his lips from wandering just until he got to his bedroom and placed you on the bed. He got on top of you and put one of his hands on your cheek, while the other he used his elbow for support. He held himself on top of you, his lips pressing kisses down your collarbone. You breathed heavy, speaking. "..I expected you to be more rough, if I'm being honest." But he shook his head. He stopped and looked up from your collarbone into your eyes as he spoke, "Not tonight." He wanted to be gentle as long as he could be. He knew he would lose it eventually. So he would do it as long as he could. He reached your breasts with his kisses and looked up again, waiting for your consent. Begging for it, begging for you. You whispered. "Go ahead, Simon.." And he slid your top half of the dress off of you. He started kissing down your breasts, leaving hickeys everywhere he could get his mouth on. He then slowly slid the bottom half of your dress down and sat up. He swallowed. How was he supposed to hold back, with a body like that? You tried to sit up too, but he immediately pushed you back down, practically glaring into your eyes. "You told me you could handle it, bunny. You're gonna handle it, without moving." He looked at your underwear and smirked. Lacy and red. What a combo, you really did that for him? He looked at you and he slowly slid his hand inside. He whispered. "Cheeky, did you plan this out?" You swallowed, feeling his cold thumb start to rub against your clit. "N-no.." And you swear you didn't, not at all. You were simply.. hoping. He slid two fingers inside, and his eyes widened. Why the hell were you so tight? Did you really think that with tightness like this you could handle him? He swallowed. He spoke. "I've got you filled by just two measly fingers, bunny. How do you think this is gonna work out? You really wanna take me on?" And you already felt numbed, because you had never been this filled before. You swallowed. "I want it. I want it, Simon- I need it. I need you. Please?" You begged. And how could he refuse when you look at him like that? But not yet. He swallowed and he used his fingers to stretch you out further, as much as he could. Pumping his fingers in and out of you, and he leaned down to kiss you, muffling your moans that were starting to get louder. He whispered to you, against your lips. "Come on now, baby. You don't want my neighbors hating me, do you?" He teased. He smirked, and you shook your head no, but it wasn't good enough for him. He stopped moving his fingers. "Words, bunny." You swallowed and looked at him with frustration. "W-what are you doing? keep moving! Si- Simon!" You demanded, like you deserved it. And that amused him. "You're in no position to demand anything. Are you, bun?" He asked, mockingly. He tilted his head as he looked at you and you swallowed, once you realized he was serious. "N-No. I'- I'm sorry." His smirk widened and he started moving his fingers, faster than before, this time he was trying to make you cum. He let out a loud groan and he spoke in a raspy tone, "There's a good girl." And that was all you needed. You released all over his fingers and he pulled his fingers out with a satisfied, sadistic look on his face. "Look at what a fucking mess you made, sweetheart. Look at this. Is this how you treat your host, huh? What kind of guest are you baby?" Your cheeks flushed as he talked like that. It was embarrassing. But you loved it, and he loved it. He loved the look on your face every time he spoke like that. He looked into your eyes much more seriously now. "You think you're ready?" He asked, pulling your panties down. You looked at him, and slowly spoke. "Yes. Yes Simon. I want this, I want you."

He swallowed and slowly unzipped his pants. He pulled his boxers down, and he seemed nervous. Not insecure, nervous. He didn't wanna hurt you, and when you saw it, you just couldn't understand. You guessed it wouldn't be small at all, but for it to be big and pretty? Was completely ridiculous. You swallowed at the size, preparing yourself mentally for it to hurt. Because you knew it would. He spoke again. "If you want to back out of this, say no, you have to tell me now-" You cut him off. "I want it, I want it inside me." And he snapped. He didn't have any more questions, he just slowly put himself inside you. He looked at you. At your uncomfortable expression. It hurt at first. It hurt so bad, but after letting yourself adjust to his size, he felt like heaven. He started slow, moving in and out and looking at you. You looked so sexy, your moans got so much louder than before. He loved it. He craved to see more. "You're so fucking beautiful, angelic," He said, looking at you. He started to hurry his pace up, breathing heavy. He needed you. Fastening his pace again, more and more. "Si-Simon, sl-slow down! I'm n-not going a-ah! Anywhere.." But he wasn't listening. He couldn't even hear you, pussydrunk and drunk on how beautiful you are. He couldn't focus on anything but the pleasure and how good you looked under him. Muscle memory, maybe, but he suddenly put his thumb on your clit again. Rubbing it, fast, and it made you scream his name louder than ever, snapping him out of his state. His eyes widened as he realized what just happened- you squirted. He was satisfied, and he fastened his pace, not even stopping for a second. You were overstimulated, your mind begging for a break, your body took it like it needed it. He was chasing his own release. "You look like a fucking angel, bunny. You look beautiful. You drive me crazy, you fucking know that? Drove me crazy even from the first moment you stared at me. Pretty fucking bunny thinking she can handle me.." He rambled. "I wanted you since the start. And that pretty red dress you were wearing? Fuck, bun. You look perfect. You belong here, you belong under me. Don't you baby?" All you could do was moan, "Y-yes-, all yours Simon- all yours.." "Is tha' right baby? Yer all mine? All my baby? All mine, huh? Mine to fuck, mine to own? Mine to treat, huh?" He asked, looking down at you. "Y-yes Simon.. Yours.. all yours, for-forever.. My body is all yours." And his eyes snapped open at that, fully. Fuck yes, you're his. His release came crashing down on him and he panted on top of you. He pulled out of you before falling next to you, and he looked at you, panting heavy. He smiled at you. You looked beautiful. You leaned over to press a kiss on his lips, and he smiled. He spoke, his voice much more gentle. "..You wanna go on a date? Again, maybe?" You smiled, and wrapped your arms around him. A silent yes. When you realized something- Did you forget to take your plan B pill?

A/N: HIYIOOOOO i hope you guys enjoy this fanfic too lmfao idk anymore tbh, I love yall, sorry if this was rushed it was my first fic writing ACTUAL smut BTW my requests are ALLLLLL open, commisions r also open <3

[just-a-sweet-girl]

Hi i saw that your requests are open so what lets say what if reader magically teleported into the dmc netflix (anime) world and Dante finds her. Like it happens right in front of his eyes. What would he do ? Like becoming friends with feelings type of thing. Hope its not a bother. Have a great day.<3

Not a bother! Never could be :) I love reading everyone's requests! Thank you for asking for this, its a cute little idea <3

You fell from the sky. Literally.

It was certainly a big surprise when he head screaming from above to see someone falling straight towards him. He caught you, arms cradling you as your both stared at one another. Him in bewilderment, and you with fear and confusion.

"This must be my lucky day," He gives you a boyish grin. "Beautiful women falling into my arms!" But he sees how dizzy you seem to be, pressing you hand against your aching head. His expression calms. "You okay?"

"I don't know," You mumble, voice shaking. "I think... I'm going to faint."

His eyes widen. "What? Hey, wait a second you -" He falls silent when your head lands on his shoulder. "Okay," He mutters to himself, correcting his hold on you. "I've got you."

He didn't think that odd meeting would make everything seem so different. You were human, the both of you made sure of that when you had woken up in his apartment. That didn't stop him from calling you Angel, though.

With no where else to go, you ended up staying with Dante - you found out his name when he ordered pizza for the both of you. Demons was a big surprise for you, since where you're from, they were mostly monsters in movies and books.

Here, they were real.

"the healing is cool," You said one day, sitting besides him on his couch. A small bowl of water and a towel in your hands. Lifting the wet towel to clean the blood sticking to his skin on the side of his face. "the mess? Not so much."

"That's too bad," Sighs Dante. Eyes closed as he feels how gentle you are cleaning the blood off from his skin. "I like when you pamper me."

You glance away, heat in your cheeks. "Oh, so you get bloodied up on purpose? Maybe I should stop," You make a scene to pull away, only to laugh when he stops you. Hand holding yours back up to his face, his other arm wrapping around your waist.

"Don't be like that," He whines, pulling you closer. "I need my Angel to take care of me."

You huff softly at is little nickname for you. Still, you continue to clean off the blood softly. The air around you two becoming soft and quiet. Dante opens is eyes slightly, and his breath hitches.

The soft light glowing behind you like your very own halo. Brows furrowed slightly as you concentrate on what you are doing. One of your hands cradling his face to hold him still.

You are beautiful.

Eyes widening, you stop and stare at him. Feeling as if your heart stopped, then rebooted. Beating against your chest, trying to break out and into his hands.

"...Shit." He had said that out loud.

Dante looks away, but doesn't turn away. Needing to feel how you still cradle his face so softly. How your thumb brush, feather light over his cheek. He tenses when you wrap your other arm around him, face hiding within his neck. He can feel your breath warming his skin, how your lips touch him as they lift into a shy smile.

Nothing needs to be said. It's felt in how he shifts his arms around you tightly. Comforting. His cheek pressed against your head, holding you to his chest.

[harringtonfeels]

touch

18+ • 2.8k • Friends to ???? to Lovers with inexperienced Reader

Notes: This is about half fluff, half smut, with a liiiiittle bit of angst. There is some discussion of the right to revoke consent regarding a past boyfriend of Reader's toward the beginning. Nothing bad happens to Reader, aside from confusion about expectations for female sexuality. If this would be triggering for you, please don't read.

"Wait, hold on a second." Steve sounds so perplexed that you have to look up from the book in your hands and glance around the room, as though someone else may have walked in and changed the tenor of the conversation. All you'd said was— "You've never had sex?"

You blink back at him, surprised by his surprise. Cheeks burning, you say, "Well, I mean…" Closing the book with a dense thump, you force yourself to make eye contact. "You don't have to say it like that. And it's not like nobody's ever, like, offered."

When he cocks his head slightly to the side, his hair falls slightly in that very Steve sort of way. "What about Mark?" You can't help the way a shiver runs down your spine at the mention. The intrigue is practically spilling out of him at this point, as he turns over onto his side and props himself up on his elbow, settling into the conversation. "I thought you said you were going to sleep with him. That night with the big, fancy date and the—"

"You mean right before I avoided him for three days and then broke up with him?" How had Steve not gotten the memo on that one?

You watch him connect the dots in real time, but he still seems a little confused. "Okay, then Rick. You dated Rick for a long time."

That forces a laugh out of you. "Yeah, when we were like thirteen, Steve. Come on."

"Jeff?"

"I couldn't even get Jeff to answer my phone calls, let alone have sex with me. Can we stop the rundown of my abysmal love life?" you say, trying to remain lighthearted but feeling your own mood sour with each passing moment. What started as incredulousness at Steve's reaction is beginning to turn into something like shame.

A beat later, Steve asks, "Did something happen with Mark?"

You know what he's asking, and your cheeks burn even hotter with embarrassment. "No, nothing like that."

"I thought you liked him."

"I did. And then I didn't. It was just… He just…" You drop your forgotten book onto Steve's bed and bury your face in your hands. "He was just very pushy, I guess. Like, as soon as he realized I was willing to have sex with him, he just wanted to get right to it. I didn't really feel like he was listening to me."

Steve's hand curls itself gently around your wrist, prying your hand from your face, and his voice takes on a slight edge. "What do you mean, 'he wasn't listening to you'?"

"Not like that." It's so hard to find a way to put it into words. You aren't entirely sure Mark even did anything wrong. It's more that he didn't do anything right. You steel yourself and look up at Steve, your longtime best friend who recently became something more, and you know he'll wait as long as you need him to, until you find the words to say. Steve has always had such patience with you, your whole lives. Somehow, that makes it feel even more urgent.

Finally, you inhale deeply and summon the courage to continue. "It wasn't like he tried to make me do anything, really. He was just kind of… inconsiderate. It felt more like he was excited to be having sex than that he was excited to be having sex with me."

Steve rubs soothing circles into your wrist and presses a soft kiss to the palm of your hand. "So you told him to fuck off?"

That draws a laugh out of you. "Yes, basically. I was really confused about how I was feeling, so I told him I didn't think I was ready, and then he acted like he was mad at me the whole way home. So I broke up with him."

He looks a bit lost in thought, and you wonder what he's thinking about. If he's rethinking your relationship, if this makes him see you differently.

He props himself up against the headboard and pulls you close, tucking you into his side. "Baby, you know that's not how it's supposed to be, don't you?"

You want to say yes, but deep down, you're not really sure. What if you're just high maintenance? What if that's the way it always is, and it's true that sex isn't really supposed to be enjoyable for women, and maybe Mark was right to be upset with you for putting an end to things? What if once you'd already said yes, you weren't really allowed to say no? What if what you want isn't supposed to matter at all?

Realistically, you feel like this can't be the case. Why should sex only be good for one person? Why should you not be able to decide when and where and how you have sex, for the first time or for any time? Why should anyone else's feelings matter more than your own? But it's hard to reconcile your feelings of self-preservation with the things you've been told your whole life, or the look on Mark's face when you told him you wanted to go home.

Knowing something is true doesn't make it feel that way.

You bury your face in Steve's shoulder and nod anyway. Of all the ups and downs in the years you've spent with Steve, one thing he's always made you feel was safe.

His fingertips brush against your thigh, just under the hem of your dress, and you smile into his shirt at the way it tickles. Reflexively, you lift your leg a little higher, running away from the feeling. "I'd never want to make you feel that way, honey. You know you could tell me if I did, right?"

You flush at the insinuation. Steve wants to have sex with you. And he wants you to enjoy it. It's still hard to wrap your mind around it, this newfound whatever-this-is, the boundariless relationship status that started with a kiss and ends with… you're not sure what, exactly.

But you know Steve. Whatever this is between you, you can't imagine Steve Harrington would ever treat you like an object, or a means to an end. "I know," you say softly, breath hitching in your throat as his palm slides beneath your dress.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs into your hair.

Your stomach flutters with anticipation, and you nod.

His touch is so gentle, it's almost maddening. It's already so different from how Mark touched you, slow and thoughtful instead of rough and hurried. For the first time, you think you might really understand the meaning of the word sensual.

When his palm leaves your skin, you sigh with disappointment, but just as quickly, he's tipping your chin upward, looking into your eyes with his honey brown ones. "Can I kiss you?"

Suddenly, there's a lot you want to tell him. Words that threaten to spill out of you without cohesion or any defined purpose. But this moment is so perfect you don't dare tarnish it. You lean into it instead. Breath stuttering, you nod again, and you sit up just enough to see him better, to reach him better.

His lips are soft against yours, hand gently cupping your cheek, and it's excruciatingly slow at first, until you clench the front of his tee shirt in your fist and urgently draw him closer. He shifts, slotting one knee between your thighs and deepening the kiss as he does.

Steve has kissed you a few times now, and each time, it's like learning a different version of him. Drunk, confident Steve the first time. Sticky-sweet, adoring Steve the second. Soft, horny Steve today. You can feel the hard outline of him pressed against your thigh. A few minutes ago, this might have been jarring or even somewhat alarming, but not now. With your skirt rucked up almost to your waist, you can't help but sigh into his mouth and roll your hips against his.

He pulls away just enough to murmur, "Oh, honey."

You whimper in response, feeling your way under the hem of his shirt. You've never touched him like this. You don't know when the lines blurred so much that your best friend Steve has become someone whose sides you can caress, whose mouth you can feel on your neck— "Oh my god."

His lips brush against your skin. "Can I tell you how I'd touch you?"

Your brain struggles to piece together what he's asking, which is a testament more to how focused you are on how you feel than the complexity of his question. Swallowing thickly, you nod again.

"Come on, baby, use your words. I need to know you mean it."

You dig your nails lightly into his back at that, pouting. "Steve, please."

He's got you flat on your back now, grinding his hips absentmindedly against yours. You can feel him smile against your collarbone, fingers splayed across your ribs as his thumb ghosts across the underwire of your bra. "If you let me touch you, I'd start real slow," he whispers. "Get you nice and comfortable for me, start somewhere safe, like here." His hand cups the outside of your thigh, making leisurely circles with his thumb.

It's a clear retreat from before, less suggestive, and yet you feel your pulse pick up with anticipation. Mouth falling open just slightly, you watch his face as he continues. You've never seen him like this before, focused but glassy-eyed, lips swollen.

When you focus on his hands like this, it's hard to think that it was ever outside the bounds of your relationship for him to touch you like this. All those times watching him shift gears, watching the way his big hands wrap around his baseball bat at practices. Eyes lingering on his long fingers just a little longer than strictly necessary. It feels natural, now that you see his hands on you in real time.

You're sucked back into the present when Steve opens his mouth. "And when you're feeling really comfortable, I'd make my way a little higher." He punctuates this statement by bending your leg at the knee, hand slowly lowering beneath your dress once more.

You let out a whimper as his fingertips graze the edge of your light pink panties, drunk on the suggestion alone, and you weave your fingers through his hair to steady yourself.

It's not like you've never made out with anyone before. You've had boyfriends, you've been on successful dates with passionate kisses that left you winded on your doorstep. But it's never been anything like this, not that you can remember. Every time you made it even to second base with someone before, they were just… demanding or selfish or, once, even actually insulted your body. Some guys didn't work out because they moved away for college, or got back together with their ex, or because you didn't like them that much, or they just weren't a very good kisser. You told yourself when you were dating Mark that, if a lackluster makeout session was the worst of it, you could handle that. You hadn't known at the time that it was possible you wouldn't have to make any concessions.

Steve swipes his thumb across your lower lip, eyes darkening with desire. Teasing the wasitband of your panties with more intention, he leans back in to press a kiss just above the neckline of your dress. He hesitates slightly, and you hang on his every movement like it's a lifeline. When he speaks again, his eyes meet yours. His hair is wild from your fingers running through it, and he looks just as feverish as you feel.

You can't help but watch his mouth when he speaks, as if you don't already know what it feels like on your skin. "And if you liked that," he says, "then I'd turn my attention somewhere else. The trick—" His free hand brushes along your ribcage, dangerously close to your breast. "—is to keep my hands busy, and keep your imagination busy, too."

If you were ever under any illusion that you weren't turned on before, the slick gathering between your thighs makes it quite clear. The late summer breeze rolling through the window is cool on your skin. If it weren't for that, you'd be burning up under the heat of him. As it is, you can barely breathe, but you're not sure that's from the temperature.

His hands move confidently but not impulsively. He skims across the side of your breast with his palm, and you arch into his touch, fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck. Removing his hand from your waistband, he pulls you up into a sitting position and finds the zipper of your dress. He starts to unzip you, then stops abruptly, raising his eyebrows in question. When you nod in response, he leans in for another searing kiss and finishes the job.

You only notice he's run into some difficulty unclasping your bra because he laughs after the third try, and you can't help but smile as you reach around to unclasp it yourself. And then his hands are on your skin again, palming one of your breasts and burying his face in your neck.

When he brushes his thumb over your nipple, you gasp, and he grins against your skin, carefully laying you back down on the mattress. "Does that feel good, honey?"

"Mm-hmm," you whimper, not caring how needy you sound. "Please don't stop."

"'M not stopping, baby," he murmurs, "unless you ask me to."

Steve is nothing if not good at building suspense, you're learning. He circles your nipple with his thumb, then backs off, sliding his free hand back down the front of your dress and toward the front of your panties. While you're distracted by that, stomach clenching in anticipation, he pinches your nipple gently, rolling it between his thumb and finger.

You can't help but gasp in response, overstimulated in the best way.

"And when you're nice and relaxed and ready for me…" He uses one finger to lift the waistband of your panties up just high enough to fit his hand inside. Your thighs fall open at the movement of their own accord, and you tug at his hair, hips lifting slightly to chase his touch.

Steve stills completely, mouth parting like he can't believe it. As if he himself didn't honestly think this little lesson would be so effective. Sounding a little distant, he looks into your eyes and whispers, "That's when I'd touch you."

You stare back at him, the spell broken. You had almost forgotten there was something he was getting at, other than just showing you what you were missing. It's a little dizzying, seeing how far you've gotten on a flirty line, an ambiguous relationship status, and a suspension of disbelief.

Didn't he just say he wasn't going to stop?

"Steve?" you prompt him, voice uncharacteristically small, as if speaking too loudly will make this moment disappear.

He blinks back at you, re-engaging. "Can I touch you, honey?"

Biting your lip, you nod, and a slow, easy grin spreads across his face.

He finds your free hand and kisses your knuckles before slipping his hand just a little bit lower, fingertips just dipping into your slick folds. "Oh, sweetheart," he hums, "you're s' wet for me." When the pad of his middle finger brushes your clit, your hips buck against his hand with urgency. "We've made a mess of your pretty panties, honey. We're gonna have to take these off."

You raise your hips up off the bed without further prompting. You don't have it in you to feel embarrassed, or to worry about what you're going to wear back home. You just let Steve remove them, and when he's done, you paw at the hem of his shirt, asking permission silently. He rolls his shoulders and helps you pull it over his head, tossing it haphazardly onto the floor.

And when he leans back in, you marvel at all the parts of him you get to touch now, the things you get to do that you never could before. The things you've thought about a million times when you really shouldn't have. During school night sleepovers, summer afternoons by his family's pool, at the department store when you both tried on outfits for prom. All those parts of him you've craved, the things you never thought you'd get to feel.

The words tumble out before you can stop them. I love you.

And sure, it's embarrassing. There's a lot of stuff about tonight that's embarrassing, but it doesn't matter. Because even if he doesn't—

Before your cheeks have even had time to warm up, Steve is climbing up your body, eyes wide with something like wonder, and he's cradling your face in his hands. He kisses you slow and firm, like it's the first time, or even the last. He kisses you until you're both breathless, and then he leans his forehead against yours, both of you panting and giggling a little at the absurdity of it all.

And then Steve whispers, "I love you, too."

[specialgradefckr]

Teacher's Pet

tw: explicit content. nerd!gojo, teacher!reader, teacher/student, power imbalance. gojo is a SLUT for older women and also a very very dumb teenage boy.

You have to admit - grading papers is more fun with your best and brightest student mouthing your cunt under your desk.

He's a needy thing, a whiner to the core. Humming needily against your clit until you pet his hair and nudge his throbbing bulge with the toe of your high-heeled shoe.

It's the hand in the hair that makes him moan, though. He clings to your thighs like he's dying, lavishing your clit in kitten licks.

Something tells you he's not getting enough attention at home, but he's a senior, not some middle schooler.

He's a big boy now, and big boys don't forget to calculate for air resistance in addition to friction along the ground.

You hadn't marked any other students off for that, but you knew he was different. Better.

You told him so to his face when he came to complain to you about it. Told him that he was better than that, he should act like it.

Satoru Gojo was smart enough to be halfway through a college degree already, and here he was goofing around in your high school physics class. You'd met masters students who couldn't apply formulae as consistently and accurately as him.

That was where it started, you think. It was honest, sincere. He was so quick on the update, so concise, so good with his calculations.

You didn't get many students like that. It would be nice to see him go further, use his brain, apply himself and learn for the sake of learning. Because he can. Satoru has something great in him, and you want to see it shine.

The look on his face... you hadn't forgotten it even after going home that day.

Something in him changed after that talk. A good change, at first; always raising his hand, writing out his answers more thoroughly, asking discussion questions.

His face would just light up when you accepted his answers. He drank in every ounce of praise, attention, and conversation you could offer. Stayed after class to discuss material, even started reading different books to talk to you about.

When he told you he wanted to major in physics, get his degree - just like you had - you thought you'd really done something. Changed his life.

It was every teacher's dream, making a difference like that. Being a teacher hadn't been your dream, but knowing that you'd changed the course of Satoru Gojo's life, even just a little... it was a nice thought.

You couldn't deny there was a bit of envy in you, of course. He just understood things so much faster than you ever did, took to it all right away, acted like it was elementary.

And then, of course, he's spectacularly handsome. Beautiful, even. You didn't miss the way the other students - even some other boys - fawned over him.

On one notable incident one such girl had pulled him out of your after-class discussions - "Please, it's important, aren't your already acing Physics?" - and... well, maybe it was a hit of realism for you.

Maybe you'd gotten ahead of yourself. You were just his teacher, after all. Even a teacher can only have so much influence on his life. There were so many other people who knew him, cared about him, spent much more time with him than you did.

In the story of Satoru Gojo, you were a footnote, at best. Just a teacher he had in high school, nothing more.

The beautiful young man left the room with the beautiful young woman, and there you were, sitting, grading papers.

That could have been you, once.

Maybe you could have dated a smart colleague your age when you were in college, instead of someone older, cooler, more adult -

Just man enough to marry you, take out a hundred loans, and skip town to leave you holding the bag.

You'd watched the closed door with a nostalgic sort of bitterness. Then again, maybe it was never in the cards for you. You didn't have any family, much less a rich, well-respected one like the Gojo.

You probably never would, at this rate. And why would you even want one? Kids, with your schedule, with your debt?

You know better, now, than to expect a man to stick around to raise them. Maybe that was your one stroke of luck, that you never had a child.

It wasn't worth it to get a boyfriend. It wasn't easy like it would be for him; people fell over themselves to get Satoru Gojo's attention, to have his eyes on them. Girls left notes in his lockers, guys sucked up to him, everyone wanted a piece.

You're missing pieces. Old and jaded. With broken dreams of a PhD and a mountain of debt as your company. Who'd want you?

All you have is your work, and the pittance you're paid for it. At least you're good at it.

There's a little less enthusiasm in your voice, after that. When you take Gojo's answers - if you call on him at all - or give him his test results.

It just seems so pointless. The wind is out of your sails, the memory of youthful optimism and joy diminished when you remember what you are.

A leftover. Used up and discarded.

You keep your after-school discussions brief but respectful. It's hard to encourage him. Satoru Gojo is destined for success no matter what he does. He certainly doesn't need your help.

But then something strange happens.

You give a pop quiz and Gojo gets a B. His perfect answers start to crack. He doesn't show his work, doesn't do anything more than the bare minimum.

He does, however, go to office hours. But he doesn't speak - he just stares.

Those icy blue eyes. Bright. Piercing. Demanding, as if he has questions.

As if you have any answers he doesn't already know. Frustrating, beautiful, clever boy, he doesn't need your help, doesn't need anything from you, so why is he here?

"Can I help you with something, Mister Gojo?" You remember asking.

You remember him saying that you could. Stalking up to your desk like he thought he was slick. Eying you carefully.

You don't remember how it went down after that. What he did, how he started it.

But you remember to lock the door every time he's in here with you. If Gojo doesn't do it himself.

Or Satoru, rather. He always begged you to call him that during your first extra credit session.

You still remember his eyes. All wide open and pleading. "Please, sensei! Isn't there anything I can do?"

The memory brings a chuckle bubbling up your throat. The feigned innocence, the clumsy attempt at seduction.

Fuck, but he was pretty. Still is. Prettiest eighteen year old you've ever seen. And tall. All pent up and horny all the time, but so cute about it, so needy.

And you're - maybe you're a bit lonely.

And god, it feels so good to be wanted again.

"What's so funny?" He whines, breath hot against your folds.

You tap down on his dick with the tip of your shoe, enough that he groans again, "Keep going. You haven't earned it yet."

That just makes him whine again, but he closes his lips in your clit, fingers tightening on your thighs, tongue pressing hard into the swollen bud, pulsing through your core.

You stay casual, focused on the papers. Even as you feel yourself tightening up - Satoru can feel it too, you think. He always paid such good attention.

At least, when you were the one teaching him.

"There," you murmur, grinding your shoe into the bulge in his pants, slipping down one hand to his hair, feathery white, "Just a little more..."

He makes a grunt and your mind fills in the indignant I know, as if he's insulted you think he doesn't.

Satoru knows how close you are, and he laves his tongue over your clit, hard strokes, fast, enough to have you biting your lip as you tilt your head back, giving away as little as possible before -

"Ah," Light, airy, a sudden heat flits through you, rising up to your cheeks as release blooms between your legs.

You sigh a little bit, loosening your grip in his hair. When did it get so tight?

When you pull your foot away from his crotch, it's still noticeably hard.

"Hey," He looks up at you with big blue eyes. Wet, pink lips. Pleading face wet with your cum. "Can I come to your place?"

"That's not quite appropriate between a teacher and student," You drawl, giving his head a fond stroke.

Satoru's pretty white lashes flutter lightly at the touch, and he shivers just a little. Like he can't help himself.

"Pleeeeeaasse?" He whines, pressing himself up against you, "I'll be good. I'm so good. Aren't I? Come on, I did good!"

Your lips quirk to the side, as if in contemplation. Sure, he did well, but Satoru's always the cutest, the most obedient, the easiest when he feels like he's got something to prove.

"Half points," You say, packing up your papers, "You could have done better."

Not I've had better, or it could be better, or even I'm disappointed. No, you had to tell him you believed in him... and that he fell just short.

That's what lights up the look in his eyes, sends a wild insistence surging through him.

"Wait!" His hand wraps around your wrist as you stand up to leave, "I'll do it, I'll do better. Let me come with and you'll see."

Satoru looks so silly like this. On his hands and knees, half-crawled out from under your desk, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

But you're too old for this, for him. You know what happens next.

You take in strays, you get bit.

"I'll see you next time, Mister Gojo," You tell him with a smooth smile, and he withers at the use of his name, "Please try harder next time."

"But you ca-"

"On the next quiz, Mister Gojo," You speak over him with the firm, stern voice that always has him straightening his shoulders.

Poor thing. His dick is probably throbbing in his pants, if he hasn't cum in them already.

You close the door behind you when you leave, Satoru stuck behind you in the room.

You don't look back.

He's sulking, the next time you see him. It's adorable.

You watch him, elbow propped up on his desk, resting his chin on his hand while he stares out the window with a stubborn scowl on his face.

Precious. Look at those chubby, puffed-up cheeks. You could almost take a bite out of him.

"Mister Gojo..." You say, and he doesn't turn his head, "Mister Gojo."

Loud enough that the entire class turns to him, staring. Satoru takes a long moment pursing his lips and looking up at you wordlessly.

With an elegant, unbothered smile, you say, "Just checking to see if you were still with us, Mister Gojo. Now, as I was saying, the wave-particle duality can also be applied to matter, and in fact even subatomic particles can be demonstrated to behave like waves. This is important because..."

Approaching his table as you trail off, you look at him, brow raised in expectation, and Satoru looks away, silent.

"Care to fill us in, Mister Gojo?" You prod. Does he hate being called Mister Gojo that much?

"Nope," Satoru says, popping the p.

You have to hold back a laugh. "I see. Well, don't feel too bad, Mister Gojo," You say as you stride past his chair back up to the front, "It is an advanced topic. A high schooler like you wouldn't be expected to know that sort of thing."

That rankles, you can tell - "Because in quantum mechanics-"

"Moving on!" You speak over him, turning to the board and pulling down a screen.

The class shuffles as you lead them into the next lesson. Satoru is prickly, annoyed, his leg bouncing with errant energy the whole time it goes on.

He stands up after class, ready to walk up and speak to you, but you're quicker, already on your way out.

"Hey," He calls after you - never subtle, that one.

Once again, you don't stop. Maybe a few more days and he'll cool down.

It's something that looms in the back of your mind as you go about your day, teach your other classes, head back home.

This little stint with Satoru isn't going to last, after all. Really, you should be a lot more worried, since he's a student, and you're a teacher, but he's an adult so it's not like you'd face criminal charges.

You could be fired, but with how hard up schools were for physics teachers, you'd find a new position somewhere.

But Satoru isn't stupid. And you're discreet. It's not like you've done that much with him anyways.

It's fun, you can admit. A little bit of that energy from your youth, the joy of being wanted and chased and having a good-looking boy fall over himself for your attention.

Happier times. A better life. But those times are long gone, you're painfully aware.

You come home to a dingy studio apartment, with no more furniture than a bed and an end table. It's ramen again, tonight, and then scrolling on your phone in bed until you fall asleep. Maybe read some books you'd picked up from the library.

Just like you do every day. You have no friends left after your life went to shit. You wouldn't want anyone to see you living like this anyways.

It's cold, because you can't afford to pay much for heat, and you have to lock and deadbolt the door in case the loan sharks come by in the middle of the night again.

A reminder. Nothing good can last. You could pour all your heart into a man, all the encouragement and attention into your students, and you're still here, at the end of the day.

All you could do was enjoy what you had while it lasted. You could like Satoru, you could love him, even, but he'd never love you.

Couldn't even blame him. You didn't, either.

The next time Satoru catches you during office hours, he's well and truly desperate. Eyes wide and searching, frantic, door slamming and locking behind him as he stalked towards you.

"You're ignoring me."

"I rather think you've been ignoring me, Mister Gojo," You say, brandishing the formality like a shield, "Which is wholly inappropriate, considering I'm your teacher."

"Do you even like me?" He whines, leaning onto your desk, slipping his shades down to look you in the eyes, "You never want to hang out."

"Probably because I'm your teacher," The amusement in your tone is palpable, "I don't care to hang out around teenagers."

"Don't be like that!" Satoru leans in closer to you, "I know I get you off!"

You give him a sharp look. "Lower your voice. Satoru."

He stiffens up at that, avoiding your gaze, looking utterly scolded. Honey and vinegar, as the saying goes.

And maybe you do feel a little bit bad for him. He looks so morose, sometimes, listless. He is, after all, just a teenager who wants to be seen.

You slide your chair back in your desk, and it's a testament to your time together that Satoru immediately crouches to get underneath and between your legs.

You can't help a laugh, patting his head as he closes the distance, parting your thighs.

"Not today, sweet boy," You coo, sliding back even further.

Satoru's gaze is equal parts excitement and apprehension; he doesn't let go of your thighs. "What are we gonna do?"

You pull out a seat next to you. "Grade homework. It's time you put that brain to use."

The groan he makes is utterly hilarious. You laugh out loud, tugging him up by the hand, which he refuses to let go even when you shake it.

"I don't wanna," even as he speaks, he sits himself awkwardly in the chair next to you, scooting it closer, until you're touching, "Let's do something fun. I do all this stuff in class already."

"No you don't. You pout like a baby and refuse to engage with the material. It's very cute, but I know you're better than that, Satoru."

The redness on his cheeks brings a warm feeling to your chest.

"I could have answered it. You know that."

"I do," and you don't miss how his chest puffs up at that, either, "But I also know that you're my good boy, and good boys don't ignore their teachers. You can make it up to me, right?"

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "...Yeah."

"That's what I thought," You say warmly, watching him get to work, "And with both of us doing this, it'll go twice as fast."

"I'm failing everyone," Satoru grumbles, and you giggle - this makes the tips of his ears red.

He grades the papers accurately, so you let his little comment pass.

But you don't start grading papers. Instead, your hand makes its way down to his thigh, making him tense up.

"What are you - "

"Be good for me, Satoru," You say, catching his bright-blue gaze in a piercing stare, "You can do that, right? You're such a smart young man. Focus. Don't move."

You can see the realization course through him (your clever boy) as your hand inches towards his cock. His adam's apple bobs as his eyes flick back to his papers.

"The faster you finish grading, the faster you finish. But I'm checking your work as you go," leaning in closer, "One mistake, and I stop."

"Do you think you can do it for me, Satoru?" You purr into his ear as you slip under his jeans to grasp him - he gasps. "Or is that too hard for you?"

You're pretty sure he's never been harder.

"Of course I can," Satoru's voice is impressively smooth, "You better get going. I've already started."

A grin creeps up your face. So he thinks he can last that long?

Running your hands around his dick, feeling it; there's already cum pearling up at the tip.

"I see you have," You say, casually leaning shoulder-to-shoulder as you look over the papers he's grading, "But so have I, no?"

Whatever he's about to say gets cut off by a sharp grunt that wilts into a moan as you squeeze him at the tip, rubbing your thumb over his head. Stroking, you coax his precum along his length.

Next to you, his body strains with the effort of containing himself. You watch him mark the papers with efficiency you've never seen in all your years teaching. What a good boy, indeed.

So cute. His pretty face tightened in concentration, eyes gleaming with desire, with that boyish glee in his own talent that Satoru wears so well.

Forget taking a bite out of him. You want to eat him up.

It doesn't help that he's throbbing, twitching in your hands. Satoru is long, too - pretty, you think, when you glance at it - and it sends a flash of heat down your core.

"Distracted by something?" There's an unmistakable pride in his voice, even though his whole body is half trembling at your touch.

His cock is practically jumping in your hand.

Half-scoffing, half-chuckling, you place a kick on his cheek - his cock spurts just a little bit at it, and you have to bite back a cackle.

"Of course not," You coo, "I thought long and hard to come up with a test that could actually challenge you. My best student."

Long strokes, now, combined with praise that has his dick jumping again, a full-body reaction of energy coursing through him.

"But I know you can do it," Leaning in, you lay a kiss against his neck, nuzzling into there affectionately, "You're such a clever boy. You can do it, right?"

His hips jerk, twitching, along with the sharp scrawl of the pen in his hands. No mistakes, not yet. And so close -

He says your name, then. "Sensei," when you refuse to answer to it.

You squeeze him harder, like you can hold onto him if you just clench tightly enough. Like his little pants and whimpers of your name mean anything more than that he's close.

Like just having him like this, in your hands, at your mercy, makes him yours.

Warm, wet, hot and spurting out - "No - no, no not yet- fuck - fuck," he half-heaves in a sound torn between anguish and ecstasy.

His arms freeze up at his sides, and he shivers, choking on a sob before he melts into the chair. All over your hand. Face flushed red hot with bliss.

White lashes flutter over his eyes, blue and blown wide in pleasure. His pretty mouth hanging open, panting.

There's one paper left.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," You tut as you pull your hand away, wiping it off on his shirt, "And you were so close to finishing, too. I guess there are some things even my best student isn't capable of."

"Come ooooonnnn. You totally did that on purpose." Satoru slumps in your direction, still boneless. Face full of that boyish charm.

Still touch-hungry, even now, like a cat butting its head into your hand.

You snicker, even though you oblige him with a gentle hand in his hair, "Oh? I didn't know you wanted me to go easy on you."

Satoru leans over, into your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you, "Don't be like that, sensei~ I'll make it up to you."

And that gets a giggle out of you. Because he's cute, he's flirty, and maybe you get just a little wet at the thought of what his well-trained mouth can do.

He positively preens at the sound, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, holding you close.

Soft lips tickle at your throat. Then teeth -

You shove him away, gathering yourself in a moment and standing up.

"What-"

"Make it up to me? That's a reward for you. I don't reward failure." You say. It's meant to be teasing, but it comes out colder, harder than you mean it.

There's panic in his eyes as he looks up at you. Bright, blinding.

"What, you're gonna leave? Just like that? You can't be serious," He stands up himself, grabbing you by the upper arm, "Just stay. I won't even ask to go home with you this time!"

"That's enough, Mister Gojo," you say, shoving his arm off, striding towards the door.

"Don't leave," The words are low, mournful, "Just tell me what you want me to do, I'll do it! Don't leave me!"

This time, you do look back. Satoru stands there, looking after you, forelorn like some kind of kicked puppy.

That's just how it is, though. It's what he gets for loving someone older, unworthy of him. He should know better than to want a woman nearly twice his age.

In a way, you're doing him a favor. Making sure he doesn't end up like you did.

When he finally gives his heart to someone, it should be -

You slam the door behind you.

[smushysquashthingajig]

{A/N: CAUTION, SMUT UNDER THE CUT. Written after realising I haven't posted for a month despite writing stuff so enjoy.}

This was too much even for Evan. It wasn't like Tommy was gone for long. There was this pilot's seminar and a good friend of Tommy from the army had invited him to go. It would've been rude of him to refuse. Now the fact that they were stuck there for almost a month wasn't his fault.

Evan didn't like that. Tommy had noticed from their almost regular video calls that Evan was a bit…cranky. He hadn't realised the extent of it until even Bobby had started to beg him to come back. His trip back was fine, the only normal thing his entire trip and Evan had picked him up from the airport. From the start he could could notice that Evan was a little pent up.

He felt bad obviously, the trip wasn't supposed to extend this much so as an apology, he allowed Evan free reign on him. It started out innocent enough. With Evan's cold hands sliding into Tommy's shirt pulling several very manly squeals from him. There was also Evan sliding onto Tommy's lap as he was reading a book, demanding scratches and cuddles.

Then, it started getting into dangerous territory like Evan getting bossier in bed. Typically Tommy would've been more than happy to put the younger man in his place but now, he had to obey. Well, in all honesty the change in dynamic was really hot to Tommy.

That was how he ended up like this, panting and drooling onto the sheets as Evan railed the life out of him. Tommy didn't know when they had started. He didn't know when they were even gonna stop. It felt like hours. Tommy was marked up, his chest decorated with bruises and bite marks. He was pretty sure that his hips had fingerprints imprinted on them by now judging by how hard Evan was gripping him.

Evan, the usually vocal one even during topping, had said nothing other than grunts and growls in Tommy's ear. Tommy was sure that he'd been taken in so many positions, the kama sutra would be jealous. Tommy's eyes rolled up as Buck thrusted at a particular spot with maximum efficiency.

Tommy didn't realise how far he could bend and Evan had happily volunteered, shoving Tommy's legs ontp his shoulders and folding him half. Tommy was grateful for the pillow he had shoved under his lips because Evan wasn't letting up anytime soon. He had already painted his chest once before in this position, and several other times before that. Evan had came only a half of that.

"You okay, baby?" Evan cooed as he pummeled his prostate, the smug fuck. Tommy's toes curled next to head.

Tommy wanted to reply he really did, but it came out like he was one of those braindead zombies in old horror movies.

Evan just chuckled, his pace never faltering. Tommy's face was covered with spit, he didn't whether it was his or Evan's, probably his and Evan had latched onto his neck again. The combined stimulation was starting to get to him and he felt a coiling in his gut. His moans got louder, so did Evan's grunts and finally the two of them came at the same time.

Evan gently let down his legs, pulled the pillow form underneath his hips and collapsed next to him, breathing heavily. Tommy knew he couldn't stay like this for very long, he needed to clean up but Evan post-coital glow was something to behold.

"You okay?" He asked, parroting his boyfriend from just a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, what about you?" Evan panted.

"I have to get cleaned." He pushed himself upright. He moved to get out of bed but as soon as he got up, his legs started feeling like jelly and he tumbled onto the floor.

"Tommy?! Are you okay?!" Eva's agitated voice came from the bed and Tommy couldn't help but laugh. Of course this happened.

Evan was by his side in a second and started fussing over him, checking for any injuries or concussions. Once he was satisfied, he picked up Tommy in a bridal-carry, safely depositing the man onto the bed. Evan, ever the attentive boyfriend, went to the bathroom, bringing a wet cloth to clean up the man.

Clean and under the covers, Tommy nudged Evan slightly, trying to get his attention.

"You know why I was laughing?" He told Buck.

Evan just shook his head.

"This has never happened to me before."

[hufflezki]

summary: meeting you, as padfoot, was supposed to be an accident. but sirius can't help himself from coming back to you. especially when its warmer in your arms.

-> sirius black x whimsical!reader, padfoot loves likes you very much, established relationship, word count: 591

In a very odd and not-so-usual way, You appeared in Sirius’ life like a fallen angel. It was an early spring then, he had spent most of his Saturday morning just snooping around the grounds of Hogwarts as Padfoot. And occasionally playing chase with Prongs and Wormtail. But it was one particular push that got him stumbling slightly into some bushes.

Now, Sirius wasn't new with playing rough—if anything it was the only way he knew how to play. But this time, however, the bushes didn't really save him. Instead, they had given him a couple of wood splinters. Most were not so hard to remove—with Remus’ help—but some were just too tiny and troublesome. Even when he turned back to his human form.

He planned to go to Madam Pomfrey later that noon, but on his way back he had stumbled upon you. With him still being Padfoot, You immediately stopped in your tracks to take a good look at him. His dark fur was all messy, and he was staring up at you—the look on his face mirroring your own curiosity. Then you got down on your knees, checked his front legs and asked. “Can I see your paw?” Your voice was so soft and gentle, that suddenly Sirius would do anything you told him to. So, of course, he lifted his paw up and you helped remove the stubborn wood splinters piercing his paws.

And he was saved, he didn't have to go to Madam Pomfrey anymore, all thanks to you. From then on, you were often seen accompanied by a big, intimidating dog that seemed too attached to you. You thought it was adorable that he likes your company so much. But little did you know, that as time passed by, Sirius grew more and more enamored by you. Until he eventually confessed and revealed himself.

And he was nervous, scared that you might think he’s weird after finding out that it was him, that it's been him begging for your attention all along. But you had taken it well, and even agreed for him to continue hanging out with you as Padfoot sometimes. And, well, Sirius did take that to heart.

In Sirius’ dorm room, you’re currently laying down on his bed. And with a notebook and pen in your hands, you write down a short description of a mooncalf you had seen after the full moon last week.. While Sirius, currently as Padfoot, uses you as a pillow—or a body heater—as he sleeps.

Remus, reading a book on his own bed, glances at you and smiles, definitely amused. “Someone looks comfortable.” You turn your head to him, and he points his chin towards the sleeping dog on your chest. And you return his smile. “Well he does get cold easily, and I tend to be very warm.” You reach around Padfoot, scratching the spot behind his ear.

“Mhm, he does seem like he’s having the time of his life right now.” You turn to face your notebook once again, missing the look Remus and Padfoot exchange. The cheeky little guy had been awake all along, well not until a few minutes ago. But you didn't need to know that, as he wanted you to pamper him much longer.

It's clear that ever since you got together, Sirius has been spoiled rotten. Though his friends like to complain about it, they're still grateful for you. Especially now that Sirius just seems brighter. As if he’s genuinely content for once. And it's all thanks to your company.

marauders era masterlist ꩜ .ᐟ

[22ayla21]

If you're still doing the sweet stories intoxicating feelings event, can you do a Lilia Vanrouge with Terimisu and Sparkling champagne?

"Tiramisu and Sparkling Champagne"

Event: "Sweet Stories, Effervescent Feelings"

Love doesn't always arrive with fanfare and loud declarations. Sometimes, it creeps in quietly, like a morning mist, weaving itself into life with whispered care, light touches, a gaze full of warmth. That's how it was with them.

He was a soldier. A general. A man who had lived through centuries, bloodshed, and sleepless nights under the rustle of bat wings and the screech of magic. She, on the other hand, was just a woman. Not from fairy tales, not from legends. Just someone who stayed by his side one day, even when he, without even noticing, had pushed away half the world.

The love between them blossomed slowly. Like a dessert that takes hours to prepare. Layer by layer: trust, resentment, forgiveness, tenderness, stubbornness, care. Their feelings were like an exquisite tiramisu – multi-layered, deep, intoxicating. First – cautious interest. Then – the admission that even an immortal could be afraid of being misunderstood. Then – pain. He couldn't offer her an ordinary life. And finally – acceptance. She hadn't asked for anything ordinary anyway.

Every evening by her side became a new discovery. He watched her drink tea, read a book with a serious face, grumble if he came back late, and couldn't help but smile. In every word of hers, there was softness. In every glance – home. He didn't believe in miracles, but being with her made him wonder if they might exist after all.

And she? She loved everything about him. Even what others called cruelty. To her, he wasn't a general, not a fairy of war, not a being who had lived for centuries. To her, he was the one who slept nestled against her shoulder, hiding from the sun's rays. The one who complained about a tired back. The one who managed to burn the omelet trying to make her breakfast. The one who scared Silver or Sebek.

Their love was like champagne – sparkling, playful, unexpected. She laughed when he suddenly appeared with a sprig of lilac behind his ear and said:

"For you. So you don't forget how irresistible I am."

She was surprised when he brought her a bird's nest he'd found on a walk, explaining: "Everything about our home is in it – warmth, fragility, care."

Evenings with him were like fireworks. Sometimes they argued until they were hoarse, but made up in embraces. Sometimes they were silent, but the silence wasn't heavy. It felt full. Like the last sip of good wine – tartness, fire, and peace.

One day, as summer rain pattered against the window, they sat in armchairs by the fireplace. She was reading, he was running his fingers through her hair.

"You know," she said suddenly, "you're like tiramisu. First, a little bitter, coffee-like and cool. Then – rich, viscous. And then – tender, the kind you don't want to let go of."

He laughed:

"And you're my champagne. Not a day goes by without your bubbles. Even when we're just silent."

And indeed, she was his sunny morning. His celebration. His effervescent "today." He, who had lived in "yesterday" for so long, learned to live in the present for the first time.

Love isn't always passion. Not always loud vows. More often, it's a quiet "I'm home" and tea at midnight. It's laughter, sudden as the pop of a cork. It's tiramisu made together – maybe not perfect, but made with love.

And in this multi-layered, sparkling, crazy cocktail called "life," they found the most important ingredient – each other.

[stars--eternal]

finally started my acotar re-read, and here are my thoughts on the first two chapters:

tl;dr: feyre is an angel. elain should have been written more consistently with the personality sjm claims she has, but she can be redeemed. nesta sucks.

feyre is so selfless, it's insane. she was the one risking her life and providing their basic necessities, and still her thoughts were never focused on her own hunger or needs, but on that of her family. "i knew the expression that would be on my elder sisters' faces when i returned to our cottage empty handed yet again.", "we wouldn't last another week without food."

she had to ask for handouts from the wealthier townsfolk, and just imagine how humiliating that must have been for her. really let that sink in. the youngest in the family, the baby, had to ask for charity because the people who should have been responsible for her were useless.

there is this really heartbreaking moment in the very third page of the book where feyre, who was living on survival mode for years, stopped to admire the swirl of the snow and the way it coated the trees. she says she couldn't remember the last time she had stopped to look at anything lovely or interesting. what a miserable life. and then she says she just wished nesta and elain would get married already, so there would be enough food to go around between herself and her father, and some money to spare to buy paint. . . this is literally heartbreaking. look at the way she had to live, the things she had to give up, because her family was leeching off of her. imagine if she had actually been selfish like people claim her to be, then she would have only hunted for herself, provided for herself, and used the money all on her. but also imagine how this could have been so much different if the whole family came together to help in providing, they were their own enemies, for real, they were in the way of themselves living a better life. not perfect by any means, but any help would have been an improvement to them.

"i needed new boots, but elain needed a new cloak, and nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed." this literally summons their personalities. feyre needs something, but so does elain, so feyre will let her have it, and nesta is a selfish bitch lol

"my sisters' voices fluttered out to meet me. i didn't need to discern their words to know they most likely were chattering about some young man or the ribbons they'd spotted in the village when they should have been chopping wood, but i smiled a bit nonetheless." i swear, she's gonna make me cry.

"no mention of the blood on me. i'd long since given up hope of them actually noticing whether i came back from the woods every evening. at least until they got hungry again." it's insane to me that SJM wrote things like this about feyre's family, but she expects people to forgive them. how can you possibly read this and let it slide? lol

granted, she made an effort to leave hints that elain was not so bad, though she isn't off the hook, i really like this part: "it wasn't that elain was cruel. she wasn't like nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face. elain sometimes just. . . didn't grasp things. it wasn't meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty. i'd never been able to decide whether she actually didn't understand that we were truly poor or if she just refused to accept it. it still hadn't stopped me from buying her seeds for the flower garden she tended in the milder months, whenever i could afford it. and it hadn't stopped her from buying me three small tins of paint — red, yellow, and blue. it was the only gift she'd ever given me, and our house still bore the marks of it." this? this is understandable. this is redeemable. this is fixable.

feyre painting every little corner of the cottage a la rapunzel because she wanted to be remembered after she was gone :(

i hate their father. he's the worst.

"nesta snorted. not surprising. any bit of praise for anyone — me, elain, the villagers — usually resulted in her dismissal." this bitch is so miserable lmao and this is who we're supposed to forgive and understand and root for down the line? nah, let rhysand deal with her.

sometimes feyre would speak and SJM made a point of writing that the family ignored her, like they didn't even hear her at all. this is what i don't get about elain. if she's supposed to be different from nesta, if she's supposed to be this lovely, docile girl without a mean bone in her body, shouldn't she show a modicum of sympathy for feyre? definitely listen to her when she speaks, and answer her. maybe offer to dry the meat, or not spend feyre's money on herself, or at the very least defend her from nesta and stick by feyre rather than nesta. like, this is the bare minimum of what elain could and should have done in order for those traits to be believable about her character, instead SJM had elain arguing with nesta about who would get to spend feyre's money, but spoiler alert: it was never feyre lol

nobody talks about feyre's trauma having to watch her father get beaten up and assaulted by those men as a child, that's actually so sad.

and i'm expected to feel bad for her?! please, whatever she gets isn't bad enough. this is also the same person that was hissing and barking at elain in the same scene, but we're supposed to believe nesta would have whored herself for elain, who she literally thinks of as a dog and has said as much in her spin-off, but live, laugh, love "healing arc", right?

reading about the dresser feyre painted, the night sky that was just for her, makes me all sorts of happy and giddy skshsks feysand really are the blueprint, guys, i'm afraid no other couple will ever touch them.

fuck mother archeron for asking feyre to promise to take care of the family, and fuck sjm for not developing this further because there is literally no reason for feyre to ride so hard to keep a vow to a dead mother that never gave a rip about her? this part specifically is so undeveloped, it's annoying.

"you can't chop wood for us, but you want to marry a woodcutter's son?" LMFAO, a rare snarky feyre in sight!

"but i'd made do, even if it had killed not to have white paint, to do something so flawed and lasting." baby, please :( feyre is so humble and grateful, dude. i just know she thanks rhys for every little thing, and it breaks his heart the way it does mine, that she views even basic necessities as luxury.

"believe me, the day you want to marry someone worthy, i'll march up to his house and hand you over. but you're not marrying thomas." — feyre about nesta. she knew and cared even about nesta's heart, about the life she would live in private, and she wanted nesta to find someone WORTHY of her. this is the sister that you all hate on, by the way. but you love the sister that slut-shamed her right after this display of nurturing feyre showed.

this is also the difference between feyre and nesta when it comes to elain. feyre would have never allowed elain to be engaged to a guy like grayson if they were still in the cabin at the time. elain, who she liked more than nesta lol for sure, she would have been more watchful with elain.

but back to how inconsistent sjm is with elain's supposedly lovely character: "i laid my palms flat on the table as i stared her down. elain removed her hand from where it lay nearby, as if the dirt and blood underneath my fingernails would somehow jump onto her porcelain skin." this isn't the behavior of someone who is kind and caring and thinks of others. this is the behavior of someone who is shallow and arrogant and selfish. also, for somebody who is later on spoken of as not caring about dirt because she gardens, this doesn't add up either lol but i digress because sjm is known for showing little consistency with her writing.

feyre calling nesta a burden to her face is some good fucking food, where is this feyre in acomaf? acowar? acosf? sjm really shut her up for no reason, let my girl fight back for once in her life.

literally talking to feyre like she's an animal and not her own baby sister. and this is the perfect display of abuse and emotional torture, by the way. nesta literally admits in her own book to enjoy causing feyre pain and hurt. she's deranged, mentally deficient, and i don't know how she even has a single stan. and she has the nerve of being like "as if our life was that bad", "since having sisters sucked so much for you", like SHE wasn't doing all this 😭 the perfect display of a narcissistic abuser fr.

and again, elain showed sympathy to who? exactly.

my heart goes out to feyre so much. how could she possibly have hope when everybody was leeching off of her and abusing her? she feared she was going to be lost and forgotten to time, and nesta fed into that fear. there was no hope for her.

anyway, this post is already too long, so i'm finishing it here, but i expect to pick up on the pace soon, i probably won't have much to say about tamlin and lucien 'cause i don't really care about them as characters so yeah lol

[smiley-mcdoggington]

The only talk he really knew about menopause for the longest time was from hushed complaining between his Ma and his aunt over wine when it was way too late for him to be listening in. They made better books on it now than they did in his day, when Ford and him would huddle together over a library book in the dark with a flashlight, reading vague descriptions about how delicate omega parts and omega sensibilities were, and how the only symptom of menopause omegas had was being infirtle and being sad about being infirtle. Now, Stan had books that told him his symptoms, he was just shit outta luck until either his heats stopped or he got a pair of kitchen scissors and fixed himself for good. Sadly, he lost his kitchen scissors.

So after the third time of watching his vision crawl away in muted panic while he tried to slur out jokes for his tours, he shut down the shack, told Wendy to go home, and bumbled his way to his recliner to sit in his own sweat until he stopped feeling like his skin was boiling him alive.

That was, until Soos found him. He forgot to tell the poor kid to go home.

Soos strolled into his livingroom like he belonged, eyes immediately zeroing in on the pathetic puddle that was his boss. "Hey Mr. Pines!" He said cheerfully like he'd just noticed he was there, as if the sickly sweet musk of old, washed-up omega wasn't permeating the building. He didn't stop walking, went right up to Stan like there wasn't a thing bothering him.

Stan huffed. "Shack's closed for two days - maybe three, who fucking knows - you can go home." He grumbled, not looking directly at his employee.

His words went in one ear and out the other, though, Soos didn't budge. He just kinda stood there, mouth-breathing.

"Oy, I don't give overtime bub, you know this."

"I know." Soos said, and Stan looked at him, tried to get a proper read of him.

He was staring at Stan's neck, head tilted a little like a curious puppy, his mouth cracked open when he breathed and sometimes he just did that but now it felt purposeful, like he was tasting the air. He was wringing his hands like he didn't know what to do with them.

"Hey. Earth to gumdrop, you're blocking the TV." Stan tried, reaching his hand up to wave in front of his face, but before he could really do the motion Soos reached out and grabbed it, lacing their fingers together and Stan froze.

Actual, human contact wasn't something he got much, as pathetic as that was. And Stan had one of his fucking old man heatwaves going on, his brain felt like mush, his hand in Soos' felt real and solid and like it wouldn't shake apart or boil away or crumble the way the rest of him did. For a second he wasn't a crampy, overheated puddle of nerves, he was just holding a familiar hand.

But when Soos shuffled closer, close enough Stan could smell him and he smelled like wood glue and car exhaust and home - he yanked his hand away. "Soos, what the hell are you doing?" Stan asked firmly. His hand was covered in static in the shape of how it was held.

"Touching helps, right? You always start patting my shoulder and side-hugging me and stuff when you get close to your heat - it's because it helps, isn't it?"

Stan felt shame weigh down on his sternum. He felt like a sweaty old skuzz-ball. "Shit, kid - you know you can call me out on that, I didn't notice, I wasn't tryin'a make you--"

Soos reached out again, and put one cool, calloused hand on the side of his face, and he lost his words to the scratchy sound of a pointer finger in the hair in front of his ear. His fever was a distant dream, he felt his joints loosen into a more comfortable ache, he forgot how damn easy heats got when there was someone to hold him. He breathed in nights at the kitchen table feeling pride and comfort with no strings attached for the first time in decades just from the way Soos would look at him while he taught him how to sew.

It was wrong, he'd sunk into the contact like some waify omega from a shitty chick flick, this was Soos, he was a young alpha smelling things that were making him confused and Stan needed to fix it, teach him that getting this close and personal with anyone in a heat was a no-go unless he wanted to knock someone up (could Stan get knocked up anymore? Probably not, he shouldn't be thinking about it) and send him home to sort out his confusion looking at omegas his age on the computer or whatever. But he started sitting up, pulling away, cracking his eyes back open, and Soos looked pained.

Fuck. He'd rejected a hundred alphas in his day, he'd done it with a grin on his face and their wallet in his hand, alphas were supposed to get angry at rejection. Soos just looked like a kicked puppy. Like when Stan accidentally broke the birdhouse he gave him and Stan had to stay up late fixing it because he couldn't take that look, he never could.

Stan sighed, pressing his face back into that hand that snuffed his problems out, holding it there with his own. "Fine, touching, you're right, take notes for any future flings, alright? And don't ever try this with an omega again unless you're real close or they're real acquainted with how you are around people." He grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it, Soos' thumb was stroking at his cheekbone, the glands on his wrists were close enough to bite, his other hand was scratching at his sweaty hair. A low, crackling purr rumbled out of Stan's chest, and he couldn't find him in him to stop it.

Soos started awkwardly clambering onto the chair with his knees, refusing to take his hands away for even a second while he climbed into Stan's lap like there would ever be enough space in his poor recliner. Then Soos put his cheek on Stan's chest to feel the vibrations, and it had to be uncomfortable, Soos had been bigger than Stan since he was fifteen (damn it he'd known Soos since he only went up to Stan's hip, this was wrong) and the chair was squeaking and squealing under their combined weight. Stan opened his eyes again, looking down at Soos against his chest for a moment (it made him feel a certain type of way) before huffing, cutting off his purring.

Soos sat up immediately, and he was tall enough to block the light, looming, close enough all Stan could see and smell was him. "Mr. Pines? Is something wrong?" He asked, not looking even a bit hesitant or nervous like kids his age were supposed to. He looked perfectly comfortable in Stan's lap, something pressing into Stan's thigh and just over a third Stan's age, like he'd done it a million times before even though Stan knew for a fact he hadn't.

Stan sighed, long and heavy. "We ain't doing this - don't, don't look at me like that - you're killing me here, kid. You know how much it'll cost me if you break this chair? Get off, get up, go on." He nagged, swatting Soos until he wasn't looming, scrambling off the chair and then pulling up Stan who was half-buried in the cushions. Stan sighed, brushed himself off - he was still wearing his suit, he was gonna stain it of he didn't get it off soon - and trudged to the stairs.

Soos didn't follow, when Stan looked back, Soos had a tent in his pants and tears in his eyes. Fuck everything. "You coming or what?" Stan tossed behind him, and Soos was at his back like a gunshot, following him up the stairs and down the hall close enough he was clipping his ankles.

Stan put a hand on his bedroom doorknob. "You know you can leave whenever, kid, I ain't stopping you." He said, a consolation prize from a dirty old man. "You wanna leave, the door's unlocked, you don't gotta say shit ta me, just go if you wanna."

"Mr. Pines." Soos said, and he was close enough his words blew at the hairs on the back of his neck. "I wanna stay." He said, like he wasn't tearing this pathetic old man to bits. No one wanted to stay, that had always been the deal. Soos would snap out of it when he got a little older, and wasn't that just a knife in the gut? But Soos wasn't done. "I've kinda been dreaming about this since I was sixteen - that's weird. It's just - you know, you're Mr. Pines. You're so good at everything, and you smell really good, and I like your face, and our ship name would be Soos-ter Pines or Mr. Pinesoos, and I wanna stay here touching your face and listening to you complain about everything because you're my favorite person--"

Stan grabbed him by the staff t-shirt and kissed him. Soos immediately reciprocated with way too much tongue and a smile on his face Stan could feel and it was frankly fucking adorable. Soos shifted his weight to raise his foot like some middleschool girl and Stan cackled against his mouth, almost loosing his footing because he was on his toes and the giant wasn't thinking to lean down any. The second his old man ankle tried to give out from the strain, Soos lunged forward and slammed him against his bedroom door. For a second he was pinned, fixed up like a display, before Soos was right back to soft hands on his shoulders, leaning into his space, nosing the side of his neck so sweetly and Stan's heart was hammering out of his ribs. He needed a nest and he needed to stash Soos away like a little treasure of his to bury his face in and he needed it now.

He fumbled with the doorknob, making them both stumble backwards into his room when he pushed Soos off again. "Put the mattress on the floor." He said with a vague gesture. "Then sit on it and wait." He said, already going for his closet, for his stash of old clothes that smelled more like dust than Ford, of soft blankets and squashed-flat pillows and pointedly ignoring the toy he had hidden at the bottom of his heat supplies.

He lugged them over, and Soos had done just what he asked, was sitting pretty in the middle of the mattress, his grubby sneakers kicked off to the side. Stan started piling up blankets over Ford's clothes over pillows around - he hadn't bothered with a nest in almost a year, they were a bitch to clean up and Stan would be just as uncomfortable in a nest as in his recliner, at least his recliner had a TV in front of it. But now, he felt like a bat out of hell, like he needed somewhere to put Soos.

Then Soos' hands were on him again, a hand on his back, the other on his thigh, made him stop from adjusting the same pillow a third time. "Mr. Pines, is this a nest?"

"No, it's an interdimensional gateway - yes it's a nest."

"Then why are you wearing your whole suit?"

Why was he wearing his suit, it was way too hot for that - but also that meant taking the girdle off - but Soos never cared about his weight before - but this was different-- Soos put a hand on his face.

"You okay, Mr. Pines?"

"Course' I am, gumdrop." He said absently, tracing the thumb rubbing circles on his cheek with every speck of his attention.

"Can I take off your suit?" He asked, unable to even find the bush he was supposed to beat around.

Stan hummed, pressing his face into Soos's hand a little more. "Knock yourself out." He said, because Soos was a good kid, and for some fucked up reason he wanted to take care of Stan.

Soos's hands moved to his tie, loosening the knot and then pulling it away, draping it over one of the pillows - adding to the nest. Stan has knocked out teeth for less, but it was Soos, and he was just being a sweetheart, trying to help. Stan kind of wanted to pull him back into his purring chest, wanted to stash Soos away where the cruel world couldn't find him, where Stan could keep him to himself like the mooch he'd always been. He liked the additions to the nest, actually.

Soos peeled off his jacket, then his shirt, then his girdle, laid him back to get at his belt his belt, his pants, until he was in nothing but his boxers and undershirt. He had a wet spot on his underwear, frankly it was half sweat but with Stan leaned back into some strategically placed pillows and Soos sitting between his legs, staring, he thought maybe he looked good enough for a sweet kid like Soos.

Soos ripped his shirt off unprompted and also put it in the nest, it was the first of his additions Stan actually stopped, grabbing the shirt and dragging it closer because he was a pathetic old man and even if Soos decided to walk out he'd probably be fingering himself with his face in that staff uniform until his heatwave stopped because he cannot deny he's a desperate man. Soos didn't notice the theft, though, still refusing to work on his staring problem.

Stan knocked his knees together to draw his focus. "You were right. Touching helps." Stan said because he wouldn't make demands of the kid but he was damn impatient. Soos didn't need them, putting his hands on Stan's knees and pulling them apart, leaning forward to drag his tank top off with heavy fingers. His hips were rutting forward mindlessly, just off from Stan's hole, just too far no matter how much Stan tried to squirm.

Soos put his face on Stan's bare chest, and Stan started purring - it sounded like a faulty engine, ten years of smoking anything he could get his hands on and twenty more with cigars did that to a man, even if he'd quit when Soos started hanging around too much. The kid didn't seem to care, though, would probably say something stupid about how it was cool his lungs were wrecked by the time he was twenty.

Soos started laving at the skin between his tits, probably getting hair in his mouth and Stan would have pulled him away if that didn't involve him being away. He was a weird guy, but his mouth was warm and soft and settling his cramps down so he let him do what he wanted, watching him with something like awe. His tits were always sensitive when he was younger, it was a good selling point in 77', and it dulled with age but he still got sparky when Soos took one between his teeth, gently knawing like he might hurt him.

Stan leaned just a little forward to kiss Soos' hair, trying not to think too deeply about that. "You don't gotta be gentle, you know I'm made of tougher stuff." He mumbled into his thin brown hair. Soos ignored him, kissing and glawing and sucking at his own pace, gentle and careful, damn anything Stan said, and for some stupid reason it was driving Stan up the wall. It had to be his damn heat brain making him wanna kiss all over Soos' face, hold him close to his chest and tell him how he was too damn good, his sweet boy, Stan was going insane.

Soos started leaning more forward until his stomach was pressing into Stan's aching dick. Stan huffed, rutting forward and Soos broke off to look at his face. Soos' lips were bruised and his hair was mussed and he had this dopey fucking smile on his face. Stan gave up on holding himself up, wrapping his arms around Soos' neck instead and Soos immediately fell forward, leaning his weight on him, pressing him into the mattress and Stan's crackly old purr wouldn't stop if he wanted it to.

Soos kissed him again, slow and heady like he was savoring it. It was suffocating - it was perfect. Stan hummed, feeling Soos shift and start to rut at something worthwhile, moving his mouth from Stan's to his cheek to his neck and Stan made an old smoker's approximation of a whine, holding onto Soos' shoulders for dear life while he kept grinding them together, skin covering skin and filling Stan's hazy brain with way too many endorphins.

Soos' chubby fingers started dipping into his boxers, just a little, just mapping out the indents the elastic made on his hips because he was trying to drive Stan insane. "Mr. Pines?" Soos murmured into the sensitive skin of his neck. "I can touch your hole, right? This is where this is going? I'm allowed?" Soos checked, and it sent shivers down Stan's spine.

"Yeah, sweetheart," He huffed, hips rolling. "Whatever you want." He said, but he hoped like hell that was him.

Soos' hands both pushed into his shorts, one just groping and the other running right near his hole, through the slick mess Soos'd made of him. He pulled his fingers back, wet and shiny and inspected them, pulling his fingers apart to watch the string of slick that connected them snap. Stan huffed, adjusted to bracket Soos' hips with his legs, and ground his ass directly into the front of his shorts.

Soos made this wheezing kind of noise, immediately snapping his hands to Stan's hips. He looked absolutely shocked at Stan, and of course Stan just had to go too far, scare the poor kid off, he probably wasn't used to omegas, especially not ex-whores like Stan, was gonna run because Stan wasn't acting like an omega should--

"That's the hottest thing that's ever happened to me." Soos blurted.

Stan stared.

"Y'know. I didn't - um." He kept looking at Stan's chest. "My dick hurts." He settled on, suave as ever.

Stan rolled his hips again. He'd regret it in the morning, but right now Soos thought he was hot. Soos started fumbling with his shorts - his boxers had little pixel guys on them - and pulled out his cock, which did look like it hurt. Bright, swollen, angry red and weeping, a visible dent from his zipper. It was preportional to the rest of him, that was to say too damn big, but Stan had taken bigger while less hot under the collar, what worried him more was if Soos actually wanted to or if he was just getting comfortable.

Stan arched as much as his back would let him, and Soos stared, taking his dick in hand and slowly ran his hand up and down, Stan couldn't keep his eyes away. He rolled his hips again, making another deep-throated keen.

Soos aimed himself at Stan's hole, bucking against it with Stan's stupid goddamn boxers in the way and Stan huffed. "Can't go through the underwear, gumdrop." He tried to tease, but he wasn't really paying attention, shifting to try pushing his underwear down when Soos caught his hands and the jig was up he was gonna get up and leave Stan and.

And he was looking really intense. "Can I put it in? I can pull out or - or I dunno, I don't have condoms."

"Don't bother, I probably don't have any eggs left." He muttered, but Soos just kept staring.

"Can I?"

Stan hummed. "Yeah, just get these offa me first, tiger." He pushed at his underwear again and Soos took the waistband out of his hands, slowly dragging them down his legs, not one to be rushed even by a needy omega squirming under him.

Soos finally put the boxers in their nest, dragging his heavy hands up Stan's legs, picking them up to look at before putting them on his shoulders. Stan didn't understand him, Soos was examining every part of him like he'd never seen an old man before, like Stan was just something.

Then Soos lined himself up - he'd have to teach him about prepping later, Stan was an exception, not a rule - and slowly pushed in. Stan sighed in relief, rolling his hips into the burn, but Soos didn't go any faster than torture.

He looked up at Soos' face and Soos looked like he was about to come, face scrunched up, panting, looking right at where they were connected. He looked like he might pass out, overwhelmed, trying too hard. Stan started up his purr again, reaching his hands out to pull Soos back down against his chest. Soos huffed, stopped moving, sank into the vibrations and slowly relaxed. "That's it." He soothed, listening to Soos' breath even, trying to ignore the feeling of his prostate being brushed very unfairly. Soos's mouth started moving again, lips against the fat of his tit. "There's my sweet boy." He murmured for only Soos to hear, and Soos honest-to-God whined, looking up at him with that kicked puppy look again.

Stan pushed his hair off his forehead. "You tap out if you don't want to, you know you can." He said, but Soos shook his head.

"I never thought I would get to do this." Soos ran his hand to just below Stan's belly button. "You're just so amazing, Mr. Pines."

"Sweet pea, your dick is in me, call me Stan." He said, and he didn't know what mixture of brain chemicals was making him this sappy, but he liked the way Soos smiled when he called him sappy names.

"Stan. It's okay if I start again, right? I need a redo, I think."

"Go ahead." Stan said immediately, still feeling droopy and heavy from the stretch.

Soos nodded, pulling back and Stan almost asked him to stop from pulling out but Soos didn't, just pulled back, and then pushed forward all at once and oh, Stan only had half before.

Stan hummed and huffed and sank into his pillows while Soos went back to slowly tearing him apart. Soos looked so fucking adorable, so focused, trying to set a pace for his sloppy thrusts, Stan wanted to eat him alive.

Instead he dragged one of Soos' hands up off his hip to hold his face again, sinking into the smell and the dopey feeling he almost forgot he could have. Soos started moving faster - close. He never took his hand away though, leaning forward until his cheek could lay on Stan's rumbling chest while his hips kept rutting. Stan looked down and Soos was looking up at him like he was the prettiest thing.

Stan rolled his hips again, and Soos moaned into his chest hair. Stan could feel the knot bumping against his hole, and he tried encouraging him, rolling into him and running his fingers through that thin, soft hair. Soos kept hiding noises in Stan's chest, Stan could feel every one.

Then Stan finally took in the knot, and Soos whined loudly, shaking apart over Stan, and Stan sighed. Poor kid, he'd done that a few times in highschool, never a good way to recover from coming so fast.

But Soos kept moving, rutting the little bit the knot allowed, he didn't stop for a second, still laving at the meat of his tits like he'd die without them, he kept going.

Stan hummed, rolling back faster against him. The low churning in his gut had vanished, all that was left was a crawl towards release. Soos didn't let up, he could barely pay attention to anything but him, he wanted to keep him forever right there.

"You ever been pregnant before, Mr. Pines?" Soos huffed, and maybe asking to be called his first name was a lost cause.

Stan hummed. "No." He lied. Didn't matter anyway, it never worked out.

"S' no fair, you'd be so good at it."

Stan ran his fingers through Soos' hair. "You think?" He asked rhetorically.

"Yeah." Soos sighed, his knot had shrunken enough to pull out, but he stayed. "You'd be so pretty."

Stan hummed, rolling into Soos' short, shallow thrusts. "Yeah? All heavy with kids, I wouldn't be able to run the shop, you know."

"I would help, I'd help the whole time." Soos sighed. "Be there the whole time."

"Yeah? Such a good alpha, such a good boy, taking care of me." He crooned.

"Good enough for you?"

"Good enough for a lot better, sweet pea."

Soos made a little grumbly noise and it took a second for Stan to realize it was a little growl. He tightened the hand in Soos' hair. "Hey." He said sternly.

"Don't want a lot better." Soos grumbled, looking like an angry kitten.

Stan sighed. "You will, once you're older."

Soos slowly pulled up and away, still inside Stan but not moving. "Why don't you believe me?"

"Soos, kid don't take it personal, you're young, you'll find someone your own age and you'll be better off."

"Mr. Pines. You're my favorite person, and this is the best day of my life." He said like a fact. "Am I good enough for you?" He asked again.

Stan's chest tightened. "You've always been good enough for me."

Soos laughed. "Great! Good - oh thank gosh I was scared for a second. Can we keep going now? You're - you're really warm."

Stan rolled his hips. "Of course, sweetheart."

Soos picked up his legs again, kissing the inside of his knee before starting to move again. Then he finally found Stan's prostate, butting against it and making Stan lock up. He must have made a noise because Soos was staring at him. Again.

"C'mon." He asked in a completely reasonable tone, his hips were starting to ache but he rolled them anyway.

Soos copied his angle, hit Stan's prostate dead on again and got the hint, hitting it over and over while Stan made noises he hadn't made in decades. Soos started going faster, finally, and Stan couldn't shut up if he wanted to, warbling out 'good boy, sweet boy, my boy' while Soos huffed and whined into his shoulder, his neck. For a brief, dizzying moment, he hoped Soos would bite him.

The knot was easier this time, smaller, Soos was still half-spent, but Stan keened when it was finally in, he was so close - Soos was still shaking with his own orgasm when he wrapped his hand around Stan to finish him off with the hand still wet with his slick.

Stan shouted when his release finally hit, melting into his nest with a content sigh while Soos put his head back on his chest. Stan started combing his fingers through his hair again, purr rumbling through his chest.

Soos looked up at him with that dopey fucking smile again. Stan sighed. "You'll be the death of me, kid.

[not-poignant]

Potentially an odd question, but is there a specific site or method you use for research for your writings? Researching medical/legal/similar procedures is the bane of my existence because I can never seem to find an explanation I understand well enough to then write about.

I recently caught up to Stain, and while reading it struck me how you put a lot of detail into a wide variety of topics (the medical part of Alex’s injury at the start, therapy, Alex’s eye examination, Sebastian talking about his boss trying to underpay him, among other topics) (HUGE kudos about that by the way, it adds another layer of realism) and it feels like there’s no way one person can have firsthand experience/knowledge in ALL these things unless you’ve lived an extremely varied life.

I was just hoping you might have some pointers about how to go about researching basically anything because I feel like I’ve GOT to be missing something.

No worries if you can’t/don’t want to/don’t have an answer, I just thought shooting an ask your way is worth a shot haha.

Hi anon,

Researching is its own skillset, like writing or editing, there's no one specific site to go to, to make it easier, it's more like...taking the time to learn the constellation of ever-changing sites, books, and more in order to best learn how to learn. Because that's really what it is about: Learning how to learn.

On learning how to learn (I should say, I'm not very good at teaching, so some of this stuff might not be helpful to you, please ignore it if it isn't!):

But I do have some things that I do which might help. And some that might not.

The first thing that won't really help is I have led a varied life in a way that is convenient for the content I write, lol. The medical part of Alex's injury - I've been badly injured. The eye examination - I have astigmatism and was diagnosed late and blamed for my own eyesight issues which I didn't realise were eyesight issues. I've seen over 19 therapists in over 25 years. I've talked to bosses about pay and I've had lots of friends that have too.

Tbh the things I've had to research the most in Stardew Valley have been:

The intersection of astigmatism/myopia/dyslexia treatment and the best order in which these things should happen.

Stardew Valley - literally the calendar, the schedule, liked gifts, disliked gifts, favourite meals etc. Some I know off by heart, others I don't really remember at all.

The best way to clean a house (though my mother was a professional cleaner for most of my childhood, I just wanted to revise and see if anything had changed since then)

Cleaning standards for home laboratories

The colours that sweetpea flowers come in etc.

It's always random stuff. And to be honest, a lot of this doesn't happen in much detail in the story. The colour of sweetpea flowers was for the bouquet, and I think it was one line. The best way to clean a house has accounted for very little actual writing.

Now for actual helpful stuff:

Wikipedia is your friend. My browser search bar goes straight to Wikipedia, not google. It's amazing how much Wikipedia will explain a ton of different things these days. It's true some concepts might be hard to understand, you might need to spend more time Wiki-ing / googling / using a dictionary to start understanding those concepts.

When it comes to writing trauma, for example, I've read upwards of 20+ academic books (i.e. the kind psychologists study at university or after university in postgrad) about trauma. I wouldn't expect other people to go that deep, but other folks aren't writing trauma like I am in every single story, and it's a special interest of mine. But it kind oh illustrates that I'm not going to a single site about something.

But you could get a deeper understanding by just looking at the PTSD and C-PTSD and trauma articles on Wikipedia, and slowly reading them.

The second is that medical sites can also be your friend.

The third is that Reddit is amazing for lived experiences, with a grain of salt that some people are lying for clout. But 'what treatments helped best with your dyslexia reddit' as a search phrase is going to be way more helpful than whatever AI bullshit the google search line will give you otherwise. Deep diving into reddit threads can be super helpful for stuff that I used to find out previously on personal blogs (it's amazing how much 'what's life on an oil rig like blog' used to turn up a ton of lived experiences from firsthand encounters for example). I don't use my Reddit account for anything other than research, lmao. It's a hidden gem for lived experience and human interpretation of complex issues. It can be especially helpful for legal / economic matters, but honestly, I mostly just handwave legal stuff with caveats/disclaimers. You can do an undergraduate degree in law, and a lawyer is still going to painstakingly point out all the ways you're wrong about something. It's just better to tell the lawyers in advance that you know you can't compete with their knowledge base lmao.

(Though it can be worth looking up regional differences, because if I see another Australian writing Australian legal procedures into US law (or vice versa) I will scream - like no, Aussies, we do not have BOLOs here, we have KL04, LOTBKF and BOLF depending on your state).

A good way to start learning how to learn is to actually start outside of your stories and start with things you already love. Plug your favourite movie into Wikipedia and learn about how it was made, or what the production was like. And when you find something mildly interesting, say, about film lighting, open up those Wiki articles or plug 'film lighting process for (insert movie here)' on google, and have a look at some of the results. Learn how to learn, how to go deeper, what seems to be helpful, and what isn't. Consider making a list of articles you really enjoy - I love a website that aggregates all the different odours and flavours in the world and their chemical compounds which has been incredibly helpful for Palmarosa. The website is a bit hard to navigate, but if you plug something like 'spearmint' into the search, it'll help.

If you don't already have it, put Wikipedia on your phone. It's free / ad-free. I have my own personal server on Discord that I use to house a lot of resources (for everything, from my business, to health records, to writing resources). If you use Discord already, I highly recommend the 'private server' as a great way to aggregate everything together.

If the article formatting of online articles doesn't feel good, you can do text-to-speech, or use the little 'reader' symbol to make it more reader-friendly.

Books are also not to be underestimated for how helpful they can be (I find too many people are website focused these days, but actually, not everything can be found on websites, a lot of the best niche knowledge is still in books when it's not in lived experience tellings). Find out about your local and online libraries. A lot of people (especially younger folks) don't realise just how much information they can get access to, for free. Librarians themselves are gifts from god, who will literally help you find the books you need for whatever subject you want to learn more about, and if they don't know, they will often personally take it upon themselves to look further for you. 'I want to learn more about German composers' is - for many librarians - a very exciting question that they will want to help you with.

Outside of that, niche websites (like the odours one I mentioned), sometimes just finding sites where asking research questions gets answered. For example the free blogging site (with no ads), Dreamwidth, has a community called little_details where you can ask your niche question and people will answer and say what their expertise is in that subject. It's incredible and active enough to be super helpful. In some cases it's completely changed the course of a story.

Over time you'll also learn what's less helpful. Some articles are clearly ChatGPT written or written for ads and not accurate - so if you can get the same information corroborated at multiple sources, that will help.

And don't forget the value of just listening to people online and irl regarding their experiences. As a writer, I feel like an 'experience collector.' I like asking friends, strangers, family, etc. all kinds of questions because I think a part of my brain is always aware that something they're sharing could be a vitally grounding element in a story and it's also just interesting and people like sharing about their lives. Whether I'm asking my roommate about the process of getting a government evaluation approved, my architect friend about drug use in Australian architecture, or a friend from Bali what sort of foods he grew up with and what his comfort meal was when he felt sick, etc. Writers collect experiences, not just their own, but those of others. The greatest tools a writer can have in their toolbelt are knowing how to listen, learning how to learn (and how to love learning), and knowing what the right questions are.

None of those things can be gained with one or two websites. But they can be gained with time and curiosity, and well, that helps with your whole entire life, and not just writing. :D

[raven-black102]

Sorry To My Unknown Lover

Jasper x Reader

3rd Person POV

“You go to tell her at one point Jasper.” Alice said as she watch Jasper stare at a girl who sat alone. “I can’t. I’ll just hurt her.” Jasper said softly as he looks down at his plate of food in pain. “She’s you mate Jasper.” Rosalie said even though she hates the though of the girl being human. Rosalie couldn’t help but feel drown to the girl along with the other Cullen’s.

“I can’t read her thoughts.” Edward said as Bella also looks at the girl a bit curiously. “Is she like me then?” Bella asked causing Edward to smile slightly then frown. “Yes and No. She’s blocking me out of her thoughts.” Edward said as they kept glancing at the girl.

(Y/n) stood still slightly feeling eyes on her but quickly brush it off since people are probably still not used to her being in school. ‘I wish I could just go home.’ I though sadly as I felt my bottom lip slightly quiver. That small action and feeling didn’t go unnoticed by Jasper.

(Y/n) sighed softly as She packed her stuff back into her bag only for something to catch her eye. There was a book filled with music sheets in them and a few writing here and there. (Y/n) smiled softly as she pulled it out and opened the book to some of the writing were her and her brother (B/n).

(Y/n) stood up and through away her untouched lunch away and quickly left the cafeteria to the music room. “Go get  her Jasper.” Alice said as she pushed him off his chair to follow (Y/n). Jasper didn’t say anything but followed (Y/n) as he felt the sadness swarm around her.

“Is she going to be okay?” Bella asked concern as she saw the look both Edward and Alice had. “She’s harming herself.” Alice said sadly. “If Jasper doesn’t to her now...” Edward said then looked away not wanting to finished his sentence.

(Y/n)’s POV

I smiled slightly as I saw a grand piano there in the back of the music room. “Ah (L/n)! It’s nice to see you!” The Music teacher said happily but took notice of the look I had on my face. “Are you okay?” He asked me concern as I bit my bottom lips. “No.” I said softly as I look down.

“Um... my brother... served in the Military... his not coming home.” I said softly as he looks at me. I quickly tried to whip the tears away from mt long sleeve shirt. “I’m so sorry. I’ll leave you here alone. You can stay here as long as you need okay.” He said as I gave him a small smile.

I sat on the stool as I look at the keys of the beautiful oak piano and ivy like keys. I placed my bag down and gently place the book sheet on the music desk. I looked at the keys and took a deep breath before I started to gently press agent the keys.

3rd Person POV

Jasper snick inside the music room and hide in the corner as (Y/n) sat on the stool and got ready to play. He could help but notice the peaceful yet sad look on her face.

(Sorry by Halsey)

I've missed your calls for months it seems/ Don't realize how mean I can be/ 'Cause I can sometimes treat the people/ That I love like jewelry/ 'Cause I can change my mind each day/ I didn't mean to try you on/ But I still know your birthday/ And your mother's favorite song

So I'm sorry to my unknown lover/ Sorry that I can't believe that anybody ever really/ Starts to fall in love with me/ Sorry to my unknown lover/ Sorry I could be so blind/ Didn't mean to leave you/ And all of the things that we had behind

Oh/ Oh/ Oh

I run away when things are good/ And never really understood/ The way you laid your eyes on me/ In ways that no one ever could/ And so it seems I broke your heart/ My ignorance has struck again/ I failed to see it from the start/ And tore you open 'til the end

And I'm sorry to my unknown lover/ Sorry that I can't believe that anybody ever really/ Starts to fall in love with me/ Sorry to my unknown lover/ Sorry I could be so blind/ Didn't mean to leave you/ And all of the things that we had behind

And someone will love you/ Someone will love you/ Someone will love you/ But someone isn't me/ Someone will love you/ Someone will love you/ Someone will love you/ But someone isn't me

Sorry to my unknown lover/ Sorry that I can't believe that anybody ever really/ Starts to fall in love with me/ Sorry to my unknown lover/ Sorry I could be so blind/ Didn't mean to leave you/ And all of the things that we had behind

And someone will love you/ Someone will love you/ Someone will love you/ But someone isn't me/ And someone will love you/ Someone will love you/ Someone will love you/ But someone isn't me

Jasper looked at (Y/n) in pain at the song yet it gave him some confidences. "That is beautiful." Jasper said causing (Y/n) to jump slightly in surprise. "Sorry ma'am." Jasper laughed softly as he sat next to his mate. "Didn't mean to scare you." He said as he slowly got lost in (Y/n)'s (e/c) eyes.

"You just surpise me is all." (Y/n) said with a faint blush on her cheeks. "I'm (Y/n) (L/n)." (Y/n) said with a kind smile. "I'm Jasper Hale." Jasper said as he took (Y/n)'s hand and gently press a kiss on her knuckles.

[fictionadventurer]

All the tour groups in Springfield should be very proud of me for how well I refrained from sharing all my fascinating Lincoln facts.

[scarletfasinera]

The way grown adults in their twenties still talk about how they didn't learn about x historical event or y horrific thing the US did back when they were in highschool as if it's any excuse for their willful ignorance is like actually so pathetic. It's four years of schooling that you had a decade ago of course you didn't learn every single thing in the world, no one does in any school in any country. You're not special. It's time to grow up and make the effort to learn things for yourself, You're Not In Highschool Anymore

[ohara-n-brown]

As a late diagnosed autist I will say one of the most damaging but transformative experiences I've ever had was being misdiagnosed with BPD.

Everyday my heart goes out to people with BPD.

The amount of stigma and silencing they face is astonishing and sickening.

I took DBT for years. Therapists use to turn me away because of my diagnosis.

I would be having full blown autistic meltdowns, crying for help literally - but because I was labeled as BPD ANY time I cried I was treated as manipulative and unstable.

As if the only reason I could be crying was if I was out to trick someone.

95% of the books out there with Borderline in the title are named shit like 'How to get away from a person with Borderline', 'How to stop walking on eggshells (with a person who has BPD)'

I was never allowed to feel true pain or panic or need.

That was 'attention seeking behavior', not me asking for help when a disability was literally inhibiting my ability to process emotions.

There were dozens of times where I had a full meltdown and was either threatened with institutionalization or told I was doing it for attention.

My failing relationships weren't due to a communication issue, or the inability to read social cues. No, because I was labeled borderline, my unstable relationships were my fault. Me beggong nuerotypicals to just be honest and blunt with what they meant was me pestering them for validation.

Borderline patients can't win.

And the funny thing is - I asked my therapist about autism. I told her I thought I was on the spectrum.

BPD is WILDLY misdiagnosed with those with autism and I had many clear signs.

Instead - she told me 'If you were autistic we wouldn't be able to have this conversation'. She made me go through a list of autistic traits made clearly for children, citing how I didn't fit each one.

And then she told me that me identifying with the autism community was the BPD making me search for identity to be accepted - and that I wasn't autistic, just desperate to fit in somewhere.

I didn't get diagnosed for another ten years. For ten years I avoided the autism community - feeling as if I were just a broken person who wanted to steal from people who 'really needed it'.

Because of my providers - I began to doubt my identity MORE, not less.

Ten years of thinking I was borderline and being emotionally neglected and demonized by a system meant to help me.

To this day, I still don't trust neurotypicals. Not fully.

I know I'm not borderline now - but my heart aches for them. Not for the usual stuff. But for the stigma. And the asshole doctors. And the dismissiveness and threatening and the idea of institutionalization hanging over their head.

I love Borderline people. I always will. I'm not Borderline but if you are I love you and I'm sorry.

You're not a bad person. You're not a therapists worst nightmare, you are a human with valid feelings and fears.

Borderline people I'm sorry.

[madlori]

On being an older fangirl

I was probably 10 years old when I first conceived of what was, looking back, fanfiction. Me and my best friend would lie in bed together on sleepovers and I'd make up stories about what happened after the end of our favorite book, "The Westing Game." She'd ask me for more stories, and I'd tell her more, inventing them as I went along. "Then what?" she'd say.

I was 14 when I went to my first convention. I had discovered Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was 1987, and my youth pastor was a huge Trekkie. He took me to a one-day crappy Creation con, but it was amazing to me. I met Nichelle Nichols. My dad showed me the Trek movies. He and I watched TNG together.

When I went to college in 1991, my dad used to videotape TNG episodes onto VHS tapes and mail them to me, so I could keep watching (I didn't have TV in my dorm room).

By the time I was a senior, we had Trek watching parties in the dorm lounge, where the TV had cable. Star Trek: Voyager had started up, and I wrote a column about it for the college newspaper. I joined a mailing list about it, with people in it that I still know today.

I got my first computer that could go online in 1995. I was on newsgroups. I discovered Doctor Who. I went to Trek conventions where we still passed around fanzines containing fic and art and smutty K/S fan creations.

Then it was Harry Potter. Then there were websites. Then there was Geocities, where we could all make our own little spots. We organized them into webrings. We talked on newsgroups and mailing lists. There were fanfic archives. Then there was fanfiction.net.

Then...there was LiveJournal. And we could interact in entirely new ways. We could form communities, and debate things, and fight over canon, and get into ship wars. On LiveJournal, I met my best friend of 22 years. I was in her wedding. She's my sister of the heart (which is what she calls me).

Then there was Tumblr. And Twitter. And now there's Discord. But it's all the same.

I am the same.

I am still that little girl who made up fanfiction in her head to entertain her best friend. I am still the one who was amazed to find communities on the internet - which was so new, so raw, so uncommodified - where others like me could meet. I found there people to meet in real life.

I am still that twentysomething going to her first major convention, being told that someone loved my fic, being asked about my writing process.

I am still that thirtysomething watching something I wrote blow up. Seeing friends from other fandoms find me in new ones, finding them there, too. Forgetting which fandom I know someone from, because I've known them for twenty years.

I still know some of the people who created those early websites, those mailing lists, those archives. I still meet people in new fandoms who say "Oh, I read your fic in [fandom] fifteen years ago!" There's no feeling quite like having someone remember something you wrote for that long. Or meeting someone whose fic meant a lot to YOU, or who you talked with on rec.arts.drwho.creative in 1997.

Aging in fandom is a gift. Being middle-aged in fandom is a joy. Having people who still read what I write and ask "Then what?" is a blessing.

It breaks my heart that so many people see it as something to be ashamed of, when it is one of my life's greatest gifts.