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jiminjamms · 7 months

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sex therapy :: 23. homewrecker

chapter tags/warnings: naoya has sex with toji’s older ex-wife. misogynistic! naoya. age gap. exhibitionism. creampies. masturbation. infidelity/adultery. family drama. strong language. plain manipulation. corruption.

word count: 3.8k

notes: a longer chapter, but i had became so enraptured in the writing process hence the quick turnaround! given the thanksgiving weekend in the united states, i want to thank all my readers for being so invested my story! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.

Naoya Zenin had no qualms in calling himself the Master of the Universe.

He had everything he wanted in this world.

Money? Check. Power? Check. Fame? Also check.

Mind you, Naoya had to work hard to get into this position too. He didn’t just sit around on the couch all day waiting for opportunities to come flying his way. He had to be proactive. He had some tough decisions to make. Like how he had to choose between spending the weekend on a golf course or a ski resort. Or if he should pull up to the next board meeting with a Patek Phillipe or a Rolex. Nothing in his sad and poor life came easy when he only grew up as a spare heir, always living in the shadow of his once almighty cousin.

Which was why nothing could fuel his ego more than watching Toji's ex-wife ride his dick like this was some fucking rodeo.

"Naoya, baby," Mari whined, flushed as she ground down hard on his cock, her pussy squeezing him to the point his sight became spotted with stars. "I'm so close."

“Yeah?" Naoya managed to croak. His voice was hoarse; he longer recognized himself. He could only feel how his cock was splitting his mistress open, and with one long groan, he sank his face into her fat tits that were like clouds against his skin, his heavy balls slapping against her ass cheeks with each thrust up. "Gonna make a mess over my cock?”

She nodded confidently. “Mhm…We’re going to leave the sheets covered with cum.”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Sighing, the woman leaned forward with her palm holding the headboard’s edge for dear life while the other groped her own breast to keep her bosom from moving wildly.

“Don’t stop,” she mewled.

But shit, Naoya knew he was going crazy at this fantastically sexy sight. With this goddess before him, his mind and body wanted to go all in. No holds barred. He wanted nothing but to stuff this celestial being full of his cum, making sure her cunt would be aching when she woke up.

The Zenin CEO moaned at his lewd ideas, the mattress beneath them rocking back and forth from their combined forceful movements. Damn, he knew he should've booked a hotel room at the Ritz Carlton rather than at some InterContinental, where he knew (from experience) that the beds were sturdier and wouldn't be such an annoying mid-sex turnoff.

"I'm cumming!" Mari shouted in the midst of Naoya's haze, and his mind placed a screeching halt in his thoughts to focus solely on how her walls now squeezed around his cock, contracting around him in waves.

“Shit.”

She might be twenty years older, but goddamn, did she still have that grip.

Naoya’s climax didn’t take long to follow. The way his mistress's hot body crumpled against him as she wailed out his name repeatedly was simply too much, his own breaths dissolving into a strangled moan as his orgasm consumed him. “Holy fuck.”

In one white flash, Naoya's vision went blank. Hot semen shot from his tip in intense bursts as Naoya plunged himself completely into one of the tightest cunts he'd ever fucked. (And yes, he had enough girlfriends and one-night stands to make this conclusion. Don’t be silly to assume he didn't have experience.)

He panted hard, trying to catch his breath as Mari rolled over into the spot next to him, leaving their sweaty forms tangled in bed. As his heart slowed down from its marathon, he puffed his cheeks out and exhaled.

Wow.

He hadn’t gotten his dick twisted like that in a while, and to award the star of tonight’s show, he faced his lover and pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“Drained my balls completely empty,” he hummed in sheer amazement, pulling the sheets to cover their naked bodies. If they hadn’t gone for four whole rounds already, he would have hauled her into another episode of intense thrusting and moaning, perhaps slamming into her by those windows for the entire Tokyo area to see.

Giggling, the older woman slipped off the bed. She trailed toward the vanity mirror to re-apply her lipstick for what must be the millionth occasion. Not that Naoya was complaining because he had a thing for women with that cherry red on, and every time Mari went smacking her painted lips together, Naoya would find a way to get all that off.

All Naoya could picture in his head was how much he wanted to watch her suck him off again and see her print lipstick stains on his dick, from the base to the tip.

Well, fuck.

He’s getting hard again.

To distract himself, he tossed over to the side, propping an elbow on a pillow and resting his chin on his palm. This gave him the perfect angle to watch his hot girlfriend while hiding the boner between his legs. A genius move.

Then, he thought aloud, “I don’t know what I would have done without those nudes that you’ve been sending me over these past several weeks.”

She purred, flattered. “Liked them?”

Naoya had to correct her.

“Loved them.” Recalling the slew of dirty photos that he had received over text made his eyes roll to the back of his head. “I would bring my phone to the bathroom just so I could beat off to your pictures in the shower. Even came on my screen once because I couldn’t hold myself back a moment longer.”

Mari grinned from ear to ear from the compliment, staring into the mirror to wipe away a misplaced smear. “So, you really missed me.”

Naoya nodded in acknowledgment, reaching for his unfinished glass of Rémy Martin that had been left on the bedside table. “Most certainly, I did.”

“Of course.” Through her reflection in the mirror, he saw her scarlet lips pucker into a pout. “We haven’t been together in weeks since you are always busy and all.”

Despite her leveled tone, the bitter twinge caught Naoya off guard.

Did Mari think he did not care for her anymore after everything that he had done just this night alone? It was not like he had intentionally avoided her in recent weeks. Naoya had made himself extremely clear in the past that he had a company to run, a marriage to tend to, and a father to please.

Especially that last bit.

Naobito Zenin had been on Naoya’s ass on what seemed like everything lately: ‘financial forecasts’ this and ‘earnings call’ that. The Chairman had been chasing him on whether he had been planning for his upcoming strategy discussion with the board, consulting with other C-suite members about new firm initiatives, and speaking with Daisuke (your father) about recent company operations. Immensely annoying. His very own father should at least have some sympathy, knowing that Naoya—unlike his older cousin—did not grow up with a business mindset drilled into his head.

With the family patriarch also now aware of his son’s extramarital affair, Naoya must especially tiptoe around every interaction that involved his mistress.

After all, Naobito might have been turning a blind eye ever since discovering those scandalous paparazzi photos online, but he was no fool to ignore his son’s funny business, especially if this would jeopardize the Zenin Corporation’s success and the proud family’s reputation. In their most recent meeting, the older Zenin had reiterated that if there was any evidence that his son’s affair may imperil the company’s bottom line, there would be ‘severe consequences’—and in these matters with his own father, Naoya understood that no punishment was off the table.

“So,” Mari pressed, noticing the blond’s silence, “when are we going to see each other again?”

Meanwhile, the woman before him was absolutely oblivious to everything that had been going on ever since Naoya rushed back to Japan from Mexico.

He would take the blame, too.

Naoya intentionally did not mention how his father discovered their scandal’s photos, to lessen Mari's worry. Turned out the decision bit him in the ass, given how the woman narrowed her gaze in suspicion.

With the glass of cognac now trapped between his teeth, he took a slow sip that burned down his throat like spiced liquid fire. The warm residue, a testimony to the drink’s potency, pulsed through his veins like a slow-burning hearth as he sat up slowly.

“As soon as I can.”

She surprised him with her fast response. “Why not this weekend? We were supposed to go to your lakehouse in Switzerland soon, remember?” she pointed out, and Naoya had to conclude that she could not possibly be serious given that the European country called for a ten-plus hour flight from Tokyo, even with his Gulfstream.

“That, I cannot do,” he replied, his tone firm.

If he went missing again, his father would be livid.

“Why not?” an unaware Mari asked while walking over to the bed again and seated her naked form along the edge. “Trying to make time for your wife again?”

Interesting that she assumed you had a role in this. Frankly, Naoya had not thought about you the entire night, seeing you last as a sobbing mess in the penthouse.

As your husband, he should feel a teensy bit bad about cursing you off, but he had never been the one to chew on an emotion that did not serve him, so he quickly let that guilt go. This whole thing was your fault, anyway. Purposely poking around in his business, and then letting him have his way with you despite how obviously little he could care. As far as he can tell, he left you huddled up in an adorable little ball on the floor, sulking and crying over how badly you fucked up.

Pathetic.

That should teach you a lesson.

Perhaps Naoya would like to see a little backbone in you, but if that meant you may grow even more testy when around him, then he would rather not.

With his tongue running over his lower lip, he placed his glass atop the oak table again. “About my schedule,” he began, “no, my wife doesn’t have to do with anything.”

“Good!” Mari huffed with finality, his answer giving her the green light to crawl across the mattress and push the covers off Naoya. She straddled him perfectly, allowing his latest load to trickle out slowly from her cunt and onto his thighs. “That’s what I thought, that you two were over had your marriage certificate not existed. Besides, what was that you had texted me?” she continued as if she wasn’t pressing her slicked pussy against his semi-hard cock. “That your wife had been cheating on you for who knows how long.”

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Disgusting,” the older woman spat, rolling her eyes at your audacity. “So, she’s a spoiled brat and a two-timer. For someone from her noble background, your wife is one dumb and cheap whore.”

Quite an ironic statement given who was talking, but Naoya kept his mouth shut at the thought. Rather, his hands kneaded his mistress’s fat butt, which at least helped him keep his mind away from things he didn’t want to think about.

“Yeah, she sure is a slut,” he agreed.

Naoya sent a convincing smile in between his words, and he could practically see Mari’s face light up from his validation.

“See! Exactly!” she exclaimed. “That bitch never lived a hard day in her life and is already blessed with everything the world can possibly give her—wealth, respect, a good last name. Yet, she dares to act like she has nothing?!” Enraged, she threw her hands into the air from frustration. “Might as well just leave someone as entitled as her! Filing a divorce is simpler than you think, speaking from my own experience. Once the whole world understands that she’s a nobody unmatched by you, everyone would support your decision, right?” Wrong. His father surely would not. But to satiate his own curiosity, he let her continue. “Not to mention, baby, people would respect you more as a businessman without your current wife.” Wrong again.

His hands might be tracing another woman’s curves, but Naoya understood that he needed you if he hoped to ascertain his ascendancy in the company. That was why his father, with his life’s many decades, easily recognized this necessary union and had pressed for this marital arrangement.

To the Zenin family, you were the perfect addition.

Descending from a line of honorable financiers, you not only had the right connections to the upper echelon since birth but also were the daughter of the Zenin Corporation’s Chief Operating Officer. Yet, most importantly, you were incredibly elegant, classy, and admired, exactly the person people would want to be associated with if they wanted to clear their public images and tarnished pasts…and exactly the impeccable character that Naoya needed by his side.

His marriage to you served him as not a bond forged upon mutual love, but rather a calculated decision to leverage your virtuosity as a cloak—or moreso, a distraction. With the public adoring you, Naoya could confidently hide his lack of competence and credentials behind your flawless paragon. Goddamnit. He fucking hated how he relied on you more than you depended on him (albeit you might not realize this), but until his father kicked the bucket, what could Naoya realistically do?

Therefore, dissolving this shrewd alliance between him and you would be detrimental not only to two distinguished bloodlines but also to Naoya in particular.

He already skirted around being shown out the door once.

Given Naobito's recent stringency, there was no room for Naoya to make another mistake again.

But rather than dealing with an upset Mari if he chose to reveal these facts, Naoya instead patted her head with encouragement and brushed her brown locks. “That’s my smart girl,” he praised, tilting his head forward to express his agreement.

Flustered at the commendation, she went on without much thought. “I’m so glad you agree with me, baby. That’s just…That is a thought that has been on my mind for a while, but,” and she paused briefly to formulate her next words carefully, “I mean, I only want the best for you. Naturally. So, maybe there are better people to spend your money on and life with.”

Now, Naoya would admit that he can be shortsighted at points, but he was not that stupid to realize that she was alluding to herself.

“I appreciate you for thinking about me,” he still said, because he must stay on her good side if he hoped for a comprehensive answer to his following question, “By the way, do you know any new rumors going around about Toji?”

The said man’s ex-wife perked up visibly at the question. Even though she was busy plotting your downfall a moment ago, the mention of Toji inveigled her such that she would push all her other thoughts aside.

Although Mari had presented divorce papers to her then-husband earlier this year, Naoya continued to allow—in fact, encouraged—Mari to still visit Toji on the occasion. He didn't give two hoots that his mistress was getting railed by his cousin if that meant that she came back with fresh dirt about him, allowing Naoya to indulge in his custom-tailored version of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.

“I had an appointment with him yesterday." Using her fingers, Mari combed through her dark strands. “Crazy that you used to work with him and his stupid little entourage, right?"

“That is crazy.” Had he not been reminded, Naoya would have nearly forgotten that he used to work as a sex therapist too up until earlier this year. In that office was where he befriended the then-Mari Fushiguro, although he had known her years prior as an in-law. Naoya only terminated his position after his father finally decided to hand his only son (rather than his nephew) the CEO and heir apparent titles. “To think that now I oversee a large conglomerate,” he stated proudly, “so unlike everyone else, I have matured and am off to better things.”

"Funny for you to say that,” the woman resumed, now twirling her hair out of habit. “Do you remember your office in the middle of their hallway? Only recently did I realize someone scratched out your name from the door’s plaque. Don’t even know who did that.”

What pettiness.

What was this?

Middle school?

Were the other therapists that butt hurt when Naoya turned against them to propel himself toward his well-deserved future as the Zenin Corporation’s heir? “Choso probably did that. He is the type to hold grudges and act upon them.”

Even if he has to kill, Naoya mentally added from what he recalled about his former co-worker but preferred to keep that morbid possibility to himself.

“That makes sense. I never liked Choso anyway. He will talk shit about you to your face,” Mari declared, which launched her into a soliloquy about her grievances regarding the other therapists that Naoya used to work with. “Meanwhile, Geto smiles too much. Creeps me out.” Agreed. “Sukuna is overly cocky.” True. “Then, Toji,” and this is the part that Naoya really wanted to hear about, “has been distancing himself from me these days.”

Why, this was not the news that Naoya hoped for.

Rather than soaking in joy from hearing about Toji’s demise, Naoya instead felt his stomach drop from a sinking dread.

While he found some sick gratification in pleasing his cousin's past partner both emotionally and sexually, the more important reason he needed this MILF in his life was to monitor his estranged cousin’s moves from afar.

She was merely the perfect spy.

What better source of intel was there in this world besides Toji’s former spouse, who simply walked up to Naoya and offered her espionage services the day she learned that her then-husband was no longer set to inherit the Zenin thone? All that she asked in return was a little money and a little physical attention, which was easy for Naoya to throw at her.

After rightfully (and he must place emphasis on that last word) taking back what he was entitled to, Naoya was positive that Toji had a target placed on his back. Therefore, Naoya needed Mari's updates on Toji and Co. to protect himself, to protect his position, and to protect the status quo that he had worked so hard for.

If Toji stopped talking to Mari completely, how else would Naoya keep his threats under watch?

“Do you have ideas on why Toji is giving you the cold shoulder?”

Pressing her bare chest to Naoya’s toned ones, Mari stopped briefly in contemplation but ultimately shrugged. “Do you think he’s getting suspicious? That he realized I left him for his younger cousin Naoya?”

“No,” the said man denied vehemently. “That cannot possibly be.”

Naoya had been extremely careful in keeping his extramarital relationship as discreet as possible. For example, the moment he learned about those photos of him and his mistress en route to Mexico, he immediately called every publisher to have them take the pictures down, no matter the monetary cost.

He made sure to leave no crumbs along his trail and refused to believe in the contrary. “Any other reasons you can think of?”

With Naoya not reciprocating her libido, Mari started to appear visibly annoyed. “Maybe he’s moved on," she suggested, answers curt. "Maybe he'd found another person.”

If Naoya thought the first hypothesis was alarming enough, this second explanation definitely took the cake.

At least, if Toji had truly gotten suspicious about Mari’s affiliation with the current Zenin successor, Naoya somewhat had some control over that situation. Divert the paparazzi. Create cover-up stories. Bribe more publishers. Find each and every way possible to take the spotlight off him and his secret affair.

On the other hand, there was not much Naoya could do if Toji no longer found interest in his ex-wife.

Huh.

Well, that wasn't quite good.

How could Naoya play his next move?

Or had Toji been playing him all along?

Strategize.

Naoya needed to strategize. C'mon, he was the fucking CEO of the fucking Zenin Corporation. He had done strategizing plenty of times before, so why was his mind suddenly going blank on what to do next?

“Who has Toji taken interest in?” Naoya found himself asking, desperate for information.

“Beats me.” Mari guided his hands to trace her curves, cupping her breasts with Naoya's palms to urge him to massage the rounded mounds. “Although, think about this: she cannot merely be anybody,” and she released her grip around his wrists to start counting with her fingers, “One, she has to be well-off. Therapy ain't cheap. Two, she is stuck in a bad relationship. And three, she is also stuck with bad sex.”

What a good approach to the situation, narrowing down the potential suspects and investigating from there!

Who knew some women had the smarts in them to devise such detailed commentary? That was what Naoya loved about mature and more experienced psyches in ladies like her.

Now, her brilliant analysis reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t exactly place his finger on who.

Whatever, because with this turnaround in the mystery, Naoya decided he would figure this out soon enough.

Triumph was right within his reach.

It was only a matter of time until his aging father Naobito, the one person who had the final say in all company and familial matters, solidified his Last Will and Testament to ensure his wonderful only son Naoya would be the successor to the multibillion family-run conglomerate, condemning Toji Fushiguro to be dwarfed by his little cousin forever.

But first, he must treat his paramour to a much-deserved reward that would render her limping in the morning.

With all the moving parts falling into place, Naoya burst into a wicked cackle by her left tit, leaving Mari staring back at him with a confused frown.

"What's so funny?" she demanded to know.

“Don’t worry about it,” Naoya assured between snickers, leading his mistress forward by gently pulling her waist toward him. He attached his mouth to the nipple, flicking the bud with his tongue as he added, “What you should worry about, though, is how you will walk when you wake up after how sore I’m going to make you.”

The cheesy comment made Mari laugh as she batted her long lashes. She saw where this was going, and her large chocolate-colored eyes sparkled with an excited twinkle as she met his hazel ones, her thin lips stretching into a Cheshire Cat grin from delight.

"Baby," she cooed, "the dirty things you say to me make me forget that you have a wife at home sometimes."

Something about her remark made Naoya chuckle even more heartily as his mind meandered back to his nearly forgotten spouse: his wife.

His…wife.

Wait.

𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗧𝗪𝗢 𝗘𝗡𝗗

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: The end to Act Two: House of Cards! The very reason behind this act’s name is to reference the precarious web of disguise and deception in this story, only for this structure to topple like a domino chain. Thank you to all my lovely readers for reading, and although I recognize my writing is imperfect, I would love to hear your thoughts before the third and final arc!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

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mamawasatesttube · 5 months

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ok i put a longer post abt tim's Emotional State in drafts for when my brain is less melted but re: tim and going to college im just gonna get a lil silly with it. hear me out.

i have this whole vague story in my mind for tim's college days moonlighting as red robin as he tries and figures out what he wants out of life. (it's a while after rr leaves off and all because he's like. Super Depressed for a hot minute and then has to drag himself through actually bothering to get his GED and applying to college, etc., but eventually lucius is like hey. you're great with gadgets, and you clearly love tinkering. i'd hire you for r&d in a heartbeat but you need at the least a bachelor's of engineering. i know you have a lot of the technical skills, but you need a degree. so tim goes ugh fine i'll get a goddamn engineering degree how hard can it possibly be.)

anyways. i think it's a universal experience that if you go to college and you hang with the STEM crowd, you will unfortunately get to know at least one Fucking Guy. it's like brentwood arc; tim does make friends, but there is just this One Fucking Guy he cannot stand and will never stand. this Fucking Guy is in the common room playing his guitar at midnight. he's drunk and yelling and laughing really loud when people have exams coming up. he's convinced everyone adores him. there's also a detective/supernatural plot going on. the subplot is just that tim hates This Fucking Guy.

at some point, there's a story beat where he as red robin has to rescue That Fucking Guy from a real dicey situation, and That Fucking Guy is really shaken and grateful to him, and he's like okay. maybe. maybe we are making progress. but then the next time he encounters This Fucking Guy as tim drake, the guy is just like. "ohhhh hey drake you missed it last night, it was AWESOME!!! i had to save red robin from a KILLER ROBOT. he's pretty cool though i guess. i bet you wish you could be more like him huh??" and tim is just. I Will Not Grind My Teeth About This. I Will Not. his life is a fucking joke. he dismantles the toaster oven in the common room kitchen to cope. it's definitely to cope and not just so that That Fucking Guy won't be able to heat up his pop tarts in the morning.

at another point, This Fucking Guy looks at street mode, lowkey, unremarkable Normal Car-looking redbird and goes, aw, dude, i thought your dad is loaded?? he only got you a generic-ass sedan?? that sucks lol, if you want we can take my car down to the game instead. and tim is just Say One More Fucking Word About My Baby I Dare You I Fucking Dare You One More Fucking Word.

(also i like to toy with the idea of this being a university in metropolis - he's out of gotham, but not too far. keeps him from getting antsy about what if he's needed because he can get right back over there. and in the meantime, he can hang out with kon and kara a lot, and occasionally enable and be enabled by lois lane and her snooping habits. there's another subplot in which tim and lois get up to shenanigans. at least once.)

it's sort of an introspective thing of him trying to come to terms with the way he no longer wants a fully normal life the way he always used to assume he would - he has the option to walk away from the cape now, like he always thought he would one day, but he just can't give it up anymore. he's fallen into the same black hole he watched dick and bruce dive headlong into. it's also about him finding joy in tinkering and working with his hands and getting to spend more time as tim drake first and foremost. and it's about him venting to kon about That Fucking Guy while they have a lil picnic on the green while kon loses his absolute shit laughing. all against the backdrop of a little mystery or something. <3

OH and also, most importantly. zoanne wilkins is there and laughing at him for assuming college would be easy. and kon gets her into wendy the werewolf stalker. My City Now.

#rimi talks #rambles #tim #like.... do u see the vision. there are emotions underneath here #but right now i have a migraine so its silly time first and foremost. Tim Hates That Fucking Guy #we've all known a Fucking Guy right? im pretty sure its a universal experience.#the stories i could tell about the Fucking Guy i knew. man.

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cuubism · 2 years

Note

please please please more silly rabbit au? (eyes)

i... literally had to go write more because there was none XD

more... utter nonsense designed specifically to satisfy @magnusbae 😂

The Middle Ages had been getting… weird, lately.

Not the Middle Ages, the historical time period, though that was always reliably weirder than expected, in Daisy’s experience. No, what was truly weird nowadays, and getting weirder by the minute, was The Middle Ages, history and literature class taught by Professor Robert Gadling.

Daisy had heard a lot about Professor Gadling before enrolling in his class. She’d heard he took a common man’s approach to history, focusing at least as much, if not more, on the experiences of average people than on the movements of kings. She’d heard he’d read everything under the sun and was far better than Google if you needed a source for your paper. She’d heard he had a playful lecture style that the burned-out older students, in particular, appreciated.

She had not heard about the boyfriend.

This was, admittedly, a new development, at least according to the gossip mill. Which was feverish, as Prof. Gadling was both well-liked and mysterious, a deadly combo.

But now there was the boyfriend, and what a boyfriend.

If Daisy had been asked to picture what any boyfriend of Professor Gadling might be like, she would definitely not have pictured this pretty goth thing, this being with a preternatural elegance to him. Where did this guy even come from? He even managed to look elegant dressed down and comfy in jeans and a sweatshirt as he was.

The rumors said that he was way younger than the professor, but Daisy didn’t think so. There was something… unaccountably ancient about him, no matter how young he looked on the surface. An old soul, she supposed.

One who just happened to win the genetic lottery and age – or rather not age – like a god.

Morpheus, which was apparently what his name was – and that was a whole other trip – was reclining in one of the seats near the front of the lecture hall. Reclining, quite literally, as he had his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him, notebook balanced on his thighs.

And he was writing with a quill. A fucking quill.

Daisy would have thought he’d just be listening, not being a real student and all (she assumed and also hoped), but he seemed to be taking proper notes, unreadable, swooping cursive notes though they were.

He was also doodling birds in the margins of the page.

Daisy should really stop staring. She forced her gaze back to the front of the room.

Professor Gadling was in the midst of explaining the historical background of the text they were reading, The Book of Margery Kempe. It was a fascinating book, actually. If only Daisy didn’t keep getting distracted by whatever strange competitive game it seemed to be inspiring in her weird professor and his weird boyfriend.

The first time Morpheus had interrupted the lecture with a comment, Prof. Gadling had straight up ignored him, just steamrolled over him, waited until he raised his hand, and then called on him. Morpheus had not seemed embarrassed or chastised about this in the slightest, just blithely asked, “Professor, are we certain that Margery’s visitation from Jesus was a psychotic break, or could it have possibly been a dream?”

Professor Gadling had sighed, hands on his hips. “I think you’re going to have to answer that one for yourself, Morpheus. Also, we haven’t even gotten to that part of the text!”

“I read ahead.”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure that you did.”

This sort of thing had continued apace for the rest of the lecture.

Then there had been the eye-fucking. Dear God, the eye-fucking. Every time Morpheus made a snarky comment. Daisy wondered if they knew how obvious they were being.

Daisy had to give the prof credit, though. Despite all the antics he never skipped a beat in his lecture. Didn’t miss a goddamn bullet point.

Daisy really hadn’t thought university would be like this, though.

Now it seemed they were again having an argument over the book.

“It’s said that Margery’s tale is the only surviving firsthand account of an ordinary person’s life in the late thirteen-hundreds,” Prof. Gadling was saying, when Morpheus interrupted, very much in a drawl—

“Oh, but I don’t think that’s quite true.”

Prof. Gadling raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

Morpheus smiled, very snake-like. “Quite.”

“Care to share with the class, Morpheus?”

Morpheus leaned further back in his chair, arms crossed. “I think you know whereof I speak.”

“Oh, I see.” Prof. Gadling’s smile was pleasant. Too pleasant. “You’re talking about that one lost manuscript. Very much lost and not accessible.”

“If that is how you wish to interpret my words.”

“That’s how I wish to interpret it, you git. Stop interrupting the class.”

“I’m simply engaging with the material,” Morpheus protested, pouting. “I believed this was a modern classroom.”

“You can engage with the material later,” Prof. Gadling said, with a significant look, which brought a smirk back to Morpheus’s face.

Oh God, back to the eye-fucking. Daisy did not need this. Right in front of her lecture notes and everything.

“Right,” said Prof. Gadling, forcibly dragging himself back to the classroom and the present. He pointed at Morpheus. “You, quiet. Does anyone else have questions or comments?”

Based on that one class, Daisy might have assumed they had a sort of contentious and snarky relationship. But at the end of the lecture, she caught something different.

She’d lingered behind to ask Professor Gadling a question about the assignment – though she was starting to think that question was better left for office hours later.

As the students were filing out, Morpheus climbed down from his lounging position in his seat, picking his way down the steps until he was standing by Prof. Gadling at the board. Daisy hadn’t noticed before that his notebook had ravens on the cover; why was that so cute?

Prof. Gadling ran a hand through Morpheus’s hair, then let it fall to rest on the side of his neck, softer than Daisy would have expected after their snappy conversation from earlier. “Going to have to ban you from sitting in on lectures, love.”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow. “You would dare?”

“I would dare.” There was something soft about the way he said it, though. Like he was daring to steal a kiss rather than kicking him out of the lecture hall.

Morpheus tipped his head back, looking at Professor Gadling from under his eyelashes. “What if I promise to behave myself?”

Prof. Gadling played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You can’t be giving away all my secrets.”

“Never,” murmured Morpheus, his free hand finding Prof. Gadling’s jacket. “Though it has occurred to me that your students are missing out on some unique historical knowledge.”

Prof. Gadling sighed. “Can’t do much about that. Such is life.”

“Full of frustration?”

“Full of give and take,” Professor Gadling corrected. “Most blessings require a sacrifice of some kind, too, you know.”

“Oh?” said Morpheus. “And which am I?”

Professor Gadling smiled, fond. “Which do you think?”

Morpheus gave him a look that was sly, mischievous. “Nightmare.”

“Oh, too right.”

Prof. Gadling pulled him into a kiss, tilting his head into it with a hand on his jaw, and Morpheus dropped his notebook to bring his hands up to Prof. Gadling’s shoulders.

Daisy realized she was staring again, and slunk out of the classroom before she could be caught.

Yeah. She’d definitely just be waiting until office hours.

#this random student oc is having quite a day #the utter nonsense and silliness that is this au god #ask #anonymous #silly rabbit au #my writing #i think the thesis of this au is actually just Let Dream Have Fun 2kForever altho the version of 'fun' going on here is... interesting #long post

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dev1lm4n · 11 months

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Hi honey,

I was wondering a fic of Dbf! Joel x plus size! female reader, where she's dressed in a playboy bunny costume. Home alone, maybe intruder joel? 🥵 love your blog!!

hi! i only write short snippets for these requests, hope that's okay! thank you so much for filling my inbox ^^ this includes underlying body issues as well since i experience it a lot as well as a plus size girl :(

nsfw under mdni!

You’ve always known that you don’t exactly have the luckiest of luck. The universe was constantly on your tail, watching your every move, waiting for you to create a gap where they could slide misfortune and tragedy in. But you’ve managed well, dealt with it each time with a strong look on your face. This time was different, because you couldn’t even look your source of problem in the eye right now. Not when you just had your father’s best friend walk in, bowl of fruit on his hand and innocent brown eyes, on you dressed like a goddamn stripper.

“Mr. Miller, I don’t- my.. my tummy looks weird in this position.”

You’re sure he’s going to flee, going to talk about it with his drinking buddies about how disgusting your back looks in the skimpy outfit. The thing is.. you’ve never felt confident in your own skin. It’s hard to visualize yourself as a sexual being when your type of body is constantly shamed, only the nicer parts glorified. But he didn’t. Mr. Miller didn’t do any of the things you predicted and instead just sheepishly asked what you were doing, wondering if he could help.

“No it doesn’t, bun,” Mr. Miller muttered gruffly from behind you. His calloused finger running from your collarbone, down your rounded breasts (not forgetting to tweak each nipple to spite your reaction), on to where you’re most insecure of. He didn’t care one bit, just continued his little trip onto your throbbing slit. He pulled the skimpy line of your adorable bunny cosplay out of its place, chuckling softly onto the skin of your back. “You look pretty.”

“Gonna let me help you out, bun?” he gently fixed your lopsided bunny ears. “I don’t wanna hear you talk crap about this body.”

You could only manage a curt nod and his fingers lowered once more, brushing against that one bundle of nerves. You squeaked an embarrassing tone. He’s kind enough to soothe the sudden stimulation by repeating the motion. Small circle down the hood of your clit. It’s the first time you’ve ever had a man do something right for once and to your shame, it’s Mr. Miller. It’s the man who’s seen you through your awkward early twenties, the man who’s seen you drenched in salt water after a fishing trip - he knew your ins and outs way more than you’d like.

“‘m gonna treat my little bunny properly t’day,” he hummed as he slipped a single finger in, quickly assuming a come-here position. “Gonna make her see what I see.”

#ann's reply #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #tlou

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bpdjennamaroney · 1 year

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Why are you okay with adults writing about minors’ sexual and romantic lives?

What a strange question. I can't believe I'm going to dignify this with a response, but here I go.

First off, when you say "minors' sexual and romantic lives," I'm assuming you're not referring to smut, which I'm not OK with. I assume you're referring to what most "romantic lives" look like in mainstream YA lit, which is...chaste and sexless dating. If, for some reason, you think that YA lit is graphic, that's what I would call a "you" problem and you might--instead of asking strangers on the internet how they dare permit adults to write about...life?--you might want to do some inward searching and investigate why you think it's *not* OK.

I also want to say that I generally don't read YA lit. I revisited The Hunger Games a couple weeks ago but that was an anomaly. So I'm not fighting for my right to read novelizations of Steven Universe or whatever the fuck.

That aside, here's my answer:

Adults are generally better writers? They're better writers and they often know more about life and they can craft better books than a 12-year-old can?

And I think young adults deserve to read things that are good, and to learn from people who aren't also, like, 12?

You might suggest that adults write YA lit without romance, but it's a job, and it's an industry, and most people, especially kids, demand romantic plots or subplots in their entertainment. I've never been interested in sex or romance, and in fact I've always been one of those people who wanted one goddamn thing without a romantic relationship in it, but unfortunately, it's important to most people. People, esp. kids, want to know how to navigate relationships, or they want to see themselves reflected in what they read or watch, or whatever. Writers, even when they're ancient 27-year-olds, might also want to explore their own experiences through their work.

So again, I implore you to explore why you think it's not OK.

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redheadbigshoes · 1 year

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omg YES, "straight feminine girls who are dating" is EXACTLY what i was thinking about when writing that ask but didnt add cus i couldnt think of how to word it, that is LITERALLY what its so often like and its like pulling teeth to watch 😭

im also the only femme lesbian i know irl and whilst i am femme4butch, its really depressing for me because i so desperately wish to surround myself with other femme lesbians :( like it really goes to show. being in femme online spaces for a second you can see that vented struggle of femme4femmes and i get so goddamn frustrated when people who obviously have no care or clue about femmes decide that femme4femmes & femmes in gen are actually a super represented, privileged, and overabundant community because of being fetishised and tokenized out of our control. like in what universe are these people living in.

Whenever I think about the “femme rep” that is straight feminine girls that are dating I always remember of Cheryl and Tony from Riverdale 😂 I don’t think there’s any better example than that.

I really get you! I really want to meet other femme lesbians in real life, even if it’s only to be friends with them so we could share more our experiences. Especially considering from what I’ve seen, femmes usually take longer to figure out their identity and seem to be the ones who most struggle with comphet. My 2 lesbian friends (both butches) have always known they’re lesbians and I can’t really relate to that, sometimes it feels like I’m not a real lesbian or lesbian enough because I spent a long time thinking I liked men and people around me were so used by thinking I was attracted to men that I feel like sometimes they don’t believe I’m actually a lesbian.

It’s very sad how other queers almost treats us like we’re less queer because they think being fetishized is being more accepted and that being feminine (as a woman-aligned person) means we don’t suffer since people assume we’re straight.

We try to create our own online safe spaces since it’s hard to find each other irl and people don’t even respect that.

#stephanie answers #anon #long post

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wildechild3 · 2 years

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Maurice - Chapter 3

Warning: Maurice Spoilers (mostly for the book)

Named Characters Description:

Maurice- older now (exact age not given but we can assume this chapter takes place from the time he’s 15 until 18 before heading to Cambridge)

Characters side note:

-There are several boys mentioned throughout this chapter, none are given a name but I still would like to make note of them as they are important for this phase of Maurice’s life.

-The adored: boys that Maurice basically had a crush on but he didn’t know what it meant

-The admirers: the boys that had a crush on Maurice but he shunted off as soon as he picked up on it

-The one boy: one boy who Maurice had a crush on that also had a crush on him (further discussion about intense friendships that are basically relationships that end in that weird ‘totally not a relationship break-up but a friendship no-homo break-up’ that seems to be a universal queer experience. (He’s just like me fr fr)

Points of Note:

Maurice is plain. Again. Forster doesn’t give this man a break for even a second. Maurice is the boyest boy to ever boy and Forster wants us to remember that lol.

Puberty hits Maurice like a goddamn train. It’s made clear that Maurice has always been attracted to men. Clive wasn’t the one who made him realize he was attracted to men, it was always there Maurice just tried really hard to ignore it.

Maurice is clumsy! He’s a very clumsy boy! Lowkey, he’s kinda your average YA protagonist, clumsy plain boy who never stands out until…

Summary:

This chapter is only four pages long and is more so about how Maurice’s sexuality changes as he hits puberty. In school, he’s not very noticeable. In Forster’s own words,

“If people noticed him they liked him, for he had a bright friendly face and responded to attention; but there were so many boys of his type- they formed the backbone of the school and we cannot notice each vertebra.” (Pg 21)

Maurice is a very stick with the crowd person. He was bullied as a new student, and so he bullied new students. This is part of why he never sticks out amongst the other boys in his school.

This chapter also brings up Maurice’s dreams. One is your typical teenage boy wet dream (starring George the garden boy) and the other is the dream of his “friend” which is pretty blatant symbolism for later.

In the dream about George, George is naked jumping over the wood stacks. Unfortunately for Maurice, every time he thinks he’s about to see all of George, the dream ends and Maurice wakes up very disappointed. He also feels like these dreams are a punishment for something he doesn’t have the words to describe just yet.

In the second dream, Maurice sees a face with a voice that says,

“This is your friend,” … (Pg. 22)

Maurice thinks it might be Jesus at first. Then he figures it’s not anybody he knows, and leaves it up to being a dream and decides to not put much thought into figuring it out. Maurice is confirmed and has horny thoughts when receiving Holy Communion (understandable, I too think religious aesthetic can be oh so sexy) which doesn’t help the guilt-complex he’s developing.

There’s also the implication that the year before Maurice went to Sunnington, a student was caught doing something elicit (probably queer) and was ousted from the school. This results in all of the boys being overly policed.

As he gets further along in school, Maurice develops what we would recognize as ‘crushes’ on other boys.

“As he rose in the school he began to make a religion of some other boy.” (Pg. 24)

These boys would often “shake him off”, and like we see earlier in the chapter, Maurice does the same to the boys who seem to have a crush on him. There was one exception however.

“The adoration was mutual on one occasion, both yearning for they knew not what, but the result was the same. They quarreled in a few days. All that came out of the chaos were the two feelings of beauty and tenderness that he had first felt in a dream. They grew yearly, flourishing like plants that are all leaves and show no sign of flower. Towards the close of his education at Sunnington the growth stopped. A check, a silence, fell upon complex processes, and very timidly the youth began to look around him.” (Pg. 24)

River’s Notes:

So a few quick notes-

It’s not explicitly stated which church Maurice belongs to (yet), but Forster belongs to The Church of England so I’m going to guess that Maurice does as well. I also don’t know how they do communion in that church (I was raised Southern Baptist so we just passed around crackers and grape juice). During this scene I imagined that they do the whole kneeling before the priest as he puts the bread in their mouths, which explains the immediate sexual thoughts Maurice has (not judging. Completely understandable.)

The fact that the ‘super intense friendship which is definitely a no-homo relationship’ trope has been going for so long is so…comforting? Like I went through this when I was a young teenager. I was Maurice not knowing what the fuck to do with how I felt about the other girls around me. I too had an extremely homo-no-homo relationship that ended in fights and not knowing what the fuck was going on between us. I too felt like I only knew half of what was going on with me, the other half hidden behind hushed words that I wasn’t allowed to hear. Maurice is an asshole, but he’s just like me for real for real.

#maurice 1914 #maurice 1987 #maurice hall #River Reviews #em forster

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mcalhenwrites · 1 year

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Going to ramble a bit about writing.

I'm trying to type up this big document that explains what all my stories are and tells everyone a little bit about them. It's to prevent major confusion/be used as a reference of sorts. I have so many novels. Some are finished, others are not. Some of these stories are about fifteen years in the making. (Some elements of Seasons are from that far back.) Stories like Rascal and Seasons are deemed too self-indulgent (and Rascal is too smutty) to be published, so I'm always going to leave them on AO3 for free. Others, like Geckos and my dragon universe stories and my asexual Incubus series are all books I'd like to see published. Even if it's just self-published. :') (I should probably include this info on the doc...) I'm not always sure it's worth trying to tradpub, not only bc that's a mess, but I'm self-indulgent, and looking at my brand... I'm a spanko. I'm either writing adult spanking (mostly consensual, but sometimes not) or stories that involve children being abused (which includes spanking)... and the two often overlap. Case in point with Rascal: Hazel's into getting spanked, but the interest stems from a childhood, and yet when his father feels he should have had a firmer hand with Hazel, Hazel's freaked out. To him, that's the equivalent of hearing: "I should have sexually violated you more as a child." Which is what I heard too, but what writer doesn't project? And goddamn if I don't feel unpopular for my stances in society... My stories probably get a bit preachy. (Seasons does, I get it, I'm not exactly sorry about that.) I know the reason why I couldn't find many traditionally published books that connected to me as a young spanko. I know why I still struggle to find them in the market. And that's the same reason I fear I don't stand much of a chance outside of self-publishing, and even then, I'm not sure how well I'll do. I'm sure people who don't know shit about spanking as a kink will assume 50 Shades has us covered, but in my experience, most spankos hate that book. Either for its unhealthy portrayals or the bad writing. Which... I borrowed the first book, read it, and still walked away knowing it was an unhealthy portrayal. It didn't warp my perspective. People should fucking read up on BDSM references and nonfictional accounts before practicing. The end. But fiction is fiction. As for the writing quality, I completely get that it's awful and the characters are uninteresting/rely on stereotypes, but I suspect this was her first fanfic, and we always talk about people never being too old to start hobbies. You're bad at them when you start! I wrote like that at twelve, but I started writing stories at seven. So by the time I reach my forties, I'll have plenty of practice under my belt. Not to say I enjoyed it, bc I def did not. But I don't think it works as the "be all, end all" of spanking stories, and it hardly even appealed to spankos. We usually have to find each others' stories online, and then it's a nice little minesweep of "will this fic be from someone who is a creep endorsing abusive spanking or someone who understands fiction should stay in fiction?" game that can be... somewhat traumatic at times to deal with. And personally, I'm really hurting even then to find stories where the characters take from childhood trauma and bring that into consensual adult realtionships... Anyway, here's a picture of my dog to make everything better, since this got a wee bit heavy? He's doing all right for a guy whose tail has a nasty hot spot on it right now, but he's being good and only needs the cone when he's not under survelliance (nighttime or home alone).

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natty-tuning-in · 11 months

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Hoh boy. I don't know how to tag this one man.

Side note: Tavin is (ethnically) Korean. that's why ppl are confused at his accent. this is written from his point of view and is how he feels about himself, I don't think these things abt him or anyone who is like him!! he just hates himself a LOT and this is that internal monolog almost.

Side side note I have AUs of my own OCs 💀💀 this is the main universe, canon if u will. I should start tagging AUs... the "virgin boy never came once" Alex agenda is fun but the main universe Alex isn't like that.

tw; dehumanization, hypersexuality, implied sexual assault, serious self hatred, slut-shaming, person being referred to as a thing, severe depression, he's known as the local slut that anyone can pull basically. also I use Italics WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH because it sounds good in my voice in my head, so just strain those words in your head kinda. lmk if I should tw for anything else cus I'm running on 2 hours of sleep rn

Tavin could barely even meet the man's eyes.

He knew that people fell in love with each other, and he knew that it happened for most people. But not for him. How could it? People with worth fell in love with other worthy people. From all he'd gathered, he wasn't considered worthy. Not in the slightest.

He didn't consider himself worthy, other people didn't consider him worthy. It wasn't hard to gather that he was pretty much supposed to be in bad relationships, or on his own. At least, that's what he assumed. Anyone with even an ounce of self respect didn't dare look at him with anything other than lust. He wasn't ever meant to be anything more than a casual one night thing, or maybe a little experiment for another guy to figure out his sexuality. And that was fine. He'd gotten used to it. He'd more than gotten used to it, he had just fully accepted it. This was how it should be, and him trying to actually bond with someone was just utterly embarrassing on his part.

Everyone saw it as desperation, everyone saw it as off putting. He couldn't switch up now, he was known. Once a whore, always a whore. It was his own damn fault and he accepted it. He tried his hardest to stifle all these ridiculous, absurd fantasies of his, ones where someone would tell him 'I love you', someone other than a half-stranger on top of him with a brain full of oxytocin and eyes completely lacking any genuine emotion besides lust.

He was getting tired. He was getting tired of waking up in a strange bed. He was tired of not being able to look anyone on top of him in the eye. He was tired of people dragging their nails across the areas that he hated being touched in. He was tired of every single touch leaving a bruise, a not so gentle reminder that everyone only saw him as an object and that it'd fucking stay that way and it was his own fault. He has no one else to blame but himself.

And what was worse was he couldn't tell if it would be better to quit or not. He was starved of everything a person could be starved of. The way these people touched him was cold and selfish, and he absolutely hated it, but it was still touch. And he couldn't even fucking tell if it was worse having to go without that. Touch he hated was better than nothing, especially if that was the only relationship, if it could be called that, that he could get. He couldn't decide if waking up in a stranger's bed was worse than waking up in his own. His own bed, where he'd lay for hours upon hours, rotting in his own stinking cesspit of a mind, staring at his ceiling and feeling so goddamn helpless and stuck.

This couldn't change, and he didn't know if he wanted to throw all of it away. It was his only distraction from his wretched imagination. It was like gasoline to the pain of his mind, sure. But more importantly was it cancelled itself out. One more body in his count, one more face to haunt him. One more night he was running from his thoughts. A price he was willing to pay, apparently. It was like a drug.

He was confusing to look at and that's why people were attracted to him like flies. Trying to figure out what was wrong with him, he assumed. Why are your eyes different colors? You look so young. You're so tall! You're so skinny! And his absolute least favorite: why do you sound like that? Do you have a speech impediment? You don't look Russian. He was Russian. And maybe people would know that Russian isn't a fucking look, that you dont look Russian. They'd know if they actually cared enough to get to know him. God, how long had it been since he'd had a personal conversation?

And then this guy came in.

This. Fucking. Guy.

Puppy dog eyes, auburn hair and a real zest for life. Happy all the damn time, equal parts innocent and flirty, and the most adorable combination of facial features Tavin had ever seen. And his nose, god, Tavin felt so pathetic for fawning over a damn facial feature. But it was adorable. It was slightly downturned and it complimented his downturned eyes perfectly and gave him the most gorgeous and bright smile. He was a human sunshine.

And it made Tavin sick.

He was a literal slut. People didn't even have to try anymore. All it took was for someone to look into his tired, tired eyes, swallowed by puffy dark skin, and nod to the exit. And people knew that. He'd gotten so pathetic that people knew they could get him for a night if they made eye contact. Sometimes he wondered how they could do it. He couldn't bring himself to say no. He was too tired, too self hating to ever do it. He wondered how these people could knowingly take advantage of him. And then he'd shut the thoughts up by telling himself that it didn't matter. It's what he deserved, right? He could just say no. He wasn't worth anything and he was lucky people still had the guts to touch him, right?

And here was this fella, with a good career, a good family… a good everything. He was perfect. He was happy, relatively rich, basically a virgin next to Tavin, too, and had the most adorable cat named Pumpkin. He wasn't even in Tavin's 'Worth' system. He was just… priceless. He was perfect. He deserved the absolute best. And that wasn't Tavin.

So why on earth did he insist on talking to him? Tavin couldn't understand why this man would even dare associate with some thing like him. It drove him up the wall that this guy seemed to care. He didn't know how to break it to him that he didn't deserve care. At first he was fine with their arrangement. Started as a hook up, which immediately told Tavin he was different because of how he acted.

None of his touches bruised, none of his words hurt, he left no marks on Tavin at all. And he had listened. Tavin had all but given up telling, begging, people to not touch these specific places. And they usually would because they didn't care. But this guy didn't do that. He listened. And he communicated, and the second he left Tavin's apartment, Tavin was on the floor bawling. Because he liked it. And that, of all things, made him sick to his stomach with guilt and shame. Because he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve it at all. And he felt like a pig for indulging in this affection that he felt he never should have been afforded.

And just as he was about to throw up from how disgusting he felt, he got a text. A text from that very guy that said he'd just love to meet up. In a normal context. A friendly setting. To talk and get to know each other with absolutely no sexual intentions.

A date..?

And against all his mind's screaming, he accepted. And he got to know this guy a little More.

His name was Alex, he used to be a psychologist but then he transitioned to neurology. He had two doctorates. He was fucking smart. His father was Irish, and Tavin could pick up on the Irish in his accent. It was mostly a basic jersey accent, though. He doesn't really particularly enjoy meeting new people in a romantic context. Tavin gathered he wasn't a big fan of hook ups, either. Said he'd had like, what, three max?

So why on earth did Tavin catch his eye?

Tavin eventually broke and asked him, and Alex looked at him with those damn puppy eyes, brimming with tears of concern. And he confused Tavin even further, saying he didn't see Tavin like that, that he didn't care what others thought. How could he? People must hold these opinions for a reason, right? If everyone looked down on him then there must be a reason, right?

#angst #hypersexual character #writblr #writerscommunity #writeblr #uhhhhh #touch starved #love starved #abused character #more to come #depressing shit #queer angst #mlm #sex mentioned a lot #gentle alex #tavin #gay

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lostjulys · 2 years

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Opinions on superhero and space aus?

WELL. it depends. since my major beef w/ a lot of aus is specifically that most of the time. characters & relationships & dynamics r fundamentally intertwined w/ & informed by the original context. and by taking them out of that framework u lose that contextualization. so unless u do that good & take into account the difference in setting altering characters & everything else. i will not like it.

.... anyway in theory i fucking love superhero aus. i love cape shit. so much potential so many fun interesting dynamics and tropes and archetypes to use and subvert and play around with. SO many interesting possibilities for manifestation of personality or selfhood in relation to power. in practice i fucking HAAATE cape aus!!!! bcos they BARELY EVER!!!! play with the fun stuff!! pisses me off!! maybe this is just because i have very high standards but. !!! >:((( !!!!

like. well i'm gonna assume yr part of mcytblr & use for example the fucking myriad of superhero/vigilante/villain aus that just appeared like toadstools overnight. (there r only two of those fics i like, youre gonna go far kid by greyquills & corpseart's one, but that's less cos of any excitingly interesting premise and more because they're both genuinely excellent writers who know how to make the conventions work.)

they are. all the same. the sbi dynamic is Always the same as in canon despite the fact that it is an Entirely different context. there's never any real backstory other than like, 'he raised them/found them on the street/took them in!' . tommy is Always on the other side. their cape names are always like, really fucking boring, btw. just saying. like. just abysmally boring. so yeahg if u hand me a superhero au i will probably look very pained and unwillingly accept it then stealthily dispose of it. but in theory???? hell yes hell yes. liek. love-hate relationship. one day i'm gonna write a cape au simply because of my dissatisfaction with the genre.

space aus........ HELL yes.never met a bad space au and have in fact met several VERY good ones. SO much capacity for delightful things such as angst and horror and tasty worldbuilding which are all things i adore <3333 i am probably skewed btw because i've read your words destroyed my planet by unda which is.... by far and away my favorite piece of fancontent like. Ever, and i've got a mountain of thoughts on the universe they've created in that fic & the way they go about it, so, idk. biased. (wow that fic's almost at a million words. goddamn) also in my experience. writers who make space aus are usually like. either into Good media or good at what they do. i trust the star trek/star wars/sci-fi podcast enjoyers with my LIFE when it comes 2 well written fic.) okay yeahg this is a long enough post. thank u anony i appreciated the opportunity 2 perorate. <3333

#asks :)#as i've said. read worm before i got into other cape shit and it really did fuck me over cos now i've got impossibly high standardsfor it.#FKSDFKGFDKKFFF

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jessielefey · 2 years

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I know I sound like bad fanfic, and I hate it. It's why I don't talk anymore, it's weird and nobody gets it. It's repetitive but always the first time. I hit the same marks again and again, like I never thought of it before. A sisyphean epiphany.

I don't know how many of these I just threw in drafts instead, to avoid redundancy.

There's a traitor in my head.

When the internet was smaller, I ended up in a whole community of People That Sounded Like Me, and it was nice to know it wasn't just me? But now it just feels tropey. It feels even more artificial, somehow, even though it's just literally how I think.

Even in my own head I snarl at at my own pretentiousness, like who are you showing off for? There's nobody here but me, and I'm not impressed anymore.

But on the other hand, like, it sounds metaphorical but it's not? It's all very literal descriptions of my experiences. The tinted blue-black velvet, the old phonograph that plays the music I dance to, the glass between my bleeding toes, the world inside my head and a whole universe away from my body.

But that's stupid too what the fuck.

I had a panic attack walking around the yard today. I don't know what year it is, I don't understand time. I can't remember shit when I want to, but when I do remember... it's not. It's just Then. Everything is cluttered up with Thens, there's no room for Now anymore, there's been no Now for ten years... just a nightmare I can't wake up from... and Then. Everything either doesn't exist, is an impartial text recap, or is a goddamned flashback, good and bad.

Over there on the lawn is where Poohbear told me he liked boys for the first time, while we sat out all night looking at the stars because that was better than either of our homes, and I don't remember shit we're just... still there, and I'm eighteen forever thinking about sex and love and gender and so confused but going to get out of this shithole if it kills me, and I want to hug that poor little thing that only talks in third person and has to be physically restrained from jumping off bridges during spring breakup, and she'd hate me so much.

I see three teenagers in front of me, none of whom exist in Now, two long gone and one not here yet and I want to shake all of them. Run, fucking run, don't come back, don't let them steal your friends from you, don't let them break you, I love you, you're so much better than you think just hold on. And I already failed all three of them, somehow. Because I words words words in my head but anytime I just to say something to an actual person I just screw it up and make everything worse. They need me to say something, but I don't know what.

What's the point in time travel if I can't change anything? What's the point in prophesy if it's set? Why can't I fix anything? Why am I still here, an invisible shriek in a blizzard? Why can't I ever move?

How many times have I said this? I'm so bored.

How many times has someone tried to kill you, I want to scream at my father. You talk to much about your morals and how to live with yourself, but you assume you will have the power. You don't think about having to live with yourself while you stand there and just let them hurt you. You don't think about knowing in your soul you're going to die, and you didn't even try to stop them. Knowing for a fact someone is going to get hurt, and you did nothing. You just stood there and watched.

To dream of heroes and just. watch.

I never do. I just dream it so hard I can taste it.

Over there, at the bottom of the stairs, is where Poohbear shoved Him against the wall with a hand around His throat hissing "If I ever see you touch her after she says no again..." Two concessions up is a house where I watched his dad shove him up against a wall, right in front of me and <blank> "respect" "queer" and he won't meet my eyes, or I won't meet his, because I'm just trying to blend into the shadows and I hate myself so much. Down the road is a house where I curled up in a ball blankfaced and silently sobbing, because my best friend is getting screamed at by her dad and <blank> and I want to go home but I can't it's too far and I'm too sick and dad would be livid if I woke them up this late; I am also two years older and backed against the kitchen counter by my drunk boss and I say no, and I try to dodge, and he touches me and <blank> and I know I'm going to be fired for whatever I just said (and I am) and I should've broken his hand but I didn't I just let him touch me and this time I do walk home even though there's nothing after I pass the mailbox it just ends in more blanks, and every time I go into town I'm still there as I drive past, some kind of broken empty-eyed walk of shame, every single time. Everytime I walk down the stairs, so much bullshit cluttering up such small stairs, I can barely step around it. Everytime I sit at the computer talking to a textbox instead of people, and I'm ten and fifteen and twenty and twenty five and thirty two sitting at the same desk doing the same thing, and it all overlaps and runs together like two channels' broadcasts mixing being poorly recorded over an old reused vhs tape.

Nothing's real. I'm not real. I hate it here so much.

Ghosts exist, and they're all me. Maybe I was the ghost haunting this house the whole time.

I want to be anyone else, I am so many people none of them good, I am so alone, I want to scream.

My mom gives me the scared eyes, when I get like this. The ones that whispered about her schizophrenic aunt to a small child just old enough to understand they're supposed to be too old for imaginary friends, too old to be afraid of monsters under the bed that nobody else can see. The ones that get so angry when I dare to identify with Harley Quinn because "she's bad and crazy and you're neither" and "you're making the girls think it's okay to be crazy". The ones that thinks if she can just plug her ears hard enough, I'll stop playing these silly games and make good choices even if she has to make me by force.

Over there is where dad said I wouldn't last a month at college and it was probably a waste of money trying, but he's willing to indulge to allow me to fail on my own don't say he didn't warn me (I lasted a year and a half). It's also where he for the third time told me he thought I was making myself sick on purpose, and I walked upstairs and told mom if he ever dared question a diagnosis I could prove with xrays again that I'd punch him.

But I didn't.

I'm always all talk. I'm a story that only exists in my head, not a person. People *do things*.

It's not that she's wrong to be scared, I know. I don't have any friends to pull me off ledges anymore. I am prone to catastrophic dramatics in the name of something that feels like Arte. Something that actually Feels. I just want to breathe fire, I just want to exist without hurting. I will do really stupid things to have five minutes Now and Inside My Skin and Seen where I don't feel like a sludge monster of screams under pressure until it liquifies loosely bagged in a vaguely human sharp. Any scrap of agency I get gets burned on a pyre of terrible decisions, so it's probably correct that I be given so little.

I don't know who to be anymore. I don't want to be anyone anymore. I'm so tired of trying and failing and failing to try. I don't want to be alone. Other people burn like the sun on my skin.

I just want to not be too much for someone, just once. I'm too much for me, what right do I even have?

Everything I say is wrong, everything I like is stupid, everything I do gets me in trouble.

I used to watch better, I used to be able to listen. I've crawled inside my own navel to suck my own cock.

I don't even know what I think I'm getting out of this, all it does is worry people, and I'm not worth it. All I do is hurt people, and it's not even on purpose, I just exist like a radioactive meteor.

I dream, I dream, I dream, I'm nothing but dreams, and it's the one thing I swore I wouldn't do, just fucking dream instead of live. I don't know how to be forty. I wasn't supposed to live this long. There's no room left to move.

It's not that it was better then, it's that I used to have hope. And spite.

I always knew I'd be this. I hoped I'd die before I became this. Over there I can see a small child see me and I am the small child full of contempt looking at the future and lying that we can be better.

I'm so alone and it's my fault but it's not my fault but I let them.

God I'm too old to be this fucking emo.

#fking all the trigger warnings #what the fuck do I even want from this?#i hate this house i hate this house i hate this house i hate

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demonmocns-archive · 3 years

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thinking about cat hybrid!shoto who’s been with his owner for years now (let’s assume we’re in a universe where hybrids can still be adopted and are cared for in a variety of different ways) and they’ve settled into a comfortable routine except one day shoto’s owner sits him down and asks what he would feel like about getting a friend? not like the hybrids he knows through his owner’s friends or their neighbors, but like another hybrid that his owner adopts to live with them. shoto is initially hesitant but also curious so he agrees and he’s never been more thankful that his normally resistant to change attitude was amenable to this situation bc he’s gotten to meet you, a beautiful bunny hybrid who looks so soft and sweet, but also so nervous. he literally tiptoes around u for the first week bc all of the new experiences and sensory info have u on the verge of tears on the regular and he doesn’t wanna frighten u but eventually the two of u settle into a routine and shoto loves curling up with u for a nap on the couch, with his head laying on ur inner thigh, nose pressed to ur crotch bc he’s a fuckin pervert. he can’t help that he has to hump his pillows every night until he cums at least twice before he can pass out n sleep thru the night without wandering thru the house to watch u as u sleep. ur just so sweet and cute and shoto wants to bite u to see how u would cry out or what kinda sounds or faces u would make when he has three fingers inside of u with his palm grinding against ur clit. he’s patient however and he doesn’t want to scare u off, so he puts aside his desires for the sake of ur friendship and peace in the house. so imagine his surprise when a few weeks after u move in, u start pawing at his bedside in the middle of the night, whining that it hurts and u feel so hot and whoozy but u cant go to bed and you’re so goddamn wet and could he please do something? and who is he to deny u?? safe to say that cute catboy!shoto has his even cuter bunny hybrid flat on her back, head thrown back against the pillows and toes curling at the sheets as he licks you into your third orgasm before your owner ever wakes up to the sounds of your coupling

can't even put into words how this is making me feel rn, anon thank u for leaving this blessing in my inbox <3 there's not a lot for me to add but i wanted to share my thoughts on some things so keep reading if u wanna!!!

cw / dubcon, pervert behavior, panty stealing, hybrids

shouto is so curious when you first arrive home :( you're kept apart for the first week so you can adjust to your new surroundings without an intimidating cat hybrid breathing down your neck. he basically lives outside your bedroom door that week.

when you're away for a check-up, sho sneaks into your room and steals a pair of panties from your laundry pile, finally acquainting himself with your scent.

always snuggling together once you're on friendly terms. shouto will lay between your legs and gently nuzzle your tummy, encouraging you to pet behind his ears and make him purr.

shouto makes himself comfortable on your inner thigh for a nap, but he finds it hard to sleep when that same scent is flooding his senses. he doesn't want to scare you, but surely one whiff won't hurt, right?

shouto experiencing some type of cute aggression towards you... he's just so enamored by your softness, it makes him want to sink his sharp teeth in.

it almost feels like a dream when shouto wakes up in the middle of the night to find you perched on his lap. you've humped every surface in your room and the ache still hasn't subsided – you're begging him to do something, anything. shouto rasps his rough tongue over your pussy until it's tender, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you until you're sleeping soundly in his bed.

there's just enough time for him to pull the covers over you both and make it look innocent before your owner comes in to see what all the commotion is about.

#summoned #demonmocns catboy shouto #tw hybrids #tw dubcon #this has me yelling i love this so much #long post

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ophiuchus-interactive · 3 years

Text

In My Time of Need (MAJOR ANGST)

This is too long and too juicy of an ask to let it be just a common RO ask,

So! I'm going to be doing a mini-series answering this ask with all of the ROs!

Valerian is first! Now, remember, this is torture!

TW: Angst, blood, gore, torture!

Under the cut!

The prison cell looked akin to a tomb. Water leaking from the ceiling above your head, dripping through the stone brick and splattering against the aged, bloodied floor. Your hands were held in rusted, metal cuffs that were connected to the ceiling through chains. Valerian was in a similar state- only with him, his right eye was completely swollen shut. You wonder with a vague, passing thought if his eye dislodged from its position- or if it could be used at all anymore.

His breath was labored, heavy. The tell-tale rattle that echoed in his heavy gasps of air was a sign of broken ribs. The fierce, inky purple that took shape against his chest made sure of such an injury. A possibly permanent one.

They had beaten him within an inch of his life. The twisted, sinking feeling in your stomach was telling you that they weren't quite done yet.

In the darkness of the cells, you heard a large, metal door swing wide open, hitting the walls with enough force to make you jump. The clattering of your chains rang loudly in your ears, followed by the cacophonous, clobbering footsteps of your captors.

"He will not speak, commander. If we beat the whelp anymore without medical treatment, he will die,"

"He's not uttered a word?"

Silence.

A beat. Your heart is in your throat.

"...No, Commander. Nothing."

"'cause..." Valerian speaks up suddenly, his speech slurred by the blood the collected in his mouth, clogging his throat, "y'all dumb sons of bitches who can't....throw a fuckin' punch."

Your captors came into view. Their cloaked appearances giving you little to go off of as to their identity. Too tall for a Harpii. Too short for a Kal'Morran. They don't hiss their words- but something in the back of your mind makes you think they aren't exactly human.

"You know," The one called 'commander' says, " there is one thing I can never understand about your kind, captain. Do you know what that is?"

You watched- with a vague sense of astonishment- Valerian try his best to smile. You noticed teeth missing.

"What we're all better lookin' than you?"

Though you couldn't see it, you can imagine the Commander clenching his teeth, practically grinding them down to the gums,

"No. It is your aptitude for pain. In my experience, experimenting on the wide range of races that this universe, unfortunately, places in my hands for disposal, humans have always had a peculiar knack for...endurance."

The Commander chuckles, the action was enough to make your blood run cold, "True enough, I suppose. Humans have always been much more productive in experimenting than...well. Let's just say I don't think the two of you would do too well chained to our mining pits, living out the rest of your pathetically short lives harnessing the exact ore it is we will destroy you all with."

There was an audible smack to his lips, and then an almost dreamlike sigh, "Though the irony would be exquisite, indeed."

"Come 'ere to...talk, then?" Valerian coughs. The chains echo every harsh seize of his dry, bloodied throat, "I...stopped payin' attention right around the time you started...spewin' shit again."

You could practically feel the harsh and frigid stare the Commander was given Valerian. It was enough to make you swallow the lump that rose in your throat- a feeling of true fear.

"Grab the other one, Lieutenant."

"What?!" Valerian roars, his voice broken and scratched from his own screams, "You damned sonuva- they've got hell all to do with this! Leave 'em alone!"

Valerian's protests fall on deaf ears, the Lieutenant grabbing the chains that held your arms high in the air and release them from the hook- causing you to fall face-first into the floor.

Pain. White-hot, exploding pain burst like fireworks inside your skull. You felt blood pour freely from your nose; your forehead in enough agony to make you assume it was cracked.

You were pulled forward by the shackles that they hung you by, feeling every stray piece of stone and gravel embed themselves in your skin, burning the layers until it was raw, exposed.

The Lieutenant pulled you up from the floor, your blood trickling down the sides of your mouth and lips. Nausea began as your whole world started to spin. There was only one thought in your mind as you felt bile rise in your throat:

This was only the beginning.

"Come now, Captain, surely you can be reasonable? A member of your crew is about to be severely beaten. Their bones will break. Their skin will grow into that dark, nasty shade of purple- and you will have caused it. You will have caused their suffering.

Unless of course, you tell us precisely what it is we want, right now."

Silence.

And for that you were grateful. You and Valerian both know that not a word can be spoken of this. No matter what the cost.

"...Don't," You can hear Valerian say softly. Quietly. All that vibrato he had once before has been thrown to the side; all at once, he was a completely different person, "don't hurt them."

"I don't think you have much of a say in the matter, Captain. Either you start talking or I get to practice my hand combat- the ones that you abhor?"

"Don't- don't tell them shit, Val," You say as evenly as you can muster, "not a goddamn thing!"

CRACK!

It was the sound that came before the feeling- the force of a thick, gloved hand connecting with your side was enough to cause your body to forget how to breathe. You panicked as the pain blossomed into downright torment, your lungs being unable to catch up with the now broken pieces of your ribcage. You were left drowning in the dry, empty air.

"MC!"

"I'm going to give you one more chance, Captain. I suggest you take my words over your companion's- tell me everything. Every last shred of detail, and I will spare you both this pain."

Silence.

Do you think you hear a sob?

"Tch. Pathetic. Do you hold the silence above the people you're supposed to protect? What kind of a captain are you?"

"Stop! Please, stop, kill me- hurt me, anything but them-!"

"You do not get to beg like a diseased dog for a choice, Captain!" The Commander spits, his fury unable to be contained any longer, "Speak one more word that's not what I want, and I'll beat your companion until they're bloody, grey-mattered pulp on the floor!"

Silence.

A clatter. You think it was a tool. A hammer?

It doesn't take long for you to find out, however, as with a furious snarl, the hammer was slammed down upon the palm of your hand. You felt the bones in your hand crack under the force, the sheer magnitude of the assault was enough to make tears run down your face, and cry. Your nerves burned like fire, your body screaming for relief, and you know you won't be receiving any form of it. So this was true pain.

The world around you faded in and out of spotty darkness that threatened to consume your view, and you were afraid. Was this it? This- this can't be it. You needed to be awake, alive, you needed to see Valerian again.

But the darkness grew, and your air slowed down, and despite the chaos, the horror, you heard only one thing.

Silence.

A welcomed reprieve. An escape.

For now.

#angst #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: torture #valerian itoos #torture miniseries #1/9

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interstellarflowers · 3 years

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Professor Parker Ch. 1| Professor, Peter Parker x Student, Reader

a/n this fic doesn’t follow the marvel cinematic universe but assume that peter has been what he’s been through with the exception that tony lived, and bruce is still bruce, sorry but i just can't deal with endgame hulk/bruce rn emotionally or mentally. im sorry nat is still dead but dw i'll actually treat it with respect unlike endgame like goddamn where was her funeral, am i right? the stages of grief thing they did was interesting though. im sorry i digress, this is set in nyc (because heyo im a new yorka) and the avengers/stark tower is still a thing, peter is fucking traumatized and has turned kind of cold as a result. this fic may contain a smut chapter in the future? not sure yet, where this fic goes depends on the feedback, thanks for reading also sorry im not the proudest of this first chapter so ill probably edit it but promise itll only improve from here just not in the best mental state rn

University life wasn’t exactly everything that you imagined it to be. There was hardly time to do anything that people claimed was good about coming to university. The parties, the epic heartbreaks, and romances, they were just nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was nothing particularly extravagant about your experience thus far. You went to class, studied, and went to your internship. Your internship was probably the most exciting thing about your life at the moment, you were lucky to be accepted into the Stark Industries student internship, the company paid college tuition and only required around twenty hours of lab work a week, you couldn’t complain. Of course, the exciting part of the whole ordeal was the name attached to it, “Stark,” not that you had ever met him, but it was nice to have a unique feature like that in such an impressive student body.

So here you were on the first day of your third year of university. You lived off-campus, about a five-minute walk from the Stark Tower, but a twenty-minute subway ride to your campus. However, having an 882 square foot space to yourself was really nothing you could truly complain about despite the distance. The studio apartment being yet another benefit reaped from Stark Industries. Thank you Tony Stark, the unseen benevolent God in your life.

Typically you would start your mornings off quietly and in no rush, a shower, a cup of coffee, maybe some studying before heading off to your campus, but your phone had other plans for you today. Instead of your alarm going off like it was supposed to, you were woken up by the sound of a particularly loud car horn, and oh how grateful you were for that. As soon as you were jolted awake you shifted to grab your phone and turned it over to see an alarming 8:40am glaring back at you.

Holy shit. You were late.

You scrambled out of bed nearly face planting several times in your hurry to get dressed and only barely ran out the door with everything you needed at 8:47am.

By the time you managed to get to the subway and clamor onto the right train it was already 8:55am. Out of breath and panicking, you considered your options. You could explain after class, you could shoot an email, there were a plethora of things you could do but none of them seemed to justify being late as a third-year to a level 500 class. You had googled all of your professors while registering for classes as was common practice. You couldn’t find a RateMyProfessor on Professor...Parker? You were pretty sure it was Professor Parker, but you do remember seeing on the STEM department page that he was currently a Ph.D. student, so you could only hope that as a fellow student he would be at least a little understanding towards your lateness.

You stood outside of the lecture hall huffing and trying to catch your breath at 9:32am, psyching yourself up, you pushed open the door to the class and attempted to go unnoticed. The class was in a lecture hall despite being only composed of around thirty students, so if you were lucky maybe nobody would even see-

“Ms.(y/l/n), I presume?.” Shit.

“Professor Parker?” Shit.

“You are aware that class starts at 9am, and not 9:30am, would this be correct Ms.(y/l/n)?”

“Yes, Professor, it’s just that I had an emergency.” The lying route. Not exactly the highlight of your academic career.

“I regret to inform you that I only take valid excuses Ms.(y/l/n), please take a seat, and next time, don’t bother disrupting class halfway through the lesson.” Fuck. You mustered a quiet “ok,” and a small nod before escorting yourself to the back of the room, thirty-something eyes following you until you sat down.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the class, it was just too embarrassing, time moved forward but you couldn’t help but be stuck on what had just happened. For the first ten minutes after sitting down you felt like dropping out of the whole class out of sheer fucking humiliation. This was of course before you reminded yourself that this class was a requirement to graduate in your field of study. You quietly bargained with yourself before sighing quietly and settling on the conclusion that Professor Parker was just a dick. A dick who certainly didn’t deserve the satisfaction of you switching out of his class. If he wanted to be like that, you decided, you would simply return the favor.

“I know, Ms.(y/ln), why don’t you tell us DeBroglie’s equation?”

“With pleasure, Professor Parker.” Yeah, you’d return the favor alright.

“Ms.(y/l/n), you stay.” Fuck that. You looked the other way and feigned ignorance as you kept making your way towards the door. About to leave, the door shut on your face.

“What the fuck!” You jumped before turning around and you felt your face heat up.

“Ms.(y/l/n), please refrain from using profanities in my classroom.”

“I’m sorry Professor Parker. I was just startled.”

“Mhm,” he took his glasses off and laid them on his desk, “Just don’t do it in the future Ms.(y/l/n).”

“Of course. My name is (y/n), by the way, Professor Parker, you can just call me that, actually, I prefer that people refer to me by (y/n).”

“Rest assured, I’m aware of your name, Ms.(y/l/n). My name is Peter, but you can continue to call me Professor Parker.” You could have sworn that you saw a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knew what he was fucking doing, asshole. You held back from rolling your eyes into the back of your head.

“Of course, Professor Parker.”

“As you know, Ms.(y/l/n), I did request that you stay after class.”

“Oh? I sincerely apologize Professor Parker, I really didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sure, Ms.(y/l/n).” Fucking. Dick.

“Well, what exactly did you want Professor Parker? I do have another class soon.” Professor Parker narrowed his eyes at you in obvious distaste before reaching behind himself into a bin underneath his desk and pulling out a stack of papers,

“These are the handouts you missed from the beginning of the class. Textbook requirements, syllabus...Crucial information to have if you care to succeed in my class Ms.(y/l/n).” So coldly, so maliciously, Professor Parker placed the stack into your arms.

“I take my work very seriously, Ms.(y/l/n), I do my part as your professor so I only have the simple request that my students do the same.” You nodded feeling your face heat up again.

“Of course, Professor Parker, it won’t happen again,” you said with a tightlipped smile.

“Mhm,” Professor Parker turned around and began shuffling around some paper and without giving you a second glance said, “You are dismissed.” You nodded and hurriedly made your way out of his classroom. Of course, you had lied. You didn’t have another class until late in the afternoon. So you called your coworker instead,

“Hey, Harvey.”

“(y/n).”

“Wow, okay, don’t get too excited.”

“Sorry, just woke up.”

“Tsk, the early bird gets the worm, Harvey.”

“I don’t want a worm.”

“Fuck you. I’m headed to the lab, can I expect you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You had been working with Harvey for around four years now, he was quite the impressive specimen, having attended MIT and graduating Summa Cum Laude at age 20 was no easy feat, he was closer to Tony Stark than you would ever get, he was quite personable, and you couldn’t deny that he was quite good looking. You’d never tell him that though, he didn’t need another ego boost. Besides, you had some connections of your own.

“Hey, (y/n).”

“Banner!”

“Can we expect Harvey today?”

“Honestly, not sure.” You both knowingly smiled at each other before you made your way over to what he was working on,

“Do you ever get bored here?”

“With you and the other idiot always running around? How could I?” You laughed,

“No, seriously, like wouldn’t you rather be doing nerd shit with Tony or something? Isn’t it a little tiresome babysitting us?”

“Tiring? Maybe sometimes, but not nearly as tiring as doing ‘nerd shit’ with Tony. He’s exhausting,” Bruce smiled at his own joke, “I don’t mind playing babysitter at all kid.” He fiddled with the handle of a mug that read, “Don’t be so Na Cl,” which you had gotten him a year back as a joke, but he still used it.

You really loved Bruce for all he was. Since losing your family back in 2012 during the battle in NYC, you didn’t really have any familial figures. But since landing this internship you found yourself with a parental figure again, and you would never be able to put into words how much it meant to you, so you didn’t. Besides, you didn’t want him to feel pressured about it, especially after everything he had been through himself. Frying half your body and losing the love of your life in such a short span of time was really nothing less than horrifying. Yet, here he was, smiling, laughing...You loved him for it.

“First day of junior year? How was that?”

“Shit.”

“Huh?” Bruce stopped tinkering with the device in his hands and looked over at you, “I’ve never heard of a course being too hard for (y/n) (y/l/n), what is it? Aerospace? Quantum?”

“No, just one giant dick.”

“Pardon-”

“My professor, he’s a fucking asshole.”

“Ah, I see. If he’s really harassing you (y/n), I don’t mean to overstep, I really think we should alert administration, what’s his name?” Bruce took a sip of his coffee.

“Professor Parker,” Bruce choked on his coffee, “Oh my God, Bruce, are you okay?”

“Yeah-” he said, still coughing, “Just a little too strong.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce caught his breath, “What did he do kid?”

“He’s just a dick that’s all.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do something about it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I don’t know what you could do anyways. Thank you though.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised.”

Sitting at your desk stressing over school work at 3am, it was nothing out of the ordinary for you. Everything appeared ordinary. The ordinary cup of tea, the familiar glow of your computer, and a morning chill creeping through your window. It was all so breathtakingly normal until there was a rap on your window. You took an earbud out of your ear, certain you were just hearing things, you looked to your window. Holy shit.

You opened your window wide so that he could crawl in.

“(y/n)?”

“Mr.Spiderman.” Still too in shock to fully process the situation you started to take in the scene in front of you,

“Please, it’s just Spiderman.”

“Oh-Oh my God, what happened?” Head to toe the suit seemed to have blood seeping through, tears in the body of the suit revealed gashes and a bullet wound.

“Bad guys. I know this guy-said he knew a medical student close by, you are (y/n)? Right?”

“Y-Yeah, but I’m really just a student, I’m not really a prof-”

“This guy, he said you might as well be.”

“I don’t know Mr.Spiderman, really, maybe I could take you to the hospital though.”

“-Spiderman, it’s just Spiderman, listen, (y/n), you know I can’t go to a hospital, it would ruin this whole secret identity thing I got going on here, and this guy, he’s probably the smartest guy I know, so if he says you can handle it, you can.” You swallowed and nodded,

“Yeah-” you wring your hands together, “Yeah-Sorry, let me go get my first aid kit.”

#tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #spiderman #spiderman x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #bruce banner #tony stark #iron man #idk #sorry #ill prolly rewrite this seven times

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