#WE ARE SO BITCHY WHEN WE HAVE EXAMS

[tahdashi]

i gotta wake up at 5 tmrw to work >:/

[irisbaggins]

Trying to trouble-shoot a customer over a phone is always an exercise in "stick to Norwegian you gremlin" for me. I so badly want to use English lingo for things, but my poor customers barely understand what I'm saying in Norwegian, let alone English! The amount of times I end up apologising because my explanations are shit are numerous, and most of the time my customers are really nice about it.

Although, I do loathe having to trouble-shoot networking over the phone. It's a pain in the ass, and it's difficult to find the problem when there are so many moving parts to a network.

At least the customer and I can joke around a little and make the process more pleasant for the both of us. Especially when the problem may have been a wonky cable, and not something much more expensive that must be replaced.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Okay, so vampire Eddie is a pretty standard trope at this point, but may I offer...Twilight vampire Eddie who is absolutely pissed off about his sparkly existence?

Eddie actually isn't that old, he was turned in the 80s when he was around 20. He lives with his small and not only vampire family. There's patriarch Wayne, his partner Scott who always becomes a teacher no matter where they move, Claudia Henderson and her son that have been with them ever since Scott noticed Dustin being unusually quiet in his class and soon after, Wayne kicked out his abusive father.

The problem with living with a smart man who loves educating people and a man who never received the education he deserved is - they take school really, really seriously. Whenever they move, Eddie usually has to re-join high school, it's all "just so that you have some socialization! Also we need to be able to blend in, so look around and see what's normal with young people! Also I'm pretty sure some of the stuff we know is now obsolete or disproven, so make sure to tell us!". And Eddie loves Wayne and Scott, he really does, but he had trouble blending in even when he was alive, so now? Impossible. As for gathering information, Eddie has been trying for decades to explain to Wayne that even if becoming a vampire healed the wounds from the lynching mob, it didn't do shit for his ADHD, so there. Wayne finds Eddie banging his head into a desk one day and chanting "WHAT-THE-FUCK-IS-TIK-TOK?!"

So yes, Eddie hates being a forever highschooler, but it also means he can run DnD clubs everywhere he joins and he's not even lynched for it like in the 80s, so hey, progress! He gets mostly content with his existence, except that he's fucking sparkly and can't turn into a bat, so what's the point?!

But then a huge group of people moves from the close town of Hawkins, they had a really fucked up earthquake - Wayne told him all about it, he often volunteered in rescue and high risk works, and he's never seen anything like it - and their little town becomes way more crowded. There are high school freshmen just begging to be introduced to his club, Hellfire, although one of them is scary observant and Eddie is really sure that Jane knows he's a vampire.

And then there's Steve Harrington. A young man with the prettiest hair ever who joined Eddie's class, apparently he needs to repeat the last year too because if your school burns down, you can't take final exams. He's stupidly pretty, snarky, bitchy, and even though he could be partying day and night and spending the rest of his time on dates, he prefers to hang around with the freshmen. Lucas tells him one day that Steve got badly hurt when he was digging through the collapsed middle school, finding and rescuing their whole group, and well...Eddie respects that. Dustin absolutely loves Steve and maybe Eddie feels a bit jealous, but he has to admit - the guy is cool.

The problem with Steve Harrington is this - he's seen so much shit that nothing really fazes him. Eddie loves shocking people. Steve is unshockable. It becomes their little game, they get close, Eddie realizes he has an embarrassing crush, all that jazz. He tries dropping hints, he slurps his bloody lunch from a bottle that has a "THIS IS DEFINITELY TOMATO JUICE AND NOTHING ELSE". He wears a cape. He adopts a horrible Dracula accent. Nothing works. Steve always just laughs and tells him that he's weird and that's why he likes him.

Finally, Eddie has enough. They walk in the woods to get high, Eddie decides to break the ice, he scoops up Steve, does his whole dashing-through-the-woods thing, and he hopes that he can finally share his secret with Steve.

Except Steve just pats his back and says "Wow, that was cool, man! You'd be amazing at track. Great core strength too," and Eddie's head implodes.

"Okay, Steve. Don't you think there's something rotten here?" he tries.

"I mean, it's the woods. Of course there's something rotting all the time."

Eddie tries again. "You've noticed something strange, haven't you. I'm inhumanly fast and strong."

"I sure didn't expect that! You must be secretly training. I didn't know this town had a gym."

Again. "My skin is pale white and ice cold."

Steve is watching a nearby squirrel instead of looking horrified. "Yeah, not all people tan great, Robin is like that too. And I told you, man. Your circulation is shit, you need better socks and some gloves too."

"My eyes change color."

"Yeah, I know, I do envy you that you can wear those cool contact lenses. My eyes are too dry for that."

Eddie is growing desperate, he's gesturing at the trees because Steve doesn't listen. "I speak like I'm from a different time."

"80s slashers will do that to you. You basically live on those. But I gotta admit that they're pretty fun. Oh look, she's got an acorn! Clever girl!"

"Very clever. Also I never eat or drink anything."

"Hey, I'm not judging. Some people prefer one or two meals in a day instead of the whole five meal thing."

Eddie feels like howling and he isn't even a werewolf. "I. DON'T. GO. INTO. THE. SUNLIGHT."

Steve's eyes finally leave the squirrel. "Duh. We've already established you can't tan."

And Eddie's had enough. He tears off his t-shirt, marches directly into the sunlight and throws the biggest tantrum of his life. "STEVEN HARRINGTON. PAY ATTENTION. I am 20. I have been 20 for a while now. You know what I am, right? I am a vampire. So ask me the question, what do we eat? That wasn't a fucking tomato juice Steven!!!"

Steve just watches him with quiet amusement, as if he's waiting for something.

Eddie doesn't notice. His monologue is reaching its most dramatic part. "I've killed people before! I'm the world's most dangerous predator!"

Steve snorts. "I saw you trip over your own feet in the cafeteria."

"Not the point!"

"You told a waitress "you too" when she told you to enjoy your meal."

Eddie actually howls now. "THE POINT IS." He spins in the sunlight and sees the reflections of light off his skin. "I wouldn't have minded becoming a vampire, but let me tell you. Being stuck in high school forever? Sucks. Craving chips and throwing them up whenever you try them? SUCKS. And thinking you've become the legendary creature of the night when you're a glorified glitter mascot?! And you can't even fly?! DOUBLE SUCKS."

He points at his bare glittering chest. "THIS THE SKIN OF A FUCKING DISCO BALL, STEVE!"

Steve just laughs and gets up from the tree stump he was sitting on. "Thanks for sharing. I was kinda hoping you'd finally ask me out since this is the first time we've had some privacy, but this was interesting too."

Eddie's sharing mania suddenly stops. He realizes he's shirtless in the middle of the forest, and his yelling has scared off the squirrel. He promptly grabs his shirt and puts in on. "Um. You...you wanted me to ask you out? Because I totally want to do that. Yep. But I thought it would have been unfair to ask you before I told you-"

"That you're a vampire? Dude, I know."

Eddie blinks once. Then again. "Excusemewhat?"

Steve smiles at him and touches his hand. "Look. After what happened in Hawkins, I know the smell of blood. I knew it wasn't tomato juice. Also I've accompanied the kids to enough monster flicks to know."

"Oh." Eddie licks his lips and doesn't really know what to say. "Um. What...does that mean for us?"

Laughing, Steve grabs his other hand too. "Definitely two things. One - you can and should kiss me. Two - you can stop wearing that cape. I got your point."

"Oh okay. Cool. Will do. Both."

And since Eddie Munson is a vampire of his word, he does.

(Wayne is absolutely delighted that Eddie is dating, he watches sports with Steve and discusses the pros and cons of Steve becoming a paramedic. Scott helps Steve with some of the subjects he's struggling with. In return, Steve works with Robin to find a makeup brand that is fully sparkleproof, giving the vampires a chance to walk in the sunlight again. And sometimes, he helps them answer the questions that have been plaguing the Munson-Clarke-Henderson household for years...such as: what is TikTok?)

(oh and also. Turns out Steve really thought Eddie was wearing creepy contact lenses. That one aspect of vampyrism he found very cool)

[chrissdollie]

Dad Bakugo x mom reader - I need more children in my life 😭✋🏾

def calls his kid "squirt" and "buddy"

in mY universe, he has a boy and a girl bc he needs the best of both worlds

CALLS YOU "MA" GOODNIGHT

we all know he wakes up really early, earlier than you even, so he's the one to check on the babies/kids every morning to see if they're ok :)

definitely keeps schedules of you and your kids days like exams, report cards, if they're going to a friend's house, etc

yk how most kids tend to be like "ewwww" whenever their parents kiss?? not ur kids nono. first of all, your son is the quieter one. not that he's not talkative, he just has a little bit of a hard time expressing himself. anyhow, his sister is very loud. but either way, they both think its sweet. your daughter even said something like "i hope my husband kisses me like that" once (when she was an older kid tho lol)

your son goes to talk to you a lot. he adores you so so much. but one day when he wanted to hang out with you, you weren't home. you were busy running errands while katsuki was at home watching tv. your son started crying and katsuki was like wtf?? eventually, your son grew accustomed to speaking to katsuki. as he got older, he actually talked to him more than you.

teaches your son how to be a man :,) katsuki knew he was bitchy in his younger years and he didn't want either of his kids to be like him. he taught them both manners and how to properly have a conversation.

little pitter patter of their feet ran into your guys' shared bedroom on christmas morning and began jumping your bed. katsuki groaned and rubbed his eyes aggressively. "it's christmas, mommy!" your little boy shouted. "wake up daddy!!" your daughter shouted in his ear. "alright alright you rugrats"

at your daughter's kindergarten graduation (idk if everyone had this but i did lmao), katsuki was tearing up and although he tried to hide it, he had to remain the strong one while comforting you while you bawled your eyes out.

p.s your daughter is the oldest

when she brought home her first boyfriend... ooo chile

i see a lot of people writing how katsuki would act up but tbh in his older years, i think he'd be a lot more mature. he'd greet the dude politely and treat him like he would any of her friends

btw lemme just say: your daughter is a mommy AND daddy's girl. she loves u both insanely

honestly while eating dinner with the boyfriend or something, katsuki would be very blunt and not pay too much mind to him LMAOO he'd be like "'tis is great, doll" as if you don't cook dinner every week and it's only when your daughter brings up how he wants to work at katsuki's angency, where he perks up

"oh shit, no kiddin'?" and you smack his arm lightly.

well this changes everything! he practically gave the kid his blessing. "welcome to the family son"

your son doesn't really care about them together, he just doesn't wanna see his big sis get hurt. lets say that your son is 15 and your daughter is 17. "so, bf/n. have you fucked her?"

you almost spit out your drink like a cartoon. your daughter is shook, katsuki's rage from UA is all coming back to him, and the boyf is scared for his life

you, katsuki, and your daughter have a little talk after dinner

"use condoms" kats stated. "i- WH- nono you can have sex next year." you corrected but ur daughter is like huh?? "wha why next year?" you scoff. "because you'll be a legal adult thats why." "no offense, momma, but that's really dumb. when did you and dad start having sex?" she folded her arms. katsuki shrugged. "like i said, use condoms."

you and your daughter gossip like crazy alr?? ur like the gilmore girls except you're married and didn't get pregnant at 16 (almost)

and this is nothing new to katsuki, he's heard u guys gossip trillions of times. but when he found out you guys talked abouy HIM TOO??

he busts into the room. your daughter squeals and runs behind you. "hi honeyy-" he shushes you, "you guys talkin' shit 'bout me?" "nope" you guys say in unison. "there's this other guy, uh.."

[sugarverse]

“you have got to be quieter.” you hear your boyfriend groan behind you, covering a hand over your mouth.

he had you on all fours, eyes rolled back into your skull and he wanted you to shut up??

you whine, moving against him desperately. he always wanted to say something about your volume right before you finished. he rolled his eyes in faux annoyance, sliding a finger in your mouth for you to suck on, drooling against his hand. You try as hard as you can to shut up, hiding your face in your arms as you lean against the table. 

it was getting incredibly too stressful with exams coming up. the air was more chaotic and more negative, people grouped everywhere. Even the library was pretty packed.. except for the 7th floor. The elevator was much too slow for most students to wait past floor four. Finals week, of course, had to be an exception because the first few floors were packed. The 6th floor had a handful of people, the music rooms on the 7th floor is probably the best option for studying at this point. Especially when they have private music rooms to study in.

“We'll just have to work on it, yeah?” He asked, propping a leg up onto the chair next to him to hold the arch in your back with his arm. He rutted into you, grunting in your ear before slamming into you so hard the desk began to rattle. Talk about noise..

You can feel your eyes prick with tears of pleasure, biting onto your sleeve and trying to keep down like he asked. You whined and whimpered into your arms, gripping onto the desk so hard your knuckles turned white. It was genuinely getting to the point that your vision was getting blurry. You came against him with a shaking sigh, feeling him pull out slowly.

“Turn over, I wanna see that pretty face..” He helped you turn onto your back gently, laying against the cold table as he realigned himself with your desperate cunt. He lifted your legs up, pulling them to his chest and resting your ankles on his shoulders. You could feel your slick dripping onto the table, watching him kiss your calf gently before shoving into you once more.

Your hands fly to cover your mouth, feeling him hug your legs together around his head. You knew you were being bitchy earlier, but you didn’t think he was this mad. You whimper, legs beginning to shake as he leaned forward to shove you into a mating press. You really never knew when you pushed his buttons too far, but to keep riling him up all week without relief then moving when he wanted a kiss must have overloaded him.

“B-baaaabe!” you moan out, biting into his shoulder and shoving your hands under his shirt to tear his back apart. He grips the desk for support, laughing in your face about how quick he can make you a mess. He sucks a breath in, flinching at your nails and biting into your shoulder in return.

“Next time I’ll just stop wherever we are. Bend that ass over. And let everyone see you can’t go five seconds without. my. dick.” He slammed harder with each punctuation.

You whined and whimpered, drooling against his skin. You weren’t sure how much longer you could take him like this. You dig your nails into his back repeatedly, cumming against him as shaky moans left your mouth. He slammed into you a final time, pulling out and finishing on your bra. You sigh heavily, smiling up at him as you watched him scramble to find something to clean you off with.

[allllium]

Hi!) send my love and little idea for a fic

May I request a little story about Remus x fem!reader? Other characters are welcomed :) characters age is up to you

The reader is calm person, ready to help, even get into a fight against bullies. But she also has a death glare and doesn’t peak words to smooth the situation. She doesn’t have a lot of friends, but definitely she is friends with Lily and the Marauders like to hang out with her (helps them with studies or work, helps James with Lily, lots of sarcastic jokes).

I think Remus can see through her facade. And he finally decided to ask her out for a date, maybe he even said something like “I like you”. And the reader reply with “Ok” and storms out to process with her feelings towards Rem. Then we can see collective panic 😱😂 The next day she finds Remus and gives him his favorite chocolate and self-made scarf with the words “I think I like you too” ❤️

Hope it’s all make sense to you 😅 sometimes I have similar situation when I can’t define my feelings and need time to analyze them… 🥲

I Think I Like You Too...

a/n ~ Omg reader in this is so relatable 😭 Honestly wasn't sure how you wanted me to write them so I did what I thought worked best for this situation. Not quite sure how happy I am with this so I might add to it/change some of it in the future but for now I hope you like it <3

~ Just fluff, James and Sirius being children

WC ~ 1,859

Sometimes you don't understand why you're friends with the marauders. You love them so much but you're so different sometimes you don't understand. You're very calm and collected. Most times you don't show emotion at all, coming off as if you don't care. That's not the case though and luckily the boys know that. Even if they're the only ones.

Besides them and Lily, no one talks to you, and you don't talk to them. There's no real reason for this, only that people say you have a “death glare,” which apparently, makes you seem unapproachable.

Because of them being your only friends, (and not great at their studies) you spend a lot of time helping the boys, mainly James and Sirius, with their homework and preparing them for exams. During times where you're helping the boys in the library you notice the way people look at you guys. Sometimes their gaze is slanted towards the boys, either lusting after them or annoyed by some dumb prank they pulled.

However, there are times when people stare at you. They try to be less obvious, but you can see the way they silently judge you. Wondering why the boys hang out with you and debating whether or not you're as bitchy as you tend to seem.

You don't let any of this get to you, people will judge you for anything you do, and you know they simply don't understand. Honestly you find it funny how obsessed people are with a look on your face.

Especially when it's not one you make on purpose.

“I don't understand.” James tells you, for what feels like the hundredth time in twenty minutes.

“Of course you don't, you've been making faces at Sirius the whole time I was explaining.” You swear sometimes they're just children in growing-up bodies. Between the pranks, silly faces, and running around the halls playing hide and seek, but instead of each other seeking, it's whichever teacher they last put a spell on, it can be very hard to keep up with. Probably why people were so unexpected to see you all together.

“No I wasn't.”

“James, I saw you.”

“Wasn't me,” he defends. You let out a deep sigh at his childish antics, before focusing on the paper in front of him. You look down at the perfect moment, just in time to see Remus's small grin at banter between you and James.

“James, pay attention or I'll turn you into a rat,” you try to threaten, seeing Peter's frown at your words. “Sorry Pete, rats are adorable. You know how James feels about them though,” you shrug, remembering the way he screamed when Peter first transformed into his animagus form. He's not scared of Peter when he knows it's him but any other rat freaks him out.

“Fair.” Is all he says, as he leans back down to whatever he's doing on the floor.

You return your focus back to James, “Okay, are you going to pay attention this time?”

“Yes I am, apparently Lily only likes smart guys.”

“I have literally been telling you that for-” you're quickly cut off.

“No but that was just a plot for you to make me do my homework.”

“No it wasn't, I was trying to help you with Lily because-”

“No, I'm pretty sure you're lying.”

“But you confirmed it why would I be lying about it-”

“Well I don't know, why are you?”

“James Fleamont Potter I swear if you cut me off one more fucking time.” You hear the giggles of everyone else around you.

“What? What are you gonna do?”

“Call Lily.”

“No wait, I'm sorry.” He immediately changes his tone and turns back to his parchment.

Rolling your eyes, you look at Sirius,“Sirius, how far are you?”

“Well unlike prongs, I'm almost finished.” He tells you proudly.

“Can I see it?” He looks between you and the paper for a moment and then shakes his head.

“Not yet. It's a surprise.” You take a deep breath as he continues making faces to James.

Deciding you're done being a young mom to two boys older than you. You excuse yourself from the table and move to sit by the only boy not constantly giving you a headache.

“Hey, Rem.” You greet him softly.

“Good try.” He smirks at you, referencing the boys in front of you. You're glad they're having fun, but they're giving you gray hairs at this point.

“I'm two seconds away from calling Euphemia to deal with them.”

“That's a great plan, at least you'll get cookies out of it.” You nod your head in agreement, taking a second to admire your friend. Which is totally normal in a friendship, probably. You know you feel different about Remus than the others but you're not one hundred percent sure why.

“Ugh why can't you tutor them?” You don't even remember why you agreed to tutor them in the first place.

“Because I did it first and you lost the bet.” Now you remember, you and Remus had a stupid bet on who would tutor them. You and he had a competition, whoever got the lower grade on an exam would be the tutor. You lost. By one point.

“Not fair, I want a rematch.”

“How is that not fair? I won perfectly fair.” You know he did but you don't want to accept it.

“Uh because I don't wanna do it anymore.”

“C'mon they're not that bad.”

“Says you! Yesterday they were playing rock, paper, scissors and when Sirius lost, he pushed over James in his chair. Then James got up and claimed all the knowledge was knocked out of his head and he couldn't possibly finish the paper.” Remus is clearly trying not to laugh at your frustration. “Don't laugh, it's not funny.”

“I'm not laughing. But you have to admit they're very amusing.”

“I admit nothing. Seriously, why do they go to such lengths to avoid homework.” Remus immediately moves his face out of your view. “What do you know, Wolfboy?”

“Is the nickname really necessary?”

“Yes it is, explain,” you don't give him any room for argument.

“Fine. They usually do their homework just fine, slow but fine.”

“Then why do they cause such problems for me?” You ask him in despair.

“They like fucking with you.”

“Are you kidding me Lupin?” You raise your eyebrows at him and demand a response.

“No, they think you're funny.” He breaks out in a full blown laugh at your annoyed reaction.

“I'm glad you think this is funny, Moony, because you won't be laughing when you're all rats.”

“As if you could even turn me into a rat. I dare you to try.”

“Y'know what I will.” You give him a bright smile as he grabs your wrist to keep you from grabbing your wand.

“Not right now.”

“You're not scared are you Lupin?” You swear your heart skips a beat at his grin.

“Can you just pick one name and stick with it?”

“Okay I pick Wolfboy.”

“No you don't, pick something else.”

“No. Bye Wolfboy.” You hear his frustrated groan from behind you while you leave the library.

“Ah!” You jump as you turn the corner and run into Remus. “Oh. Hi Wolfboy.”

“I thought I told you to pick something else to call me.”

“No, I don't remember that.” He looks at you in disbelief. “I'm getting breakfast now.”

“No you are not.” He begins to pull you in the other direction.

“Um Wolfboy, I need food.”

“Not right now.” What the fuck.

“What is so important I must miss breakfast?” He pulls you into an empty classroom and shuts the door. “You know you can't kill me right? People will know.

“That's not…what?”

“Nevermind, continue.”

“Okay great. I don't know how to say this but after yesterday it just felt so clear that I need you to know.” You give a gentle nod for him to continue.

“Y/n, I hope this doesn't ruin anything between us but I need you to know that I like you.” He waits a minute for you to respond, when you don't, he keeps going. “As more than a friend, like romantically. I have a crush on you.”

“Oh um okay.” You shrug and start to walk out of the room. “See you at breakfast.”

Remus is stuck standing in place as he tries to comprehend what just happened. He was expecting a rejection, a clear rejection. Or of course, there's the small part of him waiting for you to admit you feel the same way he does. But no. None of them. He has no idea how you're feeling. Who just says “okay” to that and walks out.

After a minute he decides to follow you to the great hall, pretending nothing just happened. He doesn't know whether to be sad about a rejection or be happy it wasn't actually a rejection?

James and Sirius are questioning his mixed expression the second he sits down, but Remus is focused solely on you. Who isn't in the great hall. He looks over all the people at least three times looking for you. Ultimately, he can't help but be a little relieved he doesn't have to face you right now. What would he even say after that?

Remus doesn't see you for the rest of the day. Instead he spends the day worrying whether or not he's scared you away.

“Oh Remus you're here! Come here!” You grab his hand and pull him into an empty room, similarly to the way he did to you yesterday.

“Um okay? Are you alright?” He asks quickly, as if sensing your nervousness.

“Yes I'm fine I just need to say something to you.”

“What is that?” He asks, pointing to the things you're holding in your free hand.

“Oh yeah this stuff is for you.” You hand him a box of his favorite chocolates and a scarf you spent the night making for him. “I made this for you because I didn't know how to say what I want to. I didn't mean to act like that yesterday, I just needed some time to think about how I felt.”

“And what do you want to say?”

“Yeah it's on the scarf actually.” You take notice of how your fingers are fidgeting, and your legs are bouncing in place.

“Did you make this? This is nice.”

“Last night, yeah.” You feel a little out of breath as you stand in front of him.

“In one night? That's impressive and insane.”

“I'm well aware. I didn't sleep last night.” He grins you a big grin, both at your words and the words he finally finds on the end of his scarf.

“You need sleep, angel.” He says, cutting off at the end as he finishes reading your sewed words. ‘I think I like you too ♡’ is embedded into the red fabric. “You think?”

“Is that acceptable for you Wolfboy?” You step closer to him, waiting for his answer.

“Yeah more than.” You can't stop your bright smile as he leans down to place his lips on yours.

[carolmunson]

peanut butter vibe. (steve harrington x thick!reader)

fulfilling my own request for mean!hot!thick!reader and hot!rich!wealthy!corporate!steve harrington who is not so secretly in love with you. takes place in 1996 - reader and steve are 29 turning 30

word count: 10.2K

warnings: 18+ minors dni, f!reader, smut smut smut smut, there is smut everywere in this. from flashback smut to actual smut, they've BEEN fucking. mild daddy kink, face sitting, face riding, unprotected p in v sex, fingering (f receiving), oral (f and m receiving), references to shower sex. body type mention, very little body insecurity mention, reference to an ex boyfriend saying reader was 'too big' for something but it's not like -- something that they take into consideration. dirty talk, pet names (honey, baby, 'good girl' etc.), mild choking, steve is so bitchy but also so soft in this i hate him.

"Hi Stevie, it's me. I'm uh, I'm back a little early, Carly's having her baby soon -- I know it was a little weird last time with Andy being with me. We um, we broke up so he's not here this time. It wasn't like a big blow out or anything but -- why am I talking about this on your answering machine? Sorry. I'll be at Porter's tonight around 6 if you wanted to meet me there? It'd be cool to see you, I guess. -sigh- It's hard to bully you when you aren't responding. Anyway, bye -- I know you'll be there at 5:57 because you can't wait to see me."

Steve let out a sigh while the answering machine closed out with a beep, the robotic voice announcing 'End of Messages'. He took his glasses off and ran a hand over his face, tossing a look at the clock on the wall across from him. It was almost quitting time, and Porter's was only a twenty minute drive away from the office. Part of him selfishly didn't want to show up, or maybe show up a little late to make you sweat since you'd forced him to meet your boyfriend last time. Well, ex boyfriend now.

You and Steve weren't friends in high school. He was busy being King Steve, basketball playing jock covered in ladies and popular people. You were busy in drama club and creative writing in the library, protecting your friends from people like Steve. Sure you knew each other, you graduated in the same year, had a couple of classes together -- but neither of you were very interested in offering each other the time of day. Two incredibly different ships passing in the night.

You weren't Steve's type in high school, either. Steve was always caught with what you'd describe as 'pretty little things'. Girls with waists he could wrap his hands around, thin and toned thighs, girls with a little jiggle where it mattered the most and none where it didn't. The girl's wearing bikini's to his house parties when the pool was open. Maybe if you had looked like that, you would've known Steve in high school -- but then again, he wasn't really the kind of guy you were trying to hail down in Hawkins.

When you weren't getting finger blasted backstage by Eddie 'The Freak' Munson when he got to the theater too early for Hellfire Club, you were making eyes at college freshman at the coffee shop you worked at. Something about slightly older men, y'know? A little mature, a little more sure of themselves. Pouring over books and scribbling in their notebooks behind their frames, staying until close to finish a paper or study for an exam. You had one or two wrapped around your finger your senior year before you left to go to school in Chicago. After Chicago it was New York -- working in marketing for a cosmetics line.

You'd come back to Hawkins every year for the holidays, but one year when your grandfather passed away you ended up at Porter's after the funeral. You were 24 and heartbroken, nursing a glass of red wine, looking out of place in your Manhattan clothes in the cozy small town bar.

You were alone at the stools until Steve Harrington came through the door, suit jacket slung over his shoulder and tie loosened over his button down. He nodded at the bar tender who instinctively poured him a whiskey before he even made it to the barstool two over from you.

"Rough day, Harrington?" he asked, sliding the drink down to him.

"You wouldn't believe, Paul," he shook his head, carding his fingers through his hair. He rested his chin on one hand, propped up on his elbow, catching your movement in the corner of his eye. He turned his head and looked over at you, a endearing smile lighting up his tired face -- that Harrington charm.

"What about you? Rough day?" he asked. At first you didn't realize he was talking to you, looking down into your wine and listening to the drone of whatever sports game was on the TV. You were brought back to earth when a soft 'hey' came from his direction.

"Me? Oh, yeah. My grandpa's funeral," you said with a scrunched face, shrugging, "Sort of a huge downer."

"Oh, wow," Steve said, turning his full body towards you on the stool, "Sorry for your loss -- that's -- yeah that beats my day. Sorry about that."

You murmur a thank you and go back to your wine, hearing him shift in his seat.

"You look really familiar," he says gently, scanning your face.

"We went to high school together," you say with a smile after a sip of your Malbec, "Class of '85."

"Hawkins High? You sure?," his voice gets a little syrupy, "I think I'd remember you."

"I was in drama -- wasn't really your type," you say with a smart head tilt. It didn't bother you that you hadn't been. The same way it didn't bother you that you might've been his type now.

You spent three hours together talking at the bar, exchanging stories about high school and your years out of it. He told you how he just started on the sales team for some big insurance company and felt so out of his depth but at least he got to wear a suit. You told him about your dingy apartment in the Lower East Side and how you missed driving all the time.

You spent another hour fucking in his BMW, riding him in the back seat tucked in a dark corner of the Porter's empty parking lot. Your skirt pushed up over your hips.

"Fuck," Steve grunted through gritted teeth, splayed out in the center of the back seat, his legs as far out as that could go, "Y'feel so fucking good. So fucking good on top of me."

You whimpered in response, the curve of his cock hitting your spongey, sensitive g-spot with every bounce. Your grip on his shoulders tightened as his hands moved smoothly over your thighs, finger tips digging into your fleshy hips when he got your reflection in the rear view mirror. Rear view, indeed. He let his eyes rest on the reverberation of your ass coming down on his hips and big legs with each shove down on his cock. The wet smack! of is crotch hitting against your soaked pussy making him want to fuck you even harder. He kneaded your body in his hands, grabbing handfuls of you as he got to your backside, humming while he felt it shake just out of his grasp.

You yelped when his warm palm cracked down on it, an angry sting running through your lower body. You couldn't help but tighten around him, slick dripping over him between your legs.

"Hm, you like that? You like when I smack that fucking ass?" he asked, holding your hips down so he could buck into you with a faster speed. Groaning while he pumped with vigor, you hear another hard crack on your ass resounding in the backseat before you feel the burn of it. Your whines made his cock twitch, slowing down to feel your hips grinding desperately against him for more friction. You slapped your palms gently against his clothed chest, pouting as you shimmied for more of his assault against your aching cunt.

“You love this cock, huh? Look at you, so fuckin' needy for it,” he gloated while your eyes narrowed in on him. Oh no, you weren't about to give Steve Harrington the satisfaction of telling him how fucking amazing his dick felt plowing into you. You weren't about to admit that all the things girls would say about him in high school were true. You reached for his jaw, holding it tight in your hand to look down at him while his hips slowed to a stop. He looked up at you, his eyes a little glassy, his grip loosening on your hips.

“Shut - your mouth,” you hissed down at him. He flushes, a smirk slips onto his lips as he leans back, putting his hands behind his head, his elbows splayed out next to him.

"Yes ma'am," he says with a soft raise to his eyebrows.

"If you'd like," he starts, taking his glasses off and tucking them into his breast pocket. He looks unbothered by your act of dominance while he runs a hand through his hair and leans forward to close the gap between you. His hands digging firmly into your ass to keep you balanced on his thighs.

His lips ghost yours while he speaks low and huskily, "I can take you back to mine and show you all the other ways I know how to use it."

He ate your pussy with the lights on and gave you his number before driving you back to your place.

'I like talking to you,' he shrugged, 'Call me whenever.'

And so began a so far, five year friendship -- you'd have long phone calls every few weeks or months when your busy schedules allowed. Staying updated on each other: how work was going, what bad dates you both had been on, what hijinks you'd been getting into with friends. Promotions, birthdays, hardships. It was nice to have a friend from home, someone who sort of knew the people you knew before you left. Nice to gossip a little, nice to laugh with each other.

Every time you came back to Hawkins, you'd meet up at Porter's for a drink. Have a real talk like you did the first night you got to know each other and then somehow, for some reason, you'd end up back at his place.

"What'd I say? Right on time, Harrington," you call out when he comes through the door. Steve groans, looking at his watch -- 5:57 on the dot. He'd had a long day, he was tired, and for a moment the sound of your voice made him grit his teeth.

You watch him check his watch and his smile tightens. He looks good -- suit much more refined from when you first really met him five years ago. Tailored, in a color that compliments his skin, his tie perfectly kept to his chest with what you assume was a pricey tie clip, shoes shined. He'd fit in great on Wall Street if he'd just get a fucking hair cut.

The way he walks towards you holds a different confidence than it had in the last year and a half when you were with Andy. Though it was clear he didn't particularly like Andy, he was perfectly pleasant -- able to slip right into a cadence of faux friendship you only wished Andy could've done. You once him over a second time as he sits in the stool next to you, his cologne was new, but expected. It felt like every man you knew was wearing Aqua di Gio.

"I know you're always so desperate to impress me but I gotta say, you look a little overdressed for Porter's. Were you nervous or something?" you ask sweetly, sipping on your red wine. You slide a whiskey double infront of him and he looks down at it, a frustrated smile breaks against his face. He bites the tip of his tongue between his teeth, shaking his head -- his hair moves with him.

"Looks like you didn't bother getting dressed up for me at all," he bites back, "C'mon, Manhattan -- a Hawkins High sweatshirt?"

Manhattan -- his favorite nick name when you got too big for your britches. A little too snobby for his liking, which was funny coming from a man with more designer clothing than you could dream to afford.

You looked down at yourself, you'd stolen the sweatshirt from your little sister -- your original one too battered and stained to see the light of day again. Sure, maybe your light wash bootcut jeans weren't screaming high fashion but your black square toed boots were cute! You swore you looked good before you left, but suddenly you weren't sure. You'd fallen off dressing 'nice' when you were home, it just wasn't worth it.

"Okay, mean," you spit, not giving off offense -- but not hiding it either.

"I like the boots, though," he shrugs, lifting the tumbler to his lips. The golden brown of the whiskey matched his eyes, they seemed to soften as the liquid met his mouth.

"Top shelf?" Steve's teeth are bright and straight in his smile while he sets the glass down.

"Do I ever disappoint?" you ask, crossing your legs. He burns pink at the question.

"Never," he's earnest in his response, finally making full eye contact with you, "You staying through the holidays?"

"Just for a few days, then heading back to wrap up Q4, I'll be back on the 23rd like always," you say. He nods and stands up, scooting his bar stool closer to yours -- just enough that your knees brushed. He leans forward, acting like it's too loud to hear you but the bar is only half full. You lean forward too, resting your chin on your hand, elbow drilling into your crossed thighs.

"And how's Carly?" he asks, you can see the delicate five o'clock shadow peeking through on his chin and neck. His lips full and wet with whiskey, he slides his tongue over them slowly to collect the flavor.

"So over being pregnant," you roll your eyes over your older sister's dramatics, "But you know -- she's excited. I'm excited, too! I get to live out my dreams of being the mysterious, hot, rich aunt."

"So, what -- Andy didn't want to be the rich uncle?" he asks, you note that he drops 'mysterious' and 'hot'. The mention of Andy stings a little and your eyes droop down to your wine.

"Sorry," he says, his comforting hand falling on your knee, "I'm sorry."

He squeezes your knee when you don't look up at his apology, a beat passes while you contemplate saying something mean -- but it's a little nice to see him feel apologetic.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asks, his thumb soothingly running back and forth over your thigh as his hand moves further up. Steve frowns at your disappointed face, he hated crossing the line by accident.

You shake your head no, tilting your head back up, "Let's wait on that. I wanna hear about that big promotion you got -- we haven't really gotten to talk about it."

Steve got promoted to Director of Sales six months ago and it was kicking his ass way less than his previous management position. What was most exhausting was how incompetent everyone was.

"Well, you were kind of too busy --" he started, but quickly shook his head out of the bit, "It's fine, it's a lot of work -- god, no one ever knows what they're doing. A lot of directing going into this director of sales thing."

"Aww, my little scumbag -- running the insurance show," you coo, "You should do car sales next, so sleazy, you'll fit right in."

"You're somethin' else, tonight," he laughs, taking his hand off your leg, "And are you any better? Working for a company that tells women they're ugly so they'll buy all your shit? How's it going at L'Oreal anyway?"

You sigh and roll yours eyes, "More like L'Ore-hell. I just transferred into the marketing team from customer insights and it's somehow -- boring? I already know the answers to all of the problems they come up with. It's like they don't know who their customer base is."

Steve's eyes sparkle while you continue to rant about ROIs and think tanks, he loves when you talk about how much you hate your job. You get so passionate, you talk so fast he can barely keep up.

"I wish I could check your blood pressue right now," he jokes, it's the kind of joke adults make. Sometimes it feels like you're both playing the parts of adults at these bar hang outs -- two kids in their parent's clothes on barstools, just giggling.

"When I went to the doctor they had to check it twice because I was talking about work when they checked it the first time -- that's how stressed out it makes me," you huff.

"Sorry, I just made that all about me, can you please let me more about your director job -- are you at least happy about the promotion?" you ask.

You miss his hand on your leg but it's probably just the wine talking. Paul comes over to replenish the glass without asking, you and Steve were both two drinks and go kind of people (sometimes you'd sneak a third if he wasn't paying attention).

"I mean, sure -- I'm a step away from getting into a chair position. I'm making more money than I know what to do with. My dad is thrilled for the first time ever," he explains, always so expressive but you catch him nervously swipe through his hair, "But -- fuck...y'know?"

"I don't know," you laugh into your glass, "What do you mean, 'fuck'?"

"I'm gonna be thirty next year and like, what do I have to show for it other than --"

"Other than being a wealthy hometown high school basketball super star, swimming in pussy, who got a cushy office job two years after graduating because your daddy was tired of seeing you work at Family Video, and now is the director of sales at a big wig insurance company after only what -- seven years in the company? And wears designer suits and is still swimming in pussy?" you say in one breath. He sighs at you and leans his head into his hand, elbow resting on the bar.

"Sure -- I guess," he smiles, but it's a sad smile.

"What more do you want, Steve?" you ask with a shrug, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here."

"I don't know," he shrugs, "I mean look at you -- every time you come back you have a new story to tell me, something exciting that happened to you. I have -- pfft -- 'They hired a new secretary! Here's the gossip about other people in Hawkins I learned from my mom! I'm still sort of a loser!"

"I mean sure, yeah, you're a loser," you agree, "But not, y'know, not like -- in the bad way."

He tosses you a look but you smile back at it, making him smile back at you. This time it's genuine, you figure the whiskey is helping. Steve sits back up to full height and leans back in his bar stool, knees splaying out. If he took his suit jacket off you'd swear he'd look like one of those 1950's husbands whose a little annoyed that dinner isn't ready yet -- your thighs press tight together.

"I think you sound bored," you suggest, "Like you need something different."

He drums his fingers on the bar, staring at them while he speaks, "I have some options I've been thinking about, but I don't know. Don't wanna make a fool of myself if it doesn't work out."

"Don't wait too long," you say with a shrug, "Another ten years will fly by like that." You snap your fingers for emphasis.

"What happened with Andy?" he presses, sipping his whiskey to down the rest and putting the empty glass on the table.

You 'ugh' under your breath and take a big sip of wine before you feel him tug at the end of the stem, "Sloooow down. Don't wanna to have to carry you out of here."

"You couldn't carry me, Harrington," you say flatly.

"We both know that I can carry you, but okay," he says with a quirked brow, unimpressed with your attitude. The memory of him hoisting you up against the shower tile in his bathroom with your fleshy thighs wrapped tight around him flashes through your mind. Hot breath and hot water running all over you while he grunted into your ear with each desperate thrust. Steve notices your cheeks heat up -- he knows what you're thinking about, because he is too. A satisfied smile settles onto his lips.

"Alright, settle down," you say, pushing your glass a little away from you towards Steve while his next whiskey arrives. You aren't sure if you're talking to him or to yourself.

"I just..." you breathe out of your nose, "It wasn't working out. I was tired of taking care of him."

"Oh, you broke up with him?" Steve confirms.

"Yeah," you sit back a bit, furrowing your brow, "Did you think he broke up with me?"

"I don't know, you seemed really sad about it!" Steve says, his hands outstretched, "I thought he left you."

"He didn't," you say, "I left, but it's still a bummer. Thought maybe he could've been it, y'know? But, thinking back it would've been -- I don't know -- it wasn't going to happen."

"He didn't want to get married?" he asked, a little surprised.

"I don't think that was in his five year plan, he barely took me out to dinner," you complained, "I was paying for everything 'cause I had a better job."

Steve crossed his arms while you talked, frowning while you continued to ramble about Andy and the break up.

"I just felt like I was putting a lot of effort into him, and I wasn't getting anything in return," you shrug, "And like, that's okay. I'm so used to doing that but...I don't know, I think I just would like for someone to take care of me for a change."

You pause, considering what you said and shake your head, "That sounds so selfish, oh my god."

"I don't think it sounds selfish at all," Steve shakes his head, "I think you're sort of asking for the bare minimum -- I mean fuck, he didn't take you out to dinner? I've taken you out to dinner and you've never even been my..."

You're both quiet for a beat while he trails off, neither of you looking at each other. You reach for your wine and he moves the glass away just as your fingers graze the stem. You lift your butt of the stool and pluck it out of his hand, taking another - smaller - sip. He looks at you like a disappointed father.

"Maybe I wanted to try it? Ugh, you're right Manhattan, you're so selfish," Steve teased.

"You don't like Malbec, Stevie," you swirl the booze in your glass, "That's why I order it."

Steve knows that's why you order Malbec, that's why he kept ordering whiskey -- you don't like it, but he'll know you're getting a little drunk if you ask for a sip of his drink. That's when he knows it's time to take you home, he'd sleep with you another night. He doesn't want you to get too drunk tonight, something about your flushed cheeks. The way you look in those boot cut jeans -- especially when you excused yourself to the bathroom and he could watch you walk away. Whew.

Steve waits for the door to close behind you to hail down Paul to get the check.

"She's gonna get pissy that you're covering it," Paul said while passing him the bill for your drinks, "She told me not to let you pay when she got here."

"Paul -- What's she gonna do? Kill me?" he gestures his hand out while using the other to reach for his wallet. He pulls out a few bills, including a generous tip, and passes them to Paul indiscreetly.

"Steve -- come on!" He winces at your voice, "I told you last time I had it next!"

"My hand slipped -- suddenly the money just appeared in Paul's register, there was nothing I could do," Steve held his hands up.

"Paul!" you call down the bar, but the yell turns into a laugh, "You promised you wouldn't let him pay!"

"He threatened me within an inch of my life. Had to let the man do what he wants," Paul said, putting the cash in the register. You settle back into your stool and cross your legs again, smoothing your damp hands on your jeans.

"I'm gonna kill you, Harrington," you mutter to your knees.

"I feel like 'thank you' would've been a much nicer thing to say," he's always so cool when he talks. You envy how easy it is for him to be charming, to turn it on quickly. Sometimes he makes you feel nervous and seventeen again, even though you've done this so many times before. He looks at you over the whiskey glass while he sips it, eyes glittering behind his glasses. Neither of you have to say anything to know what happens after his finishes his drink.

When you left, he reached for your hand when the door to Porter's closed behind you. You didn't need the support, the parking lot wasn't icy or snow covered, you weren't drunk -- but you let his fingers lace with yours. He guides you deliberately to his car -- of course it's new -- a dark green Porsche 911. What a tool.

"You like my new toy?" he asked. It was easily the most expensive car you'd seen in Indiana.

"Steven," you're a little exasperated -- sometimes he was such a poor little rich boy, "Why?"

He shrugs, "Felt like it."

You let go of his hand to walk to the passengers side door, waiting for him to unlock it while you shiver. He notices you didn't have a coat on, shaming himself silently for not offering his trench for the short walk.

You both get in when he unlocks to doors and you eye the interior, the plush leather of the seats. You squint a little when you cast your eyes over to him, "I feel like you're compensating for something."

"Oh yeah?" he asks casually, starting the car and cranking the heat, "What am I compensating for? Wanna remind me?"

You cross your arms and don't answer because he doesn't have anything to compensate for. Steve Harrington was born blessed, if you were more religious you'd swear he was God's favorite.

"That's what I thought," he says with a grin while pulling out of the parking lot. His hand meets your head rest while he stretches his neck back to check for cars. The same hand falls to your thigh when you make it on the road, sliding his palm over the swell of it -- his fingers resting inside. He let his eyes glance at how your hips filled up the small passengers seat at a red light, your jeans tight over your thighs.

Steve gave you a soft squeeze when the light turned green, you put your hand over his hand at the gesture -- relacing your fingers. You don't notice the gentle smile blooming onto his face, too busy looking at Christmas lights on the houses outside.

--

You don't waste time when you both get into his house, slipping off your shoes at the entry way -- bolstering passed the darkened livingroom to the stairs in his mini-mansion. He follows quickly behind you, getting ahead of you to get into his room to turn on the bedside lamps.

"Are those new?" you whisper -- it's not like anyone is home, it's Steve's house, but the darkness makes you feel like you have to be quiet. He comes back over to you, quick on his socked feet and pulls you in for a feverish kiss.

"Yeah," he says between kisses, all harsh breaths and wet clicks, "I had a new -- mmm -- uh fuck -- new decorator come in."

His hands are wound in your hair while he keeps control of your head, his kisses go from fast and hungry to slow and controlled.

"I'll show you later," he mumbles against your lips. You nod in agreement, you did genuinely want to see. What fancy hotel was it based off of this time?

"This is okay, right?" he asks, pulling away, "I'm sorry I didn't ask I just -- old habits, I guess."

"It's okay, Stevie," you assure, his hands slipping out of your hair and onto your full cheeks. He squishes them together a little and smiles into a little chuckle. Sometimes you're so cute to him he can't stand it, he wants to eat you whole -- wants to keep you in his bed forever.

"Good," he mumbles again before settling back in for a deep kiss that leaves you moaning softly into his mouth, "Missed feeling you like this."

"You're so needy," you tease, his hands dropping from your face to your hips, feeling his own press against yours.

"Oh, you feel that?" he smirks, dick hard in his slacks -- straining despterately to get your attention.

"Needier than I thought," you scoff, "You gonna make it, Steve? You don't even have your jacket off yet."

"Watch your mouth," it's not mean when he says it, he likes when you tease him because you have nothing to back it up. You've never left unsatisfied -- even when you were on top calling him your 'sweet boy', you'd get in the shower after with your legs shaking. Shivering against him when he'd get on his knees and lick at your sensitive clit just to watch you leave hand print on the glass.

"You just sound so pretty, miss. I can't help myself," he'd say from below you, water droplets resting on his eyelashes while you gushed over his mouth.

Steve breaks away to take off his jacket and looks at it for a split second -- hesitating.

"You wanna hang it up, huh?" you know how he gets.

"Will you be mad? I just don't want it to crease," he pleads.

"You're gonna get the suit dry cleaned anyway," you say back, laughing.

"I know, I know, but I have to -- I just have to hang it up, I'm so sorry," he presses a chaste peck to your lips before disappearing into his walk in closet. You take your time getting undressed because you know he'll be at least seven to nine minutes while he puts everything back in the 'to be dry cleaned' part of the closet.

You keep your bra and panties on, white satin, a little lace. He's always a sucker for something angelic that's a little grown up -- but you guess you are grown ups now. It's weird to consider.

He emerges from the closet in his boxer breifs with a frown, "Why'd you take your clothes off without me?"

"You took your clothes off without me," you counter point, "Did you want me to just sit here and wait for you?"

"Kinda," he says with a half shrug, "Would've been nice."

You get a little giddy while he approaches you, his smile building when yours does. His hands skate over the flesh on top of your flared ribs, over to your back. His fingers gliding over the back strap of your bra before snapping it off of you, dropping it to the floor. He traces the indents on your skin from the clothing, red and raw. Big hands grope at your breasts before following the slope of your waist back down to your ass, filling his hands greedily.

"Missed her the most," another chaste kiss to your lips, "But I think you knew that." Steve had always thought he was a tits guy until he met you, maybe you were the exception. Maybe he liked all your parts.

"I knew that," you say, wrapping your arms around his neck, "Can you stop stalling, Harrington? This wine's gonna wear off soon."

With your hold on his neck, laying you back on the mattress was an easy feat. He spread you out wide, pushing your hands above your head while he settled his hips against yours. He couldn't help himself from starting to rut against you -- you were so warm, your pussy practically begging him to fuck you.

"Ooh," you moaned out against your better wishes, his covered cock giving you just enough friction in your panties to set you ablaze. You could feel yourself dripping into them, begging, waiting for him.

"You really want me tonight, huh?" he asked hungrily, knowing the answer.

"Y-yes, Stevie," you whined, letting go of his hands to let your nails graze down his back, feeling the length of him trapped in his boxers press against you.

"Oh-ho-ho, whose needy now, hm?" he teases in your ear, grinding mercilessly against you, his chest pressed up against yours while he keeps you pinned the the mattress.

"So quick with that tongue earlier, what happened?" he smirks, getting right in your face, brushing his nose against yours. You roll your hips against his, your thighs sliding against his hips as another mewl escapes you at the friction.

"Oh, I see. You wanna be good for daddy now, don't you?"

"Steven," your eyes pop open, your mouth gapes with a smile, "You can't just say stuff like that."

He laughs into a kiss on your neck, "C'mon, I think you liked it."

"I don't really think you're the 'daddy', type," you say, your voice taunting.

"No?" he asks his voice is calm, but his eyes are challenging you.

"No, you're too nice," you smirk while he comes up to kiss your mouth, "You've never won a fight in your life. And you're what, almost 30? Who're you bossin' around?"

He watches you raise a brow when you say it, your lower lip tucking slowly between your teeth in a grin -- god he loves when you do that.

"Lot of secretaries to go through in the office, mmm," he hums when your lips graze his neck, your tongue striping up to his jaw, "Learned a couple things."

"You think I can't boss you around?" he asks, pressing up off of you and leaning onto one of his forearms.

"I know you can't boss me around," you say, your brows quirking while you push at his chest to get on top of him like you always do. Already soaking at the thought of him whining for you to fuck him, to cum all over him, grabbing at your thighs, hips, and ass desperately. His heaving breaths after finishing, resting his head on your stomach while you stroked his hair, feeling his lips press against your soft, pudgy, belly to let you know he's ready for the next round.

He caught your wrist as you pushed and pressed it back down into the mattress.

"Oh c'mon Stevie, I love hearing you beg for me," you tease before he presses his mouth against yours, noses squishing together. Over the years, Steve craved closeness from you -- pulling you flush against his chest when you were on top, wrapping his arms around your back. Clutching you, fingertips sinking into your cloud-soft flesh while you moaned into his ear.

"Think you can beg for me for a change," he mutters, pulling away as you reach to kiss him again. A little whine pulls from your throat and he purrs at the sound. Right where he wants you.

He gets on his knees between your legs and looks down at you, eyes roaming the expanse of your body -- your broad shoulders, soft skin, delicate curves and indents. His personal Aphrodite -- flesh turned fine art. All the Rennaissance paintings in the world couldn't do you justice. He stuttered the first time he saw you naked, overwhelmed by you and how not shy you were for him to see you. Steve let's a finger trail along the lining of your silk panties at your thigh, you shiver at his soft touch.

"Take these off," he says, but it comes out as a demand.

"So mean," you tease, tugging at the elastic and lifting your hips up to push them over your butt and thighs. He shrugs off your jest, grabbing your underwear when they get too far down for you to reach and throwing them on the floor. He's rough when he flips you over to your stomach, the flesh of your ass bouncing with the movement and he salivates immediately.

"I'll show you mean," he says, it's more playful than menacing. He brings a hand down hard on your soft body, ass reverberating with the action and you gasp -- tensing all around.

"Ow -- Steve!" you cry out, trying to catch your breath.

“Oh, shit,” he smooths over the pink handprint blooming on your skin, “I’m sorry.”

"It's okay, it's fine, just -- I don't know, warn a girl," you laugh. His hand drags over the curve of your ass to your thigh.

"Did you like that?" he asked, his voice dropped to his lower register and you inadvertently press your thighs together. Your face drops into your arms on the mattress, blushing.

"Is that a yes?" he asks, fingers snaking to your inner thigh and your hips roll slowly at the feeling. He hums when he sees you nod into your forearms.

"On your knees, baby," he suggests, tapping your thigh. You adjust onto your knees, forearms still on the mattress in a perfect deep arch. He sits back at first, taking a moment to marvel at your ass in the air -- committing it to memory. He keeps his hand on your inner thigh, massaging gently while you settle into position.

"Open up a little more for me," he's gentle, pushing at your flesh so you open up wider. You adjust and he grins, sliding his boxers off -- you whimper when he does.

"You okay?" his voice laces with acute concern, it wasn't a sexy whine or cry like you usually do. He stands up so he can soothe you from the side of the bed, his hand smoothing over your back.

"I thought you were gonna -- I didn't know we were immediately gonna fuck," you say, leaning your face to the side to look at him.

"Oh no - I wasn't just gonna - when have I ever just gone in and fucked you?" he laughs, "I just wanna jerk off while you sit on my face, is that okay?"

"So much for me begging for you," you smirk, "Sitting on your face, just like old times."

He huffs a breath through his nose looking down at you, his face unimpressed. He leans forward, face inches away from yours, "Who was just whining over the idea that I might not eat her pussy tonight?"

You burn at his words and he notices, "Was it you?"

You nod with an embarrassed smile, "If you're a good girl, I'll let you be the boss next time. I'll teach you a few things, yeah?"

"Steeeeve," you whine while your skin is in flames, "You can't say that."

He gets on the bed behind you, one hand on the bend of your hip, the other with his fingers sliding against your open folds -- finding slicknes without surprise.

"Can't say what?" he asks with a smile, "Can't call you my good girl?"

Your hips push back on his fingers when he says it and you scold yourself at your body's betrayal. You hear him tutt behind you and you clench around nothing at the sound, "Sure feels like I can."

He slides under you like a well versed mechanic, arms and hands immediately wrapping around your thighs, stifiling their nervous jiggle. He guides you down to his mouth, your posture changing while you sit further up and back so you can see his eyes and he can see all of you. Your hips wiggle as you feel his breath on your opening.

"Are you excited?" he asks, you nod and he can't hold out anymore at the sight of your smile. You feel his tongue drag, poking between your folds once you relaxed -- his fingers reaching to keep you spread open to start.

Your smile transforms to a pornographic gasp, head immediately thrown back as his tongue stripes you again. Your hips rock against his mouth, Steve smirks to himself into the next lick, flicking over your clit and a peal of mewls escape your lips.

He feels at home here, your full, thick thighs keeping his ears warm in the December weather. This big cold house suddenly feeling full with your voice moaning his name. He didn't need the whiskey if you were offering to quench his thirst like this.

You feel his tongue lap at your opening, the thick, wet, muscle pushing in past your walls trying to desperate to out maneuver him. His face was coated in your juices, dripping freely own onto his chin and cheeks while he fucked you with his tongue. He watched as your hand reached down to tease your clit, he caught it in his, pushing it up to your breasts.

"Play with your tits f'me baby, let me watch," he says, scooting up a bit.

"But Steve I --" you huff, desperate for some extra stimulation.

"I'm getting there, if you'd just be patient for like, twenty seconds," his voice sounds like he's back at the bar, admonishing you like you're rushing him to get out of the bathroom.

"You're ruining the mood," you cross your arms over your chest, pouting.

"Aww, I'm ruining the mood?" he mocks, a fake frown matching yours. He slides a finger slowly past your tight walls and you falter a little but hold to your convictions. He holds eye contact with you through his glasses, pushing a second finger in to meet the first.

Your mouth gapes, eyes pricking with tears as your walls close down hard on him, "Am I still ruining the mood, baby?"

A silent cry rattles your chest, falling quietly out of your open mouth. Your eyes close tight while he snickers, pumping his fingers in a steady rhythm, "It's all better now, isn't it?"

His voice makes you dizzy, he used to talk to you like this when you first started fucking. Cocky and confident -- certain he was making you feel good, and fuck he was. What did he ask you to do before? Your brain was racking for the command, but too overwhelmed with pleasure when he hooked his fingers to find your g-spot.

"Stevie -- oh fuck, fuck, please more," you whine out, you sound pathetic but you can't even find your self to care. It feels like a roller coaster reaching it's peak with every curve of his fingers teasing your spongey center. 'Play with your tits f'me baby, let me watch.' There it is, that you could do. You palm your breasts, pulling and pinching at your hard nipples looking down at him over your belly pooch. He winks when his tongue finally makes contact with your clit and you shudder instantly. You gush over his fingers, taken by surprised by your own orgasm -- already feeling the second one building.

"That's my good girl," he purrs beneath you, "Stay just like that, okay? I'm not done."

You gulp, feeling his soft kitten licks back on your clit start to ramp up to fast flutters -- Steve didn't want to start you back up slowly. Your breath had barely steadied before it picked back up again, flexing your core to keep yourself hovering above him. Your hand reached down to his hair, tugging while your thighs tensed.

"Ride my face, baby, come on," he encourged, "You've never been nervous to do it before."

"I --," you hesitated, "I didn't with Andy -- it's been a while."

"What?" he asked, surprised, pushing up so his full head peeked out from between your legs, "Are you fucking with me?"

"He...ugh, Steve," you leaned your head back and then turned it back down, mumbling, "He said I was too heavy."

Steve's eyes furrow, mouth open, unsure at first how to respond -- aghast, "This guy sounds like a fucking loser. You're not too heavy -- god -- who says 'no' to that? What's wrong this this guy?"

Steve shakes his head and pushes back down, "Sit on my face, baby. Fuckin' suffocate me."

You don't have a choice, he pulls you down onto him, your knees sliding further apart and you can't help but start grinding your hips against his tongue. The whole act sounds as lewd as it looks, wet and sticky as he captures your slit in his mouth to suck on it. Spreading your ass in his hands to spread you further apart, moaning low into your pussy so you can feel the vibration through your core.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ooh daddy just like that," the words just pour out of you while you start reaching your second peak, hips writhing onto him with your back arched. Steve grips your ass cheek hard before smacking down on it with a loud 'thwap!', satisfaction burning in his stomach -- daddy, daddy, daddy. The same hand reaches for his neglected cock, covered in pre, leaving a patch of cold liquid on his hard, muscled stomach.

Steve feels your hips hump his mouth in quick succession, his nose bumping your clit rapidly. Your moans get shorter and higher with each flick of his tongue against you until they're just huffed breaths.

"Mmm, come on," he nods up at you, "You can do it, angel."

You nod back, face contorted while tears stain your cheeks, the next roll of your hips his mouth makes contact with your clit again. You see stars, you cum so hard you swear you're pissing. You can hear Steve's grunts under you, collecting your slick to add friction to the fist he's fucking behind you.

"Get on your back," he demands, "Need t'fuck you, holy shit."

You get on your back, looking up at him now on his knees, both of your eyes lust blown in the low light. You weren't a stranger to his cock, but every time you saw it you couldn't help but feel spit build in your mouth. It was angry tonight, tip red and leaking, veins pulsing while he stroked himself looking down at you.

"I don't know, Stevie -- it might be -- it's too much," you say, thighs pressing together to protect your sensitive cunt.

"Two is nothing, honey," he shakes his head opening your legs up, crawling over you to line his tip up with your entrance, "You've given me four in less time."

You whine like a child, but you don't stop him when he slides the tip against your entrance, building up the slickness to slide over his cock. When his tip pops in you hiss, back arching to feel another inch push into you.

"Oh, that shut you up, huh?" that voice was back again, Steve was starting to feel so confident, you might as well start calling him Manhattan. He pushes deep into you, all the way to the hilt -- your legs springing up against your chest automatically -- heels hitting his back.

"You feel so good, Stevie," you moan into his mouth while he leans in to kiss you.

"Pussy's fucking made for me," he rasps while his thrusts pick up, forceful and deliberate. Steve loves fucking you because he knows how well you can take it. You were built sturdy, plush, soft -- he loved how it felt to slam into you. He'd heard it on the radio, some cheesy line 'more cushion for the pushin', but fuck if it wasn't true.

Steve knew he wouldn't last long inside you, your pussy tight and wet -- hugging him in place, resisting his exit. He filled you completely, your eyes rolling back the second you felt the hair at the base of his cock tickle your skin over and over again.

"Steve, oh god Steve," you moan through gritted teeth, tears back to rolling down your cheeks as your nails dig into his back, "Just like that daddy, fuck me like that."

His mouth falls open at your words, the girls on his desk never talk like that. He can't fuck them how he wants to, never throws them around. They don't look at him the way you look at him, soft and pretty. They don't wanna wash his hair for him in the shower after, and kiss the freckles on his back. He doesn't wanna make them dinner after, or give them a ride home. He doesn't blush the way he does when it's you that calls him daddy. When you call out his name. When you look up at him with those eyes. When you hold his hand in the car. When you tease him for coming to Porter's early. When you call every time you come home just to see him when you could see anyone else.

Steve's hand finds your jaw but you guide it to your throat while you bounce against his thrusts, he chuckles wickedly, "When'd you turn into such a whore?"

His fingers press down expertly on your neck while you attempt to moan out an answer that he doesn't wanna hear. He just wants to keep watching your fucked out face and body while he drills into you deeper. His voice lilts into a mocking coo, your cunt drools.

"Just for me, isn't it?" he asks down at you through his glasses, and you nod quickly in his hold, "They're not fuckin' you like this in the city, huh?"

"Had to come all the way back to Indiana to get this dick, didn't you? All the way back home so daddy could fuck you just how you like it," he huffs, feeling himself get close.

"Yes, yes -- had t-to come back for you - oh fuck, fuck," you whine out, raspy and nasal from lack of blood flow.

"Who fucks you like I do, hm? Who else is makin' you come like I can?" he eases up on your throat, moving back to your jaw -- leaning in to give you a sloppy tongue kiss into your gasping mouth. You tighten again over him, gushing whatever creamy spend you had left in you, gripping his shoulder tightly while your eyes pinched closed.

When you're nose to nose again you look up at him, "Nobody, Stevie. Just you, it's just you."

He growls at the confirmation, his hips stuttering -- 'Nobody fucks her like I do,' ringing in his head while he feels his vision start to go white.

"Baby, baby," he starts, his voice softening, "God, fuck -- can I come in your mouth?"

You nod and he groans, panting while your wet walls keep his cock warm and tight inside you. Steve slows his thrusts which just makes the feeling more intoxicating, your sticky thighs meshing with his soaked hilt. You whimper and cry with every push into your overstimulated cunt, your legs almost giving out from being pressed against your chest.

"Jesus Christ. Gonna come in your mouth," he whispers into your neck, "Feels -- oh shit -- fuck, it feels so good in your pussy, though."

Steve knows he can't hold back, quickly pulling out of you while you shoot up onto your elbows. He pulls your head forward with one fell swoop of his big hand, your mouth and thrat sucking in his cock in a vice grip. You can feel the warm liquid start shooting into your mouth immediately, but it doesn't stop you from obediently sucking on it. He's peak caveman brain while he watches you, your eyes shining up at him while he holds his weight up on your head -- grunts and snarls coming out of his mouth while he finishes thrusting into your face.

You take your mouth off as he softens and swallow, gingerly sitting up slowly. Your thighs ache, you're exhausted. He sits down onto his calves, both of you panting on the center of the bed.

"Let me -- let me get you some water," he huffs out, sliding off the mattress into the attatched master bathroom. He's only gone for ten seconds, passing a clear glass into your shaking hand. You sip slowly to start before gulping it down.

"You okay?" he asks, leaning over to kiss your forehead, "You're quiet."

You nod, taking a deep breath and letting it out, "That was...insane."

He laughs, it makes you laugh, and he lays down onto the mattress to stare up at you. You look down at him, offering Steve a weak smile before looking back at your empty water cup. You slide off the bed like he did before, putting the glass back on the bathroom counter, peeing, washing your hands, and walking back out.

You let out a tired sigh, reaching for your clothes strewn about by his dresser -- sliding on your panties.

"What're you doin', Manhattan?" he asks, sitting up, "Got somewhere to be?"

"I'm getting dressed, Steve," you explain, putting your bra back on. Steve's chest hollowed, normally you'd have some pillow talk after -- talk it out. He still had to show you the new house decor.

"Hey, stop," his voice is soft as he waves his hand at you, "You don't have to do that."

"I gotta get home, Steve," you assure, "It's getting late."

"You..." he trails off before taking a deep breath, replenishing his confidence, "You could stay. I can drive you back in the morning."

"Steve..." you start, shimmying a little to get your jeans over your hips and thighs, "I never stay. That's not us, that's not what we do."

"It could be..." he suggests, his voice cracking a little, "Please?"

You stand there, in your bra and unbuttoned jeans, your tummy poking out where the zipper is undone. Your bra suddenly feels tight and uncomfortable, your underwear constricting you under the jeans that feel a size too small.

He looks you over, watching you contemplate it and gets up out of bed to meet you by his dresser. His hands reach to each side of your face, warm and big. His fingertips graze the hair at the edge of your scalp, pinkies and ring fingers on the back of your neck. He tilts your head up slightly to look at him and your heart hammers, more than it did the first time he started kissing you in his car. Steve's heart matches your cadence, remembering how nervous he was the first time he talked to you -- desperately wanting you to be impressed by him.

"I --" you start blushing, he's never looked at you quite like this, "I don't have anything to wear to bed."

"I don't want you to wear anything to bed," he says, leaning forward to capture your lips in his while you both step awkwardly as a unit back over to the bed, "It'd just get in the way in the morning."

"Please stay," he pleads again, pressing a gentle peck on your lips, "Please -peck-, please -peck-, please -peck-. "

"Okay, okay," you laugh, "Are you sure?"

"I'm begging you," he smiles, leaning his forehead against yours. The tops of his frames hitting your brow bone. He lets go of your face to make work of the top of your jeans, shoving them back down until they pool at your ankles. He unhooks your bra, a little too expertly, and snaps the band of your satin panties before rolling those down too. He moves down with them so he can skate his hands over your thighs and leave a warm kiss on the flesh over your hip bone -- apologizing to the bruise he left there earlier.

"Can't believe you kept your glasses on," you tease, "Dweeb."

He comes back up, sliding his glasses off smoothly, like he did in the back seat of his BMW five years ago, "I like being able to really see you."

"Am I blurry without them?" you asked, trying to take them out of his hand. He snatches them out of your grasp, hiding them behind his back.

"Not really," he says, walking over to the bedside table and placing them next to the lamp, "You told me they made me look handsome back in - think it was -- '94 maybe? -- So I just wanted to keep them on for insurance."

You look down at the floor, "I always think you look handsome, Harrington."

You feel his hand at the back base of your neck and turn to see him behind you, "Come back to bed." 

He gets under the sheets and both duvets and turns down the covers next to him, slapping the pillow you're going to sleep on to beckon you forward. You want to roll your eyes but you can't force down the giddiness building in your chest -- sleep over!

You maneuver over to your side of the bed, slipping under the covers while he turns them back over you to tuck you in. Fuck are the sheets nice, they had to be some luxury brand you can only order through a catalog.

Steve clicks off his bedside lamp, leaning over you to click off yours and you catch the remnants of his cologne on his skin. It's not long before you feel his hand skate over you under the covers, sliding over your belly, up over every curve and bump on your body before resting a warm hand on the side of your breast. He hums sleepily and pulls you close to him, pressing his chest against your shoulder. His hot breath fans against your neck where he's settled his head.

"Isn't this nice?" he asks. You nod, turning onto your side to face him while his hand splays across your back to pull you closer. You slide a hand under the pillow, and savor the coolness on your hot skin. Steve looks at you with soft eyes, studying you.

"Can I tell you something?" he asks, "Or, well, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, of course," you say, looking at him, trying to read his expression.

"Remember -- ah fuck, okay I'm doing this," he says, trying to psyche himself up, "Remember when I said I had some options? To make changes?"

"Yeah, I remember. You can't wait when those opportunities come, Harrington," you lecture, "I've fucked myself so many times with that."

"There's a position in the New York office," he blurts out, "In the head quarters that they're eyeing me for."

Your heart races, "Okay."

"And I'd be...I don't know, sort of demoted but I'd get a huge -- like, huge fucking pay raise," he explains, "And I -- I wanna take it."

A beat passes while he tries to figure out what to say.

"And maybe, I don't know -- maybe we could try this out? Like for real? Instead of just fucking around every Christmas."

You consider it, heat blooming in your cheeks -- the good kind. Your heart starts to swell -- not Steve Harrington asking you out when you're twenty-nine. Sixteen year old you would be screaming.

"What do you think?" he asks, he swipes his hand through his hair and even in the dark you know his cheeks are pink.

"I don't think it's a bad idea," you say, "I think it's the excitement you're looking for -- New York I mean, not me."

"I think you're really exciting," he leans in to kiss you with a grin.

"And I think," he presses his lips against yours again, "I'd do a pretty good job at taking care of you, if you let me."

You laugh through your nose, blushing hard while he kisses your cheek, "That sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"It does sound nice, Steve," you agree, but you don't want him to feel too good about it. You had a reputation to uphold, still. He leans back to look at you, thumb caressing your cheek as your lids fall half down your eyes, "I think I'd really like that."

"You wanna shower? You too tired?" his voice his so gentle you start to melt, but exhaustion weighs heavy on you.

"Too tired," you say, nuzzling forward into his neck -- your head now partially on his pillow.

"We can talk about it more in the morning, yeah?" he asks, a hand reaching up to smooth over your hair.

"Yeah," you said, your breath steadying, "I'll see you in the morning."

He knows you don't like eggs for breakfast but it's all he has in the fridge. It's fine. He'll just order in.

[theemporium]

omg spillll about the roommate !!! i'm getting two new ones this year and i'm a little nervy bc my last random roomate situation was just so ideal that idk what to really expect now

-🌠

well🙃I lived with him in first year during dorms and we were genuinely good friends until last october. he is just the kinda guy to come in your room and rant until 3am the day before you have an exam (true story) and overall, it just felt like I was putting in a lot more effort than he was. like I would literally comfort him over the same issue for months on end but he literally walked out the room when he saw me crying once

anyways, he thought the reason we disagreed to live with him at first was my fault so now he’s quite bitchy and he was really demanding over the whole thing and it’s just not the most comfortable arrangement. but it’s only a year and he’s graduating after this so I probably won’t have to see him

but we are already starting the year with a great start which is him insisting he needs another party to celebrate his birthday that was months ago so🤠I’m sure yous will hear me complaining about him a lot over the next few months

[gurorori]

...your school was serious about pe? I thought these don't exist in this country. Like majority of people I know had "showed up - 3, brought uniform - 4, run for 15min - 5" experience

oh it was very deeply serious believe me. maybe we got unlucky with the teachers but they were all bitchy as hell and of course took their subject as the Most Important and always demanded 100% effort to the point of literal harassment & ableism

was always the universally hated kid in pe, both cuz disability n intersexness on top of gender nonconformity. people always talk abt pe being hell for a lot of us but oh my gawds for me it was NOT an exaggeration whatsoever, rest under the cut cuz you prompted me to talk & i shall

- was the doctors note kid. 100% of the time. we had multiple notes about our multiple conditions if needed. after a couple years when we stopped being a tiny kiddo and entered teens, the teachers just got tired of us always being impaired. they would act like it was just an excuse n yadda yadda... we still attended and done the best we could but it was maybe 20% of what the rest of the class did and then we would sit down but they wouldn't let us go into the changing rooms (for no fucking reason!) n sit while they played wtv ball game. the balls wld always fly in our direction 🫥

- started puberty very early. had short-ish hair. just a lot of gender ambiguous features fueled by our hormones n stuff, where different people will have different genderings and we suffered badly from this. we've really tried to like use either changing room and made both uncomfortable to the point we were just not allowed bc we made everyone suspicious and several ppl made a scene abt it so we were just changing in the toilets for the rest of our school years honestly probably from the sheer trauma n the odd comfort being alone provided, as opposed to 20 sweaty teens staring you down (this happened outside of pe all the time as well)

- this wasn't even the worst of it though... the worst were those yearly tests where you had to like pass these specific scores for a certain grade right n they'd always like really fearmonger abt it n make a huge deal of it. yk those uh 1km runs? that was 5 laps of our field, and i would /always/, without fail, pass out Cold as in drop to the ground, before the second lap and couldn't continue. the rest of the tests i wouldn't even passably perform (and they'd make us sore for DAYS) so they would have to pity me and give me the lowest.

and of course they'd again fearmonger w those in our last year too saying if we don't pass those we won't be let to take our exams n shit

needless to say i hate pe w a burning fiery passion

[pettyrevenge-base]

Refuse to admit you made a mistake? That’s fine i’ll take a 240 as my grade.

This is pretty short but I think it’s a pretty funny story.  

Last semester in my geography class, we had a big test a few weeks before exams. The teacher of this class was new and notorious for being a bitch with a god-complex who can’t admit when she’s wrong. So I take this test and when I check my grade, It says 89/37. I realize that she has made a mistake and I quickly email her with a screenshot of the grade, to which she responds “I didn’t make a mistake. If you are unhappy with your grade then you should have studied more.” Well I just screenshot the email and laughed about it with my friends. Well the end of the semester rolls around and I end the semester with a 200 in her class because she was too bitchy to admit she was wrong.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

[i-need-some-advice-on]

How can I cut off one person from a group of friends and keep the others?

One of my friends (Abby) has been quite bitchy to me since my birthday last year. They've always been a bit abrupt, but I didn't know them very well or hang out with them very much until mid 2021. At that point, a group of five, including me and Abby, started doing a group activity once a month.

Until December 2022, Abby's abruptness wasn't too much to handle and rarely seemed vicious.

It started when I said that I was on the waiting list to see a specialist for an autism diagnosis. She said "You don't have autism" in a really dismissive way. BTW, she's not qualified to diagnose this and has not told me that she has a diagnosis of autism. Also, in my country, you don't get on the waiting list without first seeing your GP and doing a initial exam and providing testimony from longtime friends/family.

The other person there, who was a friend of Abby (not me at the time), had to defend me by explaining that not all people with autism look like Sheldon Cooper because I was too shocked to say anything.

Since then, Abby has also complained that she finds it stressful to plan stuff with me. (She wanted to watch this specific film and I couldn't find it at the library or on streaming, so I wanted to know if she wanted me to buy it and she kept saying "Can we talk about this later?" The problem is that it would take two days for the dvd to ship and it was a week between her asking me to watch this film with her and the date we picked.) I struggle with plans being changed at the last minute, like for instance if the film hadn't arrived, and we had to move the day we were watching.

She never told me that her cousin had the dvd and she was just borrowing it from her. If she'd said this, I wouldn't have sent her a few separate messages trying to get her to respond about whether I should buy the dvd.

Abby spoke about someone she knew with diagnosed autism and how they had been telling her about their plans because they like to make plans in advance. I said that I could relate to that and she said to me "it's not the same".

Despite me saying that I have problems with plans being cancelled, especially last minute, she has cancelled on me several times for individual meet ups. Once, she said she was just leaving the house and then rang back five minutes later to cancel because she had anxiety and another time we were supposed to watch a film over Zoom when I had Covid. She rang me and cancelled at the time we were supposed to start. There have also been numerous times when we were going swimming that she's cancelled within an hour of our pool booking.

Abby also has been bitchy about me going to an animal sanctuary in a foreign country and getting a picture with one of the wild animals. (I know that animals should never be used for entertainment, but the sanctuary makes a lot of money to look after the animals by charging tourists for a minute long interaction just after the animal has been fed.)

She's also been very vocal about thinking I'm a bad person for going to a murder mystery event at a bar which is (probably) named for Jack the Ripper. The bar is not themed for Jack the Ripper and is actually based around horror movies. When I told her that, she just said "I've made my point and dont wish to talk about it anymore".

She's also snapped at me quite a bit for things like tapping the best card to play in a board game after she specifically asked and the other players were trying to stick by the rules.

So does anyone have any tips about cutting Abby off and keeping the rest of my friend group?

.

[daechwitatamic]

So I just re-read WWH hidden and ugh its so good. If you ate taking requests could we get a POV of Taehyung’s first meetings with her like the party, the run-in at the coffee shop, and the first tutoring session?

Hello anon! I did the party and coffee shop for POV Drabble #1. I've done the first tutoring session for this one!

What Was Hidden 

POV Drabble #2: Just A Little 

WC: 2.5k

Warnings: language, slight tiny mentions of Taehyung’s unhandled trauma lol, also mentions of Taehyung’s scars, angst probably, oc is still in Hot-Bitchy mode

A/N: Here it isssss! :) This references Chapter 2 if you want to refresh!

–

Taehyung’s pissed off that he has to do tutoring - of course he is, how could he not be? It’s bullshit that he has to take Literature credits when he’s a Visual Arts major. It’s bullshit that Watanabe grades so strictly. It’s bullshit that Taehyung has to write so much it makes his hand throb for hours after, pulsating all the way up his arm, following the shiny scar that leads like a purple desire path from his hand to his elbow. 

He stopped writing half of the notes he needed to. Then, he stopped passing assignments and papers that counted as exams. Then, he stopped passing altogether. 

It makes it a little better when the Student Services department emails him his tutoring schedule and he sees your first name listed as his peer-tutor. Just a little.

He’s not certain it’s you, of course, but there can’t be that many people on this tiny campus with the same name, can there? 

He arrives at the library early, feeling stupidly hopeful that his hunch is right. He picks a table near the edge of the room and sits, pulling his laptop out of his bag and digging around the bottom for the pen he’d tossed in there earlier. 

He’s alerted to someone’s arrival as a crossbody bag thumps into the chair across from him. He looks up, startled, to find you looking at him, tight-lipped and narrow-eyed like he’d done something to you. 

He can’t help it. He smiles at you beatifically, so happy to be right, so happy to have a second chance to win you over, so happy to have an excuse to talk to you. 

Not that you’ll be making it easy for him, apparently. 

“I thought it might be you when I saw the name on the email,” Taehyung says instead of hello.   

You grimace at him, dropping into your chair and pulling your laptop out of your bag. You set it down on the table, open it, and jab at the power button like it insulted your mother.

“Okay,” you say abruptly, eyes on your screen. “We’re supposed to start by talking about your goals for the semester.”

Hello, Taehyung, how are you today? Taehyung thinks sarcastically. 

“If you can’t think of any, I usually suggest getting yourself off of academic probation as a first goal.”

Taehyung blinks at you, feeling oddly insulted. No hello, no small talk, just straight into okay, idiot, why are you failing? 

He can feel himself frowning. You don’t seem to care. Instead, you raise your eyebrows and prompt, “Well? Any additional goals beyond that?”

And then you just wait. 

“Um,” Taehyung manages to say, still feeling kind of floored by your brusque manner, how straight to the point you were playing this. He’d expected you to care about his feelings at least a little. “No… I guess that’s the big one. I’m really only having trouble with one class, but it’s tanking my average.”

You soften a little, nodding in understanding. “Okay, so we can turn that into two goals: one, to get you as close to passing that one class as possible, and two, to raise your overall GPA enough that one class can’t fail you.” You type as you say this.

“That sounds good,” Taehyung agrees slowly. And it does. But he kind of wishes you’d look at him. 

“What’s the class that’s giving you the most trouble?” you ask, eyes still on your laptop screen. 

“Western Lit,” Taehyung admits with a sigh. Just saying the course name depresses him. God, he hates reading.

“Watanabe is a tough grader,” you say, and it’s the first time Taehyung’s caught any semblance of warmth in your voice. 

He looks up at her, surprised. “You’ve taken her class?”

“I’ve had her twice,” you say, a bit of a smile curling one corner of your mouth. Taehyung wants to take a picture of it, burn it into his memory. He wants to make you smile like that - like you’re fighting it but it’s too strong for you - a hundred more times. “Once for Medieval Lit, too.”

Taehyung grimaces. “That class sounds like my personal circle of hell.” At least the crap he’s reading isn’t in Old English.

You shrug, that little sneaky smile disappearing. “It was actually pretty interesting,” you say mildly. “So, what’s the problem with the lit class?”

Everything, Taehyung thinks, frowning.

“Are you understanding the lectures and struggling with papers?”

Yes.

“Getting stuck on homework assignments?”

Yep.

“All of the above?”

Taehyung sighs defeatedly. He wants to hide his head in his arms. 

The thing is, he wants the help. He doesn’t want to fail - Watanabe’s class or the semester. But it is killing him to sit across from a pretty girl - one he’s already had his eye on - and admit every fucking weakness and failing he has. And he can’t stand the idea that you might think he’s stupid, that he’s here because he just isn’t smart enough to handle the content.

Even though he often thinks that, himself.

His mouth takes over for his brain, as it does far too often.

“Listen,” he says, a little sharply. “I”m not stupid. I don’t want you to think that - I mean - I just don’t want you thinking I’m here because I’m dumb.”

An odd expression slides over your face. “No one thinks you’re dumb,” you say easily. “People have lots of reasons for needing a little help with a class. I’m not making any judgements, I promise you. But part of what I’m getting paid to do is to figure out what your obstacles are, so I Can give you strategies to work more efficiently.”

Obstacles… strategies… efficiency… Taehyung wants to kick the table in frustration. He doesn’t need strategies, he needs his hand to work. 

He also needs to be able to stay awake while reading, but that problem had never made him fail a class before. He could at least scrape by with a passing mark.

“You make it sound so clinical,” he grumbles, eyes dropping to his hands. 

You tilt your head, looking at him - really looking - for the first time. When you speak again, your voice is soft, something gentle and reassuring in it. “Can you tell me a little about your problems with Watanabe’s class?” you ask quietly. 

“All of it,” he admits in a mumble, not meeting your eyes. The admission burns like acid in his throat, rakes at his tongue with angry claws, sparks from behind his teeth. Fuck, he hates this.

“I mean,” he continues, “I understand the lectures just fine. It’s just that I get home to do the homework assignments and I can’t remember well what she said. Then, the reading just doesn’t come easily for me, books make me sleepy.”

You nod like you can handle this, and he hopes you can. “Okay,” you say, “one problem at a time. Do you take notes during lectures?”

He used to. Last year. 

“I try,” he says. “I just… sometimes have trouble keeping up.” He sighs, knowing that sounds like it’s a cognitive thing, not a physical one. He has no choice but to tell you the truth. 

He wishes it wasn’t his truth. He wishes it was someone else’s bullshit to carry.

“Sometimes my hand hurts and I have to stop.”

He watches exactly what happens. Your eyes drift to his hands, which rest on the table. They find the scar, trace it up to where it disappears beneath his sleeve. They widen as you gasp his name, a hand coming up to cover your mouth.

Taehyung’s throat feels tight like he’s upset. His face feels hot like he’s embarrassed, or pissed, or both. 

“Yeah,” he says flatly, and waits for you to ask what happened, tries to decide which version of the story he should give you. 

Just “car accident” might be enough, he decides, as you blink at him, clearly processing. 

“Okay,” you say eventually, like you’re still thinking as you speak. “Have you ever looked into getting a medical accommodation?”

Taehyung just barely stops himself from blurting out, “Huh?”

“You can get assigned a note-taker for lectures,” you explain. “It happens all the time. You might also get extra time on assignments and papers if your doctor can -.”

“I don’t want all that,” Taehyung says sharply, interrupting. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want special accommodations, he wants his life to be how it was before. He doesn’t want someone to fucking take notes for him, he wants to take them himself without pain. He doesn’t want extra time, he wants the same amount of time that everyone else gets to be enough for him. 

But that’s not the problem that you’re here to solve, he knows that. 

“That’s fine,” you say slowly, surprising him once again. “Have you considered asking Watanabe if you can record the lecture on your phone? Then you can play it back at your own pace to get the important parts.”

He hates how much sense that makes. He keeps his eyes on his fingers, sulking.

“Taehyung,” you chide when he doesn’t answer. 

“No, I have not considered that,” he says, trying not to roll his eyes. 

“Would you?” you ask, ignoring the fact that he’s being an enormous brat. 

He shrugs. “I really don’t want to do all that extra shit,” he says. It’s not the right words, it’s not exactly what he means. It doesn’t express the struggle he has - how accepting accommodations makes this real, means admitting something is wrong now, means admitting he isn’t good enough as he is. Not anymore. 

He’s no good with words. He thinks that if he could express it, you’d understand. 

You lean forward, looking at him so intensely that he has no choice but to meet the eye contact. You speak slowly, but firmly, like you need to make sure he hears - really hears - every word. 

“Your injury doesn’t care about your pride,” you say, and Taehyung feels like someone has drop-kicked him straight in the sternum. “It sounds very much like you’re so intent on doing things normally that you’re sabotaging your own success.”

Jesus. No one’s ever talked to him like that before. Even Jimin would have softened it up a little.

“Are you always this blunt?” he asks, a little over it.

“If I’m convinced that I”m helping,” you say defensively. “Your way isn’t working, or you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

Jesus.

“When do you have Watanabe’s class?” you demand.

“Tomorrow,” Taehyung grumbles.

“You’re going to ask if you can record the lecture. Catch her before class, tell her you have no official accommodations, but flash the scar. We’re supposed to meet tomorrow night at six - I’m going to ask you if you did it.”

You rattle all of this off in an Official Professional voice. Taehyung sulks. “You’re bossy.”

“I’m doing my job,” you counter. “And I’m trying to help you.”

Taehyung remembers a conversation he’d had with Jimin, sometime around early May. He was still having tons of flashbacks then, in addition to the nightmares. He couldn’t drive a car yet - hadn’t done that again until late July. He’d also had a handful of panic attacks, random ones that had nothing to do with cars at all. 

“There’s nothing wrong with trying to handle it yourself,” Jimin had told him sweetly. They’d been sitting side by side on the steps of the wooden deck off the kitchen, as the sun set in the distance. They didn’t look at each other - Taehyung was too ashamed, and Jimin was actively ignoring the tear tracks on his friend’s face for the sake of his dignity. 

“But,” Taehyung predicts, shaky voice still managing to sound wry.

“But,” Jimin continues with a little smile, reaching over to shake Taehuyng’s shoulder playfully, “if that isn’t working… if it isn’t helping… you have to accept help, Taehuyng. You have people who care about you and want to help you. You have resources available. Use them. Use us.”

You have to accept help.

I’m trying to help you. 

“Okay,” Taehyung sighs, feeling like he’s giving in. “I’ll ask about recording the lecture.”

“Good,” you say, oblivious to Taehyung’s internal turmoil. “Now, the paper. You didn’t read the texts?”

Taehyung looks at you sideways, frowning.

“I’ll take that as a no,” you say lightly, typing something. “So I need to officially tell you that… that’s my biggest piece of advice? Like… you can’t write a paper about a book that you didn’t read.”

“Sure I can,” Taehyung counters, mostly because he’s feeling cranky and being a brat helps. 

You take it in stride, waving your hands around the table wordlessly, as if to say, then why are we here?

“My strategy for Watanabe was this,” you say, unphased by Taehyung’s bad attitude. “I’d always read the essay prompt first, and then I’d read the synopsis online and look for an answer to the prompt.”

This sounds like cheating to Taehyung, but he says nothing. 

“For example,” you continue, “if Watanabe wants you writing about symbolism, someone on the great, wide internet will have written about what symbols are in the book, right?”

It seems like you expect an answer to this, so Taehyung nods mutely. 

“So, from that,” you tell him, “you can make a list of what symbols to look for. Then I’d read the text and highlight as I read whenever I saw the symbol. When it’s time to write the paper, all of my textual evidence is always marked.”

God, that sounds like so much work, Taehyung thinks, staring at you silently.

“Seriously,” you insist. “I got an A on every paper.”

He doesn’t fucking doubt it. What a goddamn nerd. 

But a cute one.

“I fall asleep when I read,” he whines. 

“Work with a partner, then,” you say with a shrug. “Even if you’re working on different things - make someone responsible for waking your ass up.”

He’d done that before, actually. He’d used to ask Jungkook to do it, when things between them weren’t weird. 

“We’ll start tomorrow,” you say decisively. “So tonight I want you to look up the essay prompt and research your topic, and tomorrow at our session I’ll help you stay awake while you work on the text.”

“You’re going to sit and watch me read,” Taehyung repeats flatly. This was not what he’d been hoping for when he’d envisioned you “tutoring” him twice a week. 

It had been a lot sexier in his head.

“If that’s what it takes!” you chirp with a smile. “Okay, our time for today is up. I just send you a copy of what we discussed today, and I’ll see you tomorrow at six!”

Resigned to his fate, Taehyung collects his things. As he finishes, he stands to go at the same time you do. It just happens that you walk to the exit together, silently. 

But then, outside, you both turn to take the stairs up to the student center. You turn, eyes narrowed, and he can see the accusation on your face.

“I’m not following you!” Taehyung laughs. “I’m going to eat lunch!”

You grumble, still looking at him sideways, and continue up the stairs. Inside, you pay and grab an empty plate to fill. Behind you, Taehyung wonders if he should ask if you want to join him. Then he sees you wave at someone - the girl Yoongi was talking to, he thinks - and decides better of it. 

“See you tomorrow,” you tell him as you head in that direction. Taehyung tries to smile, but he can tell it comes out crooked. 

He wonders if this is how it will be with you - all business, all professionalism, you still locked away tight behind those steep stone walls. 

He wonders if they’ll come down - if they’ll ever even crack, just a little.

Thank you for reading! You can find my full masterlist here :)

[lire-casander]

#34 asking them for advice/help

asking them for advice/help original prompt list here

TK knows something’s up with Carlos. He’s always been able to pinpoint the changes in Carlos’ mood, and as time goes by and their relationship evolves and deepens, TK’s developed a sixth sense to notice when Carlos is feeling off. But sometimes, whatever irks Carlos just surprises TK.

Today is one of those days.

It’s not evident at first. Of course, when TK gets back home after a strenuous shift, he notices Carlos sitting a bit more tense than usual — TK pins it down to a bad shift as he kisses his fiancé on the cheek and moves to the bathroom to shower off the remnants of his own shift. When he’s back out, hair damp from the running hot water, wearing his comfiest sweatpants, Carlos is standing up in the middle of the space, holding a book in his hands and a pained expression on his face.

“Babe?” TK asks when he almost runs into him as Carlos moves toward him at the same time. “What’s—what’s wrong? What’s that book?”

“We need to talk, TK,” Carlos says slowly, placing the book on top of the table.

“That doesn’t sound reassuring, Carlos. What’s going on?”

Carlos takes his sweet time as he leads TK to sit down on the chair across the table as he sits on the other. He’s wearing a serious expression that’s making TK feel insecure and really worried all of a sudden.

“I’ve lied to you,” Carlos begins to say, voice pitching up by the last word.

“You’re scaring me. What have you lied to me about?”

Carlos pushes the book forward to TK, who reads the title on the cover and remains speechless.

“A textbook on criminology?” He laughs, almost hysterically. “What’s so wrong in the book that you’re so scared to tell me.”

“I, uh,” Carlos stutters. He doesn’t say anything for a moment; TK takes the chance to reach out and grab Carlos’ hand.

“It’s okay, Carlos. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“Detective Washington lent me this book a few weeks ago,” Carlos explains. “She believes I have a detective's eye. And she—”

“—gave you the book because she wants you to take the detective exam,” TK finishes for Carlos. “That’s actually fantastic, babe!”

“Do you think?” Carlos sounds insecure as he speaks. “I just—I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of me taking that exam sometime. Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, hm.” TK smiles softly. “Are you asking me my opinion on you taking that exam?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” TK emphasizes, “I’d think it’d be a great improvement for you.”

“I became a police officer to help my community,” Carlos tells him. “I have this feeling I’d be letting everyone down by moving higher up in the ranks.”

“You’d be helping people out, just in another capacity. I believe you can do it, Carlos. I believe in you.”

Carlos sniffles, and it’s then that TK realizes he’s been holding back tears. He stands up and ad he walks around the table to his fiancé. He squats down and leans in to hold him tight in his arms.

“I’ll always believe in you,” he promises.

“Even when the stress of the exam turns me into a bitchy crazy old man?”

“Especially then,” TK says laughing.

[celiastjamesoscar]

Lexa had me in a chokehold for the longest time. Now Sam took over. We really do have a type. We just love hot and badass, slightly bitchy women. They're honestly the best!

Okay what is a logic exam?? Is it just like logical questions or...

Aww that's so cute of you!!! Most of the time you're posting when I'm asleep, so usually I read and analyze your stories either on my way to school or during work. I can never wait long enough so I will always make time to read them. Even if it means sneaking out of class or hiding in the toilet at work. It's so worth it!

Lexa is just something else 😩 hot, badass slightly bitchy women>>>>>>

So my logic exam is nothing like logical questions. I have to prove stupid shit. For example, if ISP is true, prove that ASP is false. Stuff like that, and I also have to write an essay about Eratosthenes geometry on the exam too 😭

What time zone are you in if you don’t mind me asking? Because right now it’s a little past 9pm for me

[issybettyx]

A random ramble about creative writing in english at school, and how I improved my own

This year I had my first set of mock exams for gcses, and even before that we had something called a ‘walk-through, talk-through mock’ where your teacher basically explains the mock as you go through. At the time, when we had our English one, I had zero clue it was a mock, I simply saw ‘CREATIVE WRITING? LEMME GET ON WITH IT ALREADY’.

I know a lot of people who see the title of the lesson being ‘creative writing’ and immediately groan, but I am not one of those people. Because I know how to make creative writing actually fun (most of my time is spent writing, and if i’m not writing i’m reading). A lot of people I know struggle with the ‘creative’ part of creative writing, but I believe it’s an opportunity to spit your brain onto paper and make it interesting.

Anyways, the prompt for the writing was to write a story about new beginnings.

Now, a lot of people looked at this and went ‘what the fuck do i write’ and wrote two paragraphs of a new student or something. I looked at this and went ‘what the fuck do i write’ and wrote four pages.

I wrote a story of this teacher who’d accepted a job at a new school, but when he meets the kid it turns out he has a superpower that helps him grow plants from nothing.

Ever since I wrote that, my English teacher keeps asking me how I thought of it, and I don’t have an answer.

That’s a lie, I do, but that’s for us to know and not for her to know.

The main reason she keeps asking is because I don’t plan. I never plan anything I write, because when I do plan it comes out boring and long and it isn’t my best work. Obviously, my teacher gets a little annoyed by this, but not annoyed as in ‘you need to plan or you’ll fail’, but more so annoyed because she cant tell me i need to plan to do the best. (I got the best mark on the mock, which i didn’t expect)

On several occasions, she’s turned to the class and gone ‘you have to plan if you want your writing to be the best it can be’ and then looked directly at me and said ‘for most people’. She did it when the mocks came around too; i did no revision whatsoever, and she just knew that i was going to do well anyways. Different things work for different people, and I’m going to explain what works for me. Sorry if this post comes off braggy and bitchy, it’s to prove a point.

So, here’s a guide on how to write the start of a story without knowing what the fuck to do and to not waste time planning;

Essentially, you start it off with the first thing that comes to mind. You add in hints that mean nothing, and the more you write the more ideas you get. So, I started it off thinking ‘i’m gonna write about a teacher starting at a new school’, and then hinted to the perfectly in tact school apart from overgrown bushes and leaves sticking out of the roof tiles. It’s an anomaly, and it makes it seem like the plot was intentional from the beginning.

Creativity flows better whilst you’re being creative. Your best ideas will come whilst you’re writing words down, because your ideas are flowing as you’re writing them.

And so, when i mentioned the leaf in the room, I thought ‘hm, i could add significance to this’, and thought back to the beginning of my story where i mentioned the fact he came to help a ‘difficult child’, and my brain put two and two together, and suddenly i had a plot.

Then it was about character building, which is simple enough. Two characters meet, they have a conversation and you get an idea of where their relationship will go. For example, the mc’s first impression of the kid was that he was more trouble than he was worth. But when he met him, he saw a boy with bright eyes and a confident smile, and he saw how the kid had never had a chance to learn.

That’s how I write all my stories, and some things my teacher keeps saying about it is:

“It reads like a novel”

“I’m like Mr Fischer, I was enlightened” (reference to a text we studied about this teacher that thought creativity was dead and then some kid wrote a story he’d never seen anything like before)

“How did you think of writing about a teacher and a kid with nature powers?”

This post isn’t made to brag, but to show that even if you get to your exams at the creative writing section and think ‘idk what the fuck to do with this’, that it’s possible to write something both you and others will enjoy.

If planning works for you, by all means go ahead. But if you’re like me, and planning demotivates you and makes your writing worse? Give this a go, and trust me you’ll be proud of what comes out in the end

(Yes the story was crimeboys. Yes Techno was also a teacher in the story. Yes Niki was in it too, she was the receptionist and a wonderful receptionist at that. You expect me to write a story and it not be something to do with sbi? You thought very wrong.)

Happy writing :D and if you have exams coming up soon, i wish you luck <3

[linoone]

Basically work has been turning me into more of a cunt. Let me bitch about it a little

For the past ... two months now i think , ive had to work at separate locations. Sometimes three a week. Initially i got hired at one location within walking distance of my house but am now part of the roster at a roach infested location, except not really because i cant clock in or out. Despite the fact ive been working there for a month

Other than fainting at work things were fine at first, but my coworkers have started talking negatively about me which ive mentioned before. I know this because they do it when i am within earshot, often to my back in the most literal sense possible. Its mostly one woman who complains about having to work with me because i, quote, “cannot do anything”. She talks about my apparent poor performance to other people even when i am a few feet away from her working the register. Ive even seen at least one other coworker possibly go to her to complain about me screwing up. Unless we are working alone, she uses someone else to talk to me. Everyone makes mistakes, but it feels like they are held against me when i make them despite the fact we are minimum wage fast food employees and not a 5 star restaurant

None of the complaints are in any way critical, its just me being bad at my job/being unable to do certain tasks right. I have worked for this company for not even 3 months, and admittedly was not trained well (plus my memory is shit). I even have a feeling that sometimes i made to do things /just/ so my coworkers have an excuse to talk about me being a horrible employee. I got laughed at for not knowing how to wrap food up properly. It is not a welcoming environment if youre new and feels like a clique. But because i am a warm body who can go to other locations, customers do like me, and i do my job well enough, i dont think my job is in real jeopardy unless i put my foot down about it. Im just a little slow because of autism (and theres no way on gods green earth im letting the coworkers at that location know i have autism)

The problem i have is despite how petty and bitchy i am, and with the 500 different ways ive complained about it on twitter and with family, i am not good with confrontation. And as much as i want to talk to management about not working there anymore (other than that it is a horrible environment, no communication between employees + the afformentioned roach infestation), based on past experience im worried that /ILL/ get in trouble for it, because i brought it up in the first place + because ive been getting ruder to her. I just let all my emotions build up and not do anything with them. Shes been working at the company for 7 years, surely she can talk to/about other employees how she feels like it?

Everyone ive talked to about it has said i am being taken advantage of by the company and that i have every reason to not want to work at that location. Plus, i am incredibly behind on my schoolwork because of it - i barely passed my first exam in my vet assistant course

I just worry that the worst thing possible will happen, because my luck is not good. Even if my family doesnt care if i get fired, /I/ care if i get fired. Because it just proves that in situations like this, and like the ones ive been through in the past (the reason i have ptsd in the first place), the best thing to do is just grin and bear it. And i am tired of having to put up with poor treatment