#please for the love of the gods be normal

[the-palelady]

listen. if you don’t like sabrina carpenter that’s fine, but that woman’s outfits are so stunning and i can just imagine ghost going absolutely mad seeing you in them.

especially in something like THIS. that man would go absolutely fucking feral.

normally he would be ripping your cute little outfits and lingerie at the seams, but oh no, not this one. the baby blue just looked so perfect, hugging your curves in all the right places. he had to keep this outfit safe no matter the cost.

one night, you slip it on right before he comes home from work, and set yourself up all pretty for him. your hair fanning out across your face, skin glowing, an angel amongst a sea of blankets and pillows right there on top of his bed.

simon’s angel.

and oh he is on his knees for you.

he’d worship every last inch of your body. those perfect, round tits that he’d suck into his mouth eagerly. he’d kiss down the plump of your tummy, the dip of your hips, until he’s nestled in between your legs.

he’d kiss along your inner thighs, moving his thumb up to rub at your sensitive nub, your back arching up into him, whining out his name like the pretty little thing you were.

simon would take his time with you. always does. he doesn’t want to hurt his girl when he finally does settle himself in between your legs, his cock heavy and sliding against your folds. the lingerie is still on, panties tugged to the side around his thumb.

“all this for me?” he’d ask in that deep, loving voice, reserved only for you. strands of his golden hair, that have grown out a bit more than usual, stick to his forehead. a handsome grin is plastered along his scarred face, lust filled eyes gleam down at you and you’d whine.

god you loved him so much.

and he’d let you know he felt the same, wrapping his hands around the curve of your waist while he pressed himself into you. pressed himself into heaven.

“look at ya. so pretty.” you swear you hear him whine.

“takin’ me so well like a good girl.” this time you whine.

his thumb comes up to rub at your clit again while he pistons into you relentlessly. his tip hits that sweet spot so deep inside that you see stars and he backs off for a moment before hitting it over and over again.

your moans only encourage him further, his free hand roaming you like he can’t keep off of you, can’t get enough of you.

he grabs your jaw, your lips pursing from his grip. simon looks down at you with an expression so feral you could have orgasmed from that alone.

“gunna fill ya fulla me, sweet’art, that alright?”

you whine and beg for him.

yes. please, simon. inside, please.

“sing for me, angel. i wanna hear tha pretty voice.”

and you do sing for him. his name falling from your lips like a hymn, a gentle song only meant for his ears. simon can’t help but hold onto you tighter, gruff hands digging into the meat of your hips as you clench around him so tight he feels dizzy.

and he all but loses his damn mind, fucking you into the mattress despite how overstimulated you are. tears stain your pink cheeks and he thumbs them away, pressing into you so far you can feel him in your guts.

simon’s rambling, his forehead pressing into your temple as you cry out, your tears dampening his cheeks.

“ya look like a fucking goddess in this damn outfit. so beautiful. dunno wha tha fuck i did in my past life, but damned brute like me doesn’t deserve ya.”

he won’t stop talking. it’s all so much, yet the praise is sending you over the moon. your skin is on fire where his thrusts meet your ass, and you know there will be purple hand shaped bruises blooming along the expanse of your body when the morning comes.

“fuckkk,” his hips stutter slightly, your core becoming tight as he pulls himself completely out and slams himself right back to the hilt continuously.

“gunna breed this pretty pussy,” and you clench around him so fucking tight he almost collapses, a guttural moan escaping his chapped lips.

“ya like that, baby? want me to make ya a mummy?”

your back arches and you scream for him, white consuming your vision. simon’s hands grab ahold of your plump thighs and his hips roll down into you one last time. he twitches inside of your warmth while his spend coats your velvety walls. his arms reach up to wrap around your torso that’s still arched, his forehead pressing into your ribs as he catches his breath.

you both sit this way for a while, until he regains his composure and lowers your tired body back down to the bed.

when he sits up right your eyes are closed, long lashes tickling the apples of your blushing cheeks. your breathing is even now, and your skin is somehow glowing even more than it was when he first walked in. your hair cascades out around you like a wave. his palm hesitantly glides up along your tummy as if taboo. as if someone like him was undeserving of someone as soft as you.

and simon swears when he looks up at you, taking you in completely, he sees the glow of a halo above your head and a pair of angel wings nestled against the silk sheets of the bed beneath you.

[hanjsquokka]

bed chem.

han jisung × fem!reader — love at first sight, strangers to lovers, non idol! au, based on sabrina carpenter's song bed chem, fluff/smut

summary — you couldn't take your eyes off him since you saw him. even though you talked for mere seconds, you were undeniably in love. good thing he felt the same too.

warnings — alcohol consumption, swearing, explicit sexual content (warnings under the cut), lots and lots of kissing, just a little bit of a situationship

word count — 4.4K

author's note — extremely late birthday post for my favorite man 🩷 bed chem is my favorite song on sabrina's album and jisung just so happened to wear a white jacket for the dicon magazine photos 😻☝️ what a perfect coincidence. this was kinda rushed, but i hope you like it <33

please consider leaving feedback in the comments or reblogs, they really make my day 🫶🏼

minors dni. if you click read, you agree to nsfw content

smut warning — mastrubation (f rec), breast/nipple play, unprotected sex, multiple rounds (2), overstimulation

You couldn't stop staring at him; you probably looked like a creep, but you could care less. The party was in full swing around you, all of the attendees decked up in black and white formal wear, in accordance with the theme of the party your company was holding. It was some anniversary event; you recalled seeing number balloons strung up all over the place along with normal ones. You'd, at first, reluctantly attended, your mishap with your original outfit causing you to borrow one from a friend at the last minute and your favorite pearl necklace snapping when you were putting it on—both seemed like an omen for you to not go.

But boy were you glad you did, or else you would've never met him.

“Han Jisung,” your coworker, Changbin, told you. “He was working at an overseas branch and was recently transferred here.”

Your brain zoned out after that, vision tunneling at the sight of the man in the white jacket, his hair slightly long and styled back with a middle part, although a few strands came loose and hung delicately on the sides of his face. When the light hit just right, you could see a sheen on his lips, making your heart thump in your chest even more. 

“God, just go talk to him. You're practically eye-fucking him in front of my champagne,” Hyunjin, another one of your coworkers, grumbled, his face scrunched up in disgust as he sipped from his glass. Your own glass was forgotten in your hand and most likely would've been spiked if you were at a club from the way it'd been staying in the same spot while you shamelessly gazed at the beautiful man.

“I would, if I had the guts to do it,” you snapped back, your free hand scrunching up the material of your sheer, black dress that you wore over a shorter, tighter one. Your friend told you that you looked hot but, in the presence of so many other elegantly dressed women and men, you felt underdressed.

Your horrible luck struck once again when you looked back at Han Jisung and your eyes met his. Your face flamed red at being caught by him, turning away so your back was facing his direction, and you chugged your champagne.

Both Hyunjin and Changbin laughed at your embarrassment, your scowl only intensifying their amusement. You wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole, that you'd miraculously get a phone call from someone, and you'd have to leave because you would not be able to live this down if he questioned you. 

A tap on your shoulder nearly made you jump out of your skin, causing you to turn around so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash, and you were met with a blonde man with freckles dotting his face. “Hey,” he said, his voice deep and rich.

“Hi?” You greeted, your tone confused, wondering who this man was.

“Sorry, I'm Felix,” he offered a hand to shake, which you did while introducing yourself, still feeling as clueless as ever. “Long story short, if you're okay with it... I would like to introduce you to my friend. He's a bit shy.” Your brows furrowed for a moment before you nodded. Anything to save you from your slip-up. “Great.” He gave you a big smile before looking back, seemingly for his shy friend, and called him over.

In a ridiculous twist of fate, the person he called over was none other than the man you were caught staring at.

You wished you could disappear. 

“Okay, so, Ji, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jisung.” Felix clapped his hands together. “Now stop being an idiot and speak to her,” he added quietly, causing Jisung to fumble with his words and hit the blonde's shoulder, the latter only laughing in response. 

Your heart sped up in your chest when Jisung's gaze met yours for the third time that night, beating so loudly you were sure someone could hear it. Felix gave his friend one more knowing look before he linked arms with Hyunjin and Changbin, making you question if the three of them were close, and walked away to talk to other people.

Your throat felt parched, and you had no idea what to say. Another sip for your fresh glass of champagne while the tension between the two of you increased with every second.

“Right, um, I'm sorry for staring at you,” he finally said once it had gotten almost too awkward, in an accent you couldn't put your finger on, letting out a nervous chuckle, and looked at you with those big, brown eyes, almost making your knees buckle.

“I apologize as well,” you said, your stomach fluttering as his smile widened. “I wasn't trying to be creepy, you just...”

“Caught your eye?” He asked before adding, “Because you definitely did.” You blushed, your body feeling hot and bothered at his sudden compliment. He opened his mouth to say something else, but a ringtone interrupted him, and he muttered a sorry underneath his breath before pulling out his phone from his pocket. “Shit, this is important.”

You smiled. “No, it's alright.” You watched him give you a sort of upside-down one in return before walking away to take his call in a quieter place.

You didn't see him for the rest of the night, much to your disappointment. It was like he vanished into thin air. You couldn't sleep, even after hours of laying in bed after going home (the sun would come up before you would sleep, you thought), your mind replaying the evening again and again in your head like a broken record. For the first time in a while, you felt something so strong for someone you had spoken to for a few moments.

You found yourself scrolling through your social media feed, pictures of the party occupying most of it. You came across a picture in one of Hyunjin's posts with Felix, and a dumb idea struck—Felix was Jisung's friend, right? If you were lucky, which was very unlikely, Felix would have a public profile... which he did! And then going through his following, you should be able to find...

“Aha!” You exclaimed as you landed on Jisung's profile.

The next few hours were spent scrolling through his posts—totally not creepy. Your delusions were increasing by the minute as you got a look into his life and the kind of person he was. He seemed to have stayed in Malaysia before coming to your town; he had a white-furred dog, and he uploaded videos of him playing the guitar and singing every now and then—he could not get any more perfect. The more you saw, the more it cemented in your brain that he was the one. He was perfect for you.

The only problem you had was how you would approach him without looking like a complete stalker. You finally fell asleep like that, drifting off into a deep slumber, your dreams filled with the face of the man you encountered and may never see again.

“No way, no way, no way!” You stared, mouth agape, at your phone screen, your TV show forgotten in the background. You'd woken up late the next day, skipping directly to lunch after freshening up and seating yourself on your couch with a plate of food in your hands. After you finished eating, you decided to check your notifications, swiping on the unnecessary advertisements and spam emails until you saw...

[Unknown, 11:37am]: Hey Y/n! It's Jisung, from the party yesterday. I got your number from Felix. Is that weird? I'm sorry if it's weird 😭 I really like you, and I feel bad our conversation was cut short yesterday. I was wondering if you'd like to hang out sometime. I'd love to get to know you better. If not, that's totally okay; just pretend I never sent this.

You read the message a few hundred times, saving his contact with a heart beside his name, before you mustered enough sanity to reply back to him.

[You, 3:09pm]: Hi Jisung! I'd love to hang out sometime 🩷

The reply was almost instantaneous, another wonderful quality. 

[Jisung 💘, 3:10pm]: Great! I heard this café is good around here. 

[Jisung 💘, 3:10pm]: <sent a location>

[Jisung 💘, 3:11pm]: If you're free, would you like to meet up there tomorrow? Unless you're not, that's okay; maybe I'm being too forward 😭

[You, 3:11pm]: No, not at all! I was thinking of tomorrow too. Sounds great. I'll meet you at around four?

[Jisung 💘, 3:11pm]: Four sounds perfect. See you then!

You had no idea how you managed to sleep that night, excitement flowing through your veins at the prospect of going on a date with Jisung. The next day, you impatiently waited for the clock to strike four. When it finally was time, you got dressed, redid your hair until it was to your liking, and hailed a cab to the meeting spot.

You couldn't believe you were meeting Jisung in a few minutes. Maybe all the bad luck yesterday was worth it. Hell, you'd endure misfortune forever if it meant the two of you could hit off and your relationship would progress from the awkward talking stage you were in. Your thoughts trailed from cute fluffy dates that you and Jisung could have if you started dating to more not PG-13 ideas the more you thought about him. It was wrong; you knew that. You hardly knew him, and yet you were acting like a horny teenager just because you thought he gave you heart eyes—in your defense, it had been a while since you were with someone, and your heart just couldn't help but wander down the gutter because this guy... this guy seemed like he liked you just as much as you did. He put in the effort of talking to you and everything—that had to count for something, right?

Your anxiousness made you arrive outside the café ten minutes beforehand, exiting the Uber with a cluster of nerves in your stomach. You opted for a warmer outfit, seeing that autumn had begun and the air had turned slightly crisp in the evenings. A woolen sweater tucked into your jeans, it was casual enough for a café date (was this a date?). 

After what seemed like hours (five minutes), you saw Jisung exit a car and come up to you in a light jog. “Sorry, did I keep you waiting?” You swallowed nervously, admiring his outfit choice that looked good on him. You shook your head in response to his question, a smile forming on his face as he stopped right in front of you. “My neighbor's cat snuck into my apartment, and it was this whole thing,” he said, waving his hands in the air while shaking his head in disbelief. “Anyways,” he went to the door of the café and opened it, “after you.”

You blushed and walked inside, thanking him for holding the door for you. The two of you sat at a table after ordering your drinks and settled into a less awkward silence than the previous day.

“Do you like coming here often?” You asked, looking around the place. You'd never seen this café before, probably because it was out of the way in your commute route from your apartment to your office. 

Jisung nodded. “Yeah, this place makes some seriously good coffee. My apartment is a few blocks away, so I usually drop by for a to-go cup in the morning before work.”

“Right, I never got to ask, which department do you work in?”

“Marketing. I worked in the Malaysia branch until a few weeks ago.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “Explains why I haven't seen you at the office before. I'm in the IT department.” You looked at the table. “I would've remembered if I saw someone like you,” you added, smiling as you saw the tips of his ears turn red.

“You're cheeky, aren't you?” He chuckled. 

A waiter brought your drinks—a pumpkin spice latte for you, a fall special that you adored, and an iced Americano for him. You took a few sips of your latte, your insides warming up from the hot coffee.

“So, Y/n, what do you like to do outside of work?” Jisung asked, brushing his bangs to the side to see better. His hair was much more unruly than it had been at the party; it added a boyish charm to his persona. 

“Not much, truthfully,” you admitted with a sheepish laugh. “I go to a pottery class on the weekends, but I'm not that good at it... Most of my masterpieces are deformed pots and mugs.”

Jisung laughed, his eyes crinkling as he did. “You'll get better at it! I sucked at playing the guitar when I first started, and now I'm not bragging, but I do play pretty well.”

“Really?” Liar, you knew he played well. You spent a good amount of time watching the guitar covers he posted on his account before you slept. “You'll have to show me sometime.”

“Even better, I'll teach you.”

Time passed by quickly, the two of you talking about whatever you could think of until you had to part ways. Despite the fact that there wasn't any solid confirmation that you're dating, you could tell he really liked you, which made your heart fuzzy. 

For the next few weeks, you both called and texted each other, taking a few detours at work just to see the other, only to see that they had done the same as well, making you laugh. Jisung was the only thing on your mind. His face, his deep voice, the way his face would flush whenever you made a teasing comment on the smirk that would tug at his lips whenever he did to you. You were dancing around each other on the topic of commitment, neither of you making the move to ask the other if you'd like to be exclusive.

It was frustrating seeing that you went on dates whenever your schedules would allow it—the movies, the park, anything, to be honest. You spent the day beside him and then the night with your hands between your legs, his name rolling off your tongue embarrassingly as you came around your fingers.

It was getting comical how your relationship was at a stalemate for weeks. Even Hyunjin and Changbin were pestering you to make the move so you'd stop rambling about him while you worked.

One day after work, you were met with Jisung waiting outside the office next to his car, still dressed in his work clothes and looking at his phone. Once you called out to him, he looked up, his face lighting up as he approached you.

"Hi, beautiful,” he greeted, taking your hand in his. “How was your day?”

“It was okay... What are you doing here? I thought—”

“I wanted to surprise you, obviously,” he said, tugging at your hand to lead you to his car. He used his free hand to open the driver's side door and brought out a bouquet of red tulips. You weren't an idiot, and you knew he wasn't one either. The color of the flowers... you knew what that meant, and your heart did a little jump in your ribcage. “And to ask you to be my girlfriend because I've been a coward to do so earlier.” He swallowed. “Will you do me the honor of letting me be yours?” He asked, his voice soft and almost nervous, eyes flitting up to meet yours. 

“I'd love to,” you answered, accepting the bouquet with a flushed face and a smile so wide your cheeks burned. “You're such a romantic, Jisung. These are beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he flirted, grinning when he saw your reaction. “But seriously, I'm sorry I've been an idiot. I really really really like you, Y/N. Since the moment I saw you. Scratch that, I love you. I know I do.” He squeezed your hand. 

“I love you too.” A million thoughts were exchanged between the two of you as you looked at each other. Your eyes dipped down to his lips, and you bit the inside of your cheek before speaking. “Can I kiss you?”

“Thought you'd never ask,” he muttered, the hand that was holding yours moving to wrap around your waist. Your eyes fluttered close as his face drew closer to yours and his lips finally met your own. The kiss was sweet; you could taste his chapstick, which made your stomach flip. Your arms went over his shoulders, still holding onto the bouquet.

When he pulled away and looked at you with that half-lidded gaze, you swore you would have fainted if he wasn't holding onto you. Another kiss from him took your breath away, this one much deeper and more sensual than the first.

“I won't be able to stop kissing you now that you're my girlfriend.” He chuckled, planting a final kiss on your forehead before pulling away.

“I wouldn't mind that.”

“Really?” He laughed even more. “Good, because you can't stop me. Now, let me drive you home.”

The ride to your apartment was filled with future date plans and spontaneous karaoke once he turned the radio on. You visited each other's houses in the past few months, having a few movie nights, but this time, you wanted—no, needed to take the next step. He parked his car and walked with you up to your flat. When he was about to leave, you stopped him.

“Jisung, why don't you stay over?”

He paused in his tracks. “What?”

“We could order takeout... or make dinner, and tomorrow's the weekend...” You bit your lip, waiting for his response.

“Y/n,” he said, almost hesitantly. “You do know—”

“I want it.” You cut him off. “Just... stay over, Jisung, please?”

He sighed. “You know I can't say no when you ask me like that.” He smiled softly and accepted your invitation, walking into your apartment and kicking off his shoes. Both of you knew what was going to happen, and you were more than ready to have him completely. Once you locked the door behind you and put the bouquet in the kitchen, you felt his hand wrap around your wrist and pull you close. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Your third kiss was completely different, filled with fervor and desire. He pulled you impossibly close, his hands scrunching up the material of your blouse as he tried to taste as much of you as possible, tongue diving into your mouth. He groaned lowly when your hands tugged at his dark locks, making you smirk against his lips, and you did it again. “Mm… baby… You don't know what you're doing to me,” he muttered, his lips ghosting over yours.

“I want you, Jisung. I need you, please.”

“I can't deny my girlfriend when she asks so nicely, hm?” He pressed one more kiss on your lips. And then another, while you navigated clumsily to your bedroom. “God, I've been wanting to fuck you since I saw you in the dress at the party,” he spoke hotly, gaining your skin once you were in the room, peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You let out a sigh, tilting your head to give him better access when you felt his teeth graze your skin. “So pretty.”

“Want you to fuck me too, every time you come here...” You said, your voice breathy as he left a mark at the junction of your neck and collarbones.

“Yeah? You've been thinking about me, baby?”

“Every night,“ you admitted, embarrassment bubbling up inside you when you saw the smirk plastered across his face. “It's not my fault!”

“I know, I know, I'm irresistible,” he said with a laugh and kissed your jaw. “I can't deny that I've been thinking about you too.” His warm breath fanning across the side of your neck sent a shiver down your spine. “A lot of R-rated thoughts. Maybe I could show you.”

“I think I'd like that.”

He smiled, kissing you on your lips deeply one last time before his fingers hooked underneath your top. “Can I?” With your nod of consent, he slowly lifted the fabric off of you, and it fell onto the floor. You could see his pupils dilate as he took in your freshly uncovered skin, which made heat pool between your legs. Every touch of his hands across your supple skin and every feathery kiss of his lips made your mind go more and more hazy, even though he hadn't even touched you that much. He tentatively gave your breast a squeeze over your bra, making you inhale sharply. He did it again, rolling his thumb over your nipple. 

You hadn't even noticed his other hand on your back until he unhooked your bra and it fell down. A red tinge formed on your face as Jisung practically drooled at the sight of you half naked, his mouth latching onto your nipples while one of his hands toyed with the other and his left trailing down your body to your ass, squeezing the flesh, making you meal. Your knees buckled as his tongue swirled around your bud, nipping at the delicate flesh. He did the same to the other side, drawing more and more quiet gasps from you.

It wasn't before long; both of you were naked and lying on the bed, him giving open-mouthed kisses sloppily along your skin while his fingers toyed with your entrance, making you moan and arch off the bed. He sliced you open, preparing you for the next step—the one thing you've been wanting for weeks.

“So wet already.”

“All for you.”

“All for me, hm?” He repeated. “I need to fuck you, baby. Been dying to feel you,” he said with a groan, kissing between the valley of your breasts, your heart thundering in your ribcage as he guided you to spread your legs. “Are you ready, love?” You nodded, unable to speak, feeling his heavy cock press against your inner thigh. He aligned himself with your cunt before pushing in slowly, letting your snug walls adjust to him as he sank deeper and deeper, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, until he was fully inside. It was too much and too little all at the same time. A peck on your forehead brought you back, and you signaled for him to start moving.

It was mind-blowing; the sensuality of his thrusts made your breath hitch. Soon, your moans filled the room in symphony with his groans and whimpers as your walls sucked him in more and more, drinking in his soul. His head hung over his shoulders, hair falling over your skin as he kept thrusting into you over and over again, making your toes curl as he repeatedly brushed against that spot inside you that made your mind go blank. 

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he grunted. “So fucking tight, so good for me.” You moaned in response, hands clawing at his back, needing something to ground you to this world as he drove you to greater heights.

“Shit, Jisung—” You could feel your orgasm approaching, the band in your belly coiling tighter and tighter.

“I've got you, baby,” he muttered, closing the gap between the both of you again, swallowing your moans as he moved harder, determined to make you cum around him. “Cum for me.” His words were the last push you needed to tumble off the edge, your body merging into him as you came on his cock. You could feel overstimulation kick in as he kept moving inside you, making you whine and dig your nails into his back.

“I'm not done yet.” And within a second, you were flipped onto your stomach, your ass jutted out, and he sank back into again, a loud moan coming from both of you. His movements were much less coordinated from before, more jerky and hasty as he chased his own high while trying to bring you to yours once more. His fingers found your clitoral area, rubbing harsh circles on the bundle of nerves as he drilled into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed underneath his breath, feeling your walls clench even tighter around you. "Babe—baby, I need you to cum with me, please.” He gasped when you tightened instinctively at his words. “Come on, love.”

The way he could be so sweet and yet so dirty in the way he spoke while he was fucking you from behind, your face pressed into your pillows, muffling the loud moans reverberating in your throat, turned you on even more. You reached your peak once again, from the combined actions of his fingers on your clitoral area and his tip bruising against your spot inside you, clamping down on him as you released, triggering his own orgasm. His hot seed filled you to the brim, and he gave a few last strokes before pulling out his softening dick and letting both of you catch your breath.

After cleaning up, you laid side by side, your breathing still uneven like you ran a marathon. Curled up against his side, you let your body calm down, his arm around you to hold you close as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, brushing the hair out of your face and looking at you with tired eyes and a lovesick smile.

“I'll take you out on a proper date, and then we'll go back to my place, and I'll fuck you in my bed as many times as you want me to,” he promised quietly. “I'll take you wherever you want to go; just stay by my side, okay?”

“I'll always stay by your side. I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n.” You lifted your head up to kiss his forehead, watching his grin widen, and he squeezed you in his arms. “Yeah, I'm so in love with you,” he said with a giggle. 

Now you could put your mind to rest, knowing you both had really good bed chem as well.

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[sunflowerreid]

Request for a Spencer smut where y/n gets handy under the table while out for drinks with the team after getting back from a case

“Please not now”

Timing - S.R

Warnings: Edging, sub!Spencer, Handjob, Public sex (Kind of)

There are many things you could never get tired of, the deliciously jammy doughnuts from the cafe by yours and Spencer’s apartment, the sounds of the birds first thing in the morning as the sunlight creeps through the shades, the smile on Spencer’s face as he rambles on about something he’s passionate about. But the one thing you know you love the most is the way Spencer squirms. Whether it’s down to your hands touching him in a particularly sensitive spot or when you maintain eye contact across the room while licking a lollipop in a completely innocent manner. You absolutely loved making him squirm. Having been denied this simple pleasure for 4 whole days due to sleeping in different rooms while on a case and having to maintain professional you were dying to get your hands on him.

However, there was one problem, well actually there were six problems, all sat around the table separating you both. After solving a challenging case you’d all agreed to celebrate at your normal bar. You absolutely adore your team with all of your heart but with Spencer sat across from you giggling at a joke Garcia had mentioned, the temptation was beginning to override your common senses. No one could blame you, you had your gorgeous man in front of you causing your thighs to press together, underwear ruined once again. You had to do something about it, the throbbing was becoming too much. Suddenly remembering what had happened earlier that day, the way Spencer had deliberately brushed up against you, pressing his crotch subtly against yours while grinning cheekily. That was enough cause for you to grin to yourself, a wicked idea coming to mind.

You smirked at him from across the table, making eye contact with him as you lifted up your leg, heel slowly brushing up his leg. His eyes widened slightly catching on to your plan as your heel got higher and higher teasingly brushing up his thigh towards his crotch, you knew that look ‘Please not now’. He stiffened up slightly, eyes glossing over as his cheeks began to flush. He squeaked quietly, jumping in his seat as your heel made contact with his growing erection. “God Reid are you drunk already” Garcia giggled next to him. “Maybe had one too many” he answered shyly. “Awww pretty boy I always knew you were a light weight” Morgan teased from across the table next to him. “Leave my boy alone, he’s perfect just as he is” you nudged Morgan, knowing the praise would get Spencer worked up. You could feel him throbbing through his trousers, a noticeable stain appearing through the fabric by the leaking tip of him. He was twitching in his seat, desperate for more friction as you continued your torturously slow pace. Everyone was too busy having conversations amongst themselves to notice what was going on, no matter how obvious Spencer was making it. He couldn’t sit still, as a moment of weakness overcame him, placing his hand on your heel to thrust up against you. You knew the look on his face, eyes rolling back slightly into his head, mouth opened slightly, cheeks flushed, eyebrows rising. He was close, a few more thrusts and he would cum in his boxers. You allowed him a few more jumpy thrusts before removing your heel from him. He groaned quietly, staring at you like you’d just ripped his favourite book apart from across the table while you maintained a conversation with Emily. You knew it was mean, cruel even. But he had to be punished for what he’d done before, he knew better.

“Right guys I’ve got to bounce” Morgan announced, blissfully unaware of an edged Spencer a few feet away. “Yeah we need to go to” you agreed, giving Spencer an out as relief washed over his face “Yeah bye guys see you soon” he whispered following you out of the bar door towards your car since you’d only had one drink, planning on driving home afterwards to save you walking back. “God Y/n so horny please, need you so bad” he whimpered approaching you from behind as you reached the car. You turned around running your hands through his curls as your lips met. “In the car baby” you ordered as he immediately rushed over to the passenger seat. He was on you as soon as you got in your side, hands desperately grabbing onto anything he could reach, “Please fuck please Y/n so hard need to cum so bad” he whimpered kissing down your neck. “Alright honey calm down I’ve got you” you reassured him gently. “Trousers off”. He scrambled back to his seat quickly undoing his belt and pulling his trousers down. He was throbbing for you, streaks of precum running down the side of him from his leaking slit. “Please y/n please” he whined thrusting up into the air. You smirked to yourself running your finger up and down his erection, barely touching him. He twitched, a spurt of precum leaking down towards his base as you finally took pity on him, wrapping your hand around his base before pumping up to his tip. “UGH FUCK YES” he moaned loudly, hips humping up towards you as his head rolled back onto the headrest. “God yes please faster, faster” he whined begging for more friction. You quickened you hand, thumb swiping over his tip after every stroke. “M’sorry gonna cum, can’t hold it, cumming ,cumming,I’M CUMMING FUCKKK” he screamed as you finally granted the relief he’d been waiting for. “That’s it honey, that’s it” you whispered, calming him down as he came down from his high, gentle murmurs from him as he buried his head into your neck, slumping over the centre of the car. “I know honey, did so good for me”. It was peaceful, calm, perfect. Well, it was. The little bubble you two were in was immediately burst the moment you made eye contact with a man leaving the bar. Your boss. Aaron Hotchner. The best profiler you have ever known, the man who knows everything. You had no idea how much he’d seen but from the eyebrow raise and slight smirk on his face you knew he knew exactly what was up. God your timing sucks, you’ll both have to work on that.

[briseroyawritingsblog]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒔

𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒏!𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒘𝒊𝒇𝒆!𝒏𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

+18 minors do not interact. hurt/comfort, nursing wounds, blood, physical pain, emotional pain, very slow healing, mutant cure, kissing, cuddling, mentions of sex, happy marriage, fluffy ending etc.

𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 / 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

divider by @bunnysrph 💌

“Oh no no no!!” You sobbed slapping your husbands cheek gently to wake him up. You found him passed out, third time this week. His dress shirt drenched in blood, bullet holes decorating the front making you cry hard. Tears staining your cheeks as you quickly rushed to the bathroom for first aid kit and to pull out the harming bullets. “Please.. please..” you sniffled ripping the front of his shirt buttons scattering all over the place. Grabbing your medical pliers you didn’t hesitate to dive inside the bullet holes in his chest, pulling one after one out. You cleaned the blood in process, the fresh one which pooled out of his wounds. You couldn’t stop crying— your heart held so much pain and grief. “You can’t die on me.. not like this. God I love you so much please don’t..” you slapped his cheek gentle to possibly wake him but he wouldn’t. The healing of his wounds were so slow.. even slower than a week ago. You did this few times.. he woke up right after but now he wouldn’t. You cried against his shoulder gently removing his ruined dress shirt. You washed his chest gently with a warm damp cloth, his face too, his hands. You kissed his knuckles where his claws would come out but now he was only laying on your bed. “Lo.. please..” you sighed with pain climbing on the bed right next to him snuggling to his side. “I know your body aches, I know but just.. come back to me. I will take care of you” you sobbed kissing his bearded cheek caressing his chest where his heart supposed to beat wildly by now but it didn’t. Another wave of pain hit you. “Please..!” You cried even harder.

The faint heartbeat returned, you knew that he lived. He was just too tired, in too much pain to wake up, he needed rest. So much of rest. Although.. he swore that he would never take the mutant cure you feared that it was the answer to your prayers at the moment. Opening the drawer on your bedside table you pulled out the cure. You could use only a little bit to heal him, only a tiny bit. Lo hated that you’ve spend so much money on it, nearly your whole pay check because you wanted to heal him. He’d rather suffer and get through it alone than to use the cure. You cried desperately waiting another moment before gently injecting a tiny bit of the cure in his vein. You watched his wounds heal away like magic, his heartbeat getting stronger. His breathing returning back to normal, you thanked god silently in between sobs. Putting away the cure you hugged him close to you pulling the covers over your bodies resting your cheek on his naked chest. You had no strength to move, you wanted to be close to your husband. You felt his arms coil around you and you closed your eyes crying with happiness. Tears streaming down your cheeks you let out a huff. “Shhh..” Lo whispered to you holding his eyes closed feeling healed, his body feeling like new and all thanks to you. “I’m so sorry kid..” he breathed out kissing your forehead. “I’m fucking sorry for giving you so much pain.” He sighed running his big calloused hand over your back. “Don’t say that.. I want all of your worries, all of the pain, I want to take it all away I’m your wife” you cried looking up at him still resting your cheek on his chest. “I can’t give it to you kid.. only my love” you closed your eyes at his words with a broken whimper. His thumb wiping away your tears “Thank you..” he added kissing your forehead again. “Shhh..baby” you climbed on top of him burying your face in his neck.

A faint smile appeared on his face, he held you close to him. Even closer than before “I can’t lose you, I can’t leave you Lo..” you whispered your chest hurting immensely at the thought of losing him. “You won’t. I’m still here..” he added reassuring you. “C’here kid.. kiss me” he breathed before he captured your mouth in a loving kiss. You kissed him more urgently to be sure he’s healed and that he’s there with you this wasn’t a dream. “My love” you let out a soft moan wrapping your arms around his neck and he hummed at the closeness. Your legs nearly curled around his waist “you tiny monkey, you won’t let me go will you now?” You shook your head resting your cheek to his. “I love you..” he smiled snuggling you close. Your core was pressing to his growing bulge “S’not this old man’s fault- you’re clingin’ and tellin’ me you love me” he let out a chuckle “and rubbin yourself on me.. fuck” you giggled at his words loving that he was back. “I’ll take care of you my love” you blushed kissing his lips. Lo’s kiss was needier than yours this time. All that crying and sobbing was quickly exchanged for moans and whimpers, he used that extra energy to love on you.

-

[writemekpop]

Stolen Kisses | Na Jaemin

Summary: A drunken kiss at a wedding leads to something more...

Genre: Suggestive, Cutie!Jaemin, Friends to lovers

Word count: >1k

“Oh, I wish I was in love,” you sigh as you watch Jeno and his new wife twirling around the dance floor.

“I know,” Jaemin says, sipping his beer.

“Maybe it’s just the alcohol talking, but I’ll tell you a secret,” you say. "I'm planning to be married by thirty. It's my dream."

“Wait,” Jaemin says, cocking his head. “Aren’t you turning thirty next year?”

You freeze. The ice cubes tinkle in your drink. ”That- that’s not right. I’m already twenty… nine?”

Jaemin rests his hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ve got ages.”

You glare at Jaemin. “I’m 29, and I’ve never had a boyfriend! I might be optimistic, but I’m not an idiot.” Grains of heat spread over your face. “Oh my god. I’m never getting married. I’m never-”

Jaemin cups your cheek with his hand, and the movement is so tender that it takes you by surprise.

“Listen to me," he said. "You’re a hotshot lawyer. You’re unbelievably funny. And - let’s face it - you’ve got a smokin’ bod. You could have any guy in this room, right now.”

You smirk. “Any guy? Even that one?” you say, pointing at the muscly bartender.

Jaemin smiles softly. “Oh, please. That idiot? You’re way too good for him. You’re way too good for any of these losers.”

You take Jaemin’s hand and kiss it. His body is still hunched away from you, but his eyes flash to meet yours, sideways. He grins like the two of you are sharing a naughty secret.

That look.

Tingles run over your body. Jaemin has given it to you before, but tonight, there’s a hint - just a hint - that it means something more.

You loosely let go of Jaemin’s hand, your fingers run up his arm until you’re clutching his shoulder. Both if you are breathing unevenly. Somehow, your bodies have gotten close. You can smell him.

“Do you… feel…” you start to say, but trail off.

“Yes,” Jaemin says. “Do you…”

”Yes,” you reply, before he can finish.

“We’re just drunk, right?” Jaemin says, his voice trembling. “That’s all this is?”

You pause, considering whether or not to say the answer that jumps to your mind. It is not the safe option.

“I’ve never been more sober in my life,” you say.

Jaemin blinks, then replies, “Me neither.”

That’s when your lips meet his. At first, the blood in your body springs into overdrive. Alarms crash in your head. You’re kissing Jaemin! Your best friend! But then you sink into the kiss, enjoying the coolness of his lips, the way they give into yours entirely.

You feel closer to Jaemin than you ever have. It’s like you’ve become one person with two hearts.

You draw back, panting. Jaemin struggles to act normal after your kiss, and you love it. Finally, he gives up trying, and a dazzling grin breaks out on his face.

“There we go…” you sigh, acting like you’re embarrassed of him.

“What? Can’t I celebrate? I just got kissed by the prettiest girl in the room!” Jaemin says, swinging his arm around your shoulder.

You glare at him.

“Sorry! I mean the most beautiful woman,” Jaemin corrects.

You fight a smile. “That’s right. You better treat this woman good.”

Jaemin lowers his head gravely. “It will be my solemn duty.”

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[schemmentigfs]

Req/idea: Melissa wanting to pleasure the reader, but she’s inexperienced with women? (Talking her through it, reassurance, building trust, etc)

Her First Woman’s Touch.

Summary: Melissa goes through a difficult process of self-discovery and acceptance to learn more about intimacy between women, so she can give you pleasure during sex.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of religious trauma, internalized homophobia, a single slur, body insecurities, smoking, smut. melissa might be out of character sometimes? joe hate club

Notes: This is long, but it’s worth it. 🤍 i wrote it with so much love, so enjoy babies.

Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti wasn’t insecure and vulnerable. She always was the rock of her social circle, the unstoppable woman who could handle anything thrown at her with a steady, unflinching resolve. Her demeanor was tough, marked by a confidence that rarely wavered. But lately, a huge doubt consumed her.

After years of feeling trapped by a label that didn’t define and fit her, she finally came out as a bisexual woman. However, this new freedom came with its own uncertainties. Now, being in a stable four months relationship with you, a more younger, captivating and more experienced soul. Her heart was racing as she thought about how she wanted to please you and be sexually intimate, but her lack of experience with women made her hesitant.

The painful memories of her college years flooded her mind again and again, a time when she had yearned to explore her bisexuality but felt shackled by her upbringing. Her parents, deeply religious, had instilled in her a profound sense of guilt about any feelings that strayed from their beliefs. Melissa always watched with envy as others embraced their identities, while she remained in silence, suppressing who she was. This inner conflict persisted long after graduation, but now, as an adult, it felt heavier than ever.

The memory of her father’s harsh words cut through her like a knife. “You’re going to burn in hell, Melissa Ann!” he shouted, his voice thick with anger and disappointment. “You’re gonna be the black sheep of the Schemmentis. If you don’t stop with those stupid thoughts.” Those horrendous words, once echoing through their small, cluttered kitchen, now reverberated in her mind, haunting her even years later. “Someone corrupted you, that’s not the daughter I raised to make me and your mother proud. Non sei un fottuto frocio!”

A knot tightened in her stomach, a familiar feeling of dread and nausea creeping in as she recalled her traumatic childhood. She remembered the confusion and shame she felt, struggling to understand why she was drawn to both boys and girls. It was a realization she had kept hidden for so long, fearing the wrath and rejection of her family. Every stolen glance, every fleeting crush on a girl, had been tainted with guilt and self–recrimination.

For decades she blamed herself for not being straight. For not fitting into the strict normal mold her family expected her to follow. The fear of condemnation had forced her to hide her true self, living in a constant state of doubt. The burden of carrying her secret had made her feel isolated and alone, as if she were the only one in the world grappling with these feelings.

In her teenage years growing up in a strict devout Catholic household, Melissa would often lock herself in her bedroom, her sanctuary from the outside world, and pray. The room was small, with a crucifix hanging on the wall above her bed, and a small statue of the Virgin Mary on her simple nightstand. The faint scent of incense from morning Mass still lingered in the air. On the days when the weight of her feelings became too much, she would kneel by her bed, clasping her hands tightly together, her knuckles white with tension.

But her prayers often turned into desperate arguments with God. She’d rail against the silence that seemed to mock her suffering. In fits of anger and confusion, she would scream at the crucifix, questioning why she was cursed with desires that didn’t align with the life she had been taught to lead. Melissa was supposed to marry a good healthy man and start a family of her own, wasn’t she?

“Dear Lord, why have you condemned me to this torment?” she cried out, her voice cracking with desperation. “Why have you made me this way? Why can’t you accept me for who I am? Am I so abhorrent in your sight that I must suffer endlessly? Tell me—am I so wrong, so irredeemable in your eyes?”

She paused. “And what about my feelings for both boys and girls? Is it a sin to love them both? Am I to be punished because my heart refuses to choose between them? Why must my own nature be a source of such unending pain? Why can’t you understand that my love for them is just as real, just as genuine, as any other?”

One evening, overwhelmed by the unbearable weight of her internal conflict, Melissa’s deepest frustration reached a boiling point. She hurled a wooden chair across the room, its legs scraping loudly against the floor as it crashed into the wall. The violent act seemed to punctuate her desperation, the chair’s splintering echo a stark contrast to her deep-seated pain.

“Why do you let Pa call me a dyke? Why do you let him say I’m an abomination? You know the pain it causes me! Why do you let him tear me apart inside while Ma pretends nothing’s wrong?”

Her knees buckled as she collapsed to the floor. The coldness of the tiles was a stark contrast to the feverish heat of her anger. One of the holy saints statues, a symbol of her faith, tumbled from its pedestal and shattered, its fragments scattering across the room.

The once serene face was now a mosaic of broken pieces. The porcelain, once pure and whole, now lay in shards, mirroring her own fragmented sense of self. The saint’s broken visage was a stark reminder of the purity that had been tainted by the harsh reality of her suffering.

“No! Not Saint Maria! Nonna’s favorite saint!”

The exhaustion was overwhelming. She felt her limbs growing numb and her head growing heavy. Her vision blurred, and the room spun around her. Despite her attempts to fight it, her body succumbed to the fatigue. Her breaths grew shallower as she drifted closer to unconsciousness.

As she began to lose consciousness, her lips parted, and a whisper escaped her mouth. “I’m just… a failure,” she murmured, voice barely audible. Her depressive words were a final, fragile admission of her internal turmoil. The words were soaked in the weight of her self-loathing and the pain of feeling misunderstood and rejected.

The door creaked open slightly, and Kristin Marie peeked into the old bedroom, her wide eyes searching for her older sister. She saw Melissa sprawled on the floor, her form partially obscured by the scattered shards and a amount of blood. Her innocent curiosity was momentarily replaced by concern, but the sight of her stillness made her stop.

“Sister Mel is sleepy,” she giggled, her words full of poor miscomprehension. The toddler turned to leave, deciding to give her sister the rest she seemed to need. “Play later!”

Hours later, Melissa slowly stirred, her head throbbing with a dull ache. As she tried to sit up, she felt a sticky warmth on her forehead. She reached up, her fingers coming away covered in a faint crimson. Groaning softly, she touched the spot gingerly and winced as the pain intensified.

“Son of a bitch...”

Gazing at the mess and determined to salvage what was left, she carefully gathered the shards of the broken statue, her hands shaking slightly. She meticulously cleaned the pieces, placing them in a small box as though they were precious remnants of something sacred. And pretended that nothing happened. It was now her dirty little secret.

One that Melissa would keep with her until her death.

Every family gathering, every holiday, was a reminder of how different she felt, how she didn't belong. The Schemmentis prided themselves on their strong values, and she felt like an outlier, a blemish on their perfect image. The weight of her father's words and her mother’s neglecting was a constant reminder of the expectations she could never meet the acceptance Melissa feared she would never find. The poor woman’s siblings, although supportive of their sister, stood in silence, afraid of going against their beloved ma and pa.

In the midst of this stifling environment as life continued, the older woman remained in complete denial. At work, she kept her personal life carefully hidden. Even though her closest colleagues sensed her discomfort and unease, they never pried. She wore her public mask of professionalism and cheerfulness, but beneath it, she was struggling with her own truths.

Becoming a tough woman and pretending to just be heterosexual, a role she embraced, took a significant toll on her mental being. This strength she presented to the world was both a shield and a cage. The weight to maintain this image meant suppressing her vulnerabilities and emotions, leading to a constant internal battle. Her moments of solitude were marked by a deep, unspoken sadness as she grappled with isolation.

The persona she projected often felt like a lie, one that she had to uphold despite the emotional exhaustion it caused. Her mental health suffered as she became increasingly disconnected from her true self. Not recognizing herself anymore.

Melissa’s failed marriage with Joe was a constant reminder of the life she had tried to conform to but never truly belonged to.

That seemed to change when Ava hired you as the new teacher to take third-grade class. You brought a warmth and openness that cut through the fiery redhead’s worst barriers, sparking a connection she had not anticipated. As your friendship deepened into something more, she found herself struggling with feelings she had long suppressed. Despite her growing affection for you, she hesitated to cross the line into physical intimacy.

This vulnerability and insecurity consumed her every single second. As she lay in her king-sized bed on a Friday night after a busy day at school, she couldn’t help but replay every moment of your relationship in her mind. She worried constantly about whether she was good enough for you, fearing she might be making you impatient due to her reluctance to have sex. The fear of disappointing you gnawed at her, and she found herself staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. She ached with the desire to connect with you on a deeper level, to show you just how much she cared, but the uncertainty held her back.

Each night, as she lay next to you in your complex apartment, the older woman would often find herself tracing the gentle curves of your sleeping body with her fingertips, memorizing the softness of your skin under her touch. You were a source of warmth and safety, still every time she opened her mouth to voice her fears, the words lodged in her throat. It was a silent battle, one that filled her with shame and frustration. Melissa felt as if she was a stranger in her own body, struggling to reconcile her desires with her reality.

You had been nothing but patient, reassuring her multiple times that there was no rush at all, that love was about connection and trust. Even amidst your understanding, a humiliation consumed her. How could she be almost fifty four and still feel so unprepared for something natural like that? The shame burned fiercely in her chest, a constant reminder of her late blooming, leaving her wondering if she could ever truly satisfy you in the ways you deserved.

“Santo cielo. I can’t do this I fuckin’ can’t.” Melissa cursed, tears threatening to fall into her green eyes. Why was this so damn complicated? The internal struggle felt unbearable, as if a storm was about to explode inside her. It consumed her, and even surrounded by understanding, the pressure of everything was overwhelming.

Turning her head toward the mirror, she stared at her reflection. The image staring back at her was a woman trapped between two worlds. On one side was the freedom she had found in accepting her sexuality, a liberation she had long yearned for. On the other hand, the harsh reality of her insecurities loomed large, amplified by her constant comparisons to others who seemed so much more experienced and confident. The weight of her inexperience made her feel small and inadequate.

She sat up in bed, wiping at her eyes angrily. “Fuck this, Schemmenti,” she muttered. The words came out as a broken whisper, a desperate plea to herself, but the self-reproach did little to ease the turmoil inside her. The tears came anyway, hot and unchecked, as she let out a shuddering breath. She needed to find a way to talk to you, to bridge the gap that her disquiet had created. But the question remained—could she overcome her past and embrace the love she had found with you? She wanted to explore, to learn, to share everything with you, but the fear of failing paralyzed her.

“There are so many things I still don’t understand,” the redhead continued, her voice choking, as if she was waiting for someone to answer her. “So many things that I need to explore. And I keep getting lost in doubts. It’s not fair to you, baby. It’s not fair to me either.”

Melissa let out a long, weary sigh as she sank into the soft embrace of the sheets once again, curling up into a tight ball of self–deprecation. The emptiness of the bedroom started to swallow her figure, a stark contrast to the comfort and safety she used to feel. She stared at the empty space beside her, her gaze tracing the outlines of the pillow and the indentations where you lain on weekends. The walls of the room, once so familiar, now seemed cold and distant, offering little solace from the storm of emotions inside her.

Memories of happy times with you surfaced, fleeting but powerful, when she would catch you looking at her with tenderness, and such understanding, that it felt like the world stopped spinning. In those moments, her apprehension would momentarily dissipate, replaced by the warmth of your company and gaze. She remembered how you would gently reassure her, your voice a soothing balm to her restless state.

I know I’m your first woman; that means everything to me.

I’ll be gentle, just take your time. You’re safe with me.

Your reassurances helped—sometimes. When you’d say things like those, a part of her believed you, trusted in your kindness. But another part of her couldn’t stop the flood of negativity, couldn’t shut out the fear that she would disappoint you, that she was fumbling through something too precious to ruin.

You’ll never be enough for her, Melissa. You’ve never done this before. She’ll get tired of waiting for you to figure it out. You’ll embarrass yourself.

You’re fumbling, and she’s just being nice. She’s just waiting for the moment she can walk away.

You’re too old for this. You’re too slow, too clumsy. She can do better. She will do better.

“Mi dispiace amore mio, sono un codardo,” she yelled punching the mattress with her fist.

That Friday, she cried until she fell asleep. Exhausted, her salty tears wet the pillow, and silent sobs shook her body as she tried, in vain, to calm the storm of emotions built up inside her. The deep need to feel confident and equal to the love you gave her. And as a troubled sleep finally embraced her, Melissa felt a small relief. The crying, in a way, had been a step towards releasing the feelings that tormented her.

Was she really a coward that would never face her fears?

What were you doing with an old lady like her who didn’t know anything?

Wouldn’t it just be better if you left her?

Over the weekend, the older woman was relaxing on the plastic couch in her living room, a glass of red wine resting in her right hand as she puffed away at a cigarette. The soft lights created a welcoming atmosphere, and the sound of the television, playing Celebrity Jeopardy, filled the space with a comfortable familiar distraction. She was distracted, but her mind was away from the entertainment, deep in thoughts about what she had just watched and what she still needed to do. Melissa watched the show's contestants, her eyes scanning the confident faces on the screen.

She looked at her cigarette, which was almost finished, and let it go out in the ashtray. Her old cigarette addiction had become a metaphor for her deepest insecurities — a habit that was difficult to break, but one that constantly reminded her of her challenges and rage. Each ember that dimmed seemed to echo the older woman's own struggles, a poignant reminder of the destructive patterns she fought to escape. The acrid smell lingered, an olfactory ghost of her past, stubbornly clinging to her clothes and her very soul. With a heavy sigh, she flicked the ash and resolved to confront the parts of herself she had long tried to ignore.

She leaned back into the couch, closing her eyes and taking another sip of wine. The warmth of the alcohol spread through her chest, loosening some of the tension. She knew she needed to do something, to find a way to overcome her fears and insecurities. But where to start? And how to reach information? The idea of opening up about her feelings, of admitting her lack of experience, felt terrifying since she hated to show any sign of weakness.

“Maybe I should do some research?” Melissa thought aloud, the idea dawning on her slowly. It sounded ridiculous at first, but the more she considered it, the more it made sense. She had always been someone who liked to be prepared, to have all the information before making a decision. This situation was no different. If she wanted to feel more confident, she needed to educate herself.

As the edition of Celebrity Jeopardy on the TV ended, replaced by a late-night talk show, Melissa stood up and stretched, feeling the tension ease from her muscles. She walked over to the windows, looking out at the night sky. The stars twinkled brightly, a reminder that the world was vast and full of possibilities. She smiled softly to herself, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

The redhead raised another cigarette to the empty room, striking a match with a soft scratch. As the flame illuminated the dark space for a moment, she took a deep drag, letting the smoke curl up around her. “To new beginnings, for me, for Y/n. To us,” she whispered, voice barely above a murmur. The words hung in the air, resonating in the quiet of the room. It wasn’t a perfect solution, and she knew doubts and fears would still linger. But it was a step in the right direction. As the TV continued to hum, Melissa felt a small flicker of hope. She might not have all the answers, but at least she was ready to start looking for them.

Over the next few days and weeks, on several sleepless nights, the teacher searched on Google. How to navigate a same-sex relationship when you’re inexperienced? she typed, pressing enter before she could second-guess herself. As the results loaded, she skimmed through the titles. There were so many women who had been in her shoes, who had felt the same insecurities and fears at one moment of their lives. With each click, she felt more intrigued and amazed as she noticed the many different options for how she could give and receive pleasure. Articles, videos, forums—an entire world unfolded before her, revealing nuances she had never considered or imagined. She read article after article, watched educational videos, and even ventured into The Womanizer and Quinn blogs where women shared their intimate experiences and advice. The sheer variety of ways to connect and pleasure each other was both overwhelming and fascinating to her.

As she read through personal stories and advice columns, Melissa felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She took notes, bookmarked pages, and even found herself blushing at some of the more detailed descriptions. It was a strange, exhilarating education that left her feeling more informed but still uncertain. The more she learned, the more she realized how much she didn't know. And as she delved deeper into this research, she began to realize that the key was not just in techniques, but in communication and emotional connection. The Sicilian woman recalled how your soft touches and kind words made her feel safe and wanted. Perhaps the most important thing would be to bring that same security and desire to both of you.

After weeks of diving into intense research, Melissa found herself at a crossroad. Each day spent pouring over books, articles, and seeking advice had only heightened her awareness of her inexperience. The redhead made a heartfelt promise to herself, one that resonated deeply within her. She resolved that rather than allowing her fears and uncertainties to overshadow her, she would harness the insights she had gained to fortify the bond between you. This wasn’t just about confronting her own apprehensions; it was about opening her heart fully and trusting you in ways she had never allowed herself before.

She envisioned a future where both of you could explore and embrace the full spectrum of love and connection. Melissa understood that the path ahead would not be without its challenges. It would require patience, understanding, and a willingness to be vulnerable. Although, she was committed to embarking on this journey with you. She was prepared to face her worst fears head-on and let the promise of love and trust guide her.

—

“C’mon. It shouldn’t be that hard, stop being a pussy.” The redhead huffed, walking through the busy streets and holding a small pamphlet with an address on it. Pushing herself forward. The words were meant to be a pep talk, but they came out more as a grumble. Dressed in a black leather jacket, her left hand buried deep in her pocket gripping her keys so tightly that the cold metal dug into her palm. While the right clutched the paper, she cut a confident figure. But inside, she felt like a terrified kid again.

On this afternoon, Melissa found herself standing outside a cozy queer café in Philadelphia. The establishment’s large windows framed a warm, inviting interior filled with plush armchairs, bookshelves, vases of plants and soft lighting. A sign with an impeccable handwriting on the door read Sapphic Women’s Discussion Group. All Welcome! The vibrant façade, adorned with rainbow flags and welcoming posters promoting LGBTQ+ events, felt inviting and intimidating.

She was resting on the door handle. The intrusive thought of turning around, retreating to the safety of her car, and forgetting this whole idea crossed her mind. For years, Melissa had thought about walking into a place like this, spaces that welcomed women like her, women who loved other women—but she never imagined she’d actually do it. Not at her age, not after a life of silence and denial.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods enveloping her.

“Here goes nothin’,” The Italian redhead said with a hint of sarcasm, her South Philly accent wry and unmistakable. “I swear if anyone makes funny of me, I’ll fucking ran away–”

Inside, the atmosphere was lively but casual. Women of various ages and backgrounds were seated at tables, engaged in conversations. Laughter and the hum of voices filled the air, creating a sense of community and belonging. The older woman spotted a table in the corner with a small group of women and made her way over, hoping to blend in while still taking in the atmosphere and aura. The table she chose was adorned with a simple centerpiece of fresh flowers, next to a hand-drawn menu filled with witty drink names like Sappho’s Latte and Audre’s Espresso.

“Mind if I sit here?” she asked, her voice betraying just a hint of nervousness.

They nodded, murmuring polite welcomes, and she sat down, smoothing her jacket out of habit. Just as she was settling in, a woman in her mid-thirties approached, a friendly smile lighting up her face. She had short, dark hair that fell naturally across her forehead, and her denim jacket was covered with pins advocating for various causes—pride flags, feminist slogans, and more. There was something about her presence that radiated both strength and warmth, an unspoken understanding in her eyes that seemed to invite openness.

“Hey, you’re new here, right? I’m Jules. Can I join you?”

She managed a small, nervous smile and shifted her gaze downward, politely giving her a clumsy handshake. “Sure, it’s my first time being here. I’m Melissa.”

Jules took a seat and leaned back, her presence somehow instantly putting her at ease. “So, what brings you here today?”

Melissa took a deep breath. It wasn’t easy to open up about something so personal, especially to a place full of strangers, but something about the atmosphere in the shop made her feel safe enough to try.

“Recently, I came out as bisexual,” the older woman began, trembling. “It took me years to figure it out...or maybe I knew all along, but I was just too scared to accept it because of, you know... religious guilt and family trauma.”

“That’s a huge step, Mel. Coming out, especially after carrying something like that for so long... It’s not easy. You’re brave for even being here.”

Encouraged by understanding, she continued, though her words still came out haltingly. “I.. I’m in a relationship now, with a younger woman. She’s amazing, and I really care about her. But I’ve never been intimate with a woman before, and I... I’m so scared. I want to pleasure her, make her feel good, but I don’t know where to start. I was afraid to come here and open up about this. I thought... I thought people might laugh at me or think I’m not ‘really’ bi because I’ve never done it before.”

Jules reached across the table and placed her hand on Melissa’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring pat. “You’re definitely not alone in feeling that way. A lot of us have been where you are now. It’s completely normal to feel nervous, especially when it’s all so new. But what’s important is that you’re here, willing to learn and grow.”

The green eyed woman felt a lump forming in her throat.

“I was married too," she confessed, tinged with bitterness and pain. “My ex-husband, Joe… he was a dickhead. He was always drunk, and he cheated on me more times than I can count. I stayed with him ‘cause I thought it was the ‘right’ thing to do, you know? Because of my family, because of my faith… But it was killing me inside. I was miserable, and it took me a long time to realize that I deserved better.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” the youngest said sincerely. "No one deserves to be treated that way. But you’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

As they spoke, Jules gave a subtle signal to a few women seated nearby. One by one, they began to gather around, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and encouragement. They formed a small semicircle, their presence a quiet testament to the power of community. Each woman seemed to carry her own story, her own struggles and triumphs, but there was no judgment here—only acceptance.

One of the women, a young woman with thoughtful eyes, spoke up first. “You know, sometimes the most important thing is to listen and learn without rushing. Every relationship is different. What works for one couple might not work for another.”

Another woman, slightly older, nodded in agreement. “And balancing personal space with intimacy is key. You have to be able to communicate openly about your needs and boundaries.”

Melissa nodded, absorbing their words like a sponge. The advice was practical, yes, but it was the honesty and openness in their voices that struck her most. They weren’t just talking at her—they were sharing pieces of themselves.

The conversation continued, flowing naturally between experiences of first loves, heartbreaks, and everything in between. They discussed how vital it was to take things slow, to be attuned to each other’s needs, to ask questions, and most of all, to approach intimacy with openness and care. Each woman offered something unique, from personal tips to deeply felt wisdom, and by the time the gathering wound down, Melissa felt an overwhelming sense of relief and empowerment.

As the women began to disperse, exchanging hugs and goodbyes, Melissa stood up from the table, feeling lighter than when she had walked in. Jules caught her eye one last time, giving her a reassuring nod.

“You’ve got this, Mel. Just remember to trust yourself, okay?”

She smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across her face for the first time that evening. “Thank you… really.”

As she stepped outside, the sun still hung low in the sky, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. For the first time in a long while, she felt hopeful. She wasn’t just carrying the weight of her past anymore—she was moving forward, armed with the knowledge, support, and confidence she’d gained from this little café and the women who had opened their hearts to her.

Melissa was ready to take the next steps in your relationship.

—

Wednesday was different for Melissa. From the moment she woke up, she could feel the weight of anticipation pressing down on her chest. After dropping her second graders—whom she affectionately called her “little eagles”—off at the gym for physical education, her day should have felt like any other. But instead, her mind raced, a nervous buzz thrumming beneath her skin. She spent the rest of the morning mentally rehearsing what she planned to say, her palms growing sweaty each time she replayed the words in her head.

By the time the lunch bell rang, her resolve had formed, but her body still trembled as she made her way to the cafeteria. She spotted you immediately, seated at a table with Jacob and Janine. The three of you were deep in discussion, laughing about the success of the recent library program project. The sound of your laughter, bright and carefree, made Melissa’s heart flutter. It grounded her, reminding her of why she wanted to do this in the first place.

But as she approached, her heart raced, and the familiar anxiety crept back in. What if she said the wrong thing? What if you didn’t want the same things she did? She had planned something special for the two of you tonight, something that would show you just how much she cared. She just hoped she wouldn’t trip over now that she was so close to making it real.

You were in the middle of recounting a funny story about one of your students when your gaze shifted, and you saw her walking toward the table. Instantly, your surroundings blurred; the laughter and conversation between Jacob and Janine faded into a distant hum as your focus zeroed in on her. Melissa wasn’t often nervous, but there was something in the way she carried herself now—vulnerable yet brave—that made your heart swell with affection.

She hesitated for a moment, standing a few feet away. Her green eyes flicked to the floor as though she was searching for the right words. Her hands, you noticed, were fidgeting at the hem of her blouse, tracing the fabric as if seeking comfort. She drew in a breath before speaking, her voice soft but laced with determination.

“I, um… I planned a romantic dinner for us tonight.” She was cautious, almost tentative. “Would you be able to come over to my place at seven, hon?”

Your heart warmed at her nervousness, and you gave her a soft, reassuring smile. “Of course, babe. I’d love to.” The tenderness in your tone seemed to ease her tension, and you couldn’t help but add. “Do you want me to bring anything? A bottle of your favorite white wine or—”

“No, just you and your beautiful body,” The second the words left her lips, her face flushed a deep, fiery red, the color climbing up her neck and spreading across her cheeks. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth as her eyes went wide in shock at her own boldness. It was as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just said, and the mortification was clear in the way her shoulders tensed. “Oh?”

Jacob and Janine, who had been standing just far enough away to give you both some privacy, exchanged a quick glance. Janine, ever the romantic, stifled a squeal of excitement, biting her hand to keep from bursting into giddy laughter. Jacob, always the supportive friend, gave Melissa a discreet thumbs-up, mouthing.“You’ve got this. Just breathe, Mel Mel.” Their silent gestures of support didn’t go unnoticed by Melissa, and despite the fiery embarrassment burning in her cheeks, she felt a rush of warmth and gratitude.

You, too, caught the brief exchange between your friends and chuckled, though your gaze quickly returned to Melissa. There was no mistaking the anxiety in her posture, but beyond that, you could see the flicker of something else—determination, excitement, maybe even hope. She was putting herself out there, more than she usually allowed herself to, and that touched you deeply.

Just me and my body, huh?” you teased gently. “That’s quite the invitation, Schemmenti. What’s the occasion?”

Melissa’s face, already flushed, deepened into an even darker shade of red, but there was a spark in her eyes now, a glimmer of resolve. She was nervous, yes, but she had made her decision. “I just thought it was time to switch things up a bit,” she replied, her voice steadier than before, though still laced with vulnerability. “You know, take a leap and maybe… celebrate us.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. This wasn’t just about a dinner; this was about moving forward, about her desire to deepen your relationship. You could see how much this moment mattered to her—the courage it took to say those words, to open herself up to the possibility of rejection, even if that fear was unfounded. You stood up and closed the distance between you. Without hesitation, you wrapped her in a tender hug, your arms encircling her in a protective embrace.

She stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden display of affection, especially in such a public setting. But as soon as she felt your warmth enveloping her, she relaxed, melting into your arms as if this was exactly where she was meant to be. The proximity, the way you held her so tightly yet so gently, made her realize how deeply she needed this, needed you.

“Baby, that sounds perfect,” you whispered softly, your breath warm against her ear. “I can’t wait for tonight.”

Melissa’s hold on you tightened as she buried her face in the crook of your neck, the anxiety that had gnawed at her all day slowly ebbing away. She pressed a soft kiss to your hair, the gesture filled with such tenderness it made your heart ache. With your bodies pressed together, she could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against hers, the calming syncopation reminding her that she was exactly where she belonged.

As you held her, you caught a glimpse of Janine and Jacob, who were watching from a distance with proud smiles. Janine gave Jacob a giddy nudge, her spirit high and full of excitement for you both. Even Mr. Johnson, who was still sweeping the cafeteria floor nearby, muttered something about “first love making messes,” though there was a small, almost imperceptible grin on his face.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to look at her, your hands resting on her arms. “So, what’s on the menu tonight?” you asked, with playful curiosity. “I’m guessing it’s not just spaghetti and meatballs.”

Melissa’s lips twitched, the nervousness in her eyes slowly giving way to something warmer, more confident. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” she said, her voice teasing now. “But I can promise you, it’s going to be unforgettable.”

You grinned at her, the excitement for tonight bubbling up in your chest. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

As you stepped back and returned to your spot, Melissa lingered for a moment, watching you with a cute, almost dreamy expression on her face. The weight of the day’s nerves had finally lifted, replaced by a sense of joy and anticipation. With one last glance at you, she turned and headed back to her classroom, her heart feeling lighter than it had in months.

“You two are seriously the cutest couple ever,” Janine gushed, nudging you with her elbow as she sat back down.

Jacob nodded in agreement, a small, knowing smirk on his face. “She’s a lucky woman.”

You felt your face flush with warmth as you beamed softly, your thoughts already drifting to the evening ahead. “I’m the lucky one,” you murmured, more to yourself than to them.

—

The soft glow of candles flickered across the kitchen, casting gentle shadows that danced on the walls. Melissa had taken great care to set the table just right. The white linen tablecloth was smooth and immaculate, the polished silverware gleamed under the dim light, and delicate crystal glasses sparkled like tiny stars. A simple yet elegant centerpiece—a vase filled with fresh roses—added a touch of romance, their soft petals a gentle reminder of the evening’s purpose.

After a quick shower, Melissa stood in front of her bathroom mirror, wrapped in a thick towel as her reflection stared back at her. She untangled her hair with her fingers, letting the soft waves settle naturally around her shoulders. The evening felt charged with meaning, and as she pulled on a deep green dress that highlighted the rich color of her eyes, she couldn’t shake a sense of anticipation that made her fingers tremble. But before she slipped into the dress, Melissa lingered in her reflection, standing there in her bra and underwear.

Her fingers brushed lightly over the delicate lace of her bra before trailing up to her cross necklace. The small, familiar weight of it rested against her skin, a reminder of her faith and the strength she often sought from it. She gently kissed the cross, her lips touching the cool metal, as if grounding herself. Closing her eyes for a moment, she whispered, “I’ll be okay.” Her voice was steady, a quiet promise to herself. When she opened her eyes again, a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was ready—nervous, yes, but there was an undeniable sense of purpose in the evening that outweighed her fears.

The act of kissing her necklace and reminding herself that she would be okay brought a small but real sense of calm. She unclenched her jaw, letting herself breathe before stepping away from the mirror to pull on the deep green dress she had picked out.

Slipping into the dress, Melissa took one last look at herself, smoothing down the fabric and adjusting the straps. It wasn’t an extravagant gown—just a simple dress that made her feel beautiful in a way that mattered most to her. It hugged her curves in all the right places, the fabric complementing her fiery red hair and highlighting the vibrancy of her eyes. She added a light touch of makeup, just enough to enhance her natural features, before stepping back to admire the final result. A moment of calm settled over her, the flicker of nerves tempered by the reassurance she had given herself.

The house was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of lasagna, garlic, tomatoes, and bubbling cheese coming together in the oven. The familiar, comforting smells filled every corner of the room, making it feel warm, welcoming. Melissa stepped into the kitchen, checking on the lasagna and adjusting the heat, ensuring everything was perfect. The faint sound of the record player drifted in from the living room, where a playlist of your favorite songs played softly, romantic melodies filling the air with warmth and intimacy. Everything was set, and now, all she needed was for you to arrive.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the quiet with a soft chime, and Melissa’s heart skipped a beat. She stood still for a moment, gathering her courage. This evening wasn’t just about the food or the setting—it was about the leap she was taking, the love she wanted to show you. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her dress once more and made her way to the door. As her hand reached for the doorknob, she murmured to herself, “I’ll be okay,” one last time, her fingers briefly touching the cross around her neck.

When she opened the door and saw you standing there, her nerves melted away at the sight of your smile. You looked at her, taking in the beautiful green dress, her soft waves of hair, and the way her eyes shone with a mixture of happiness and vulnerability. There was a beat of silence, the world falling away for a moment as you exchanged a quiet, meaningful look.

“Hey, babe,” you said warmly, stepping forward and pulling her into a gentle hug. You could feel the slight tremble in her body as she relaxed into your embrace, her arms wrapping around you as if she had been waiting for this all day.

“Hey, mia principessa,” she whispered back softly, but there was a strength in it. You could sense how much this night meant to her, how much she wanted it to be special. “Come in. I’ve got everything ready.”

The smell of lasagna welcomed you as you stepped into the cozy warmth of her home. You glanced around, admiring the thoughtful touches—the candlelit table, the vase of roses, the soft music filling the space. It was intimate, and it spoke volumes about the care she had put into this night.

“Lissa, this is beautiful,” you said, turning back to her. “You did all of this?”

Melissa smiled, the nervous energy that had been building inside her easing just a little at your reaction. “Yeah, I wanted to do something special for us.”

You reached out, taking her hand and giving it a gentle peck. “It’s perfect.”

For the first time that evening, your girlfriend felt a deep sense of calm.

You followed Melissa to the dining table, where the soft glow of the candles illuminated the spread before you. The lasagna sat perfectly golden in its dish, steam rising from the surface, and the fresh roses at the center of the table filled the air with their delicate scent. She pulled out a chair for you, her hand brushing against your shoulder as you sat down.

The older woman served the lasagna with careful hands, the utensils clinking against the plates as she handed you your portion. As you took your first bite, the rich flavors of garlic, tomato, and cheese filled your mouth, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes for a second to savor it.

“This is delicious, Mel,” you said, smiling up at her as you set your fork down.

“I’m glad you like it,” she replied sweetly, still carrying that undercurrent of vulnerability that made your heart swell with affection. You could see how much she wanted tonight to be perfect, and it already was. The evening felt like a beautiful, slow unfolding of something deeper, something you both had been moving toward for a long time.

For a while, you ate in companionable silence, the music playing in the background as the evening settled into a comfortable rhythm. Melissa stole glances at you as you ate, and each time your eyes met, she smiled a little more freely. But there was something else too—an sexual tension hanging in the air between you, unspoken but unmistakable. It made every touch and every shared look feel heavier, more charged.

After a while, Melissa set her fork down, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of her wine glass as she spoke, quieter now. “There’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while…” Her eyes lifted to meet yours, and you could see the seriousness in them.

You frowned, sensing the shift in the conversation. “What is it?”

“I’ve been… I’ve been wanting to take the next step with us. I’m ready. For sex.”

The weight of her confession settled between you, and for a second, it felt like the world outside this moment ceased to exist. Your heart skipped a beat, the meaning behind her words sinking in. You knew how much this meant to her, how deeply she felt things, and how careful she was with every step in your relationship. And now, here she was, opening herself up, offering all of her to you in the most vulnerable way possible.

You reached across the table, your fingers finding hers, and she held onto you like she’d been waiting for this connection all night. “Mel,” you began. “I’ve been waiting for you to be ready. I’m here. I’ll always wait for you.”

A soft laugh touched her lips, her thumb brushing over your knuckles as she held your gaze. “I know,” she whispered, and then, as if the moment couldn’t hold itself back any longer, she leaned across the table and kissed you. Her lips were soft, warm, and full of promise. The kiss started gentle, but there was a sense of urgency behind it, a need she had been holding back for too long.

You stood up, gently pulling her with you, and without breaking the kiss, she wrapped her arms around your waist. The closeness felt intoxicating, the room spinning with the scent of roses, the warmth of the candlelight, and the taste of wine still on her lips.

Melissa pulled back slightly. “Come upstairs with me.”

You nodded, unable to speak, the weight of the moment settling in your chest. With her hand in yours, she led you out of the dining room and up the stairs, her grip firm but trembling ever so slightly. The steps felt endless, each one echoing the rapid beating of your heart, but when you reached the bedroom door, everything else faded away. It was just you and her, the world quiet and still, as if this moment had been waiting for you both for a long time.

After going upstairs hand in hand, you enter her bedroom. The environment is spacious and welcoming, with a palette of neutral tones that creates a soft and intimate atmosphere. The walls are painted a light, almost sandy beige, and there are several old photo frames hanging in an elegant pattern. The floor is covered in a large, shaggy rug in a soft brown tone that provides a pleasant contrast to the dark wooden floor.

The center of the room is dominated by a king size bed, covered with sheets and bedding set in beige tones. The pillows and duvet combine in different textures and subtle patterns, creating a feeling of comfort and simplicity.

You lay down on the bed, messing up the bedding set and pillowcases that were still fresh and spotless. Melissa sat on top of you, with her knees on either side of your hips, and began to unbutton the elegant blouse you were wearing. Her movement was careful, almost reverent, as if each blossoming bud revealed not just your skin, but also the vulnerability and trust you were building together.

“I’ve never looked like that,” she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your own in a long kiss that was both hesitant and eager. As her mouth lingered on yours, she noticed the way you slightly shudder beneath her touch, a clear sign of your nervousness. And how anxious you seemed, more so than she felt herself. “You’re trembling.”

Melissa reaches for the lamp, her digits brushing against its switch as she considers dimming the light to make the room more comfortable and less intimidating. But before she can, you reach out to stop her, grabbing her wrist feeling the subtle pulse of her beat beneath your touch.

“No, I want to see you too,” you peel off your blouse, followed by your pants and underwear, letting them fall to the floor in a silent haze.

The older woman gulps and bobs her throat and starts to undress too. Her long green dress fell away in soft folds to the edge of the king size bed, followed by the delicate unfastening of her bra, revealing her full, supple and delicious boobs. Their natural weight makes them sway slightly and her nipples, a dusky rose, stood erect in the cool air. Her panties followed, slipping down her legs to reveal her glistening, damp center with some reddish, slightly trimmed pubic hair above her mound that was a stark contrast to the smooth milky white of her thighs.

For a fleeting second, doubt and insecurity crept in. She wondered if you saw her as beautiful or if the passage of time, with its subtle marks on her skin—fine lines around her eyes and mouth, the gentle curve of age. Arms flaccid and a little droopy, and the fact that she is not completely shaved underneath—might be off-putting. The decades that had shaped her were etched into her form, a testament to experiences and moments lived, but she questioned if they would overshadow the intimacy of the present.

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the side, overwhelmed by the thought of you finding her less than desirable, maybe even disgusting like Joe did when they used to have sex in their marriage years. The idea of her imperfections being too much to bear made her shiver with apprehension, and unexpected tears dropped into her cheeks as those thoughts almost brought her to the brink of crying.

In that vulnerable instant, Melissa searched for any sign of disapproval, any hint that the years might have dimmed her allure. But as your gaze locked with hers, she saw something entirely different—an intense, unspoken admiration, a hunger that seemed to pierce through her insecurities. This recognition of her allure gave her the courage to continue.

“You’re so beautiful, bambina.” She tilted her head, her swollen lips meeting yours again in a passionate kiss that deepened as she felt your response. Your hands roamed over her back, feeling the heat of her skin and the subtle firmness of her muscles. Her auburn hair fell around her shoulders, cascading like a dark waterfall that framed her face and partially covered her chest. The sight of her, disheveled and beautiful, made you catch your oxygen.

Melissa lets her thumbs glide down your abdomen, feeling the softness of your flesh beneath her fingertips while she trails imaginary patterns. That only she can see. She squeezes your breasts gently before she leans in to nip at your earlobe. There’s a hunger in the way she worships you, a need to feel you, to taste you.

She begins to kiss her way down your neck, her lips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. When she reaches your boobs, she pauses for a moment, her breath ghosting over your nipples before she takes one into her mouth slowly. The feeling sends a shiver down your body, and you can’t help the loud whimper that escapes your lips.

“That feels so good. Don’t stop. Suck harder,” you gasped, unable to contain the fervent need building inside you.

The redhead hums in response, her gaze locked onto yours as she continues to suckle on your hardened peak. There’s something almost reverent in the way she’s looking at you, as though she’s in awe of the effect she’s having on you. Her hair, now tousled and wild, brushed against your skin like a silken curtain. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of her lips on your sensitive areas, and opened your mouth to draw in deep, steady breaths, trying to ground yourself amidst the swirling sensations.

She traces a slow, deliberate path down your body, her lips grazing the curve of your waist, until she’s almost between your legs. Her hands rest on your thighs, gently urging them apart, and you feel the smirk ghosting over your most intimate area. When she parted your legs, her eyes widened slightly at the sight of your wetness dripping down and the intoxicating smell that made her drool.

“Can I put my mouth on you?”

“Please.”

Melissa’s hands move to your hips, and with a deliberate, almost possessive grip, she pushes you down against the mattress, pinning you in place. The bed creaks softly beneath you, but all you can focus on is the way her mouth hovers just above your aching pussy.

She lowers herself between your thighs, her breath hot against your skin as she leans in, her mouth finally making contact. The first contact of her tongue against your wet folds is electrifying, a shiver running down your spine. She’s never felt anything like this—so raw, so intimate. The sensation of your taste, warm and sweet on her tongue, ignites something deep within her.

The older woman begins to lick through your wetness, her movements grow more confident, more assured. Her face becomes slick with your arousal, but she doesn’t care—if anything, it only drives her to delve deeper, to explore every inch of you with her warm mouth. The soft slurping and suckling sounds she makes while she eats you out, along with guttural groans of satisfaction vibrating against your most sensitive spots muffled against your folds, tell you everything; how much Melissa is enjoying this. Amplifying the pleasure coursing through you. And you can’t help but moan, your fingers tangling in her hair, urging her closer.

“Oh, Lissa…go faster,” you murmur breathy, trying to guide her with gentle encouragement. “Just like that, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

She’s teasing your clit now, her tongue flicking over it teasing it with featherlight strokes that makes your hips buck involuntarily. She seems to be memorizing, learning and responding to your every movement, every sound. You can feel her fingers hovering at your entrance, the pads of her tips brushing teasingly against your folds. The need for more—more of her, more of everything—builds inside you like a tidal wave.

“Fingers. Use them to fill me up.”

Two fingers slide inside you easily, the heat and slickness enveloping her in a way that makes her gasp. The knowledge that she’s the one making you feel this way, that she’s the cause of your pleasure, is almost overwhelming for her. She starts to pump her fingers, slow and deep, crooking them just right to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

“Fuck, hon,” Melissa groans. “You’re so tight… so fucking good.”

“Mhhm.”

The older woman intensifies her pace, her fingers moving faster, deeper, her thumb circling your clit in slow, lazy circles. Her brow furrows in concentration as she continues.

The pressure builds rapidly, and your hips buck against her hand, your need growing more urgent with every passing second. Her eyes stay locked on your face, absorbing each scream and tremor that escapes you, her lips parting slightly as she watches your pleasure build.

“You feel so good,” she murmurs, never letting up the pace. “Are you close?”

Your breath catches, the coil tightening inside you. “I’m so so close, please let me come,” you beg, your voice trembling as you ride the edge.

A flicker of confidence crosses her face as she leans closer, her thumb pressing harder against your clit, her fingers driving deeper. “Cum for me,” she whispers, laced with longing. “I want to feel you, pretty girl.”

That command, spoken so softly but filled with intent, sends you spiraling. With a final, perfect stroke, you fall over the edge, your body arching as the pleasure crashes through you, wave after wave. Your whines grow louder, desperate, as Melissa guides you through the bliss.

She keeps going, drawing out every shudder and whimper until you’re completely undone beneath her. Only then does she slowly withdraw her fingers, leaving you trembling and breathless.

Collapsing against you, her face finds the crook of your neck, her figure trembling with emotion. It takes a moment to realize she’s crying, low sobs muffled against you.

“I did it?” she breaks in disbelief. “I made you feel good… I can’t believe I did it.”

You wrap your arms around her, pulling her close. “You did, baby,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her hair. “You were perfect.”

Melissa shakes her head slightly, still clinging to you. “I was so scared I’d mess it up… but I did it.”

You gently lift her chin, forcing her to look at you. Her emerald eyes are red and glistening with tears, but the satisfaction you see there only makes your love for her grow stronger. You cup her face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over her cheeks to wipe away the tears.

She lets out a shaky breath, her curvaceous body leaning into yours as if seeking reassurance. Her pink lips brush over yours in a tender, almost desperate kiss. Between soft pecks, you speak against her lips, “You’re safe. I love you. You're safe with me.”

She gives you a small, tearful smile before pressing kisses to your chest, resting her head there as if she never wants to let go.

And you don’t want her to. Not ever.

[oliversrarebooks]

a good grade in being brainwashed: wants and needs

Masterlist

tw: pet whump, bbu-adjacent, dehumanization, conditioning, references to drugging, references to dubcon

He was getting a good grade in being brainwashed, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

"He seems a little clingy, though."

B211's heart sank into his knees. He knew that was one of the absolute worst things a prospective owner could say about him, the very thing his handlers had spent so much time trying to train out of him. Don't cling. Don't be needy. Be affectionate, but only when your owner desires it. Be silent and still and obedient otherwise.

Don't be needy. Don't need. Don't want. Wants are for people. Your only wish is to please your owner.

He didn't miss the nasty glare that the salesman shot him before putting his customer service smile back on his face. "Yes, this one is very affectionate, which isn't to everyone's taste. Perhaps you'd be more interested in this Romantic…"

B211 fought down the whine in his throat as the customer removed her hand from his chin and walked over to one of the other Romantics, A797. He watched as A797 flawlessly executed each position, all with a smile that was just loving enough without seeming desperate. Just the way they'd all been taught.

God, B211 hated him.

B211 knew he could be the best Romantic in this whole damn showroom, if only he could be given a chance. He'd worked so hard at his training and conditioning, absorbing everything thrown at him, always striving to be the best in the room. He knew his quality -- he was eager to please any sort of master in any way they wished, ready and willing to become whatever they wanted him to be. Their lover, their fantasy, their toy, their shoulder to cry on. He was confident he could do it all.

And yet, here he was, left in the lurch yet another day. If things didn't look up, he'd spend another night in his cold bunk. Another night where his training headphones whispered to him about how much he craved touch and affection. Another day where he had to fight down his cravings so he didn't scare off potential owners. Another failure, another denial.

It was enough to make him want to pull his hair out, if that wouldn't absolutely ruin his appeal.

"I think I'm going to talk to your handler about another course of conditioning. I don't know how it's possible, but you've still got too much willfulness in that head of yours."

B211 scrambled down into a kneel, touching his head to the floor, as soon as he realized that the salesman was addressing him. "My sincere apologies, sir. I will endeavor to do better," he said, reciting one of his hundreds of programmed phrases.

"I can tell when a pet's more concerned with his own needs instead of the customer's," said the salesman disdainfully. "Honestly, you could probably do with another round on the Drip, wash that right out of your head. I think that's what I'm gonna recommend."

"Yes, sir," said B211, his inner elbow twinging with the feel of a phantom needle. He knew very well that he should accept whatever medication, training, or punishment he was given, as it was all to make him a better pet. But he hated the way the Drip made him feel, the way his mind was so slow and dim now, compared to --

No, that wasn't right. His mind had always been slow and dim. That's why he was well suited to being a pet. That's what they'd told him, why he'd signed up. He was slow, and dim, and unable to cope with life, unable to pretend to be a person. So he'd done the right thing and signed up. Instead of an endless cycle of pain and disappointment, he'd receive unconditional love and affection from an owner who truly wanted him. All he had to do was follow his training. Simple instructions. Practice these poses. Recite these mantras. Speak politely. Let go of your wants. Let go of your needs. Be perfect.

That was all he had to do.

He didn't actually remember signing up, of course, because the Drip had erased his memories (how many times). It was best for a pet to not remember (what didn't they want him to remember) so he could be blank and empty for his owner to fill with love (what was he before he was blank).

(was he ever loved)

He shouldn't be thinking those thoughts. That's why he wasn't getting bought. Stupid, stupid.

"Well, B211? Do you have a problem with that?" the salesman demanded, pulling him back to reality.

"No, sir."

"Oh, I think you do. I can tell you have something to say. Out with it."

It was a trap. It was always a trap. He'd fallen into it before, he thought, although his memories of those times were hazy and tinged with pain. "I think whatever you and my handler decide for me would be best, sir."

He was being hauled upwards by his shirt, the salesman glaring down at him. "That's your problem. You shouldn't think. You should just get it right."

B211's mind searched for a better answer. Slow, too slow. "I want whatever training I'm given, sir. I want to be the best possible pet for my owner. I trust in my handlers to make me the best pet I can be."

"Better," he sneered.

The ring of a bell indicated another customer had arrived, sparing B211 the salesman's wrath for now. This particular salesman always liked to take it out on the pets when they weren't selling like he thought they should be.

All he wanted was to be touched and loved. Wasn't that what he had signed up for? He couldn't remember, of course, but that's the only thing it could have been. Why didn't anyone see that? Why didn't anyone pick him?

Maybe the salesman was right. Maybe he should go back on the Drip. He was thinking too much. Of course he was right -- his handlers always knew what was best for him.

"Oh, I'm not sure a Romantic is what I'm looking for, exactly," said a voice that was so strangely familiar. "I don't need -- I mean, I don't really have those kinds of needs."

B211 strained to hear the conversation in the other room, beyond the curtain separating the Romantic showroom from the rest of the pet store. That voice. He didn't know why, but wanted to hear more of that voice.

"There are a lot of unfortunate misconceptions about Romantics, and I'd say that the primary one is that they're only for sex," said the salesman. "That's absolutely not the case -- maybe ten years ago, but modern Romantics are so much more. They actually have much of the same programming as our platonic Companions, and even some Domestic capabilities. They're the perfect choice for a busy man who wants a little love in his life."

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to take a look at them…"

The customer pushed aside the curtain leading to the Romantic showroom, and B211's heart stopped.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark skin and darker curls, and large, sparkling eyes that he could get lost in. He was handsome, very much so, but that wasn't what caused B211's breath to catch in his throat -- he saw many handsome customers. No, there was something about this one that ran deeper than his looks. B211 was seized with an inexplicable, undeniable desire -- this man absolutely had to buy him. This man should be his owner.

(But pets weren't supposed to have desires.)

The customer was staring at B211, too, but not in the way he would prefer. He looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend that one," said the salesman. "He's a bit more high maintenance than our other Romantics, and you're looking for a pet that's very independent, right? I'm sure a lawyer doesn't have that much time to spend entertaining a pet, which is why I'm going to recommend this model…"

The customer, the lawyer, let himself be pulled away from B211's case, and B211 was filled with bubbling rage towards the salesman. Something flashed in his mind, a memory, perhaps, of fighting, of kicking and screaming, of having to be held down by four people as the IV was inserted into his arm --

No, that wasn't right. That wasn't right at all. He couldn't hate the salesman, or the handlers, who only wanted the best for him. If the lawyer wasn't a good fit…

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Why was this so important? He'd been passed up by so many people, what was one more to him?

B211 couldn't help but watch the lawyer out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he seemed bored with the other models the salesman was showing him. Distracted. He glanced back at B211, who quickly lowered his eyes to the floor.

"I think I have just the right fit for you!" said a bubbly saleswoman, emerging from the front of the store. She was leading along a man in a slouchy t-shirt and jeans, who was looking around the Romantics showroom in awe, as though he'd never seen so many pets. The saleswoman stopped in front of B211's case. "He's a refurb, so he's available at a discount! He's very affectionate and quite intelligent for a pet."

"Well, he's not bad looking," said this new customer. "Pet, introduce yourself."

B211 snapped to practiced attention. "Hello, sir, my designation is B211, and I'm a Romantic designation with additional Companion training. I enjoy cooking, old movies, and cuddling, and I'm always open to new adventures!"

"Hmm, I'm not sure. He's not really my type. I was hoping for something a little more… demure, do you have anything like that?"

"Certainly, sir, right this way!"

Normally, B211 would be devastated at losing another prospective buyer, but this time, all he could think about was the lawyer. The lawyer who was currently standing in front of the showroom's most expensive pet, being given the hard sell.

"…and he can do anything you want, sir. He'll be there for you when you need companionship, and quiet and out of the way when you need space. He's fully automated and intelligent enough to serve as a personal assistant or run a household. And when it comes to his Romantic skillset… he's very easy to please, and very eager and capable of pleasing others. If this pet is within your budget, I think he'd be the best suited to your needs, sir."

His needs. What were the lawyer's needs? Pets didn't have needs, couldn't have needs. B211 knew he could do whatever that so-called premium model could. But the lawyer probably had more than enough money to go premium, and why would he buy a discounted refurb when he could buy a brand-new luxury model?

"He does seem like an ideal fit…" said the lawyer.

"Would you like to spend a little time with him? I'm sure once you do, you won't be leaving this showroom alone."

"Well… maybe… but I'm still interested in that one. The one I saw when I first came in."

And the lawyer looked straight at B211.

It was impossible, wasn't it? Why would he be interested in B211 when a premium model was an option? Did he actually recognize B211's value? Was that why he'd been so drawn to this man as an owner?

The lawyer walked his way. B211 tried his hardest to read the expression on his face -- an essential skill for Romantics, to be able to read their master's smallest emotions -- but came up short. He couldn't tell what this man was thinking at all.

But his eyes looked kind. And B211 felt…

It was a feeling he couldn't place. It wasn't happy, or aroused, or quiet, or agreeable. B211 suspected it was one of those feelings he wasn't supposed to be having, one that the Drip was supposed to wash out of him.

"Are you sure, sir?" said the salesman, trailing after him. "This one is a refurb, you know. That's why he's on a discount."

"A refurb? Do you know why he was returned?" The lawyer's eyes never left B211.

"Ah, his original owner simply found a new relationship, and was displeased with the amount of attention this Romantic required. He's been wiped of those memories, and we've done our best to train out his unfortunate need for attention, of course, but he'd be a risk compared to our premium models, which can all be customized just for you for only a small additional fee…"

The lawyer wasn't paying attention to the salesman at all as he continued his pitch. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind.

And B211 finally placed what that strange feeling was. Safe. The lawyer made him feel safe. It wasn't something he had felt in training. It was something much older, something he shouldn't remember.

"I want to buy this one," said the lawyer abruptly, cutting off the salesman's patter.

The salesman couldn't hide his shock. "Are you sure, sir? There's no rush. We'd be happy to put a model on hold for you for a small deposit if you'd like more time to make up your mind."

"I've made up my mind. I want this one." The uncertainty on his face from a moment ago was gone, his voice firm. Firm enough that B211 dared to hope.

"If you're certain, then… I'll draw up the paperwork. But keep in mind that we don't accept returns on refurbished pets."

"I won't be returning him."

And the lawyer smiled at B211, actually smiled.

And someone had finally seen him. Someone wanted him. Someone was going to love him.

All he had to do was not screw it the fuck up.

Masterlist

[heartofbusan]

My live reactions of AYS's final (for now 😌) episode 💛💜

-----

Jimin really had a lot of input on the itineraries and restaurants. He should get a producing credit 🤧 : 'Keeper of JK's every want, need and desire in the form of food, accommodation and more 👀': Park Jimin

OH MY BABY Like Crazyyyy!!

They really are the top singers in Korea lmao. You sometimes forget it, with how normally weird they are.

The owners of the restaurant must have been thrilled to have them. #Blessed

The boyfriend shot!?!?!? YOUR HONOR! HE DID NOT deny nor refute the outright allegation!!

Jungkook enjoys life to the fullest.

Also, Jk loves beer.

ESCUSE ME?!?!?!?

THEY GET FLIRTY WHEN DRUNK. DRUNK SHENANIGANS HAVE HAPPENED. I AM SURE OF IT.

Jungkook is such a good boy. You tell him to do something, and he does it. #obedient

JK's stomach makes all his life's decisions.

This hot tub scene is going to end me as a functioning member of society. WHAT THE HELLLLLLLLL

THIS SURE IS NICE

THIGHS. NO NOTES.

COME ON BABY?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!? WHAAST

Jimin doesn’t want to extend JKs suffering. So sweet!!

"That’s my Jungkook." Omg

"HONEY"

WTF IS HAPPENING, SHOULD I LEAVE THE ROOM

Baby reference no. 4852820 and counting.

-The more relaxed they are, the more they forget they're being filmed. The touches increase, and the fawning commences. Also, Jimin watching himself and seeing how he's presenting himself for the show is such an interesting occurrence. There's an interesting thought happening there as he becomes aware of it... Is he seeing and becoming aware of his layer of veneer as they were filming? He scaled it back for sure. He let more of his acute feelings through as the seasons progressed. I love that it became less like work for him.

-They are idiots! And I love them for it! The Jeon Park household is filled with laughter. And grunting ofc. Don't forget the copious amounts of grunting. I'm watching this at work and by God if someone walks in on me listening to this...I'll get called into HR 😃 #worthit

ONGOD JIMIN ON THE FLOOR LEGS SPREAD WHO APPROVED THIS MESSAGE?!?!

Also: Jungkook loves cooking. Whomever is making fun of him for choosing to be in the kitchen is an idiot. Please always be happy JK!

Precedent. This show is setting it. Remember it well.

You realize that they have the means to travel like this all the time?!?! But they chose to take us with them? WE ARE BLESSED.

Jimin always finds a moment to connect, physically as well as emotionally. He'll never leave his man hanging on a joke.

BUT JUNGKOOK IS RIGHT THERE WITH HIM ON THE EQ SCALE..He sees Jimin fully, and he treats him gently and with tender care. Knowing Jimin is quiet because the trip is nearing its end😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

They deserve to live their lives without serving us. Without feeling like they need to show us, just because it makes us happy to see them happy. Then again, if this is them normalizing them as a unit and seeing them together, and if it serves them just as much as it does us. Well then I hope they keep up this exceptional excuse to make content. The hate will always be there. The shippers too.

But what will never change is the commitment they have towards each other. They really do complete one another *bawling*

I loved this episode! It was so relaxed and paired back. They really are a give and take couple, giving each other space, patience or attention. Really, they should get married. It's just too perfect a union.

[hanahaki-disease]

Beyond the Farthest Reaches

Hell or High Water - Percy Jackson/DC crossover

“The Line that Separates Us”

Summary:

Even gods are bound by law.

Set After “Driven by a Holy Force” (a future upload that can be enjoyed without spoilers)

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

“Hello Bruce,” Diana smiled and gave him a hug upon their greeting. He wasn’t much of a tactile person, reserving his physical affection for his children or his lovers, but Diana was a warrior goddess and Bruce was a mortal. He simply let her do as she pleases. “It has been a while since I’ve visited the children, how are they?”

“They are well,” He led her through the manor to one of the many sitting rooms, this one was tucked away in one of the far corners of the manor. Some of the furniture still has dust covers over them and the air in the room was stale from no circulation. And he would chose a more used place to converse, those were more susceptible to listening ears.

“Hopefully I will able to see them after our conversation,” Diana sunk into one of the old couches. “I can tell that this isn’t just a social conversation, is it?” He shook his head. “I thought so, go ahead, speak.”

Bruce paused for a moment, shuffling through the questions in his head to determine which one should be first. “Did you know my sons were demigods?”

She nodded and took a sip of tea. “I knew your sons were children of the gods the moment I met them, I could feel their power challenging mine in a way I had not felt since I lived on Themyscira. Who their parents were, I do not know, but regardless,—” she set her cup down. “Had I told you who there were all those years ago, they would have been in danger that could have been easily avoided.”

“Explain.”

“Demigods live normal mortal lives until the age of twelve or thirteen, that’s when the powers their godly parent passed on to them begins to develop more rapidly causing a shift in their scent. It varies on the god mostly, but the stronger the god, the stronger the scent, even before the reach that age.” She said. “Once a demigod realizes their heritage, their scent grown stronger. It attracts monsters, and without the proper training, they could be killed.” Bruce opened his mouth. “And before you ask: no, mortal weapons cannot harm or kill the monsters. They are deemed unworthy and lesser than them, only celestial bronze can hurt them.”

Bruce absorbed the information for a second. Percy had told him this the other night, though not as detailed as he would have liked. He had sat them all down and told him what had been happening to him the past three four years and what was going to happen next summer.

“If you were aware of his status as a demigod, why could you not have helped him on his ‘quests?’ Couldn’t you have gone with him to ensure his safety?” Bruce questioned.

“If I was allowed to help him, Bruce, do you think he would have that many scars on him? If I was allowed, do you think he would have lost his brother? His friends? Do you think I would have let him or his friend hold the weight of the sky as they fought a titan?” Diana snapped at him.

“By the gods, I wish I could aid him, wish I could enter the camp they stay at to help them train for the fight against Kronos, but I cannot!” Tears began to well up in her eyes and Bruce dropped his head in his hand. She was just as helpless as he was, wanting to go and protect them all, protect Percy, but they couldn’t. He was in a world they just could not enter. “And I love them Bruce, they are more than simple nephews to me, and it pains me as much as it does you that I am useless in helping Perseus, in helping Jason.”

“But I don’t understand why you could not tell me who they were. I’m their father, my job is to protect them!”

“You cannot protect them Bruce! This life, the life of gods and monsters and all the things I face, what Perseus faces, you cannot help.” Diana moved to sit beside him. “I know they are your children. I know you will stop at nothing to keep them as safe as they can be, but Apollo strike me should I lie when I say that you and I simply cannot aid him in the way we want.

“The life of a demigod is difficult, it is dangerous, and most often they die far too soon.” Diana cried. “We can help as much as we can when he returns from his quests, train him as best as we can, teach him as much as we can, but in the end we are meant to stand behind him as he rises to his glory.”

“What about Jason? He’s a demigod too, isn’t he? Why hasn’t he been attacked by monsters or sent to that camp Percy goes to?” Bruce stands form his seat, pacing in the light of the window. “What makes one child different than the other?”

“The difference is the prophecy and who the fates deemed worthy to take on that burden.” She answered. “It is also because of the oath the sons of Kronos had taken.”

“Percy told me about that before, but I don’t understand it. It is just a simple oath.”

She shook her head. “To swear on the Styx is to swear on your very existence, and to break that oath, the consequences are dire and extreme.”

Bruce stopped his pacing. “If Jason is believed to be a son of Poseidon as well, then his death is most likely influenced by the Styx. The same of Perseus becoming the prophecy child and the death of their mother.”

“A god cannot be punished so it falls onto the others.” Diana wiped her tears on one of the napkins. “It falls on the mother for temping the god twice. Punishes the sons for the sins of the father.”

“So the death of my son and the sanity of the other are sacrificed because the god that fathered them cannot be punished?” she nodded and Bruce felt like punching the wall.

He could feel his anger rising within him. A fire that burned in the pit of his stomach and channeled through his veins till in reached his hands. He knows his anger isn’t with Diana for she was held back like him, helpless against the cosmic forces that kept Percy and Jason an arm’s length away. His anger, his rage, the wrath he hasn’t felt since the death of his parents, was all for the sea god who forced his sons to live a life of pain and anguish.

Bruce has fought gods. Bruce has battled against beings as old as time and stronger than any earthly deity. He wonders if Diana could arrange a meeting between him and their father.

“So what can I do? How can I help Percy with all of this?” Bruce asked.

“You provide him with a home, remind him of his humanity,” Diana answered and gathered her things, making her way to the door. “You show him he is loved.”

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

TLDR; Diana, as a minor maiden goddess of war, cannot interfere with quests/prophecies since it’s against divine law. The olympians were being very generous by letting her interact with Percy becuase a) if you hurt Percy, you anger Poseidon, and no one wants that, and b) she’s Zeus’s kid. Special privileges and all that.

So yeah…basically

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

[timetoletmyimaginationfly]

Promises I Intend To Keep 3

Nanami Kento x Reader

Previous Next

Song: End of Beginning by Djo

Nanami’s eyes never left the screen of his computer. He listened to the familiar footsteps inside his office. He didn’t have to look up to know it was his high school friend, Haibara Yu.

“Anything?” Nanami asked. Haibara shook his head with a frown. His frown deepened when Nanami slammed his fist on his desk hard. “It’s been 9 years!”

“We’ll find her,” he said swiftly. Nanami just nodded, eyes remaining on the chord bracelet you gave him years ago. “Are you sure she’s still in Japan though?”

“Yes,” Nanami said as the two walked to the parking garage. “She was sent up north, hours away from where we lived. My mother paid an absurd amount of money for their house.” Haibara nodded.

“Her father passed away five years ago,” he mentioned.

“He was involved in a car accident. His fault though since he was drinking. God, it was all I’ve seen him do.”

“You met the man?” Haibara asked curiously. Nanami nodded.

“He was always nice around me,” he answered. Haibara nodded and flipped through the files in hand.

“You never saw her in Todai.” Nanami shook his head. “I’ll do more investigating. Unless you need me to do something else? I think we’re caught up on schedule with meetings and what not.”

“Find her. Please.” Nanami’s voice softened at the end with vulnerability.

“I won’t disappoint. I’ll call Gojo-san and Geto-san.

“Tell Geto-san to help out when he’s done interviewing the new recruits. Have him send me the files immediately once he’s done.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Yu.”

“No problem, Kento.”

Nanami watched Haibara leave the office first. He stared at the chord bracelet on his left wrist. He remembered you putting it on him. A night where his mother was out of town and you slept over while she was away. He checked his phone. Old photos from before that he never got rid of. Photos of you and him before you left. The smile on your face that gave him constant motivation to find you. The smile he has been longing to see for the past 9 years.

“I’ll find you, sweetheart. I promise.”

He sticks to his normal routes around Tokyo. He refuses to explore more and find a whole bunch of new restaurants and stores. He needed you around. He wanted to get lost with you like he planned to years ago. He parked at another parking garage to quickly grocery shop before he went back home.

He can’t help but to always remember the times when his mother was out on business trips and the two of you would grocery shop together. You were always determine to cook him dinner. And he was always eager to help you.

“Wait! I promise! This will taste good!” you exclaimed as you tried to add Cajun seasoning to the Alfredo sauce. Nanami laughed, gently and slowly letting you go. “Okay, a little bit at a time won’t hurt.” You gave him a small spoonful to try and Nanami nodded with approval.

“Fine, put more.”

“Told you so, Kento!”

“You’re here. I know you’re here,” he kept muttering to himself. He looked back at his phone, finding you in places that he ever thought he would see you.

He was used to the stares. It was like high school except this time it was around the world. Everyone knew who he was. A young and successful CEO of 7:3 Security at the age of 27 that he built from the ground up. A man with ambition. His goal to make it to the top so he could find you.

“Nanami-san, can we have an autograph?” Nanami gave the group of females a small smile and nodded. He signed their small note pads before giving them a bow before walking away.

He grabbed a cart, starting off in the produce section of the store. He made mental checks of everything that he needed for home. Onions. Garlic. Pepper. Potatoes. You name it. But his mind went blank. The familiar chime that he loves to hear years ago.

“That’s such great news! I think you’ll get the job, Shoko.” His ears perked. He was sure of that voice. He looked around, but the grocery store was crowded. “I mean, as long as I’m allowed to just sit around and hang out I’ll stop by every now and then. Ieiri Shoko, quit being nervous. You’ll get the job.”

He shook his head. He had to be hearing things. It was almost too easy. His eyes wandered until they landed on a woman on the phone. His eyes remained on her. He really looked at her. The features he studied everyday, there was no doubt that it was you. He abandoned his shopping cart, striding his way towards you. But he suddenly stopped when a a male of average height and dark hair approached you. He raised an eyebrow. He knew him. And you knew him. You smiled and spoke happily to him. He felt a quick and tight squeeze in his heart. But nonetheless, he approached you two.

“Higuruma-san,” Nanami called. Higuruma looked up, his aloof expression mirroring Nanami’s as he nodded in response.

“Nanami-san,” Higuruma responded. You turned to look up at Nanami. You didn’t know how to explain it. Your heart was suddenly racing while an intense feeling coursed through your body. Your mouth felt dry, your body also numb.

And Nanami saw you. He paid attention to your reaction. The dumbfounded and puzzled expression you held. He never expected it unless his appearance changed throughout the years. But he knew he didn’t change much, just like you. Softly, he called your name. And your eyes widened. You bowed deeply.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nanami-san,” you said softly with your soft smile. His heart stopped.

Meet?

“You two know each other?” Higuruma asked. Nanami nodded but you shook your head. It only made Nanami frown.

“You’re…familiar,” you admitted slowly. You knew you did. You had a good feeling that you do know. Nanami nodded and cleared his throat. His eyes scanned you again. The golden, infinity necklace remained around your neck and the diamond ring he gave remained on your left finger. He felt a bit relieved.

“We went to the same high school,” Nanami answered. You giggled.

“We did?” Nanami nodded.

“But you moved.” You felt a hard tug on your chest and Nanami caught the split second of your pained expression. It was as if he could feel your pain. It urged him to hold you, but he knew that he couldn’t at the moment. He watched you give him a small yet soft smile.

“I heard you hired Hiromi-kun as your defense attorney,” you said brightly.

Hiromi-kun…

“Good choice, Nanami-san. He’s one of the best.” Nanami gave you a tight smile and nodded.

“Yes,” Nanami said and looked at Higuruma. He hated the affectionate look Higuruma was giving you. He respected the man, but, at this moment, he couldn’t respect him. “Top of Japan.” Higuruma nodded.

“Thank you, Nanami-san.” A phone suddenly rang. Higuruma suddenly took a step to the side and answered his call. “I’ll be right back, sweetie.” You nodded before turning back to Nanami.

Sweetie…

“You two are…?”

“Ah, h-he just calls me that,” you said nervously as you fiddled with your ring. “When I moved, he became my only friend in high school. When I came to Tokyo, he hired me on the spot as a secretary at his office.” He felt relieved. But it bugged him to not know your feelings for him. He could easily see it through Higuruma.

“Just friends?” he blurted out. He mentally winced at himself.

“Just friends,” you said reassuringly with a smile. You had a far away look, leaving Nanami mesmerized. “He reminds me of someone important. You know what? You two remind me of each other. It’s almost like a coincidence.” You giggled. Nanami softly smiled. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned around to see Higuruma.

“My client wants to meet right now,” he said. “You’ll be alright?” You nodded.

“I’m okay. Thank you, Hiromi-kun,” you replied. Higuruma gave you a soft smile before looking at Nanami expressionlessly.

“I’ll see you around,” Higuruma said. Nanami nodded.

“You as well,” he replied. The two of you watched him walk out of the store. You turned back to Nanami. His eyes were soft and warm, making you feel warm as well. You felt your heart race that you almost felt dizzy.

“Maybe I’ll see you again one day,” you said. You were about to walk away when he didn’t respond, but Nanami immediately reached out to you and held your arm. You inaudibly gasped. The warmth of his hand felt so familiar, warm, and safe. It made your thoughts go haywire.

How will it feel to be wrapped in his arms?

“T-The necklace and ring. They look beautiful on you.” Your cheeks turned pink. The compliment coming from him. It didn’t seem like it was said to be polite because he is the CEO.

“Thank you, Nanami-san,” you said with a soft smile. “I don’t remember who gave them to me. But, I know deep down that it’s the most important things I have. Is that strange?” Nanami felt his heart skip a beat that he smiled.

“Not at all,” he said softly. He loves the blush on your cheeks, knowing that he was the only one able give you that effect. Back then and right now. Not Hiromi Higuruma. Just Nanami Kento.

And you enjoy his presence. All you want to do is to spend more time with him.

“Want to grocery shop together?” you asked curiously. So yes, you decided to keep him around. Nanami chuckled.

“I would love to. Follow me. My cart is over there. What do you need to get?”

“Ingredients for Cajun chicken and broccoli Alfredo.” His heart skipped a beat.

“That’s my favorite.”

“Mine too! It’s one of the best meals I can cook, Nanami-san!” It bothered Nanami to no end. It felt too easy. Finding you was too easy. But as it was, he found you a challenge. Not knowing who he is just became that extra obstacle he needed to take care of.

“So…you don’t remember me?” he asked. You shook your head. “I guess since there’s a bunch of us at the high school.” You nodded.

“Ever since I got into a car accident, things have been different,” you said as you picked up items for dinner.

“Car accident?” Nanami questioned, worry evident in his voice. Again, you felt a skip of your heartbeat.

“Five years ago,” you answered. “It killed my father. It was a pretty bad accident and the doctors and nurses were surprised that I survived. I couldn’t remember anything at first, but memories were slowly coming back. But I know they’re not all back. I can feel it.”

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“And it sucks because I don’t even remember where I actually grew up. I don’t know where my mom is or where I got the jewelry. And this note. I have the most encouraging note and it makes me love the person who wrote it.” You don’t know why you were telling Nanami this. It felt so easy to tell him. “I’m sorry, I’m ranting so much about it.”

“N-No, it’s okay. I don’t mind,” he said. You gave him a shy laugh. “What made you come to Tokyo?”

“I just knew that I needed to go to Tokyo. I paid off the loans that my father owed and refused to pay, quit my job at the cafe, signed up to Todai, and got a job with Hiromi-kun before I left. I have a purpose here. I just know it.”

“If you need help, I’m willing to help.” You blushed again.

“I-I appreciate it, Nanami-san. But I should be okay.” He nodded in response. His mind was still swirling with the fact that you were right here next to him. It felt both like a dream yet a nightmare. You didn’t know him. You forgot about him.

“At least let me drive you back to your place,” he said.

“I live close by, Nanami-san.” It frustrated him, feeling useless as usual. “But, I would love one! I am pretty tired. Thank you so much.”

The car ride was quiet but you liked the silence. It felt comforting. You gave him the quick directions to your apartment building. You felt hesitant once he parked at the front. He felt compelling. It was like your body had a mind of its own that you couldn’t leave his side. Your heart was racing.

“Is everything okay?” he asked worriedly. You nodded.

“It’s just…I—Come over for dinner? Since you drove me home, it’s the least I can do. If you have the time, of course. Maybe a rain check on it? You’re a busy man and all,” you blabbered. You blushed and felt very flustered from your sudden request. You shyly stared at your lap as you rotated the ring on your finger.

“We’ll do a raincheck,” he replied softly. “I want to try that Alfredo dish you’re planning to make.” You looked at him with wide eyes. A smile appeared on your face and you nodded.

“Yeah! I can do that! I-I’ll see you soon, Nanami-san!”

You grabbed your bags from the back. With one last wave, you entered the building. He waited until he couldn’t see your figure. You were safe. You were okay. And for that, he can rest easy for now. Immediately, he pulled his phone out. He dialed Haibara’s number.

“I need hospital information from her five years ago,” Nanami ordered.

“Yes boss. Geto-san sent you the files of the best candidates, as well.”

“Perfect. By the way, you guys don’t have to search for her.”

“Oh? Why not?” Haibara heard a soft chuckle from his end.

“I found her.”

“Kento! That’s great news!”

“It is but…she doesn’t remember me,” Nanami confessed. “She was involved in the car accident with her father. She admitted to memory loss.” He heard a sigh from his friend.

“Alright boss. I’ll get on it after dinner if that’s alright.”

“Of course. There’s no rush.” Nanami went through the files. A certain name popped up that caught his attention. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nanami immediately dialed the number. At the same time, he watched a woman with long brunette hair, straight navy blue slacks, a blue turtle neck, and low heeled shoes stop at the front entrance.

“Nanami Kento of 7:3 Security. May I speak to Ieiri Shoko?” He mentally chuckled to see the shock on the woman’s face.

“This is her,” she said a little too quickly and excitedly.

“I would like to offer you a job at the company. You will be receiving full benefits by the time you start working. Vacation and sick time is fixed and resets every year—-“

“I would love to accept the offer, Nanami-san!” Nanami mentally chuckled.

“Perfect. You can call or text me back from this number. I will send you onboarding paperwork through email and you can email everything back to along with questions that pop up to mind.”

“Y-Yes, sir! Thank you so much! I promise you, I will not disappoint you!” Nanami softly chuckled.

“Alright. Have a goodnight, Ieiri-san.”

Shoko immediately dialed a number on her phone. The sound of your name escaped her lips rather loudly before she entered the building. Nanami smiled. Did he become biased? He didn’t care at this point.

[ami-atmosphere]

See What I See 🪞

[Read on AO3] [Full Illustration, R18] Pairing: Gale x Amihan (Tav) / WindWeave

Summary: Amihan is worried about her apparent lack of expression. Gale proves otherwise in front of a magic mirror.

Warnings: Mirror Sex, Vaginal Sex, Smut, Post-Canon

Word Count: 1.2k

“Gale,” Amihan whimpered. “Is…is this truly necessary?”

The couple stood bare in front of a magnificently-sized mirror, not one of their already existing mirrors, but one that Gale conjured himself with his magic– a demonstration, he insisted. Amihan had previously spoken of her dismay regarding her own inexpressiveness– how she knows she can appear distant and unconcerned, how it makes her feel unattractive compared to the blooming ladies of Waterdeep. Naturally, Gale disagreed with this notion and decided he must go about and prove that she already was beautiful and expressive.

“Of course, my breeze,” Gale replied. “Otherwise, I fear you would refuse to believe me, stubborn as you are.” He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“No, I want you to see what I see,” He whispered against her neck, voice dripping with desire.

A shiver ran through Amihan’s spine, and he smirked, feeling her tremble within his embrace. Gale knew she loved his voice, particularly when he’d take a more commanding tone. She loved giving him control, loved learning about what he likes, and that in turn was intoxicating for him. Amihan turned her face towards him, her lips parting and her eyes looking at him with that touch of innocence and pleading he loved so much.

“Show me,” she managed, voice wavering but still full of resolve.

“With pleasure.”

Immediately, his lips found hers in a heated kiss, his tongue gently coaxing her lips to open and allowing her very own to swirl with his.

“Mmph…” Amihan moaned in their kiss, her legs losing balance as he put more fervour in his movements. He was devouring her, and if not for their mortal lungs, he was convinced he would never part his lips with hers. Alas, Gale did eventually break away from the kiss, allowing the two of them to breathe, a thin string of saliva connecting them for a few more seconds. He marvelled at her reddened lips, her lustful gaze. Oh, how he loved seeing her like this.

“Simply exquisite,” he grinned. “Now, my breeze– If you would, please.”

His hand beckoned her eyes to face the mirror, and Amihan watched herself with heavy eyes. She never saw herself this way, never seen herself looking so positively sinful.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against her ear.

“I don’t–” she tried to protest but was quickly interrupted by Gale’s wandering hands. One settled on her breast, while the other slowly moved lower towards her core.

“So sensitive…” he continued.

“Gale…” Amihan mewled, her head resting on his shoulder as both of his hands began to move simultaneously. He had always been a master of concentration and of the somatic component, and he capitalised on this skill just as much as his practised tongue on his darling wife. His hand below slid between her folds, feeling her slickness, coating his fingers with her.

“…And so wet.”

Oh, what he wouldn't give to have his tongue lap her essence at that very moment, but he relented. There are plenty of days ahead of them to do just that. Still, he found his hips moving softly against her ass, his hot, aching cock dripping generously on her ivory skin.

“Need…you…please–” Amihan begged, her voice ragged full of need. “I want…to see myself…as you fuck me…”

Seeing, hearing, feeling a person like Amihan, who's normally so full of self-control, calm, and collectedness, in this state, so deeply affected by him, begging for him— needing him. Him, only him. It was better than any pleasure the Weave could provide, and it’s a wonder he didn't burst right there and then. Of course, this was not their first time, but by the gods is it intoxicating, like anew, every single time. So how could Gale possibly deny his precious wife’s adorable pleading? When with just the sound of her voice, with the way she looked at him— hells , if she wanted him spinning around her during the act, he was certain to follow.

He lined himself to her centre, the length of him rubbing against her soft folds for some moment, coating his length with her fluids, breath hitching at the feeling. Amihan whimpered, he was so close but refused to enter still. Her hand wrapped around his arm, nails digging on his skin. His teasing was torture for both of them he knew, and yet that made their joining all the more rewarding.

With a knowing smirk, he finally let his cock enter her tight, warm entrance, and immediately Gale was reduced to a mumbling, grunting mess. He took a deep shaky breath to help himself recover composure and continue his hands’ previous ministrations, now joined with his thrusts, tender in pace but firm, and deep.

His hands were relentless in their attention to her body. One rolled a nipple between his fingers, while the other rubbed at her swollen bud, in time with his thrusts. Amihan bit back her moans, her eyes instinctively closing in her own attempt of focusing and recomposing herself.

“My love…my breeze,” Gale murmured between thrusts, “Open your eyes…you promised…please.”

“Gods, Gale–” She let out a needy whine, finding it hard to focus. Her eyes opened once more, and her gaze flitted to their reflections. Of Gale desperately rutting against her, and of her own wanton expression.

“See what I see,” he rasped with a wide smirk. “Look how alluring you are…how lewd…how expressive,” followed by indistinctive strings of praises against her neck.

Gale felt her clench around him at his words, making him drown in that sweet sensation of her tightness. His hips slammed further against her in response. Amihan held on to the mirror, watching her own expression with hazy, unfocused eyes.

“So perfect,” Gale began again, his grip on her becoming tighter, getting more possessive. “Mine…only mine. Only I get to see you like this. Only I…”

“Gale , fuck– ” Amihan cried out curses from her delicate lips. Gale could tell she was close, as was he. His thrusts became more frenzied and erratic, determined to make her reach her peak with him.

“Let go, my breeze. Let me feel you, let me see you,” he cooed, the hand on her breast moving up to her chin to keep her gaze anchored to the mirror.

“Can’t…anymore…coming…Gale– I’m–”

Her back arched against him, mouth opened wide, followed by a gasp and a shiver. Gale felt her contract around him and he followed soon after, spilling inside of her with more strings of incomprehensible praises, not quite as poetic as he normally preferred to be. He kept himself within her for a few more moments, burying his nose in her hair, arms still tight around her, savouring every last drop of their release.

“I love you,” Amihan whispered, her head turning to plant a soft kiss on his temple.

“And I you. I trust I have convinced you on the matter?”

“I don’t know…” she smiled playfully. “Perhaps we need to repeat the activity three more times in order for me to make a sound judgement.”

Gale’s eyes widened in surprise at his wife’s remark, then laughed.

“Have I rubbed off on you that much, dear?”

“Quite.”

[supahstarrr]

I love Eden and I'm trying to keep my list of potential culprits open but what interests me is that the crying and begging of hers seem to slowly transition into manipulation in a subtle way. "Is it because you think I hate her!" "You're my friend right... friends help each other... So please help me!" stuck out too me so much.

But then again I don't think that the subtle manipulation may automatically pin to her being the murder, in fact I'd say it's a normal reaction to be manipulative during a situation that fuels desperation, so I won't analyze her lines that much. Like seriously of course somebody's going to act shady when they're being accused of murder lol. Like look I do think she could be a potential suspect but at the same time I just think (for now) there's no need to analyze her words that much until we see more of her behavior. Anyways.

When I kept hearing her lines I just kept transitioning to feeling bad for her and slightly feeling as if she was being suspicious and over again... got me feeling complicated

Even more complicated because of the parallels with the Teru & Min moment like... Oh god. Had me in my damn feels, I just love how Eden sounds soft yet gritty at some parts. You can feel so many emotions and I sense the rage behind her words, perhaps even regret and self blame but maybe I'm going too far with my interpretations lol. What an episode. Oh and why the fuck was nobody suspecting Whit like what the hell

[kerryweaverlesbian]

Saint of the Smallest Sun

The first time Ambriel came to earth, it was new, and fresh, and innocent. The lesser angels were taken on a tour in proto-humanoid-vessels, before the real humans were awoken. Ambriel had stepped into a pile of rotting fruit with her vessel's bare foot, and decided not to come again if she could help it.

The second time she came to earth, it had had an extra 4.5 billion years in which to rot, and she was forced there. One moment, she was processing information through the incorporeal fibers of her wings, and the next she was bound to a 5 foot circle of space in a human form wearing a pantsuit. She looked from the ring of holy fire surrounding her to the room it was set in; a crumpled bed with a stretched out photograph as  the duvet pattern, a series of posters depicting scenes from the Winchester Gospels, a chunky computer monitor showing a forum comment page, and a young woman kneeling amongst a flurry of papers with a mortar and pestle beside her, the crackle of after-magic still hovering over it. The woman was staring at her, eyes and mouth agape, like one of the fish that the archangel Gabriel kept brandishing at anyone close to him on that first day on earth. Ambriel had only seen it from a distance, but the image had remained in her mind, as everything she learned remained.

Ambriel touched her own cheek gently, and then pinched it hard between her fingers. She winced. This wasn't a vessel. This temporary form must have been crafted by the spell, which suggested that the person who brought her here was either a powerful spellcaster or had an abnormally strong sense of will. She glanced skeptically back at the kneeling woman, who had brought up both hands to cover her mouth and was still just staring at her. Maybe there was a third option.

"Can you let me go?" She tried, careful to speak with her new vocal chords instead of her true voice. It scratched a little, but seemed serviceable. "I have like, a lot to do."

"Mmnnhn," the human said, muffled by her own hands, and then she started and dropped them: "I mean. Michael. Wow! I was expecting - I mean, just based on all the other characters, I thought you'd be, you know, a guy. Not that there's anything wrong with girls - I - I was such a big fan of Jo! You know, after it was clear she wasn't going to be a threat to the brother's relationship. I just think it gets in the way, sometimes, like, the story is about men, why do girls even need to be involved, you know? But I am a feminist! So, yeah, I- I love that you're a woman that's - that's great."

Ambriel squinted at her, deeply confused. What is she talking about? This seemed to fluster the woman, who finally blinked, and rapidly.

"Oh, god. Don't ramble Becky. Be normal. Be normal, Becky. Okay! So..."

The woman - Becky, presumably - lowers her forehead to the floor and links her fingers in front of her in a prayer pose. Her voice trembles when she speaks again:

"Dear...you. I know I'm not important to the story. And I know it's not fated or plotted or anything. But I thought...I have to try, right? That's what Sam would do. Trying against impossible odds is what Supernatural is all about. So, I'm here on behalf of humanity to beg for our lives. Please. Don't do the Apocalypse. It'd be really bad if you did the Apocalypse. Chuck's not the most descriptive writer, but from what I've seen of his notes...yikes. And it's already pretty bad now, just with Lucifer walking the Earth. Just, grab him and duke it out on Mars, or something, if you really have to fight. Please, please, just leave the Earth alone."

"You want me to...cancel the Apocalypse?" Ambriel asked, and Becky desperately nodded. "Oh, I can't do that. So, can you let me out now, or...?"

Read my Becky/Ambriel fic, Saint of the Smallest Sun, on ao3 for more!

[pink-koi-lovejoy]

ooc message (CW- mentions of SH and SA)

so…

hey

I’m going to be adding onto the whole Jack train again

let me preface this by saying I’m not a victim of anything and was not involved with the Circe blog until now, where I’ve looked for more details

ever since the issue, Jack and HIS PARTNER (Can confirm: Real. Stop calling him manipulative, stop calling him fake. Yes, he is NOT using his real name. Neither is Jack.) have stopped using tumblr, and may be for a while due to extensive hate.

There are concerns about Jack never mentioning SH outside of jokes. Keep in mind this is a roleplay blog. He doesn’t have to share his personal life. Also, if the idea of the blog being an escape was true, than he HAS mentioned it. It’s how I found the blog- an rp scenario (with warnings, if I remember) involving sh in the starter.

ther are Concerns about Jack never before mentioning having a boyfriend and/or claiming to be single. Again, it’s a roleplay blog. Maybe he was talking about his character. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable sharing his personal life online. Is that so crazy?

I have contact to Jack outside of Tumblr, and my main focus is to help him any way I can, keep him updated, and prevent this from happening again. Jack has given me permission to share any messages that occur, weather or not it’s answering a question because it was asked and I carried it over for him, or if it was a message from normal communication that would explain something.

Please do not message me concerning HATE towards him, please. He’s a teen who’s made a mistake.

As to concerning his health and mental state, it’s also being worked on. Jack has reached out to a professional today, weather or not it’ll continue is unknown to me. But he’s trying to get help. He is.

I’m going to be tagging Jack’s tag list, but some boundaries first:

I am a minor. I am uneducated. Everything I know is either common sense, what I’ve been taught through life, or Google. If I get something wrong, please POLITELY correct me.

No hate. Please. I hate seeing so much discourse already, and I can’t handle any more. I will NOT be playing messenger when it comes to hate messages.

I am simply a messenger. Please remember this.

if you would like screenshots or evidence of anything, please ask politely, don’t demand.

More may be added as needed.

jacks tag list- @zariahthewitch @thegroovydaughterofhestia @if-chaos-was-a-boy @the-gods-strange-children @silena-daughterofaphrodite

@fabulousdaughterofhecate @weakest-son-of-sun @chaos-pers0nified @neoptolemus-achilles-son

@bast-the-best26 @goddess-of-bubblegum @gaygirldoodles @luck-is-crucial

@reyna4ever @vicious-daughter-of-zeus @feral-hermes-child @oopsies-i-did-a-thing @unfortunate-daughter-of-hestia

@that-girl-cupid @ariathemortal @love-lightning-forethought @emdabitchass

@kaiaalwayswins @champion-of-revenge @i-was-never-sane @clown-energy-skyrocketing @zoe-aura-of-d3ath

@itsyourboyezra @lunar-eklipso-r @pink-koi-lovejoy @that-daughter-of-athena

@sleepy-as-a-song @smileyalater @thedaughter-of-death @gellyhelio @daughter-ofthe-moontitan

@demeters-daughter-is-done @the-smart-and-the-dumb-one @trinket-snatcher @southerndaughterofeos

@creature-under-ur-bed @burnt-out-bitxhes

[hehearse]

god i love your art of sctir, please tell us your thoughts about it? like how do you come across it, what's your first impression of it, and what do you think of it now?

sctir?? I THINK i saw it in a recently updated list on some sort of site i shan't name and i saw "raised" part and went "oh..... is it about teaching or something along these lines?? gotta try that out". because i've been somewhat intrigued by anything related to teaching ever since fire emblem three houses and working as a . teacher assistant? teacher? as practice at uni.

ANYWAY. that's how and why. as for first impressions i ALSO don't remember (sorry i have no memory of anything) but i think i've read manhwa only for a while. and at some point i saw people commenting how novel is much better and novel yoojin is much more cynical and entertaining. so i gathered intel (someone's personal opinion), googled the novel and now i am here. totally normal about it.

gonna say that i don't think i drew anything before starting the novel? cause sometimes books/manhwa/etc feel to me like they've got enough of themselves. i don't need anything extra. and manhwa was like that. but then the novel happened, and the added layers and characterisation and yoojin's inner thoughts and and..... anyway i am very happy i at some point got interested enough in teaching adjacent media to get tricked by the title ^^ now i got a brain full of the bestest boy ever (yoohyun) and his dearest sweetest brother (yoojin) who both never did anything wrong and if they did they were correct to do so. ^^

[infinitesadnessmelon]

Gaoshun isn't paid enough for this