#okay got that out of my system time to work on homework now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fairyyarchive · 8 months

Note

hey, can u write Armin x afab!reader, Armin being a teasy!dom af

hi! i'm sorry this so long to complete, i have been incredibly swamped with life, so writing has not come easy to me. this is also my first time writing smut, so pls keep that in mind lol. a long time coming, so please enjoy!

study

college au, established relationship, teasy!soft dom armin x lowkey bratty reader

content: teasing, afab!reader, pet names (baby, sweetheart, love, pretty, good girl, pretty girl), edging, slight overstim, oral (f receiving), fingering

A sunny spring afternoon with your boyfriend should have been spent on a cute date, reading in the park or getting lunch together. You could be doing this, of course, if it wasn’t for the 89.5% in your history class and the final you had next week to make it up. Instead, you were stuck inside up your elbows in homework.

Not that you minded spending time with Armin this way, quite the opposite actually as he was a wonderful study partner and always willing to help you freshen up on topics discussed in lectures that you couldn’t make it to (or that you didn’t remember). As you finished the first of many assignments, you threw your head back with a groan. “I should just drop out. Learn to knit sweaters on Etsy or something,” you pouted.

“That bad huh?” Armin laughed, turning from his own laptop to face you. The lofi background on the tv played relaxing beats as you questioned the entirety of your academic career.

“I think my brain is melting. And I’ve only done one. One! And no one’s even kissed me or told me how great I’m doing, how ever will I go on?” You dramatically laid your hand on your forehead, batting your eyelashes at your boyfriend. He laughed, placing a soft kiss on your right cheek. Then your left, then your lips. You smiled, grateful for the momentary bliss from the headache of studying. Armin’s face then lit up the way it does when he’s solved a long equation.

“Maybe now I can carry on… Only with the motivation of my sweet sweet boy,” you dramatically flopped backward, half draped in his lap. It truly wasn’t that difficult, but the familiar end-of-semester burnout had your brain feeling like overcooked ramen noodles.

Armin chuckled at your theatrics, ever patient and sweet. “Alright, how about for every question you answer on the next study guide, I’ll give you a kiss?” he suggested.

You turned your head upward to face your boyfriend, spider-man style. “Every question on this 50 question study guide gets me a kiss?” you confirmed.

“Well… Maybe we can work out a system since it’s so long,” your eyes lit up, “but only if you’re a good girl for me and get the whole thing done, okay?” a slight rosy tint dusting his cheeks. He knew you loved when he talked like that, and he quickly learned that praise was a good motivator, to say the least. He loved it especially when it pulled such cute reactions from you, but you couldn’t help but get a little shy when he told you what to do.

“Okay got it, focus, study, kisses,” you nodded. You settled with your back against his chest, pulling your laptop closer. You got comfy, opening the dreaded history study guide and all the necessary materials to complete it.

As promised, once the first short answer question was complete Armin planted a kiss on your forehead, and a bonus one on your shoulder. Your little exchange continued as you completed more questions, finally halfway done with it. “See? You’re doing so well baby, already halfway done,” he ran his hands up and down your arms soothingly, tilting your chin to the side to allow him access to kiss your neck. “I’m proud of you,” he softly spoke against your skin, kissing you gently. You sighed, easily relaxing to his touch. For a brief moment, you wondered if you heard another tone in his voice, but maybe it was just the haze in your mind from Armin’s praise.

Your focus returned to your work, scrolling through notes to find answers, being rewarded with a little peck on your neck, your lips, your forehead. A particularly long question had Armin’s hands beginning to wander as you ran through your materials, fingers feather-light as he slipped them under the hem of your hoodie. You gasped instinctively, your focus broken briefly. “Ah, focus sweetheart,” he chided, stopping his movements. You huffed, reluctantly typing answers into the doc. Armin had a tendency to tease, knowing he could draw this out as long as he wanted.

You blinked, clearing your head from the gutter before continuing to type, determined to finish the last ten questions. You groaned internally upon seeing the next one was rather long as well, opening a new tab to begin researching. Armin’s hands returned to rest just under the hem of your hoodie. One hand gently slid its way up your torso, fingertips featherlight as he traced them along the swell of your breast. You shifted in your spot on his lap, doing your best to ignore the growing bulge that pressed into your backside.

Armin traced the curve of your breasts, taking his time to draw your body to memory. His cool fingers grazed your nipples, the touch so sensitive it sent a chill through you. Your body warmed as he continued his teasing movements, caressing your breasts, rubbing circles around your nipples, taking his time unraveling you as he watched your focus crumble.

Armin’s hand continued gently pinching and rubbing your nipples as his other began to slowly drift down, thumb dipping under the hem of your shorts. As it was clearly becoming impossible for you to finish this assignment, you attempted to get away with putting your laptop to the side, but Armin took it from your hands and placed it next to you, still within your reach for use. “Don’t make me repeat myself sweetheart, you only get rewarded if you keep working,” his voice slid deeper - gently commanding. You knew you were likely testing his patience a bit, but it was just so hard to focus and, really, he was being to you by not letting you take a break. And yet.

“Okay, okay, I’ll finish it this time,” you sighed, pouting in an attempt to make him give in.

“Good girl,” he smiled, satisfied. When you refocused, Armin kept his word, bringing one hand to your nipples once again as the other found its way into your shorts. The lightest of touches on the outside of your panties sent a shudder from you, your hips instinctively twitching. Armin’s fingers pressed gently, rubbing your slit up and down at an agonizingly slow pace, not bothering to move your panties yet.

Your diligence was rewarded with what Armin knew you craved, his fingers pressing into you harder, a hidden strength that drove you crazy when you saw it. He rubbed circles on your clit through your panties, wetness campening the soft cotton. Your concentration phased in and out, shifting from the dull feeling of pleasure warming your abdomen to (finally, finally) the second to last question. Your sighs must have become pitiful as you heard the honey-dripped sound of your boyfriend’s laugh. “You wanna tell me something sweetheart?” His tone drenched in condescending care.

“No, I want you to touch me,” your cheeks burned. He had to pull the words out of you.

“I am touching you, pretty girl,” his smile was so warm and blue eyes so soft, you’d think he was really asking to help. He leaned down, speaking softly into your ear, “I’m not gonna let you finish until that homework is done, so I suggest you quiet down,” he nipped at your neck, “and get to work.” His words sent a shiver down your spine and you nodded, mustering what mental strength you had to explain the political structures of… somewhere.

Armin’s fingers slipped into your panties, dipping into you and spreading you open. He rubbed your clit with practiced precision, knowing just how to ease you into being edged. Allowing you to feel so good, so blissful, so easy to convince you that you’ll get to finish – before taking it away completely. His middle finger flicked your clit, pinching lightly. The buzz in your head was driving you mad, the arousal burning through you. With a half-assed last answer, you snapped your laptop shut, physically restraining yourself from throwing it on the floor. Armin’s ministrations slowed to a lazy pace, a smug smile sat on his lips. “You done?” he asked, patient as ever.

“Mhm, all done and complete and turned in and all that,” you stumbled slightly, turning around to straddle his lap. Armin’s dominant demeanor faltered ever so subtly and you smirked - he was almost always all talk until you were sitting pretty on his lap, your warm center on the bulge you could so clearly see through his sweatpants.

Armin was easy to turn the tables on, so naturally it took you by surprise when his eyes glinted with something that excited you, using his lean muscles to flip your positions, pinning you beneath him. “Baby…” Oh there it was, that chastising tone that meant you were in for it. “Did I say you could get on top?” He lazily caressed the plush of the inside of your thighs, avoiding where you so desperately needed him to touch you.

“No…” You bit your lip.

“And I always thought you were so good at following the rules baby, aren’t you my good girl?” Armin teased, slipping your shorts and panties down your legs. He trailed pecks up the inside of your thigh, parting your legs as he went. You gasped at the contact, nodding your head and biting your lip in anticipation. Your hands traveled to grip your boyfriend’s soft hair and guide him into you, only for him to stop you by grabbing your wrists. He brought them to rest above your head, lips traveling back up to mouth at your neck. “Then you better listen this time, and keep those hands right there ‘till I tell you,” he grasped your jaw, tilting your face toward him gently, “got it love?”

“Uh huh,” you breathed, stunned and absolutely aroused at his sense of command. Armin’s shift in demeanor made his blue eyes darken, his muscles flex and a hunger from within him that made him want to simply devour you.

“There’s my good girl,” his warm smile returned, and you’d almost believe he was going to give you everything you wanted. Armin returned to his place between your legs, burying his face in the wet warmth between your thighs. He used his soft, flat tongue to lick a stripe up through your center. You groaned as he used the tip of his tongue to flick your clit, arching your back and pushing yourself closer to him. You felt him smile against you, “Yeah? That feel good baby?”

“Oh god, yes,” you whined. He rewarded you by spreading you apart with his fingers, settling his tongue against your clit and making you sigh once again. His soft touches and sweet sinful tongue gathered a rhythm that made your head spin, figure eights on your clit spreading the wetness that just couldn’t stop as his fingers worked nimbly to unravel you from the inside. The lofi background on the TV muffled as the room filled with the sinful wet sounds coming from you, your heavy breathing and needy gasps.

“Ahh, baby I’m so close... Oh, fuck,” you gasped, hips grinding against his face as his fingers stroked just the right place inside you. The familiar sparks traveled through your body, the feeling building to its peak once more, so very close to tipping over until – it stopped. Armin’s fingers left you feeling empty, his mouth leaving your poor, swollen pink clit unsatisfied and sensitive. “A-armin! Please, please, c’mon I was so close,” you nearly cried, sitting up to look at him. Your prayers, however, were answered as he sat back to pull down his sweatpants and boxers and align his hips to yours.

“You’ve been so - “ you felt just the tip push past your lips, absolutely drenched in your own juices, “so good for me baby.” You felt him slowly, so slowly, finally slide his cock into you, feeling every long-awaited inch fill you. You nearly creamed on the spot, before even feeling the torturous way he began to thrust his hips. In, out, the most desperate whimpers left your lips as he praised you. “You’re so good, my pretty girl, so good at letting me edge you as much as I want,” the prettiest words purred from his lips and only aroused you more as your orgasm threatened to rip you in two. His voice, his cock, the delicious rhythm that he rubbed your clit at, everything was so good and so much that sparks shot through you, setting your entire body ablaze.

“Fuck - I’m gonna - “ you could hardly gasp out the words in between breathless moans as it hit you, waves of fire rolling through you. Armin thrusted into you, hitting your sweet spot at a delicious pace as he fucked you through your orgasm, his pants and groans getting higher as his ow orgasm built.

“ ‘m close baby, you feel so good, you came so well for me pretty girl,” his hands gripped your hips. The slam of his cock into you as he fucked you stupid sent shocks of pleasure and dull pain through you. Your whole body was shaking, your hips sore as Armin’s thrusts became sloppier and his groans became needier.

“Cum baby, want you to cum in me, oh fuck, please,” you begged, your words barely uttered through your moans as your second orgasm sent white hot pleasure coursing through your limbs.

“Fuck, yeah I’ll cum in you baby, I - “ Armin’s thrusts became uneven, hitting you one, two, three times making you see stars, the cum dripping from your second orgasm slick and messy around his cock. Your sweet words and downright sinful noises sent your sweet boyfriend over the edge, his hips stuttering as you felt his cock pulsing deep inside you. A mix of curses and praises flew between the two of you as you came down, bodies satiated and sweaty as you calmed your breathing.

You lay together, clothes long discarded and only underwear and a t-shirt (Armin’s t-shirt) on. Your head rested on his chest as Armin caressed your hair, kissing your forehead softly. You sighed, breathing in his scent deeply and settling into him to drift off into a nap.

Hope that study guide comes in handy.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

☆.。. Masterlist

☆.。. Requests

#attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #aot smut #aot x reader #armin arlert smut #armin arlert x reader #armin arlert x you #armin x reader #armin smut #attack on titan smut #snk x reader

194 notes · View notes

wintersoldiersoul · 7 months

Note

Hi.

Saw you are taking requests.

I got shingles the weekend close to my birthday, i confuse it with allergy because i am allergic to basically anything and then on my 24th birthday i got that it was actually shingles, doctor told me that my immune system went down and that is why i got it. Before that i was under so much stress because of work that i developed burn out and had to quit my job (literally spent months, weeks of my life visiting the emergency ward because i kept getting sick due to stress and burn out) probably that Triggered the shingles.

Could you write something with Bucky in which the reader suffers similar sh**? I just need comfort from my fave character 😭

If you dont feel comfortable is fine, i understand 😁

KUDOS!

I'm so sorry you went through that! I hope you are much better now. I tried to make this as medically accurate as possible (I texted my friend in med school LOL) but I am definitely not a doctor so if some stuff isn't accurate, just pretend it is.

You threw your hair up into a ponytail to get it out of your face. Hours slumped over at your desk weren't doing any favors. You grabbed the energy drink and chugged it to prevent your eyes from closing. You were almost done with this assignment. Just a little bit longer, you told yourself.

Working full time and being a grad student was taking a toll on you. You spent every day from 9-5 in your office and every night from 6-10 in classes. You crammed homework in anywhere you could, which often meant staying up most of the night. It was approaching 4am, now.

The office door creaked open and Bucky strolled in, sleep still filling his eyes. “Baby,” he sighed. “Come to bed.” He had woken up and the bed was cold without you beside him. He walked over to you, kissing your forehead.

“Can’t,” you mumbled without looking up from your computer.

“You gotta get some sleep, darlin’.”

You sneezed, still typing away. “I’m fi-” your words were interrupted by another sneeze.

Bucky stood, looking at you with a stern expression. “Well look at that. You’re getting sick.”

You waved your hand. “No, I’m not. It’s just allergies,” you said, sniffling. “You know this time of year is bad.” The past few months, you had been sick on and off multiple times. A cold, a small fever, you were sick more than you weren’t.

“Honey, please just get some sleep. You haven’t slept in days.” He was practically begging. He knew how much stress you were under and getting no sleep wasn’t going to help. He was extremely worried about you.

“Just give me 10 more minutes, okay?” You compromised.

“Fine. But I’m sitting right here and setting a timer. The second it goes off, I’m carrying you to bed.”

He did exactly that, throwing you over his shoulder when you didn’t get up immediately at the ring of his phone. Despite the intense amounts of caffeine you had consumed, you fell asleep the second your head hit the pillow.

Bucky woke up before you the next morning, smiling at your sleeping form. Your hair was sprawled over your face and he gently pushed it away to kiss your cheek. But as soon as he moved the strands, he noticed that your cheeks were flushed. He put the back of his flesh hand on your skin. Heat radiated off of your face before he even touched you. You were definitely sick.

He got up, being careful not to wake you. He left the bedroom returning a few minutes later with water, Advil, and a thermometer. You groaned as your alarm rang, sending shooting pains into your skull. You groaned, opening your eyes. You felt like absolute shit. Your whole body ached, your throat was on fire, and even your skin hurt.

“You’re sick.” Bucky stated, as if he was informing you.

“Yeah, I can tell,” you retorted, wincing at the pain in every cell of your body. He smiled softly, brushing your hair behind your ears.

“I got you some water and Advil. Can I take your temperature, doll?”

You nodded and he put the thermometer under your tongue. He looked it, eyes widening. “Shit baby, that’s not good. Your temp is 102.8. How do you feel?”

“Horrible,” you pouted.

He sighed. “I’m not surprised. That’s a really high fever, baby. I think we should go to the doctor.”

You groaned, not wanting to move. You felt so horrible that the thought of having to get up and out of bed was a nightmare. You felt like you couldn’t stay awake, eyes closing no matter how hard you tried to keep them open. “Can’t move,” you whispered, coughing slightly. “My whole body hurts so much. Just wanna sleep.”

Bucky didn’t know what to do. In his mind, sickness meant calling a doctor. He had spent so many years worrying about Steve back in the 40s, sitting with him while he got looked at. He still wasn’t used to how things were today. The google search he did on his phone told him that if your fever went above 103, to take you to the hospital. In his opinion, you were close enough that he wanted to rush you there right now, but he could see how exhausted you were.

“Alright, rest for now. But if it gets worse we’re going to the hospital.” You didn’t even hear him as you had already fallen back to sleep.

You woke up in a daze, cold sweat clinging to your body. You were shivering aggressively, shaking the entire bed. “Babe?” Bucky said, noticing you were awake. “You cold?”

You nodded, teeth chattering. He quickly grabbed you another blanket, wrapping you up like a burrito. He wrapped his arms around you, hoping that his body heat would help, too. One of the major perks of dating a super soldier was that the chances of getting him sick were very slim. He held you as close as possible, trying to keep you warm. “Oh, honey,” he whispered, voice dripping with sympathy.

“Can you take your temperature again for me?” He asked after your shivering had subsided a little bit. You put the thermometer back in your mouth, waiting for the beep. Bucky took it from you, heart stopping as he looked. “I know you don’t wanna move, but we gotta go to the ER. You’re at 103.6. That’s really really bad.”

You groaned. You felt so horrible, his words barely even registered in your mind. He picked you up and carried you to the car, whispering words of encouragement along the way. You closed your eyes again, finding it physically impossible to stay awake. Bucky held your hand the entire car ride before picking you up and carrying you into the ER. He let you sleep as you waited, positioning your head on his shoulder. He constantly watched you to make sure you were still breathing. He didn’t wanna wake you until he absolutely had to.

When you were finally called in, he shook you gently. “Can you walk?” He asked. You weakly nodded and he helped you to your feet letting you lean on his body as you went to the exam room.

The doctor hooked you up to an IV immediately to hydrate your sick body as they examined you.

“How have you been sleeping?” She asked you.

“Um, not great,” you answered, voice sounding raspy. “I’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“She hasn’t slept in a week,” Bucky interjected. “She’s been getting sick a lot these past few months since she started grad school.”

The doctor nodded. “Okay that’s very good to know.” She proceeded to ask you a few more questions and then said, “Did you have chicken-pox as a kid?”

You nodded. “Yeah. When I was 5.”

She carefully rolled up your shirt, revealing a rash on your side. “It looks like you have shingles. The stress you’ve been under seems to have weakened your immune system which is why you’ve been getting sick so much. It makes sense that with all of that the virus would come back now.”

Bucky held your hand. He was relieved that you had a diagnosis but of course he was terrified. Back in his time, that would have been a death sentence. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Buck,” you answered.

“Yes,” the doctor agreed. “We’re gonna keep her here for at least tonight because your fever is so high. But you will be okay.”

Bucky exhaled. “Oh, thank god.”

“Can I go to sleep now?” You asked the doctor. You were so exhausted.

“Yes. I’ll let you rest,” she smiled before leaving the room.

“I’m so sorry you feel so shitty,” Bucky said, holding your hand. “Will this make you take it easy?”

“I don’t know what I can do to change anything,” you said with tear filled eyes. “Literally the only time I have to get things done is in the middle of the night.”

He looked into your eyes. He wanted to help you so badly that his heart ached. He wanted you to be happy and healthy. “What if you quit your job?” He suggested. “You only took this as a temporary thing anyway. I know you don’t wanna stay there when you’re done with school.”

“I can’t not have a job, Bucky,” you argued.

“Baby,” he looked in your eyes. “Do you have any clue how much the Avengers pay me?” He smirked. “Trust me, you don’t need a job.” You opened your mouth to argue, ready to tell him that you didn’t need his money. “I know you’re your own person and you can make your own money. And one day, with that brain, you will make so much all on your own. But baby, you’re drowning. You’ve been sick more days than not the past few months. Please, let me take care of you. Just for a bit. I’d never tell you what to do and if you really wanna stay, you can. But you’re killing yourself, darling. And I can’t just sit back and watch as it happens. Just think about it. Please.”

You lazily smiled. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But not right now. Right now, I need to sleep.”

He stroked your hair and kissed your forehead. “Go to sleep, my love. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

173 notes · View notes

topguncortez · 2 years

Text

The Professor | Chapter 4

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: You and Professor Seresin now have a system going, but how long can the secret relationship stay a secret.

word count: 3k

warnings: age gap, power imbalance, mentions of smut, making out, cursing.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks of Jake finding himself deep inside his student really, at his convenience. He wasn’t sure how he was going to feel about it. He was never one for just random hookups when he was young. Him and Allison had been together since his freshman year. She had only been the third woman he had been with, the other two were high school girlfriends. Throughout his relationship with Allison, there had been times where they had broken up, and Jake found himself in bed with another woman, but again, that only happened about twice. He wasn’t really sure how to navigate the world of “just sex”, but he slowly caught on.

The first night after fucking you, he really didn’t think you were going to leave so soon. He was used to girls hanging around at least for a little bit, some pillow talk, maybe a glass of wine and round two, then he would walk them to their cars and kiss them goodnight. But after you declined his invitation to shower with him, he quickly understood the rules to the agreement. In fact, you had laid it pretty clear to him the next day.

“It’s simple, we fuck when we need it. Having a bad day? Yes. Hard as a rock at 11:30? Sure. One of your students said that Shakespeare isn’t real? I’m down. Just send the text,” You said and told him the emojis to use.

The first time he did send the text he thought it was very juvenile to use an eggplant and a water droplet, but it was something simple that wouldn’t distract from the various messages about grades and homework assignments. He waited patiently for you to show up, and was surprised when you promptly arrived ten minutes after the message. After screwing every legitimate thought out of your mind, Jake offered to watch a movie again, but you were sliding your panties up your legs (you took them off this time, not being able to afford another pair of ripped ones).

“Okay, listen old timer, I know they didn’t do hookups back in the-”

“I am only 35,” He rolled his eyes, “And for your information, I did hookups when I was your age. Though the women were much less annoying and demanding than-”

“Sorry I’m not going to pretend like you are doing something when in reality you are just rubbing my left lip.”

“I think I found your clit pretty eas-”

“Like I said, this is a hookup. Means you or I text one another, we come over, we fuck, we leave. There is no staying, there is no post sex cuddling, besides you sweat like a whore in Church.”

“Again, when I am doing most of the-”

“I was on top this time so you can’t even use that excuse.”

Jake huffed and rolled his eyes, “You can find your way out.”

“Im taking this,” You said and grabbed the sweatshirt he was wearing from the floor, and slipped it over your head. Jake watched as you grabbed your keys and baseball cap that you wore over. Once again, he didn’t walk you out, but peered out the window to make sure you got to your car safely. He also texted you to let him know when you got home safely. And you’d never admit it, but you smiled at your phone as you read the message.

Jake had guessed that the deal to relieve some tension was working. He had heard many of his students say that they noticed a change in his attitude. He was less angry, more willing to actually have a conversation about grades and topics and not call you stupid in the process.

Jake felt like there was a weight off his shoulders as well. He had more time to work on his next research paper with his friend Bob, and didn’t have to spend hours upon hours trying to decipher what first years were trying to say. He also noticed himself smiling, just a bit more than usual. Some chalked it up to his divorce finally going through, which he did celebrate with bending you over his desk at home, but it was more than just that.

“Many of you probably know this TV show, but it is a modern day example of Hamlet,” Jake said as he presented the slide.

“Jax fucking Teller,” You whispered to Lucy. Jake looked over at you. He was yet to meet Lucy, but from all the times you had mentioned her, he felt like he knew her.

“I’d let him do sinful things to me,” Lucy said back.

“Miss Y/N,” Jake said interrupting the conversation, “Care to explain why Jax Teller is a good example of Hamlet?”

You licked your lips as you sat a bit. The outfit you decided on today was something simple, a pair of black biker shorts and one of Jake’s old college sweatshirts. He had to refrain from looking at your ass as you bent over earlier to pick up your pencil. Somehow, you had managed to get Jake to start allowing note taking, and the whole class was thankful.

“Jax is a perfect example of Hamlet because of what happened to his father. He’s a tortured old soul with daddy issues,” You spoke and batted your eyelashes at him. Lucy had to bite back a smirk as Jake cleared his throat.

“Pay attention,” Jake said and turned back around.

“Yes professor,” You said softly. Jake closed his eyes and started thinking about anything other than hearing those words come out of your mouth as you were on your knees for him.

“If you read the assigned chapters, you should know what this slide is referring to.”

Jake was running late as he walked into the dimly lit bar. It was hardly crowded for a Wednesday night, but there was a good sized crowd. He easily spotted his friend Bob sitting at the bar chatting with Bradley. He looked up from the glass he was cleaning and shot Jake a bright smile.

“Look who decided to show up!” Bradley cheered and Jake shook his head.

“Some of us have real jobs, Bradshaw,” Jake grumbled and took off his suit coat, “Whiskey neat please.”

“And some of us aren’t miserable robots working a useless system,” Bradley said and poured Jake his drink.

Bradley Bradshaw was a smart man, a very smart man. He and Jake had gone to school together, though they studied different majors, they were in the same fraternity, so they saw each other often and had another mutual friend, Bob Floyd, who was studying astrophysics. Bradley was in his last semester of law school, already having completed and passed the Bar exam, when he came home one day to their shitty apartment in Chestnut Hill and announced he had dropped out. Bob and Jake thought he was joking, it wasn’t unlike Bradley to joke around like that. But he showed them the paperwork as proof.

“What the hell are you going to do?” Jake asked him, “Work at the bar for the rest of your life?”

“Yep,” Bradley smiled and sat back on the couch.

And that’s exactly what Bradley did. He worked at the “Main Street Bar” as a bartender all throughout undergrad and grad school. In fact, nearly three years ago, Bradley had become the owner of the bar when the previous one passed. Jake hated to admit it, but he had never seen Bradley so happy in his life, than when he was behind the bar or playing the piano. He envied Bradley for being happy with such a rash choice.

“Have you had a chance to look over that-”

“Hey, what’s the rules?” Bradley said, cutting Bob off.

“It’s not like I’m going to ask him for his dissertation notes, I just wanna know if he got my email,” Bob said and rolled his eyes. Bob had gotten his PhD in physics and also taught at Boston College. Bob was a science nerd, Jake could vividly remember the day Bob moved into the frat house and put his Star Trek sheets on his bed. Bob was quiet, shy and almost scary smart.

“I got the email, but I was a bit busy this afternoon,” Jake answered.

“Busy?” Bradley asked, and Jake nodded wordlessly, “You got a girl.”

“No, I don’t,” He rolled his eyes.

“Liar,” Bradley smirked, “Moving on so quickly after Ally? Lemme guess. . . you and Natasha finally stopped playing your stupid “i’m in town, lets fuck” game and got together.”

“It’s not Natasha,” Jake said, rolling his eyes again.

Natasha Trace was their other friend all three of them had in common. All four of them had met in a freshman stats class, and had just stuck together after that. Natasha was the only female of the group, and the three boys had decided early on they weren’t going to try and make a move on her. But Jake only half listened to that promise. Him and Natasha snuck around a bit, until he met Allison. Natasha was also the only one of the group who didn’t go to Boston College, instead, after getting her undergrad in Military science, she joined the Navy. Whenever she was in town though, Jake always made a plan to seek her out.

“It’s not Allison, again, is it?” Bob asked.

“No, god no,” Jake scoffed, “It’s uh. . . it’s a friends with benefits thing.”

“Certainly didn’t have that in my cards,” Bradley smirked, “At Least you aren’t hung up about Ally. I hate to say this now, but I never liked her.”

Neither did I, Jake said to himself.

“So, who is she?” Bradley asked, “Someone we know?”

“No,” Jake mumbled, “Listen, I don’t want-” Jake’s speech was cut off as his phone rang. He looked up at Bradley for a moment, before they both reached for his phone, but Bradley was quicker than him, “Bradshaw give it back.”

“Oh shit! Is this her? ‘Miss Thing’?” Bradley laughed. Jake shook his head, you had called yourself that once and he thought it was funny, “No passcode Jakey, tsk, tsk, dangerous,” Bradley scolded him, “Oh shit! Emojis! Bob, he got sent emojis!”

“Bradley, really give it back.”

“Nah this is just too good,” Bradley cackled, and continued scrolling, “Damn this is like every single . . wait. . . ‘Did you have a chance to look over the first draft notes I sent? Do you think it looks good?,” Jake reached out for his phone again, but Bradley pushed his arm away, “Seresin, are you fucking your student?”

“Holy shit,” Bob said.

“No, just,” Jake sighed, “Yes, but it’s not like that. It’s just for stress relief.”

“Jake, that isn’t-”

“Way to fucking go, Seresin!” Bradley laughed, cutting Bob off, “Finally doing something cool with your life.”

Bob shook his head, “Jake, you can’t be doing that. What if-”

“I know,” Jake shook his head. He had thought about what could happen if people find out that he was fucking his student it could all end badly. You and Jake had even talked about the dangers of being caught, which was why they made a promise to not do anything on campus, and always after 7PM. Jake swirled his whiskey in his glass, “We talked about it. And it’s strictly sex, I’m not doing her any favors. Only other thing she’s doing for me is helping me grade first year papers.”

“But she’s still your student, Jake.”

“She won’t be like a couple months,” Bradley shrugged, “You're half through the semester, she won’t be taking your class again unless she completely fails it. I don’t see a problem with getting to know your students.”

Bob scoffed and shook his head.

“Bob, I need you not to tell anyone. She consented all on her own, I didn’t force her. She knows that she can stop at any time and without consequence,” Jake said to his friend. Bob looked at him and clenched his jaw.

“Fine,” Bob said, and drank down the rest of his glass, “Well what are you still doing sitting here? She sent you emojis.”

Jake cracked a smile and Bradley handed his phone back. He said goodbye to them before heading out of the bar. Your car was already sitting on the street when he arrived. He didn’t mind that you always came to him, and he hadn’t seen your house, save for the time he dropped you off one night. You said that it was too risky for him to be there with your roommate and her boyfriend around. Jake whistled to himself as he opened the door to his house and jogged up the stairs.

“Took you long enough,” You said as Jake opened the bedroom door to find you in nothing but lace red bra and panties. Jake felt himself stiffen in his dress pants.

“Where did you get this?” Jake said and gestured towards her undergarments.

“Someone left a card with some cash in my backpack and said ‘buy something nice. And red’ on it,” You smirked and pushed yourself up on your knees at the edge of the bed. Jake walked over, his hands going straight for your hips.

“Glad you spent it on more than just alcohol,” He nodded.

You rolled your eyes and ran your hands over the expensive dress shirt he was wearing. Your hands helped push his suit coat off and landed on the floor. Grabbing his face softly in your hands, you pulled him in for a kiss. His hands went to your ass, squeezing it in his hands. You gasp and he slips his tongue into your mouth. Jake leans you back on the soft bed, and your legs wrapped around his waist pulling his hips to be flush with yours. You moaned at the feeling of his already erect cock hitting your core.

“You’re needy, you know that,” Jake laughed, “Already wet for me and I didn’t even do anything.

“I sit in class and listen to you rant about stupid shit and get turned on,” You admited.

“Really?” Jake asked, and you nodded, “Gonna have to show me next time. But for now,” He grabbed your hips and turned you around so you were on your front, he slapped your ass making you jump slightly, “That didn’t even hurt, quit acting like it did.”

“You going to fuck me or talk the whole time?” You looked over your shoulder, “Cause I can leave and finish this job myself. My vibrator does a pretty nice job.”

“One, shut up,” Jake said as he discarded his dress shirt, and trousers, “Two, bring your vibrator next time, I want to use it,” He slid his boxers down his legs and climbed on top of you. You sucked in a breath as his hands spread your cheeks apart. He groaned at the sight of your wet cunt. He ran a finger through your slit, and before pushing it into your opening. He pumped his finger in and out of you a bit, working you open for him. When he felt like you were ready, he lined his cock up with your weeping hole.

“Three, I will always fuck you,” He slid into you with ease. Every time he fucked you, it was easier for him to slide into your cunt, your body now getting use to his size. It was still a bit of a stretch, and Jake waited just a moment for you to adjust to his size, starting off slow and working up to a faster more brutal pace that had you screaming his name.

Derek was being pushed to the side and he couldn’t stand it. At first, he summed it up to you being busy with your studies. Everyone was busy as it was nearing midterms, stressing out on whether or not they should continue with certain classes, trying hard to make high marks on their upcoming exams and papers. You hadn’t been out drinking on Friday nights with Lucy and Zeke like normal. You also didn’t leave class with him and Lucy either, almost always staying after class to talk to Professor Seresin.

Professor Seresin. Derek hated him. Derek had spent nearly six hours writing on his last paper, even having it looked at by the writing and media center, and sent it in before the due date, and ended up getting an F on it. Derek had tried to ask Professor Seresin for an explanation on the grade, since he didn’t believe in rubrics or giving proper feedback. But Professor Seresin merely dismissed Derek and others and told them his famous line of “drop date is coming up soon.”

“Do you think something is going on with Y/N and Professor Seresin?” Derek asked Zeke as the two of them walked to class. Zeke looked over at his friend and shrugged, “It’s just. . . she’s ignoring me again. She hasn’t invited me over in weeks!”

“Maybe because she doesn’t like you,” Zeke laughed.

“She likes me.”

“No dude, she doesn’t. Lucy tells me nearly everything they talk about. And Y/N does not like you,” Zeke answered as he opened the door to one of the lecture halls, “And why are you here so early? Your class isn’t for. . . another hour?”

“Going to talk to Professor Seresin,” Derek said, “Ask him about this stupid lecture quiz grade. But I’ll see you later.”

Zeke nodded to Derek and went his separate way towards his class. Derek walked up to the floor of Professor Seresin’s office. He had rehearsed what he was going to say over and over. He was going to demand that Professor Seresin explained the reasoning for his grades and that he raise the grade of his last quiz. Derek fixed the collar of his sweatshirt as he arrived outside the door. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but froze, seeing two people through the crack in the blinds. He squinted as he moved his body over to the side a bit, so he could see through the blinds easier.

“Holy shit,” Derek’s eyes widened as he saw you perched on Professor Seresin’s lap, your hands tangled in his hair, and his lips on yours, “Jesus Christ. . . no wonder he’s been so nice lately. He’s fucking my girl.”

taglist: @zetasaturno99 @tallrock35 @bioodforbiood @mak-32 @cherrycola27 @drunkangels @fuckyeahhangman @the-winter-marvel33 @oldnatgwenaccount @cm27078 @xoxabs88xox @paige-alexandra-may @ereardon @marantha @inkysun @bradleybeachbabe @manunitedgotbruno @mulletmcghee @moonvr @nagygreta @cherryobx @callsign-joyride @blue-aconite @books-for-summer @violyn20 @onethirstyunicorn @lilylilyyyyyy @p1nkbarbi3 @princessofglitterland @hallway5 @thedroneranger @chaoticweirdogeek @abaker74 @auroraboreallisfine @materialgirl01 @fandom-princess-forevermore @averyhotchner @thedaredevilsgirl @shelbycillian @currentlybradshaw @mavesiceroo @emptyloverofmine

taglist form

Note: If you are not on my taglist form, you will not be tagged. Its hard for me to keep up with everyone who comments/dms me to be tagged. In the case of my taglist form filling up (which it will cause I only have five spots left) please follow my library page @cortezslibrary and turn on my post notifications.

#top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun imagine #top gun au #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick au #Jake seresin fan fic #Jake seresin fan fiction #Jake seresin imagine #Jake seresin au #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x y/n #Jake seresin x you #the professor #professor Jake seresin

482 notes · View notes

tlou-reid · 1 year

Text

obx grass ✰ jj maybank

warnings ✰ mentions of drinking, marijuana use

summary ✰ jj surprises you with more than just weed

“like never ever ever?” jj looked at you with a slightly confused face. it wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to try or wouldn’t even try, it just wasn’t something that had happened yet.

“no, jj,” you clarify for the third for fourth time, “i’ve never done it.” you were kind of getting aggravated, unsure of why he kept asking. he was your best friend, but damn could he be annoying sometimes.

“but we smoke all the time.” the ‘we’ in question was the pogues. it was true, there was usually some weed involved in all of their hangouts, but you didn’t usually attend the group hangouts.

“okay? how often am i with them all together?” now you were getting really annoyed. his inquiry into your lack of marijuana use had definitely gone too far and was taking too much time. there was a party tonight and you were getting ready, propped up at your makeshift vanity of a mirror resting on your desk while he interrogated you. “that’s true, i guess. you usually run off with some touron.” jj laughed to himself, comfortable on your bed, tossing around a stuffed animal.

you stopped applying your makeup to glare at him, causing him to laugh more. he wasn’t wrong per say, but a lot of the time you used the touron excuse to get away from the party, not to actually be with one. parties aren’t really your things, and honestly neither are jj’s friends. you don’t hate the pogues, and the kooks in the island definitely see you as a pogue. however, you didn’t really hang out with all of them. you knew john b pretty well, as jj had grown up with him. you were actually quite close with sarah, you two texted a lot and you were her shoulder to cry on when she needed it. after the whole kiara and pope thing you took pope’s side and ended up hanging out with him more. this has created tension with kie, so you don’t really talk to her.

that’s not the only reason there’s tension between you and kiara. it’s very obvious she likes jj, which has always bothered you. you’d never admit it to anyone, but you were very much physically and emotionally attracted to the blonde boy. your family teases you, uses the ‘L’ word, but you won’t admit to yourself that they’re right. so, you avoid kiara. there’s no reason for any unnecessary competition. if he wants her, he can have her, even if it would break your heart.

“well maybe we change that tonight, get some good ‘ole outer banks grass into your system for the first time,” jj smiled as you stood up to grab your bag so you two could head out. “definitely not. my first time getting high will not occur within 5 miles of any kooks, let alone in their backyard.”

“that’s fair,” jj nodded. he grabbed your hand, pulling you to the door. “but we can still get fucked up.” you both laughed. the use of ‘we’ made your heart flutter. if you weren’t going to smoke, neither was jj.

the party was nice, you guys had a lot of fun. you danced, got super wasted and passed out on the couch of john b’s place afterwards. the kooks were surprisingly well-behaved, which made the night significantly more enjoyable than it would’ve been otherwise.

a week or so passes by before you see jj again. he was working a job now. some place on island needed people to clean boats during the day. jj always skipped school anyway so he picked it up. you guys still texted and such, but didn’t get the chance to meet in person.

the sun was starting to set when you received his text: ‘haven’t seen you in a while’. you replied with a simple: ‘sorry! been busy’. it wasn’t really your fault, but you wanted him to know it wasn’t like you were avoiding him. he answered quickly: ‘it’s all good. i’ll pick you up tonight at like 7. i got a surprise for you’.

his text made you smile like an idiot. he rarely ever has anything for you, so this was exciting. it made it hard to focus on your homework as you brainstormed your options.

a knock on your door startles you. you paused your show to open the door and were greeted with jj’s smiling face. “hi” he said. “hi, j”. you wanted to ask about the surprise so bad, but decided not to rush it.

“come on,” he gestured you away from the door. you followed, climbing on the back of his bike. he didn’t have anything in his hands, so you assumed he was taking you to the surprise. you were so excited to see what it was, you didn’t even put down the bottle of water you had been sipping it on. it was a little awkward as you had to hold onto him and make sure you didn’t drop it. luckily, it was a short ride down to the beach. there was a log that you guys would come to sometimes, just to talk about whatever was going on in your lives.

“do you know wanna know what your surprise is?” he says with a smirk. you eagerly nodded, not caring how childish you looked, sat on the log staring up at him. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a joint, placing it in his palm and holding it out to you.

“there’s no kooks for miles,” jj starts, “and i think it’d be good for you.” your smile had dropped when he pulled it out. your heart started to race. “jj,” you said with a sigh, “i don’t know.”

“come on princess, just try it. it won’t kill ya. if you don’t like it we’ll stop.” he was trying to get you to relax, you knew that. your nerves weren’t hidden at all. “i’m just nervous. what if i get all paranoid or whatever?”

“i’ll fight off your delusions, don’t worry,” he joked. when you glared at him, he begun, “no but seriously, i’ll take care of you. it’s not like we’re doing ecstasy, it’s just weed.” you stared at him a little longer before given a hesitant nod. “sick,” he said as he lit the joint and sat down next to you. “we’ll start easy.”

he took a few hits himself first. you could see the way the drug made him relax. the way his shoulders dropped and his face relaxed after a few hits. he turned towards you, “come ‘ere”. he took a hit and you leaned towards, thinking he was gonna pass you the joint. instead, he brings the hand that isn’t holding the joint to the back of your neck, pulling your face towards his.

you can’t help the gasp that comes out of your mouth. you can’t lie, you thought he was gonna kiss you. that thought quickly dissipated as he blew the smoke from his last hit towards your face. the gasp you had let out meant you inhaled a ton of it very quickly. this sent you into a coughing fit.

jj didn’t know what to do. he was just trying to get you started, not send you into an asthma attack. he just watched as you coughed an entire lung up. as your coughs began to slow down, he reached for the water bottle you accidentally brought with you, unscrewing the cap, and passing it to. you chugged the rest of it.

“i’m sorry,” he says as soon as you finish. “i was trying to do the thing in the movies, where they just share the smoke. so it wouldn’t be so scary for you. i should’ve told you first.” he sounded like a little kid as he tried to explain his thought process. if he wasn’t so adorable, you’d be pissed at him.

“it’s fine, j. i just thought,” you cut yourself off, not wanting to tell him what you thought. his eyes seemed wider now, waiting for you to finish your thought. “i just thought,” you start again, “that, um, never mind. i don’t know what i thought.” now you were really nervous. fuck the weed, what if he realized what you thought? what if he knew you wanted to kiss him?

“do you want to try again?” he said, changing the subject. the gears in his head were still turning, trying to figure out what went so wrong. “i’ll just try from the joint,” you said, reaching your hand out to it. “okay, be careful. just start small,” jj instructed.

he watched as you brought the joint to your mouth. he didn’t expect his thoughts to get so dirty as he watched you. as you inhaled, all he could think about was what other things you could wrap your lips around. this brought his eyes down to your lips. “shit,” he whispered with a small smile.

you finished your turn, passing the joint back to him. “shit what?” you asked after letting out another cough or two.

“you thought i was gonna kiss you.” he declared.

you face flushed, and your expression drop. how the fuck did he know that? jj’s not dumb, but you didn’t expect him to figure that out. “what are you talking about?” you sheepishly asked.

“wanna know how i know?” a big grin spread across his face as he locked eyes with you. your eyes were wide, trying to see if he was just guessing or actually figured it out. you nodded.

“because i really wanna kiss you right now.”

#jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jjk x reader #obx #outer banks imagine #outer banks smut #outer banks blurb #outer banks x you #outer banks x reader #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank x pogue!reader #outer banks x y/n

235 notes · View notes

the-cat-and-the-birdie · 8 months

Note

Hi hi! I love how in depth and detailed you are when making/creating characters, or even when talking about other characters.

but I was curious, I wanted to be more inclusive/have more representation of PoC with my art works. But I do not know where to begin, or how to properly do research especially with how to research history and find accurate articles or so on.

Which I was curious on if you have any tips or pointers on how to do this/do my homework correctly?

THANKS!! OOOOhhhh I love research! And for a recent Spidersona, I had to do something like this. So here's the process I use to say things that kinda sorta make sense sometimes

How to Learn Any Topic RIGHT NOW- (kinda)

[A slightly LONG length post where I talk about my biggest resource and my number one tactic for sounding like you know your shit in an hour or less. Plus a list of educational Youtubers]

In High School, I mastered an art. The Art of 'Skyrim Speech 100'. The way to sound like you know what you're talking about, and form a pretty solid foundation of information in one sitting.

I am DEADASS CONVINCED that I have it boiled down to a very specific scientific formula. I got this I okay. I gotchu I swear I'm bout to have you like this im so deadass -

For me personally, the best resource is YouTube. One Website - Three Videos. And you're GOOD.

I have ADHD so - huge attention issues, so videos are a go to for me.

But I also really appreciate seeing the person explaining things to me. Finding good websites can be HARD, especially nowadays where a lot of websites might not even be written by humans, just clobbered together by AI.

For me, YouTube lets me see the person behind the channel, and it's a lot easier for me to vet the information if it's coming from one person who is open about their identity/certifications.

If their whole channel is dedicated to one thing, you can usually tell when they're very dedicated/educated on a topic, and I feel a lot more comfortable listening to them. Rather than reading random websites with writers I don't know/can't see.

Longform Youtube can be SO GOOD.

I'm gonna list some at the bottom - but you can find channels on everything. From architecture, to historical dress, to subway systems, entire cultures, etc.

In recent years Youtube has made a big push for longform content - so I recommend checking out videos that are 15 minutes OR MORE.

Not only is that enough time to go in depth, but because it's a video - the information is fed to you in a linear fashion. It's a lot more conversational and visual than reading a website.

If you hear something and need to remember, you can always go back. It can be hard to go back to a webpage and find the exact line, but videos are a bit easier.

Tips:

Try for find Youtubers that focus on ONE topic - or creators who go in depth about a wide array of interesting things (like Tom Scott or Anthony Padilla). Look for Doctors and Professors - A lot of educational professionals have youtube channels now. And they'll usually be upfront about it, searching things like 'History Professor explains X' or 'Doctor explains Y'. TEDTalks are good for this too. Look for people who are, or have the thing you're representing - If you're writing for a disability, it's always good to watch a video about the day in the life of someone with it - mental illnesses too. And there are a lot of great youtubers that easily break down things like cultural practices - or the issues they face because of their identity. Look for news channels. Watch current events. Vice, BBC, Channel 4, and have a lot of good current news, and they're posting videos every day. These videos show real life conditions while explaining it all, and they're really helpful for knowing about current political/cultural topics. DOCUMENTARIES!!!! - There is a documentary on anything. You can quote them in academics, and unlike movies, people post them on YouTube ALL the time, and people make them all the time. If you need to know about something, DOCUMENTARY.

I love using videos for everything, and below is how I use them:

I have a method that usually helps me sound like I'm super knowledgeable - By casting a very wide and very specific net over any topic. By narrowing any topic down to three parts, you can learn about 40% of a topic, but sound like you know 80%.

How to Teach Yourself Any Topic (in an hour and some change)

Three step method.

Watch three longform videos (15+ mins) about the topic. Each video about something slightly different.

The first video is about The History. This teaches us about the background of the topic. The second video is about The Expert Opinion. This teaches us about the reality of the topic. The third video is about a Random Topic inside of the main topic. This is to make us sound smart (in school)/add details or inspiration (while making characters).

Watch a fifteen minute video about each of these things, and in less than an hour, you'll have a pretty solid foundation of what it is, where it came from, and random (but surprisingly useful) details.

And when I say random I MEAN RANDOM. Can be anything - the niche, the better.

I'll give an example below with real search results and videos.

[I also give tips on how to search by topic (culture, religion, time period, etc) - as well as a list of educational BUT FUN Youtubers]

Example: I wanna make a Victorian Era Spider-woman.

The History Video - I watch a video about the general era, or what it was like being a woman in that time. I searched: Women in Victorian Era I found a real video titled: The Daily Life of a Victorian Lady

The Expert Opinion - I wanted to design her outfit accurately, so I looked for a Dress Historian's opinion on 1880's outfits I searched: Victorian Era Fashion I found a real channel: Bernadetta Banner (a channel all about recreating historical dresses - by a Broadway costume designer.)

The Random Topic - I don't know much about the Victorian Era..but I know theres two topics people always relate to the era - Sherlock Holmes and Jack the Ripper. I chose Sherlock. Sooooo, I watched a video about whether BBC sherlock was better than Downy Sherlock. Why? Because in 15 minutes it tells me about the show, the movie, AND the book - ALSO while teaching about the time period. I searched: BBC Sherlock vs Book I found a real video titled: Sherlock vs Sherlock - Which Iteration is Superior.

So after three 15-20 minute videos I know the history, the facts, and some random niche details of a topic.

Do I know everything about it? Not at all! But doing that, usually you can probably get through a conversation without freaking out too much.

By doing all that - I now know enough about the Victorian Era. From those videos I can accurately write an average Victorian woman, design her outfit accurate to the era, and also infuse some Victorian literature influence into her story.

All in an hour.

It works for other people character's too. Watching a video on the 70's, a video on the Punk Movement, and then a video of lets say a video about the band Ramones

Methods:

Some ideas for different topics:

If you want to show a character from a different time period -

If you're trying to write a character like Hobie, first watch a video about the history of the period - to understand when they were living. Then watch a video on their style/subculture - like the Punk movement. Then pick a specific band/media from the era and watch a video on it.

Sidebar: This is actually how I made Diane! I have little to no idea about the 70's outside of Punk. So searched up the history of 70's Disco, a video by Glamour about 1970's fashion, and I only knew one or two Disco singers (Donna Summer & Diana Ross) - so I chose Diana Ross. Diana is the direct inspiration for Diane's name and big hair. I never reference Diana, but it helps Diane fit the Disco theme, by emulating one of THE disco queens.

If you want to show a character from a different country -

Like India for example, a good place to start is watching a video about the history of India, then watching a vlog from someone in India (in the area you're thinking of), then watch a video about Indian fashion, or indian street food, or indian family traditions - so you can sprinkle those details into the story or conversation. Then you can build from there. Big tip: If they're from the city watch a video about the city's transit/subway system if they have one. It's a VERY fast way to learn the city, and make it sound like they actually live there, even if you're just name dropping stations and town squares.

If you want to show a character with a mental illness, disability or condition -

Start off by searching the background of the condition. Have a doctor break down what it is, how it effects the body, the mind, or both. Then watch a video of an average person with the condition, and their experience day to day. Then try and find a specific advocate, celebrity, or influence who goes into depth about it and how they empower themselves.

If you want to show someone from a different religion -

Watch a video about the beliefs of the religion, then the history of the religion, then a video of someone who practices the religion.

ETC-

Now disclaimer, this won't make you actually know everything about the topic - but at the very least, you'll probably be using the terms and words right. And you might be able to think up your own thought from there.

I used this ALL THROUGH High School.

If I know next class is about Marie Antoinette - yeah sure lemme go run and learn about her life history, her fashion taste, and the architecture of the Palace of Versailles in an hour.

Now I can talk about her childhood, personality, and where she lived.

The Great Gatsby? Never read it and I never will. The movie? NEVER SEEN IT. I searched up the history/inspiration of the author, watched a video on the book's plot and symbolism, then watched a video on the book vs the movie.

From there I kinda understood what the book was about, why the author might have written it, the symbolic ho-ha, and the extra details as if I watched the movie too.

And from there I could formulate whether I think the symbolism matters to our modern day society and why the director changed small details from the book, and etc, etc.

It was enough for me to bullshit and say words and usually people are like 'yeah you seem to be making sense' lol

HELL throw in ANOTHER video about the lives of women in the 1920's and I could probably bullshit an argument on how the Great Gatsby reflects gender roles in the Flapper Era. Like gun to my head I could probably come up with something im so deadass

HEY IM NOT SAYING SLACK OFF IN SCHOOL OKAY - DO NOT THIS IS JUST MY TESTIMONIAL - USE THIS TO LEARN TOPICS NOT BOOKS ITS A GREAT TOOL

Also disclaimer: use this for good don't be walking around like you Know Know Shit cause someone might check you and then i cant help you this is just a way to understand the basis of topics and be able to form thoughts and hold conversations about them or use them in your art and writing.

Plus it's a great way to gather strong resources for your art and writing.

It's a lot easier to show characters in a natural accurate way when you've curated a very rounded understanding of the topic or era - not just in an educational historical sense.

For the purposes of character creation, essays, sounding like you know anything in conversations - this does help. And you do start absorbing stuff. It's just about breaking the topic down, and learning about it in blocks.

If you understand the history, you can understand the now, and if you understand the now, you can understand the nuance. Like that.

I hope this helped! And because tis customary here, take this photo of Hobart Brown and go forth

And because I cannot send you off into the wild with no place to start here are some of my favorite youtubers that are actually FUN - here's a list.

Bye.

Youtube Channels

Bernadette Banner - Historical Clothing Expert specializing in Edwardian - Victorian

RMTransit - Videos about subway systems, buses, and public transit across the world. VERY quick way to realistically learn about a city

Anthony Padilla - Has lots of 'I Spent a Day With-' videos, where he sits down with people. Has videos ranging on things from Dipolar Disorder and ADHD to things like Asexuality and Ex-Mormons. Good for getting multiple honest experiences of people.

ReligionForBreakfast - Simple approachable videos about religions, their histories and beliefs. Made by a doctor of Religious Studies

Cognito - VERY good historical, cultural, and geographical videos, all cutely animated

Tasting History with Max Miller - Historically accurate cooking videos with really cool stories and histories to match

Vice News - Very good, very vetted Left-leaning news source. Vice and Vice News are two different things. Vice News is really good for current events videos on things like conflicts in countries.

Johnny Haris - slightly longer explainer videos about countries, geography, history, and weird quirks

Vox - Short detailed explainers about....anything really.

Weird History - .....It's history that's weird

Absolute History - Longer Documentaries about History, mainly the 1900's

CrowsEyeProductions - Really good Historical Fashion videos of 1400-2000's

Morgon Donner - ANOTHER Historical Fashion channel (they're really interesting yall) that focuses more on Medieval era

J.J McCullough - REALLY good videos about culture in general, as well as geography videos full of full interesting facts (did you know Nepal is the only country with a flag not four sided?) He also has some spicy takes on Canadian and Quebec politics that are interesting to me as an American but ????

Kati Moron - A therapist who makes videos about the experiences of mental illnesses and their treatment

Dr. Tracey Marks - A Doctor who makes short videos explaining the symptoms and experiences of neurodivergences and mental illnesses

#no proofread #Writing #fanfic writing #oc #spidersonas #spidersona #studyblr #study motivation #writing advice

84 notes · View notes

ru-xia · 1 year

Text

-gang shenanigans

starring: big deal

genre: incorrect quotes

preview: pretty ooc, lighthearted bits to forget about the pain (and samuel's soon-to-be bald head)

Jake: I trust Sinu.

Samuel: You think he knows what he's doing?

Jake: I wouldn't go that far.

Samuel: Now, the recipe calls for 2 shots of vodka.

Samuel: *upends the bottle*

Jake: I think we're missing something.

Jerry: Teamwork?

Brad: Cohesion?

Jason: A general sense of what we’re doing?

Sinu, going over Samuel's resume: Okay, so right here, it states that you’re creative.

Samuel: Yes

Sinu: Okay... may I know what you create?

Samuel: Problems.

'Can I copy the homework?'

Jerry: I can help you with it!

Jake: Yeah, sure.

Brad: Bold of you to assume I did the homework.

Jason: lol nope.

Lineman: Wait, we had homework?!?!?!

Samuel: *Read 5:55pm*

*Squad reactions to being told ‘I love you’*

Lua: Thanks fam!

Jake: oh no

Sinu: who doesn't?

Samuel: Sounds fake but okay

Jerry: *A flustered mess*

Jason: can i get a refund

Samuel: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat?

Jake: Language

Jerry: Yeah watch your fucking language

Sinu: OKAY WHO TAUGHT JERRY THE FUCK WORD?

Brad: 'The fuck word'.

Jake: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time

Samuel: Oh my god he censored it

Lua: Say fuck, Jake.

Jason: Do it, Jake. Say fuck.

Sinu: You can de-escalate any situation by simply saying, 'Are we about to kiss?'

Sinu: Doesn't work for getting out of speeding tickets, by the way.

Jason: It’s dark in here

Brad: Don’t worry dude I got this

Brad: *Stomps their feet*

Brad: *Skechers light up*

Jake: I can’t believe you live nearby, and you won’t let anyone crash at your place.

Samuel: You people already know too much about me.

Jason: I know exactly three facts about you, and one of them is that you won’t let any of us crash at your place.

Yeonhui: I know you snuck out last night, Sinu.

Jake: Play dumb!

Sinu: Who's Sinu?

Jake: NOT THAT DUMB!!!

*any big deal member really*: Hey, Sinu? Can I get some dating advice?

Sinu: Just because I’m with Yeonhui doesn’t mean I know how I did it.

Yeonhui: I've only known Jerry for a day and a half but if anything were to happen to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.

Samuel: If you can’t beat them, dress better than them

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker*

Sinu: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know.

Everyone:

Jake: ...I did. I broke it.

Sinu: No. No you didn't. Brad?

Brad: Don't look at me. Look at Samuel.

Samuel: What?! I didn't break it.

Brad: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Samuel: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

Brad: Suspicious.

Samuel: No, it's not!

Jason: If it matters, probably not, but Lua was the last one to use it.

Lua: Liar! I don't even drink that crap!

Jason: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

Lua: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Jason!

Jake: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Sinu.

Sinu: No! Who broke it!?

Everyone:

Jason: Sinu... Brad's been awfully quiet.

Brad: rEALLY?!

*Everyone starts arguing*

Sinu, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it.

Sinu: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick.

Sinu:

Sinu: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

*The squad right before Yeonhui's wedding*

Samuel: Well I have to go, I have a wedding to attend.

Jake: Wait... Oh! I have a wedding to attend too!

Jerry: Oh, I have a wedding to attend as well

Lineman: I THINK WE ALL HAVE WEDDINGS TO ATTEND

Sinu, panicked: I THINK IT'S MY WEDDING

Jerry, in a high voice, holding barbie: hey ken! I was thinking about going back to school and starting a career!

Lua, in a deep voice, holding ken: nonsense, barbie. you’re staying home and having my kids

Jason: what the fuck are you guys doing?

Lua: playing systemic oppression

Brad: You lying, cheating, piece of shit!

Jason: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

Brad: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING JERRY WITH ME

Jake, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

Jason: Jerry isn’t answering his phone

Jake: I’ll call

Jason: Brad and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi-

Jerry: Hello?

*Lineman, Jason, and Brad are sitting on a bench*

Jerry: Why do you guys look so sad?

Jason: Sit down with us so we can tell you.

*Jerry sits down*

Brad: The bench is freshly painted.

Jake: How did none of you hear what I just said?

Lua: I’ve been zoned out for the past two and a half hours.

Jason: I got distracted about halfway through.

Samuel: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

Samuel: Can I be frank with you guys?

Jerry: Sure, but I don’t see how changing your name is gonna help.

Lineman: Can I still be Lineman?

Jake: Shh, let Frank speak.

#source: ???#lookism #incorrect quotes #lookism incorrect quotes #big deal #sinu han #yeonhui #jake kim #samuel seo #lua lim #jason yoon #jerry kwon #brad lee #lineman

103 notes · View notes

slightly-smarter-nat · 2 years

Note

Hello. Sorry if this request is too late to do, today has just been a little hard for me because of 4th of July fireworks, being in the military and having some PTSD. Um, can I maybe request a Natasha x former military, now avenger reader (you can decide if female or GN. I’m female, but again, your choice) and maybe something with fireworks at the compound and usually reader is okay with fireworks but this one time, R feels uneasy and just has a PTSD episode, and Natasha consoles her S/O? So yeah. Again it’s okay if you’re busy and you don’t have time to do this but thank you anyways!

The Fourth Of July || Natasha Romanoff

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: PTSD episodes mentioned; mentions of war/combat; mentions of military weapons; mentions of anxiety and other PTSD symptoms; mentions of injury; mentions of hallucinations; mentions of alcohol. If I have missed any warnings, please let me know.

Word Count: 3,967 words.

A/N: Thank you so much for the request anon, I really appreciate you trusting me enough to write this fic. I apologise it’s late, I kind of fell behind on my writing, but I’m slowly getting back on track. Please note this is an au so some character’s behaviours may be different to what is expected.

Please do not repost (on here or any social media platform), copy, translate or take ownership of my work. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated <3.

Masterlist

*AO stands for ‘Area of Operations’.*

GIF not mine

The Fourth Of July: Natasha Romanoff-

“Clint! How many of these ‘Willow’ fireworks do you want me to use?” Tony shouts from across the field, readying up the firework display in progress.

“I don’t know man, just use the whole lot. I bought plenty at the store.” Clint replies as he taps the side of his beer bottle, creating a little tune to keep himself entertained.

It’s the Fourth of July; not only a day of celebration of Independence for America, but a birthday celebration for the Captain himself- Steve Rogers.

Every year, the team has a small get together to celebrate both occasions- just close friends and family gathered around at the compound.

Whilst Bruce and Tony configure a plan in which each firework will be activated- using a clever device Tony produced that will release each firework in any desired order. The rest of the team are gathered around the picnic area of the compound’s grounds, sitting at a table and enjoying some drinks before the spectacular show.

“Mr Rogers, how old are you exactly? You know with the whole being frozen in ice situation and everything?” Peter Parker curiously asks, as he pours himself another glass of water.

“Dude, you can’t just ask people their age. You’ve got to introduce a guessing game first so everyone can get involved.” Sam says teasingly from the end of the table.

“Not happening, all the guesses will be that I’m ‘way older than Thor’, or someone will ask if my ‘first best friend was a dinosaur’.” Steve answers in protest; knowing that these answers have in fact come up in conversation before.

“Oh man, you’re becoming more boring with age.” Sam teases at the Captain, causing Steve to throw a piece of candy from the table in the Falcon’s direction.

Sam instantly catches it and shoves it into his mouth, causing Steve to shake his head, not the slightest bit surprised at his friend’s antics.

“Anyway, why do you ask Parker?” Steve redirects his attention to the young Avenger.

“Oh, it’s nothing really. I was just curious.” Peter starts to sink himself into his chair, suddenly shying away from the topic of discussion.

The team members present look between each other in confusion, causing Wanda to send a wave of magic through her system and read Peter’s thoughts.

“Ahh, it’s a question for his History homework.”

At Wanda’s words, Peter’s gaze shoots up in horror. Worried that the team will scold him for asking such a question in order to gain the answers in an easy way opposed to carrying out extensive research like the rest of his classmates.

“I-I’m sorry, I just need to ace this upcoming test. Mr Stark said if I fail a test this semester, he’ll confiscate my upgraded web shooters and make me use the old ones.” Peter says as his tone is laced with nervousness.

A few of the team members roll their eyes in unison, not believing the billionaire’s words for a second, “Please, that man doesn’t have a stern bone in his body when it comes to you. Besides, he doesn’t always set the best of examples.” Clint says as he points a finger in the direction of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner.

The team present turns their line of sight towards the two men, only to notice Tony stomping out a small fire that has somehow broken out in their testing area.

Natasha reaches forward to grab a small bowl filled with M&M’s, sporting the iconic combination of red, white and blue. As she takes a random handful, she subconsciously offers the bowl towards you, expecting you to take a handful as she inspects the array of colours that decorate her palm.

When Natasha fails to feel the pressure of your hand roaming the miniature treats, she takes a moment to look over at you. That’s when she notices your vacant expression.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Natasha questions gently, being wary of what state you’re in.

To Natasha it seems that your mind is locked off into yourself, as you study a particular area of the table in front of you.

Natasha places the bowl back on the table, before leaning an inch closer to you.

She gently calls out your name once more; placing a hand on your shoulder.

To her surprise, this sudden contact sends an influential jolt through your system, causing you to move in your chair slightly before allowing your frantic eyes to meet Natasha’s concerned ones.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” Your girlfriend queries as calmly as she can, attempting to avoid you recoiling back into your vacant state.

You use the arm rests of your chair to push your body up somewhat, trying to straighten up your posture before addressing Natasha.

You clear your throat a bit before speaking, attempting to remove any sign of hesitation from your next words, “Yes, sorry. I just started daydreaming once Peter started talking about History.” There’s a small hint of jest in your tone, however Natasha can see right through it.

Natasha studies your face intently, she knows you’re lying. The question is, why are you lying to her? You’re not one to daydream during team conversations, you’re usually on the mark to engage where possible; especially now considering how close you have become to each team member since joining directly from the Military.

To answer the question in your own terms, you’re petrified of what’s to come. You can’t exactly explain what it is, but there’s this heaviness inside you, dragging you down into oblivion. Your mind is racing, though you can’t pinpoint what’s causing it. Your body is tense, causing each muscle to ache uncontrollably. Part of you wonders whether it’s the excitement of the day getting to you in a divergent way- you normally adore the Fourth of July.

You wish you could confide in Natasha about this, but you don’t want to worry her on a day like this. All you can do is plaster on a smile and hope that you can make it through the night without letting your feelings of anxiety consume you.

As Natasha’s concerned gaze continues, you make quick work of reassuring her, “Nat, honestly I’m fine. I’m just a little bit bored from waiting, that’s all.”

Natasha takes a moment to process your words before releasing a sigh, opting not to push you on the matter but ensuring to monitor you closely for any sign of uneasiness, “Okay detka, once we’re finished up here we can watch a movie. It’s your turn to pick.” Natasha chooses to move the conversation forward, whilst displaying her M&M filled hand in front of you.

You smile in appreciation, for both the dropping of the tense topic and the candy on offer. You pick up a red and blue M&M from the pile and instantly shove them into your mouth, “Thank you, my love.”

Natasha leans in to place a delicate kiss on your cheek. Though, before she can say anything further, Tony shouts over to the group.

“Let’s get this show on the road team! The display is ready to go!” Tony uses his hands to cup around his mouth, allowing his voice to travel further and clearer towards the team.

“Ahhh, finally. It is extremely boring being sat over here.” Thor says as he makes his way out of his chair.

Wanda scoffs in offence, “Thanks Thor.” She lets out sarcastically.

Thor displays a proud smile, completely missing the sarcastic nature of Wanda’s tone, “You are very welcome.”

“Right, let’s go see the marvellous creation of Banner and Stark.” Steve vocalises to the group, attempting to move them towards the makeshift viewing area for the firework display.

You attempt to push down the feeling of your heart rate rising, concentrating on the feeling of Natasha wrapping her hand around yours to guide you up from your seat.

Natasha smiles sweetly at you, “Are you ready?”

You choose not to speak, knowing a waver in your voice will give away your nerves, so instead you give Natasha a firm nod and a smirk.

Natasha pulls you into her embrace, wanting to keep you close on the way over to the fireworks. As she works one of her arms across your shoulders, you in turn wrap one of yours around her waist as the two of you begin to walk.

Every step closer fills you with an unknown dread.

——

“Okay, stand back everyone, let the professionals get to work.” Tony addresses the team as he configures data to input on his device connected to each firework.

“Yeah, when are the professionals getting here again?” Sam asks in a mocking way.

“Ha, ha you’re hilarious Wilson.”

As Tony and Sam start a teasing, yet friendly exchange, you focus on grounding your emotions.

Natasha is just to the side of you, talking to Wanda. You take a small step back to give yourself some space, not realising someone was standing right behind you.

“Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to get in your way.” Peter says immediately after you bump into him.

You move your hands around your clothing furiously, trying to seek comfort from the uncomfortable situation.

“No, it was my fault. Sorry Peter.” You can’t meet Peter’s gaze, causing you to study anywhere but his face.

You can sense he is about to ask you the same question that Natasha has repeated throughout the night, there’s only a certain amount of times that you can confirm that you are okay without it becoming suspicious in combination with your uneasiness.

You’re about to move forwards again, ready to ask Natasha if the two of you could leave the area; knowing something is seriously wrong.

However, before you can put your question forward, Tony starts an instant countdown from three. Rushing through the numbers too quickly for your liking.

The sound that follows causes your body to freeze, the whistling of one of the fireworks travelling up triggers something in you.

Your body fills with a wave of nausea that practically bursts alongside the sound of the firework exploding in the sky.

The bang puts your mind elsewhere, involuntarily.

That one firework has taken you from the Avengers’ compound field to the battlefield you once fought on in the Military.

As you look around all you can see are your fellow soldiers desperately crying out for help. You stand there helpless, looking around for any sign of an escape.

More explosions fill your ears, causing your eyes to flood with tears, you don’t want to be back here. You need to find a way out. You can feel as the scorching heat around you sends a sinister coating of sweat on your skin, making you uncomfortable to the maximum level.

The explosions are becoming more frequent now, each one sending a shock of dread through you. Your body cannot cope with this, the stress and environment sends your mind into overdrive, causing an unforgiving headache to form.

It all feels so real to you, from the dirt cascading down from the falling bombs to the pain surging through your body from loose shrapnel.

You want to take cover but your feet feel as though they’re bolted to the ground.

The smell of burning fills your senses, increasing your worries more. You try to convince yourself it’s a hallucination, though unfortunately your mind would rather convince you that this is all very real.

At this point, the sounds are blending together, a combination of gunfire and bomb explosions surround you, yet they feel closer with each addition of the next one going off.

A wave of dizziness takes over your body, causing everything around you to become disoriented and practically in slow motion. You begin to rub at your skin in desperation to feel anything other than the fear that’s striking you down.

With one final clutch to the roots of your hair, you close your eyes in an attempt to block out the menacing environment.

As the battle continues in your mind, those surrounding you at the compound start to notice your distress.

The team gaze up at the sky in absolute awe, loving the way the colours spread across the night sky.

Peter smiles in wonderment, focused on the impressive display in front of him. That is until he hears your pained whimpers.

He looks to his right to see you clutching at your hair and burying your face deep into your arms as a form of protection.

Your body is shaking violently, causing Peter to panic.

“Y/n, are you okay?!” With Peter’s heightened tone, Natasha’s head whips around to see your distressed state. Causing her heart to shatter, the thoughts that flood her mind are that of guilt. She will not forgive herself for allowing this to happen under her watch.

Just as Natasha is about to move towards you to comfort you, Peter beats her to it and places a gentle hand on your shoulder.

What they both failed to realise is that you’re now on high alert in anticipation of an attack.

As soon as you register the touch on your shoulder, you grab Peter’s hand and twist it around in an unforgiving way, causing a crack to sound along the bangs of the fireworks.

Peter yelps out in pain, catching the attention of the rest of the team.

Their horror filled eyes can’t comprehend the actions taking place.

You twist Peter’s arm behind his back and push it into him, before swiping at his legs and flooring him.

The team gasps in fright, not understanding why you’re attacking Peter.

“What is she doing?!” Tony shouts as he rushes over to you.

Natasha puts her arm out to stop him, “Don’t, she only attacked Peter because he touched her, there’s something wrong.”

Once Natasha releases those details, things start to click in Sam’s mind.

The combination of your actions and the fireworks has to mean you’re having a PTSD episode.

“Everyone stand back and give her space, she’s in combat mode.” Sam says urgently and he moves to the front and pushes everyone back.

The team look at him in confusion, “What do you mean, we need to stop her.” Tony lets out.

Steve’s face drops in realisation, “It’s the fireworks isn’t it, she thinks she’s on the field.”

Sam nods his head at Steve’s words.

The two of them slowly and carefully make their way towards you. Making sure not to make any sudden movements that you may mistake as a threat.

They crouch down to your level, knowing what they need to do to help ease you out of your episode.

“Y/L/N, the AO is clear, you’re safe.”Steve starts the process.

Your glare is focused on Peter, pushing hard on his body to keep him down. He releases whimpers of pain at your force, not being able to move from the position you’ve trapped him in.

“Hey, I’m a friendly alright, I was down range. It’s all clear, you don’t need to do this, Peter is a friend.” Sam continues, trying to gently get through to you.

The team can’t do anything but watch, hoping Sam and Steve find a way to help you.

“Tony, stop the fireworks, it will be making it worse.” Natasha says firmly, trying to avoid the tears from spilling from her eyes.

Tony snaps out of his trance, “Yeah, sorry, Bruce activate the lockdown protocol on the device.”

As Tony and Bruce begin to remove the trigger of your actions, you start to release your grip on Peter, slowly but surely coming out of your trance.

Steve waves Natasha closer, signalling for her to help. She instantly crouches down towards you, “Y/n, you’re safe, I’m right here, you’re at the compound. No one can hurt you detka.” Natasha speaks softly to you.

Natasha’s soothing voice is what manages to break you out of your own mind. You look around with tear filled eyes, not sure of what is going on.

When you look down and notice Peter underneath you, you instantly push away from him, placing your hand over your mouth in despair.

“I’m sorry, oh Peter I’m so sorry.” You sob out, clutching at your knees.

Sam and Steve rush over to Peter, attempting to help him up. Whereas Natasha moves closer to you, “Detka, I’m going to touch you now okay.”

Before Natasha has the chance you rush into her embrace, grabbing at her in agony.

You cry uncontrollably into Natasha, coming to the realisation of what you have done, and dealing with the aftermath of your episode.

Your breaths quicken to a wild pace, surging you into a panic attack. Natasha is quick to help you to avoid that from happening. She pulls you away from her so she can place both hands on each side of your face.

“Hey, look at me okay, copy my breathing. We’re going to take some deep breaths okay. Deep breath in, and out.” Natasha places her forehead against yours, attempting to give you the contact you need for grounding. You struggle to follow her breathing sequence, having your worries putting a strain on your regular breathing abilities.

Natasha patiently guides you through the breathing exercise, never once making you feel rushed or pressured, “You’re doing so well my love, I’m so proud of you.”

Once your breathing has regulated, Natasha places a kiss on the top of your head.

Suddenly a rogue firework is activated by mistake, sending a feeling of panic through everyone.

Wanda instantly encases it with her powers, avoiding the possibility of it going off and triggering you further.

“Natasha, I can’t hold it long.” Wanda says in a struggled way as the firework attempts to work its way through her scarlet red barrier.

“Can you move it away or something?” Natasha asks in a short manner, silently scolding herself for letting the stress influence her tone.

“I can try, but if it goes off-“

“Go, I’ll cover her ears if you hurry.” With that Wanda sends herself up towards the firework and moves it away from the site.

Natasha wraps her hands around your ears, protecting you from the sound of the firework going off. Luckily you barely hear it, with Wanda's and Natasha’s quick actions being carried out successfully.

Once Natasha removes her hands, she says to you, “I want to make sure you’re grounded, can we try something sweetheart?”

You nod instantly, trusting Natasha. Ignoring the sound of Wanda landing beside you, to put your focus on Natasha.

“Okay, can you name three things you can feel?” You look at Natasha’s face as you answer.

“Um, the grass, you and the breeze.” You answer quietly.

“Good job detka, now I’ll keep it easy. Can you name three things you can see?”

You pick up your gaze as you look around, “The trees, the compound and-“ That’s when you release the whole team has been watching you this entire time.

Embarrassment fills your system, causing you to pull away from Natasha. She stops you, “My love, it’s alright, we all want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Of course we do, we’re family.” Clint says as he crouches beside you and Natasha, trying to comfort you.

You look towards Peter to realise he’s being escorted inside by Tony and Sam.

Steve makes his way over to you, causing you to worry that he’s mad at you.

“He’s going to be okay, he’s more worried about you than anything. Tony sent me over here to make sure you’re okay too.” Steve says.

You bow your head, “I don’t even know what happened.”

“Y/n, this wasn’t your fault. It is most likely PTSD, and we will do everything in our power to help you through this okay. No one blames you for this.” Steve continues to reassure you.

“I ruined-“ You begin but Natasha places a finger on your lips.

“No, don’t do that to yourself. You haven’t ruined anything okay. You are not to blame. We all love you so much, okay, you’re safe.”

Tears invade your eyes, but this time they’re of gratitude.

“Let’s get you inside for a check up.” Bruce suggests, holding his hand out in support.

You slowly take it, allowing Natasha to help you up.

You all make your way to the compound, feeling safe with your team and family around you.

——-

After your check up, Natasha suggested you get some rest. Which leads you to the current situation of having your head resting on Natasha’s legs as the two of you lay on the living area couch.

“Here you are Lady y/l/n, this should help.” Thor offers you an iridescent formed drink, causing you to scan it in interest.

Natasha guides you up to scan the drink also, “Thor, what is it?”

“It’s a beverage we make in Asgard to help with nerves. I was hoping it would help.”

You smile in respect, “Thank you Thor, I’m sure it will help.”

Natasha pulls you in closer as she wraps an arm around you.

You take gentle sips of the drink, a combination of citrus and sweet dances around in your mouth.

“How is it my darling?” Natasha asks.

“Really good, do you want some?”

Natasha shakes her head, “No thank you my love.”

As you turn your gaze to the TV, the exhaustion of the events on the field start to catch up with you. Causing your eyes to briefly shut.

Natasha notices as your head drops, “Love, why don’t we go to bed?”

You inhale sharply through your nose, “Please can we stay up longer, I don’t want to sleep yet.”

Natasha agrees, knowing the remnants of the episode most likely continue to linger in your mind.

She chooses to take the drink out of your hand to avoid any spillages from occurring.

As she goes to lean back, Peter walks into the room, wearing a light form of bandaging on his injured hand.

Your eyes shoot wide open, “Peter! I’m so sor-“

Peter instantly interrupts you, “Please don’t apologise. I understand what happened, and I’m really okay, that heightened healing of mine had to come into use sometime. It will be healed really soon.” He says in a light manner.

“As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters. We’re all here for you alright. I’ll do my best to make sure I understand your boundaries and how to help if it happens again.”

You slowly stand up to hug Peter.

“Thank you, Peter.” You say wholeheartedly.

“Anytime, now Mr Stark promised me that we could go through some late night training exercises to strengthen my hand further, so I’ll catch you guys later.”

You and Natasha bid him a goodbye as he jogs out of the room and towards Tony’s lab.

You snuggle back into Natasha, causing her to start running her fingers through your hair.

“I know you want to ask about it.” You decide to break the silence.

“Only with what you’re comfortable in telling me detka.” Natasha replies as she continues to stroke through your hair delicately.

“It just built up out of nowhere.” You say as you stare blankly at the TV, watching as the pixel forms move around.

“You’re not sure what triggered it?” Natasha asks.

“Not exactly, I have an idea of what it could have been.” You start to draw patterns on Natasha’s clothing, trying to occupy your mind from the difficult topic.

“We’ll figure it out together dove, you’re not alone in this okay.” Natasha says as she tilts your chin up to ensure she has your full attention.

You nod to confirm her words, “Thank you Natasha, I love you.”

Natasha smiles and places a kiss on the tip of your nose, “I love you too.”

Though today was extremely difficult, the support of your family and friends shows that you are safe and loved within this world.

270 notes · View notes

meraki-yao · 3 months

Text

An exchange student from Canada saw me crying and gave me a tissue. We talked. He's really nice. I'm sane now.

This is going to be a full vent. This is my full story on this situation. Only read if you want to and if you're okay with it. Also warning, this is long as fuck, I really trauma dumped here.

tw: suicidal thoughts, self-harm

Backstory: High School

I was labelled as a jack of all trades, master of none. I'm naturally a more art/social science/emotion/humanities person, but I took STEM subjects in high school (Physics, Chemistry, Information & Technology/ Computer, and Calculus & Algebra), partly because these subjects had objective, standard answers, which supposedly makes getting marks in exams easier, partly because I felt like I had to as my parents are both PhD in engineering, and at that point I still thought I had to be "my parents' daughter".

So throughout high school, all my external achievements were humanities/arts related while my studies were STEM orientated. But I struggled a lot with my STEM subjects (except for Computer because a lot of that is just stuff you would know if you use one a lot), and I mean, a lot. As in failing quizzes, fucking up assignments. Thank God I had really kind teachers who cared more about my mental health than my grades and were willing to help and accommodate my needs. But there were many times when I straight up broke down during a lesson and ran off to the social worker's. I skipped several lessons because I just couldn't go to class and try to listen when voices in my head were all yelling at how much of a useless piece of shit I was. I would spend three hours on a single question, and still get it wrong. It always felt like no matter what I did, I would go nowhere. And it didn't help that when I asked for help from my parents, their response would always first be "How can you not know something so simple". By senior year I gave up and started asking my friends and the internet.

On the contrary, I thrived in my language classes and liberal studies class. Even if I initially sucked due to the change in the system, I asked, I studied, I worked and I improved. I got somewhere. Effort paid off in a fair ratio. I never needed to ask my parents anything about that. I never needed to ask anyone other than my teacher. I loved doing my homework in those subjects. My writings were printed out as examples for the whole class. It was great.

Backstory: College Selection

By the time college choices rolled around I had no idea what to choose. At the same time, my mother was also suggesting I go to mainland Chinese universities for my undergrad, and I didn't want that. Going to the States or the UK wasn't affordable for my family, so I opted to stay local, to the dismay of my whole extended family.

So in the mess of all of this and no parental support because they are Chinese stereotypes who think the only courses worth studying are doctor and lawyer, my school's career counsellor suggested Bachelor of Arts and Studies to me (here's their website) a new personalized interdisciplinary degree in HKU. And I was so happy. It felt right. It felt like putting a on tailored dress. And despite my parents' protest, I put that as my first choice.

College entrance exams came and went. Overall I did pretty well. Got top scores in Chinese, English, Liberal Studies, and Computer. Got average for Chemistry, Math and Physic despite spending most of my study leave on these subjects. Just passed Calculus.

So the way the local system works (it's called JUPAS if you wanna look it up) is that by the end of November, you need to submit your 20 university programme choices, but after the public exam result is released, you're assigned 24 hours to change your choices.

And this is where everything started going to hell for me.

My parents, who in the first round of selection, compromised and let me put what I wanted, looked at my marks, and my choices, and vetoed everything. They said I'm not gonna get a job with an interdisciplinary degree, there's no career path for psychology, that the arts and science degree was created because the art, social science and science faculty didn't have that many people.

A different advisor, one who didn't know me personally suggested my current programme: biomedical engineering, which basically combines medicine with engineering. They said it's a lucrative career since health service is in demand, and with my basis in STEM subject I would do well, and that it's easier to go from a science subject to humanities if I want to do something different in post-grad than vice versa. By this time I had 2 hours left before confirmation.

If we were to completely ignore me as an individual, they're right. This would be the logical choice.

But at that point, I already knew it felt wrong. But unfortunately for me, all I could say is it felt wrong, which isn't a strong rebuttal.

With no "logical" rebuttal, two yelling parents and a fucked up head, sobbing, I changed my first choice to this programme. I cut my arm with a cutter over the myriad of scars I gave myself over the years. I told my best friend who was asking if I was ok, that I'll give it a go, and if it doesn't work I'll find a way out. I told the rest of my close friends that my undergrad will be me paying a debt to my parents, and I'd figure out my own dream in the future.

I shouldn't have caved in.

Back Story: University

University started. Immediately it felt wrong. Save for my elective (HKU has this really cool thing called Common Core, look it up if you're interested but essentially it's compulsory electives) I felt so detached from my engineering courses. I couldn't explain, just an inherent feeling that I don't belong here.

It didn't help that it was at this time that I realized I straight-up don't like biology.

Managed through year 1 first semester with average grades. Semester 2 I didn't have any courses directly related to the programme save for a probability & stats course that I fucked my way through. The rest of my grades were pretty good, even got two A- s. The feeling that I didn't belong persisted but popped up a little less.

Now: Breaking

Year 2 came, and from the moment in August when I had to sign up for courses, the feeling of wrongness came back in full force, amplified, even. It felt all-consuming.

This is from my diary:

"I don't wanna be here. I don't want this degree. I don't want this career God I don't want it. It's doesn't fit. I don't fit in this space. This isn't mind. It feels like dysmorphia. It feels like tar, black and toxic and vicious, sticking to my skin, trying to mould my body into something I'm not, to seep into my skin and dye my blood a dull shade of grey. I wanna fucking run away. I wanna fucking die. I don't fucking know what to do."

You guys kind of know the rest, because that's when I met you guys and started feeling safer here than anywhere else, and vented here. But for reference

September

October

November

December

January, January, Fuck you January

I skipped class. I got antidepressants. I binge ate and became overweight. Failed three classes. Parents didn't find out anything until the grades came out. Then they lost their mind.

Now: Not Enough

They blamed me for not trying hard enough.

They said oh failures happen, you have to learn from your mistakes and try again.

I have to set up a proper routine. Dedicate all my time and energy to staying physically healthy and studying. Spent my "free time" thinking. I even got berated for listening to music with headphones on.

Dad asked me why did I fail biochemistry. I said it was hard, the pace was fast, and I don't like the subject. He said there's no point in not liking it.

Mom said I needed to get rid of the idea that this degree is against me and accept it, that I shouldn't dwell on what-ifs from the past, and all the reasons they convinced me to choose this still stands, that learning is a fun and interesting thing that I should take joy in, that I won't be able to handle being a psychiatrist, that I used to be such a star student what the fuck happened to me, that each path has their own difficulties and I'm already on this road so why won't I just keeping going for the next two years, that if I quit and start over I'll be older than my cohort and my friends will all graduate before me and why won't I just follow the normal path dammit

SO EVERYTHING IS MY FUCKING FAULT HUH??

I don't fucking know anymore.

Now: The present

The reason I was crying earlier, was that I went to have a meeting with an academic advisor to ask about the possibility of transferring to a different programme.

There are two ways.

One, apply for an internal transfer by June. But that requires exceptional grades, and I don't have that.

Two, quit university and re-apply with my college entrance exam results. But then none of the credits I earned in the past two years will be transferred. All will expire. I went through shit for nothing except to confirm my mistake is a mistake.

I might figure something out when I'm not crying my brains out but right now neither option sounds like an option to me.

I could barely ask anything intelligent afterwards because I was trying so hard to stop myself from breaking down immediately.

Now: How I feel

I'm not supposed to feel like this. This is not normal. This is not how my university life is supposed to go. It cannot be normal to want to die every day.

The moment I realised this was fundamentally wrong was when I looked at my high school friends' social media, and saw them living their best lives: dating, joining the committee of societies, getting awards and scholarships, jobs and internships, travelling, going to parties, everything a young person should be doing. My best friend is chasing her dreams to became an actress at NYU TISHC, already getting paids acting jobs at year 1, going to prominent events, maintaining a 3.9 GPA, goes out partying all while maintaining a long distance relationship with her athletes boyfriend who is the best of the best in Asian youth, handsome, and just a great guy in general.

I'm supposed to be on the same level as them.

I'm from an elite class of an elite school in an elite city. I've been on city radio four times and city-wide broadcast television once. I was on four department/society committees, two of which I was chairlady. I wrote and directed my own play. My name was followed by seven internal awards when it was my turn to get my diploma during the graduation ceremony. I aced my classes. My drawing and writing had been in my school's anthology and yearbook. I genuinely enjoyed learning.

I'm not supposed to be this.

I'm not supposed to be this depressed, overweight person who can't get out of bed and skips classes and fails courses. I'm not supposed to be this stagnant, I was always moving. I was always giving it my 100%. I'm not supposed to not make any friends and want to stay in my bed all the time. I'm not supposed to be insomniac, or sick, or depressed, or overweight.

I was always fighting.

I don't have any energy in me anymore to fight.

I'm not supposed to turn out like this. This isn't who I want to be/ I hate whoever I am now. This isn't right.

But I'm fucking stuck, I don't know what's the truth, I don't know how valid "I don't like this" is.

A lot of people tell me to just ignore what my parents say but it's really not that simple. I only realized they can hurt me despite loving me and it's not my fault last year. And even then it's hard to stay firm on this belief. Because truthfully, I don't know what's right, I only know what feels wrong.

Fuck this. I want to fast forward until the day I figure shit out. I want to live here on Tumblr.

Fuck everything.

#personal

5 notes · View notes

nitewrighter · 26 days

Note

I kind of get Blizzard pushing the Kiriko skins. She has one of the best kits in the game and so she gets played a lot.

But 8 out of the 11 new skins being shop skins??? Also--jesus--11 new skins in a 30+ character cast??? I just really feel sorry for newcomers to the game--sure, back in the old days, you were pouring in tons of hours for lootboxes, but that was time, not money, and it actually kept up the longevity because there were so many cosmetics you could get for free. So much of the magic is lost now. Like, yeah newcomers can also earn the ~old~ in-game currency through the battlepass and purchase the old skins through that but there feels like more of an actual work factor to it now? Like, especially with the weekly challenges. Back in the lootbox days I could just chuck myself down my Mercy hole and turn my brain off, but with the "Weekly Challenges" system I'm like, "Ah shit, time to slog it as characters not in my top 3 most played--okay how many saves and assists did I get on last game? I need to play a character that can get my damage mitigation numbers up" and like... that can kind of tickle your brain and force you out of your comfort zone but it also made the game almost feel like homework sometimes.

And the real kicker is now they've dropped the ability to earn shop currency through the weekly challenges so it's just all battle pass points now. What is the point of that? The shop currency was the biggest motivator for me to actually complete those challenges and now they've got this ~mythic prism~ currency bullshit on top of it all. It's just ridiculous.

5 notes · View notes

pics-and-fanfics · 3 months

Note

I'm sorry. I had a bad day and took offense to something you said. I didn't mean to actually hurt you, I just wanted to take out my anger on you and I guess make you feel angry too? That's why i sent that ask.

I'm 16 and I'm just having a really hard time in school and I'm scared of senior year and I was hurt really bad recently. I hope you can forgive me and forget about what I said. I'm just some dumb teenager who forgets how powerful words are I guess. I'm so sorry girl or nb or w/e you prefer. I hope you feel better by now, life is amazing and I hope you surround yourself with people who make you happy. Please go over this with your therapist.

I'm really sorry. I'll be more thoughtful next time i send people ask. I'll try and be a better person

Understandable, everyone has bad days, but maybe a better way to let out that anger would be to write it down and then rip it up or destroy it? Idk, I just isolate myself and hug my stuffed animals until I feel better tbh.

And yeah, I did get upset, but I wasn’t mad, I was just a little taken aback, maybe hurt? I get that school is hard, I’m still in high school too (it fucking sucks ass, I feel you there) and I’m terrified about the future. But I’ve got my friends and family and an awesome support system, in person and online, maybe find people that can be that for you, and vise versa?

Don’t call yourself dumb, that leads down a very dark hole that’s hard to climb out of and it forms into a very very bad habit, trust me. I’m working on that myself, but like everything, esp bad habits, it takes time and effort to fix. I still say stuff like “I’m so dumb” a bit too often, but I’m working on saying “no I’m not, I’m smart, I’m just having trouble” afterwards.

And yeah, words hurt. I’ve learned that the hard way, driving away people that I didn’t learn to appreciate until later, but I can’t apologize bc I have no idea where or even who they are now. Friends, strangers, even my niece (I’m working on not doing that with her tho, I love the little kid, she’s so awesome and smart and kind, at least when she doesn’t have her moms shitty attitude).

And I can forgive, but I will not forget. Kinda like the quote “The lumberjack forgets the pain he causes, but the tree always remembers.” I’m working on that too, trying to forgive others. I’m working on a lot about myself lately, I’m just realizing. I still hold grudges, esp against the person who sent the ask last year telling me to kill myself, but I don’t know if I have or haven’t forgiven them. I don’t know if I have or haven’t forgiven an old friend after what she pulled at my birthday 2 years ago, and I don’t know if I can. There are some things that can’t be forgiven, but this is so small, but it hurts so much still.

I forgive you, and I hope you have some better days coming, honestly.

If you want, you can keep sending asks when you have a bad day? They can stay anonymous, and I can try to help, if that’s okay with you. I can be part of your support system, if you want.

I’m working on a lot of things, and I hope maybe this can help you start working a little to be happier, less full of anger all the time?

But please, be kind to yourself, and if you can’t always be kind to others, then try to find a way to avoid them or ignore them. (I don’t know if I can do that with the boys in my math class tho, they are so loud and I got basically punched in the arm by one of them today, it hurt)

I love you, anon. Please be kind to yourself, and I’m here if you need to talk again. ❤️

You are enough. I love you.

(Also sorry I took forever to respond to your ask, but I saw this right before class, and then school basically drained all of my energy 😭 and then I had a shit load of homework I had to do, at least I get out for break tmrw thank god)

#apologies #apology #follow up #follow up ask #anonymous #anon ask #apology ask #it’s okay anon I forgive you #and i love you

4 notes · View notes

magniloquent-raven · 2 years

Note

Could a I get trans!Tommy x Billy fic where Billy finds out Tommy is trans and he's freaking out but Billy just reassures him and comforts him until one thing leads to another and they end up having sex?

this ended up 1) a college au for some reason, 2) t4t because i started writing billy as trans without even thinkin about it at first lmao and 3) MUCH longer than i thought it would be, holy shit

i hope all that's okay & i really hope u enjoy ur fic 💕💕💕

~tag list ppl just in case yall are interested even tho its a ship ive never written before? @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle @prettyboy-like-you ~

[read on ao3]

“Carol broke up with me again,” Tommy says, words slurred by the alcohol in his system and muffled by his forearm squished against his cheek. He blinks up at Billy from where he’s half-laying on the peeling cover of his algebra text book. They didn’t bother clearing the homework from his desk before dumping three six-packs and a plastic bag stuffed with snack food on top of the mess.

He’s usually a fun drunk, Billy wouldn’t have brought beer if he’d known it was gonna go like this.

But of course it’s because of Carol. It’s always because of Carol. Except that one time it was because of a phonecall with his mother that he refused to talk about, even after the tequila loosened his lips enough to have him waxing poetic about his ex-bff with a wistful look in his eye.

“Again?” Billy leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. He’s got one booted foot propped on the edge of Tommy’s roommate’s bed. “This is the third time in four months, man. Is your dick too small to keep her satisfied, or what.”

He’s supposed to push back. That’s how this works. He’s supposed to bristle and sit up and defend himself, because he has some fucking pride. And before he knows it he’ll be too busy exchanging barbs with Billy to think about how miserable he is about the breakup.

He’s not supposed to turn his head, hiding his face in his folded arms, and mumble, “Something like that…” all morose and self-pitying.

Because no one comes to Billy for this shit. To be vulnerable. To talk about feelings and have an honest heart-to-heart and a shoulder to cry on and all that crap people want when they’re going through a real break-up. He can put on a good face when girls come sniffing around for a rebound lay. The girls who got screwed over by their white-bread boyfriends and want to pretend they’re over it by getting fingerbanged in a public bathroom by some bad boy who won’t call them after. But fake sympathy and an uncanny ability to deflect questions about why he doesn’t want his touch reciprocated did not prepare him for…whatever is happening right now.

“Y’know there’s other ways to fuck a girl, right,” Billy says from behind his beer. There’s not much left and it’s still not making this conversation any easier.

Tommy groans, burrowing deeper into his sleeves. “I know.”

“Hm.”

“S’complicated.”

“Not if you know what you’re looking—wait. The break-up. Right. Look, you want my advice? Move on. Live a little. You came halfway across the country to, what, stay leashed to the same pussy you’ve been getting since you were twelve? Who the fuck does that.”

“Dunno.”

Billy blows out a slow breath, then downs the rest of his beer. He drops the empty can on Tommy’s desk and watches it rock, tip, and fall over. It rolls, wobbling through drying condensation rings and chip crumbs ‘til it hits Tommy’s elbow, coming to a stop next to his left ear. He doesn’t move.

The assholes next door are having an obnoxiously loud argument, only slightly muffled through the thin walls. The radio on Tommy’s bedside table warbles through a jingle that keeps cutting in and out. Neither of them speak for a long, awkward moment.

“...She really did a number on you, huh.”

Tommy sighs. “Nah.” He pauses, then peeks out from the crook of his arm. “Kinda.” He stares at the can nestled up against his arm, looking uncharacteristically contemplative. “Dunno, man, I just want people to stop leaving me.”

Billy’s lungs seize painfully, his whole chest tightening around the jagged edges of a sympathetic twinge, like gripping a shard of glass in his fist, cutting himself open on it. There’s anger dripping from that open wound, familiar and yet foreign in its compassion for Tommy of all people.

They’ve never been especially close. Billy’s not especially close with anybody, and he always figured hanging around Tommy would make it easy to keep it that way. The guy just gives off a vibe. The small town jock type, only ever wants to talk about tits and booze and whatever stupid, embarrassing gossip he can turn into a joke.

For six months Billy’s been content to do that, to hang out with Tommy drinking beer and pretending to care about the low-cut tanktops their English lit professor favours. It feels good, in a way. Safe. But it was never supposed to be about Tommy himself. He wasn’t supposed to care about him. Caring about people is dangerous. Makes it harder to cut ties if he needs to. Or worse, it means the inevitable rejection if he ever gets outed will actually hurt.

Tommy’s still looking at him, sullen and hazy-eyed. His freckles are just barely visible in the shitty lamplight, his hair is sticking up at odd angles, flattened on one side from laying on his desk. He’s kind of pretty when he’s not being a shithead.

Wait. No. No, no. Absolutely the fuck not. Not going there.

Billy tries very hard to look like he has no opinions about Tommy’s face. Or his stupid puppy-dog eyes.

He bites his tongue when panic tries to sharpen it. The anxiety bubbling in his gut turns to bile burning his throat, and it’s tempting to lash out, to spit venom like the sour taste in his mouth is anyone’s fault but his, like pushing Tommy away would fix anything.

He hasn’t seen Max since he moved into his tiny dorm room on campus. Hasn’t spoken to her since his acceptance letter came in months before that. He thought it would make things easier, better for both of them, but now he just gets angry at himself when seeing flashes of red hair makes his heart clench.

It’s only ever made his life worse, he doesn’t know why he keeps trying it.

The first time he let a boy fuck him he felt so shitty about it afterwards that he told everyone who would listen that the guy kissed like a dead fish and couldn’t even get his dick hard. It made Billy feel something, when people laughed and said that probably meant he was a fag. Something sickly and awful, but somehow vindicating.

He caught three meatheads beating the shit out of the boy who took his virginity three weeks after he lied about it never happening. The look on his bloodied face still haunts Billy’s nightmares.

Billy’s never made anyone’s life better by being in it. He doesn’t know what to say to someone who doesn’t want to be left.

“Yeah, I hear you, amigo,” he says grimly, and regrets it immediately. It’s too personal. Too self-pitying. It’s echoes of when is mom coming home, and a slap ringing in his ears, a phantom ache in his jaw, the taste of salt and iron.

He keeps his gaze locked on a tiny dent near the top of the unopened beer he reaches for, hoping to occupy his hands, only to be stopped in his tracks when clumsy fingers pat his knuckles. He’s not sure if it’s meant to be a comforting gesture or if Tommy’s just too drunk to keep his hand steady and was trying to grab ahold of him.

The look on his face is oddly intense, sombre, like stroking the back of Billy’s hand is the most important thing he’s ever done and it’s taking all his concentration to do it. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows, and a slant to his mouth.

Billy should snatch his hand away, but he lets it happen. Despite his embarrassment it’s kind of nice.

“I like having you around.”

Well. That might be a bridge too far. Maybe. The tips of his ears feel hot. “Okay, I think you’ve probably had enough to drink tonight, Hagan.”

Tommy scoffs, his nose wrinkling a little.

“Seriously, if you propose to my hand I’m never buying you beer again.”

“Liar.”

“Don’t test me.” Billy can’t quite keep the laugh out of his voice.

“Pff.” He pauses, his fingertips coming to rest along the length of Billy’s thumb, pinky finger toying with the ragged edge of his nail. “You like having me around, right?” There’s a desperate edge to the question, a tremble that makes Billy nervous.

“I—” He chews the inside of his cheek, studying the sad twist pulling at the corner of Tommy’s mouth. “Yeah.” Maybe he’s drunk enough he won’t remember this tomorrow. Maybe that’s why Billy nudges his hand, linking two of their fingers together, a tiny smile tugging at his lips when Tommy gapes at him. “Yeah I do.”

Billy’s head pounds when he stirs, rustling unfamiliar sheets, and the light filtering in through crooked blinds makes his eyes ache. At least the cottonmouth isn’t too bad, and his stomach seems to be behaving itself. He’s definitely had worse, much worse.

There’s a groan across the room. He buries his face into the borrowed pillow tucked under his arm to hide a snicker.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy grumbles. There’s a whoosh of displaced air and a muffled thump. A pillow hitting the carpet. “Shit.”

“Nice aim.”

“Urgh.”

He doesn’t have class today, there’s no rush to be anywhere, but he’s never been good at laying around doing nothing. His first few weeks of adjusting to life free from Neil he tried sleeping in, rebelling against rules he was no longer bound by, but he mostly ended up staring at water-stained ceilings bored out of his mind. He doesn’t bother anymore. The entire life he’s building for himself is a fuck you to Neil, he doesn’t need every little thing to be about him.

He stretches, his shoulder popping loudly in the early-morning quiet, and glances over at the lump of blankets in Tommy’s bed.

“How’s your head?” Billy asks, not bothering to keep the smirk out of his voice.

Tommy grunts. The outline of his shoulder shifts slightly.

“That bad, huh.”

Another noncommittal noise.

Billy rolls his eyes, pushing himself upright and out of bed. His jeans are around here somewhere in the mess, but he doesn’t remember taking them off, and definitely doesn’t remember tossing them…over the half-eaten remains of last night’s pizza. Gross.

There’s a grease stain on the back of one thigh, but they pass the sniff test.

He’s wiggling them over his hips when Tommy finally sits up. “M’ gonna be sick,” he croaks, and falls out of bed in a tangle of sheets and oversized t-shirt bunched around his midriff. Billy gets a glimpse of soft freckled stomach and a yellowing tanktop before Tommy gives his shirt a hurried tug, smoothing it down with jittery hands.

He doesn’t look at Billy as he staggers towards the door, steps over discarded gym shorts, catches his toe on the busted folding chair his roommate keeps promising to fix, and finally slips into the hallway, hissing curses under his breath.

And Billy doesn’t think anything of it. Tommy’s never a ray of sunshine in the morning, and he’s even worse when nursing a hangover. He was focused on getting to the bathroom down the hall before he tossed his cookies all over the floor, he didn’t exactly have time to stop and make small talk. It’s not weird.

But it gets weird.

Billy waits way too long for him to come back. He tosses back the last of his flat, warm beer. Combs out his curls with his fingers, carefully rearranging them in the mirror propped next to Tommy’s sparse bookshelf. Picks through the crumpled worksheets strewn across the desk. And finally decides to check if Tommy choked on his own vomit.

Only he’s nowhere to be found.

And, fine, Billy’s not needy or whatever, he can get breakfast on his own. It’s not like they had plans Tommy’s flaking out on, Billy just kinda thought…

It doesn’t matter what he thought. It’s fine.

He goes back to his own dorm. Changes his jeans. Isn’t bothered.

…He’s a little bothered when he sees Tommy later that day and Tommy bugs the fuck out, all but fleeing in the opposite direction.

Because. Yeah, that’s weird.

Doubt starts to dig its spindly fingers in, thin and brittle but pointed.

They both said some shit last night. Which was Tommy’s fucking fault, getting drunk like that when he was in a mood. And he’s the one who kept trying to make it all touchy-feely.

Christ, he should’ve fucking known Tommy was going to remember, it was stupid to engage with him in the first place. Shit’s awkward now because he’s a fucking sucker and now Tommy knows it.

Or maybe it’s more than awkward, and Tommy’s straight-up pissed at him. Billy’s stomach curdles at the thought.

He can’t handle this. Tying himself up in knots because he got the brush-off. Worrying and wondering and chewing his thumbnail ‘til he tastes blood. It’s pathetic.

Tommy doesn’t have class today either, so Billy checks his dorm first.

And then he checks the cafeteria. The lot behind the cafeteria where Tommy smokes sometimes. Carol’s dorm—thankfully empty, he doesn’t feel like answering a million questions and then having his answers dissected by her and her friends after he leaves.

He’s running out of places to look when he spots Tommy next to a payphone in front of the main office. The walkway is empty, it’s just Tommy hunched around the phone, clutching it in both hands and deeply engrossed in his conversation. Enough that he doesn’t seem to notice Billy approaching.

His voice is low, but Billy catches snippets. Carol’s name. “Mamá,” sighed repeatedly, exasperated. He gets more agitated every time he stutters to a halt, apparently cut off.

“I just thought you should know, okay!” Tommy runs a hand through his hair and rolls his eyes skyward. “No—no, mamá, iba a traerla—yes, I was…”

Billy leans against cold brick, his denim jacket scraping the wall as he crosses his arms, waiting.

“Ese no es mi problema,” he snaps, glaring at nothing and getting steadily louder. “No. I’m not her precious little neita anymore, she can’t stay in denial forever!”

Oh?

Billy’s ears are ringing. Tommy’s voice is an indistinct buzz.

It could be nothing. A slip of the tongue. Billy’s Spanish getting rusty. It could be Billy reading into things—hoping, like that’s ever gotten him anything but heartbroken—just, seeing things that aren’t there because he wants to be a little less alone.

But still. He’s never seen Tommy wearing less than two shirts, and he's always been just as averse to the dorm's shared bathroom as Billy is. Sometimes tiny, incidental things will throw him off, but Billy never thought much of it until now. Until he was smacked in the face with the possibility that Tommy could be like him.

It feels a little unreal, a little like vapor he’s trying to catch with his bare hands, not quite solid but leaving enough droplets of water on his hands that he’s knows there’s something.

Tommy seems to realize he’s shouting, and glances around, worrying his bottom lip. It slips from between his teeth when he locks eyes with Billy and his jaw goes slack.

Because he’s been trying to avoid Billy all day or because he thinks he might’ve just outed himself?

Either way his posture immediately changes, going rigid, spine straightening, holding himself with enough bravado that it almost hides the way his gaze darts around, nervously scanning the empty sidewalk. Looking for an exit, probably.

He mumbles a rushed goodbye into the receiver, not waiting for a response before he slams the phone back onto its hook and folds his arms, fists balled in the crooks of his elbows.

“I swear to god, I’ll piss on your pillow if you take off on me again.” Billy pushes away from the building, pointing a threatening finger.

“I wasn’t—fuckin’—what the hell. Gross.”

“So don’t leave.” The words twinge as they leave his mouth, falling heavier between them than Billy really meant them to. Tommy flinches. Just a little. The tiniest twitch at the corner of his eye. A minute change to the slope of his shoulders. Billy exhales slow through his nose. “What’s the deal, Hagan.”

“Shit,” Tommy mutters, sweeping a hand through his hair and shifting away from Billy with a grimace. “Shit. Look, man, I don’t know what you think you heard, but it’s—I’m not. Y’know what, just forget about it, okay.”

Billy raises an eyebrow. He can feel his heartbeat racing, hammering at the inside of his ribcage. “Forget what exactly,” he says, keeping his voice even.

He has to know. For sure. He can’t just out himself for a maybe.

“Don’t play dumb, you’re shitty at it,” Tommy snaps, but there’s a thready quality to it. “I’m not gonna fucking say it. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Do I?”

“I saw the look on your face, man, I’m not stupid. I know what it looks like when someone realizes they’ve been hanging out with a fuckin’ freak.” He jabs a finger at Billy, gesturing in a vague circle around his face. “That. Right before the regret sets in. And you bail. Or worse.” He clenches his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. It’s not quite enough to hide the current of anxiety thrumming through his jerky movements.

There are things he should say right now. Things he should do. But all he’s getting it static. Fuzz. He’s wildly spinning a dial and getting nothing but snippets of words that he loses in the white noise.

He’s fucking this up.

He tongues his cheek. Deliberates.

“We should take this somewhere else,” he says carefully, pointedly flicking his gaze towards the office building behind them. They might be alone out here, but there’s no guarantee they’ll stay that way. There are people in there. For all he knows there could be someone peeking through the blinds at them right now.

But Tommy just stares at him, incredulous. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“Would you just—” Billy blows out an irritated breath. The back of his neck is prickling, like he’s being watched. He can’t fucking concentrate. “It’s not what you think.” The scoff he gets in response is not encouraging. “I’m not bailing on you, alright, would you just come with me and let me say my piece?”

If their positions were reversed he knows what he’d do. He wouldn’t risk being alone with someone who just found him out, it’s a stupid fucking thing to do. Anyone who asked him to take that risk would get laughed at and left in the dust. And yet here he is asking Tommy to trust him, like he has any right to do that.

Promising to stick around doesn’t feel like enough but it’s all he can give right now. He wants it to work so badly it hurts, aches like he’s ripped out a part of himself as an offering.

Tommy narrows his eyes, looks him up and down, and mutters. “Fine.”

All the air punches out of Billy’s lungs. Maybe he can salvage this.

They walk in stiff silence, a careful six inches apart. Billy’s boots scrape against the pavement. He picks at a scab along the edge of his fingernail, watching Tommy out of the corner of his eye, catching the erratic flash of his hands flitting from place to place, pushing through his hair, adjusting the hem of his shirt.

His dorm is closer, he steers him in that direction, ignoring Tommy’s suspicious side-eye.

It’ll be fine, he can clear shit up when they get there. It’ll be fine.

Still, guilt squeezes at his insides.

His dorm room door clicks shut behind them. It’s deafening.

He has no plan. He probably should have come up with a plan. His palms are sweating and his heart feels like it’s trying to crawl out of his mouth and his throat is so dry he’s not sure he could say anything even if he knew what to say, but…fuck, staring at the ripped corner of his Metallica poster isn’t even remotely productive, he needs to think—

Tommy grips his arm, tight enough to hurt, and tugs him around. His lips are pursed, downturned, and his eyes are bright, intense, flicking across Billy’s face. Billy’s half sure he’s about to get punched—Tommy looks to be working himself up to something—but instead he blinks and Tommy’s gone, Tommy’s…on his knees, clumsy fingers plucking at Billy’s belt buckle.

“Oh—” Billy sucks in a breath, grabbing Tommy’s wrists.

Dark eyes glare up at him. “Oh come on, this is what you wanted right? You’re not leaving because you want something. And it’s not gay if I’ve got a pussy, right—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for a second?” Billy says all in an exasperated rush, staring at the ceiling, a little lightheaded. He’s not entirely shocked by the heat that seared through him when he realized what Tommy was trying to do, but he wasn’t prepared for how much he wants him to. And now really isn’t the time to be thinking about using Tommy’s mouth to get off. “Look, I…”

His throat closes up. He still can’t say it.

Slowly, he lowers himself to the floor, sitting on the heels of his boots, his knees brushing Tommy’s. It’s easier to look at him from this angle. Or maybe it’s just because the strange intensity in his gaze has been replaced by confusion. There’s a vulnerable helplessness there that Billy didn’t notice before. Guilt grips him tighter.

“I told you, it’s not what you think,” he says quietly.

Before he can lose his nerve—an ignoring all the doubts plaguing him, what if he thinks less of me, what if he’s angry I kept it a secret, what if—Billy hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt and tugs, pulling it over his head.

Tommy blinks at him. Opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

He doesn’t stare at Billy’s scars. Billy expected him to stare. Showing him the scars was the whole point. He looks at them, sure, but he doesn’t look for very long. His eyes wander, scanning the entire expanse of tanned skin on display. Lingering on the freckles on Billy’s shoulder. The trail of soft blond hair below his belly button.

If he was less caught up in feeling feelings that made his insides squirm and his fingers itch he might’ve laughed at how dazed Tommy’s looks. But he’s sure his expression isn’t any better. A hot flush prickles up Billy’s chest as he sits there, just letting Tommy ogle.

“Uh.” Tommy clears his throat. His cheeks are pink. He hasn’t looked up yet. “So…”

“Yeah.”

“You…”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”

A beat. “I mean you can still blow me if you want, I just figured you’d want to know what you were getting into first.”

That does it. Tommy finally makes eye-contact, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead, a startled, slightly hysterical cackle bubbling out of him. The flush on his cheeks is still there but he looks less like he’s been hit over the head. “Asshole,” he says, unable to entirely keep the smile off his face.

Billy shrugs, a grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, but I have it on good authority that you like having me around.”

The light in Tommy’s eyes dims a bit, and for a horrible second Billy thinks he’s fucked up again. Tommy huffs a quiet laugh, breaking eye-contact. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

“What?”

“Uh. Last night. Being all…” He grimaces, and wiggles his fingers in the air.

“...Is that why you took off this morning?”

“I…maybe.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy groans, and punches his shoulder. “You aren’t the only one who hates being left behind y’know.”

“Oh.”

You had me worried.

He bites his tongue. It doesn’t need to be said. Tommy’s expression is soft, despite the fact that he’s rubbing his bicep where Billy hit him.

“You didn’t scare me off,” Billy mutters instead, and winces at his own plaintive tone. But he can’t seem to stop now that he’s started. “You still haven’t. Still like having you around. Y’know, if—if you’re gonna stay.”

Tommy lets out a quiet breath. A tiny noise in the back of his throat. And then he sways forward, closing the gap between them, and kisses Billy square on the mouth.

He’s not expecting it, is the thing. People are usually pretty unsubtle when they want him, and he can read the signs. He knows when someone’s going to make a move and he can prepare, put himself in whatever headspace he needs to be in to get through it.

And it’s not like he wasn’t aware that Tommy had been checking him out, but this is…it’s something else.

Because he was caught unawares he doesn’t have a goddamn plan, so he just reacts, messy and a little desperate in a way he hasn’t been since his first few times getting physical with someone. It would be embarrassing, except for the way Tommy’s breath hitches, and he leans into it. He can’t seem to get close enough where he is, because he shuffles forward on his knees ‘til they’re on either side of Billy’s thighs.

He hovers there, straddling Billy’s lap, still pressing sloppy kisses to his lips, but doesn’t sit until Billy grabs him around his waist and tugs.

Tommy lets out a sharp puff of a gasp as he’s pulled closer, it’s warm where it tickles Billy’s moustache, and he finally breaks their kiss to snicker.

“Fuck off, you surprised me,” Tommy says, the annoyed act falling flat when the words come out breathy and trembling.

“Mhm,” Billy hums, grinning at Tommy’s complete inability to keep a straight face while he slips his fingers under the seam of Tommy’s waistband, toying with the elastic of his briefs while his palms rest comfortably on his lower back.

There’s a heat simmering in his gut, coiled low and tight, but the weight in his lap and hesitant fingertips pressed to his stomach feel just as pleasant. It’s…weird. New. Fragile. He’s not quite sure what this is but he wants to hold on to it.

“So…we’re good, right?” He bites inside of his cheek to ground himself, and stop any more stupid questions from falling out of his face.

“Yeah, I mean—yeah? Pretty sure I’m, uh. Very good right now.” His eyes flicker down. “I was better a second ago though.”

Billy pushes the tip of his tongue between his teeth, feeling very smug when Tommy zeroes in on it. “You sure you’re not mad about earlier?” he lets his voice drop an octave, leaning in just enough to feel Tommy’s breathing quicken. “‘Cause I’ll work real hard to make it up to you if you are.”

“That cheesy porno shit usually work for you?” His tone is light, teasing, threaded with laughter, but his gaze is still heavy on Billy’s mouth, pupils blown and hazy with lust.

“Oh please, like it isn’t getting you going?” Billy dips his hands lower, fingertips pressed lightly into the soft flesh of Tommy’s asscheeks. He isn’t digging in, isn’t pushing, but Tommy shifts closer anyways, ‘til their chests are nearly flush, and they touch, briefly, with each shallow breath. “I bet your briefs are soaked right now.”

Like his are any better, really. It’s taking all his self-control not to squirm and rub his hard little cock all through the slick mess under him.

Tommy’s eyes fall shut, and he shudders. Billy feels him quiver. He slides his hands up Billy’s chest, palms skimming his ribs, briefly pausing to trace his scars, and coming to rest just under his collarbone.

A pause.

And Tommy shoves him. Hard.

His back hits the carpet, knocking the air out of him in a rush, a wheezing, incredulous laugh. Sparks dance up his spine. The heat in his belly flares. Tommy’s looking down at him like he wants to devour him, and Billy’s more than willing to let it happen.

This time when Tommy goes for the belt buckle, he doesn’t stop him.

It jingles against the button on his jeans, flopping to the side as Tommy fumbles with his fly, hooks his fingers into worn belt loops, and tugs. His jeans are as much of a pain to take off as they always are, they both grimace and groan as he wiggles out of them, stopping to pull off his boots when they get in the way.

“How the hell do you sleep around so much in these?” Tommy mutters, finally prying Billy’s legs free and chucking his rumpled jeans across the room with an annoyed huff.

Billy snorts. “They don’t usually come off.”

“...Oh.” He feels, suddenly, like maybe he’s said too much. The way Tommy’s eyeing him makes him feel every inch of his bare skin on display. He’d sit up, make himself a little less vulnerable, but Tommy’s shifted positions, straddling his stomach. “Do you just do over the clothes stuff, then, or…”

“Don’t really get touched at all, actually. Easier to avoid getting hate-crimed that way.” He turns his face away, cheek brushing the carpet.

Tommy nods, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, yeah. It’s…Carol’s the only girl I’ve ever been with, and sometimes she didn’t even wanna. Y’know.”

“Yeah, guys aren’t much better, trust me.”

“I know,” he says ruefully, smiling small. “I think maybe Carol only kept me around as long as she did because she couldn’t find any other guy willing to go down on her that much.”

“Damn, and she still dumped you? So ungrateful.”

“Ha, yeah, well. She found someone with a real dick apparently. Said she missed getting fucked properly, or whatever.”

Billy scoffs, “Ten bucks says she comes crawling back in two weeks when she gets tired of being some prick’s fucktoy.”

He tenses, regretting the thought the second he has it. Tommy’s gotten back with her every time she’s asked. She snaps her fingers and he’s there, hers again like nothing happened. As much as Billy hates watching it happen every time, he gets it. His track record when it comes to letting the people he loves hurt him isn’t any better. But this time…

Does he have any right to hope it’ll be different now? Probably not.

Tommy raises his eyebrows, a guarded sort of curiosity behind his mostly blank expression.

“Don’t take her back,” Billy says, softly, stupid, vulnerable hope cracking him open. He focuses on the feeling of Tommy’s slacks under his palms, warm thighs bracketing his torso. The rough scratch of carpet against his bare back. The smell of his musty dorm room. Anything but the way his stomach twists into knots while he waits to get shot down. “She’ll just break your heart again, man,” he adds, like he can cover his ass and make it look like this isn’t about what he wants at all.

“And you won’t?” He’s quiet. Serious. There’s a sad twist to his mouth.

“I—” The silence in the air between them is stifling, heavy in Billy’s lungs as his chest rises and falls. In some fucked up way that feels like an admission. An acknowledgement of…something. The idea that Billy might have the power to break his heart is fucking terrifying, and the implications make his head spin. He bites his lip. “Not by leaving.”

Tommy huffs out a dry laugh, bowing his head and giving it a tiny shake. “Gee, thanks.” He’s hiding a smile. A small one, but it’s warm, despite his hesitance.

Billy grabs the front of Tommy’s shirt, tugging him down while he cranes his neck, meeting him halfway to press a brief kiss to his mouth.

It’s less brief than he planned. Tommy’s fingers end up wound in his hair, his firm grip making Billy’s scalp tingle and heat simmer under his skin. He groans, low in his throat, and licks into Tommy’s mouth in retaliation.

Time starts to blur a little. He’s not thinking about why he kissed Tommy in the first place. He’s not thinking of stopping, god fucking forbid. All that matters is the sharp, biting pressure of fingernails, the gentle glide of warm lips against his, and the sounds he can pull from Tommy with a flick of his tongue. Everything else is sort of fuzzy.

He tries nipping Tommy’s bottom lip. Lightly. Testing the waters. He inhales sharply, something like a gasp he caught halfway, and more importantly, his hips jerk forward. Just a little. But him pressing down against Billy’s stomach like that sets a fire inside. An immediate needy wanting that rushes through him like an adrenaline spike.

Billy pulls back an inch, breathing hard, “Do it again,” he demands, clutching Tommy’s waist with guiding hands, “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Jesus—fuck,” Tommy’s nose brushes his cheek as he starts to move, curling into Billy’s space and panting bitten-off curses in puffs of humid air against his jaw.

The seam of Tommy’s pants chafes a little, rubbing against the taut line of his stomach, catching on the light dusting of hair, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he can feel Tommy’s legs start to tremble, and he gets to watch the way his face goes slack with pleasure, his eyebrows furrowed as he works his hips back and forth.

It’s not hard to imagine sliding inside him like this. Tommy sitting on his cock, all wet heat and freckled thighs. Riding him ‘til his muscles give out and Billy has to take over, snap his hips over and over, listening to the slap of skin and Tommy’s pleading for more.

Fuck.

His grip on Tommy’s waist tightens, right as he gives one last jerky thrust, and his whole body tenses. He whimpers right in Billy’s ear before his head drops, hitting his shoulder.

Billy feels like a live wire. He aches. He wants.

He waits, with bottom lip caught between his teeth, squirming and hoping it’s not too obvious.

“Sooo,” Tommy drawls, still catching his breath, his nose smushed to Billy’s collarbone. “D’you want me to blow you, or was that—”

“Fuck, yes.”

Tommy snickers. “Alright. Prepare to have your world rocked.”

“Oh, and my pick-up line was cheesy porno shit?”

“Yeah.”

“Dick.”

His shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter, and Billy can feel his smile widen. He’d almost be content to bask in the moment like a cat in a sunbeam, except—

Tommy shifts, sliding a thigh between his legs and pressing, and yeah, that’s much better, nevermind. He lets out a slow, shaky breath, staring hazily at the water-stained ceiling.

“You liked seeing me get off, huh.” Tommy kisses his chest, lips still curved into a smile. Billy swallows hard, and folds his lips between his teeth. “You soaked right through your underwear. I can feel it.”

He’s making his way down way too slowly. On purpose, the little shit. But Billy refuses to crack. He can wait. It’s fine. He only feels a little bit like he’s going to explode.

Tommy replaces his thigh with his hand as he crawls backward, trailing a light finger over the growing wet spot and not doing nearly enough to ease the throbbing ache between Billy’s legs, his lips trail down, inch by agonizing inch as he goes. He’s got nice lips. Billy wouldn’t mind kissing him for hours. Being kissed.

Being kissed somewhere very specific right fucking now.

Billy’s legs spread a little further apart, without really meaning to, he arches his back, wriggles, trying to subtly get Tommy where he needs to be a little faster.

Except he fucking pauses. Kisses Billy’s hipbone. Flashes an absolutely shit-eating grin.

“Would you hurry the fuck up,” Billy groans.

Which cracks Tommy up. A laugh he’d obviously been holding back bursts out of him, muffled a little as he leans into Billy’s stomach, his shoulders shaking.

“I hate you so much.”

Tommy looks up at him, eyes shining. “Nah. You don’t.”

“Fine, but I’d like you a lot more if you stopped being a tease.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles, and finally, finally, settles between Billy’s legs, flashing a grin before he pushes Billy’s briefs aside and drags his tongue through the wetness underneath.

“Jesusfuckingchrist—” Billy inhales sharply, his whole body arching into the sweet pressure of Tommy’s mouth, somehow ending up with one leg hooked around him, trying to pull him closer. “Oh fuck.”

A whine catches in his throat when Tommy huffs a laugh, warm air somehow feeling cool against his flushed skin. He’s beyond caring about looking desperate, he just needs more. More of this. He rocks against the steady stroke of Tommy’s tongue, his breath hitching every time he brushes his cock and a concentrated bolt of pleasure lances through him.

Then Tommy wraps his lips around it, and sucks, and Billy’s vision whites out. It feels so good it fucking hurts. He cries out, wordlessly, grasping for something to hold on to.

“Holy shit, dude,” Tommy breathes, pulling back, pulling away, what the fuck, no—

“Hng,” Billy grunts, his hands waving uselessly, trying to reach Tommy to put him back where he was.

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, a little breathless, a lot delighted. “Just…” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Billy’s underwear and starts tugging them off. “You’re so loud, man.”

The part of his brain that’s still working—the part that isn’t floating on a cloud of horny thoughts, mostly about how fucking pornographic Tommy’s mouth looks right now, pink, flushed, and slick from nose to chin—is smart enough to know that if he’s too loud they might get caught. But he’s having a hard time making himself care. And he’s sure he’ll care even less when Tommy puts his lips back where they fucking belong.

Then Tommy’s leaning over him, damp grey briefs folded up in one hand, easing Billy’s mouth open with the other.

He’s slow about it. Deliberate. Telegraphing his movements so Billy and the three brain cells he’s got left understand what he’a about to do. Billy could clench his jaw against his prodding at any time. He could turn his head to escape Tommy’s hold.

But he doesn’t.

The taste of his own sex isn’t unfamiliar, but it’s oddly thrilling in this context. It feels dirty in the best kind of way. Cotton sticking to his tongue, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth, Tommy’s gaze heavy on his parted lips. Billy wonders if he’s thinking about other things he could stuff Billy’s mouth with to shut him up.

Biting down on creased fabric is odd, but it definitely muffles his whimpering.

Which is, admittedly, handy when Tommy dives back in with no warning.

He doesn’t hold back at all, pressing in close, his hands gripping Billy’s hips to keep him in place. His tongue curls around Billy’s cock, over and over in firm swipes.

And Billy sees stars. He can hear his own stifled moaning through the makeshift gag, but he barely recognizes is own voice. Every pitched, breathy noise that comes out of him is a shock he doesn’t have time to linger on, and he doesn’t fucking care to, not when he can barely process how good he feels right now, let alone feel anything but Tommy’s mouth and the heat building under his skin. His whole body is taut with it, muscles tensing as he tries to hold onto the sparks dancing through him.

It doesn’t take long for him to come with a hoarse shout and an embarrassing gush of wetness all over Tommy’s chin, white-knuckled and curled around Tommy’s sloped shoulders.

He flops back, breathing hard and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says again, with something resembling awe.

Billy closes his eyes, trying to measure the rise and fall of his chest. His whole body is tingling. And a little sore.

He feels a little tug, Tommy picking at the briefs stuffed into his mouth. He loosens his jaw and lets him remove them. There’s spit trickling down his cheek. Tommy wipes it up, carefully patting the side of his face.

“You good?”

“Mhm,” Billy hums.

“...Been a while?”

He cracks an eye open and glances over at Tommy. His eyebrows are near his hairline, but it doesn’t look judgemental. A little amused, maybe. Billy sighs. “You could say that.”

“Oh?”

It’s been thirteen months since anyone’s touched him below the belt. He doesn’t remember who it was, but he remembers tequila and lime, hearing shitty dance music in another room while he let someone stick their hand in his pants, half-expecting it to retreat immediately.

No one’s ever touched him like this, though.

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, unsure how to respond. He lands on, “Never been blown before.”

Tommy blinks at him. “No shit?” His hand makes a weird aborted movement, then lands on the carpet next to him. Billy has the weird urge to hold it. Or to be held, maybe. As the sweat on his skin cools he starts to itch, an unfamiliar ache blooming in his chest.

“No shit,” he echoes.

“That’s…” Tommy scratches his eyebrow. “Kinda hot actually. I popped your cherry.”

“I’ve had sex.”

“Yeah, but not that kind.”

“...Whatever,” Billy mutters, his cheeks flushing.

“I’m serious, dude.” Tommy’s smiling now, his lips still shiny and pink and distracting. “That was, uh. Kind of awesome. All of it. Plus the cherry on top.”

He can’t help but snort, and smacks Tommy’s knee. “Fuck you, Hagan.”

“Maybe next time.”

That catches Billy’s attention. Whether it’s the promise of a next time or the thought of fucking him, he doesn’t know, but either way he’s suddenly unable to look anywhere but at Tommy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tommy lifts his chin a little, like a challenge, but his eyes are warm. “You said you weren’t goin’ anywhere, so…”

“I meant it.”

He’s caught off guard by the almost bashful way Tommy ducks his head suddenly, the tips of his ears going red, hiding a widening smile. “Good.” He shuffles a little closer. “Though I get why you’d stick around. Y’know. After I rocked your world.”

Billy groans, and rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah, nah, I wanna hear you say it.”

“No.”

“Come ooon.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And good with my tongue.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy mutters, “Okay, fine, you rocked my world. Congrats.”

Tommy preens, supremely pleased with himself, and pokes Billy’s shoulder. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Billy tries his hardest to look annoyed at the prodding, but fails to do anything but grin at the ceiling.

“Now, I seem to remember you promising to put some work in, and so far you’ve just been layin’ there.” The smug look on his face is absolutely out of control. Billy swats at him, but Tommy just catches his hand and kisses his palm, grinning like a fucking maniac. “Gotta do better than that, Hargrove.”

Billy tackles him, rolls them over, and pins Tommy’s hands above his head.

And he puts some work in.

#billy hargrove #tommy hagan #tomgrove #billy x tommy #trans billy hargrove #trans tommy hagan #stranger things #a raven's writing desk

119 notes · View notes

hoshologies · 2 years

Text

YOU CAME (YOU CALLED), L. JIHOON

WORD COUNT — 2.4k

GENRES &&. WARNINGS — angst, hurt/comfort &&. crying, mental health (depression, anxiety, implied disordered eating), intended lowercase

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR — i've mentioned this in a few asks, but i've been going through some pretty severe mental health issues as of late, probably the worst i've ever experienced in my almost 22 years. to wake up in the morning and wish you could go back to sleep, to force yourself out of bed because you can't afford to miss class or work, even when you know you can't stand to be around other people right now, it's so difficult. but it's so important to remember that we do have ways of carving out our own moments of peace, where things can be okay, even if it's only for a little bit. even when we don't call, there are people who can and will come, not out of obligation, but out of real, genuine love.

when your consciousness finally finds its way back to your body, you realize you've been staring at the same spot on the wall, eyes bleary and burning. your shoulder aches terribly, the bones creaking and popping almost painfully as you sit up slowly and move for the first time in... you're not actually sure how long.

when you turn your head to look at the clock on your bedside table, your neck clicks a bit too, the muscles too tight and straining. your eyes fall on the digital face, red leds glaring back at you. 9:24 pm. you returned home from class and an errand on campus at noon, started on some chores, and then promptly got in bed just an hour later. you’d been there for just short of nine and a half hours. a sudden wave of anxiety rushes through you and you remember why you’d gotten into bed in the first place, even if only to stare blankly at the wall and sleep through most of the day.

you don’t want to relive the conscious hours of your day, however short they were, so you try to force them out of your mind. still, you’re left with the acute feeling of emptiness, the one that plagues you, taunts you.

you achieved nothing today. you’re a failure. you’re worthless.

realistically, you know that having a lazy day doesn’t define worth or success or anything else. realistically, you should be proud of yourself for having had the energy to even get out of bed this morning to make an actual breakfast, to attend class, to return a book you’d checked out from the library. realistically, you did simple things that felt like the most difficult obstacles you’d ever faced, so that has to count for something.

and you want to feel that way. you know you should find some comfort in knowing that despite it all, you still managed to accomplish something today, no matter how small and simple it was. but it’s not enough, it doesn’t feel like enough. your to do list feels insurmountable, a mile long with homework and projects and appointments, and instead of working on them, you decided to slack off, sleeping and dissociating for longer than you’d been awake. the echoing you’re worthless sentiment plays on loop for so long, you’re starting to think the voice is right.

so there you sit, hunched over your lap, staring at the bit of duvet that peeks through your legs. you don’t register that you’re crying until your eyes have welled so much that tears are splashing on the backs of your hands. the release of emotions, ones you’ve been bottling up and keeping on lock for who knows how long, should feel cathartic, getting them out of your system, and it does, but more than anything, it makes you feel so…

pathetic. you’re pathetic.

what could you possibly be going through that has you this stressed and strung out? school? you’re only taking 15 credit hours. work? it’s part time and all you really do is sit around and chill. there’s simply no reason for you to feel like this, to be so anxious and depressed all the time that you feel like you’re suffocating and nothing can save you. no reason. pathetic.

you don’t know how long you sit there, crying silently because the tears keep coming and you don’t know what you can do to stop them. your hands are awash in salt and liquified sadness. you suppose it doesn’t really matter, though, because at this point, you’ve spent nine and a half hours staring into the void, so what’s a little more? besides, maybe if you cry enough, you’ll somehow lose that little voice in the tears too and wouldn’t that be lucky.

so you cry. and you cry. and you cry. and it doesn’t heal you or make you feel completely whole again, but when your eyes have gone completely dry, you’ve exhausted yourself to the point that you don’t feel that overwhelming pressure of not being enough for anybody, anything, yourself. but maybe even worse, you just feel numb. sure, you’ve temporarily cried the depression and anxiety out of your system, but you replaced it with true, genuine nothingness.

so now, you sit. and it’s a repeat of the last nine hours, eyes unwavering from where your hands rest in your lap, fingers loosely intertwined. you know you should eat something, drink some water, maybe take a shower. you really want to change into some more comfortable clothes, but you just can’t bring yourself to get out of bed, to tear your gaze away from your hands. you know you should do these things, but you can’t, you don’t want to, you never want to.

the knock at your bedroom door scares the shit out of you and you startle, head jerking so quickly that you feel like you almost pull a muscle. lee jihoon is standing in the threshold, his eyes wide and uncertain, a takeout bag in one hand and his keychain in the other. he looks a little breathless, his shoulders heaving with the effort of regaining air. somehow, even disheveled and looking a little horror villain adjacent being backlit by your hall light, he’s still the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life.

and you don’t deserve him. you know that, everyone knows that.

“what are… what are you doing here, jihoon?” you ask, inwardly cursing yourself for how broken and watery your voice sounds. you swore you’d cried yourself dry, but there are still remnants of your tears and it makes you feel like a child who just got done throwing a tauntrum.

“you haven’t been answering your phone. i was… worried,” he answered. he keeps the distance between you, making home in the doorway. the plastic bag rustles quietly, white noise that cuts through the tv static in your head.

“sorry. i was… napping.” it’s the most unconvincing, feeblest lie you’ve ever told in your life. even if it’s partly true, it doesn’t matter when you’re sure you look like a mess, tear tracks and bloodshot eyes. there’s no hiding it in the slightest.

“can i sit?” the worry from his eyes has started bleeding into his voice and you feel yourself back on that edge, teetering on the very fine, precarious line between being at least a little okay and falling back into the mind-numbing sadness headfirst. he wants your consent, he wants to know it’s okay to approach and be close because he cares.

it’s an obligation.

it’s not, you know that. if he felt obligated to be here, he wouldn’t look so concerned as he crosses the room, wouldn’t have a bag that you recognize as the takeout bags your favorite restaurant uses, wouldn’t be sitting said food and keys on your dresser before closing the distance between you. he hesitates once he stands before you, gaze carefully studying your face intently. if it was an obligation, he wouldn’t be wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his body, cradling the back of your head as you press your face tightly into his abdomen.

the tears come back in full force, no concrete reason as to why. the hard, solid wall of that suffocation is pressing back in again, but on top of that, you feel a kind of relief you’ve not had in a while, the overwhelming kindness of being loved by someone. there are inklings of those thoughts, but with jihoon’s heartbeat under your ear, the strength of his chest, you make an effort of blocking it out. it’s the most you’ve felt at home in a while.

and you know it’s love, real genuine love, because jihoon doesn’t say a single thing the entire time, even when your tears most certainly have soaked through his hoodie and started bleeding into the shirt underneath. no, he holds you securely against him as if he’s trying to hold every piece of you together because you can’t do it on your own anymore and even if he can’t keep you all together, he can pick up the stray shards after.

eventually, his voice finds a crevice and slips in through the cracks, all soft and love and everything good in the world. it’s like he’d been born to be the personification of compassion and giving and love.

“we don’t have to talk about it, but you know… i’m always here for you. when you need me. i’m not going anywhere.”

you nod against him, your hair catching on the rough fabric of his sweater. somewhere, out of the tightness of your throat, you choke out a thank you, keeping your fingers twisted up tightly at his back. you don’t want to move, not yet, not when this is the safest you’ve felt in a long while. being in his arms, it reminds you that you haven’t seen him for a bit, your schedules not lining up to allow for anything as simple as a facetime call. and maybe this is what you needed.

you know jihoon isn’t going to cure you because contrary to the fairy tales and the contemporary romances, all the harlequin novels, love isn’t the remedy for all things. it isn’t going to balance out the chemicals in your brain or take away all the stress you feel weighing down your shoulders just about every waking second. it’s not some miracle treatment, even if it feels pretty damn close to it.

but even if it isn’t, it feels like a good start. so far away from home, from friends and family, you always feel a little stranded, out of your depth here in the big city. you don’t have the comforts of a home cooked meal that your mother and grandmother helped make from scratch, none of the security of being in a place you’re so deeply familiar with, so intrinsically connected to.

jihoon helps, though. he always has. an anchor in otherwise tumultuous waters, he grounds you in a way that nobody else in the entire population of seoul can. some of his other friends who have essentially adopted you come close (wonwoo will always be your most cherished of them), but they will never set your heart and mind at ease the way their producer does. not when he has all of your favorites memorized, not when he writes songs meant for your ears alone, not when he shows up after a day of radio silence with takeout in tow and unlimited physical contact to give, even when you both know that he isn't a physically affectionate person.

“you don’t have to weather these things alone, okay? but i’m not going to push you to talk about things you aren’t ready to talk about.” he breathes in deep and you pull back from where you’ve been nestling your cheek against his sternum, electing to look up at him. his eyes are still all soft and warm, welcoming, home. “but we are gonna do some hard things, alright? and i’ll be there every step of the way if you want me to be.”

your eyes well with tears again, a testament to how much you can cry while being what you can only assume is incredibly dehydrated, and even through the tears, you see jihoon start at the sight of them, the gears of his head practically visible as they kick into overdrive. but you smile and shake your head, trying to tell him not to worry about it without speaking (the lump in your throat would make it entirely impossible for you to get the simplest whisper out at this point).

even now, the thought of getting out of bed to eat, to shower, to change clothes feels daunting. you’ve got him right here wanting to help and they still feel so incredibly formidable that it puts you on edge, but he’s here and you’ve done so many things with him. there is trust and history and love here; he has seen every part of you down to the most unstable, most vulnerable of them all and not once has he ever judged or implied that he feels that it’s tiring having to care for you when you can’t do it yourself.

rather, jihoon has always taken a soft spoken kind of pride in it for the both of you. he has always set aside everything, pushed things off and canceled on people, when he knows you need his support. and he’s always been there through every single step. he’s never given the indication that he is anything short of the most dutiful, caring person in the history of the world.

so you let him help you out of bed, keeping one of his arms hooked around you for support. you let him sit you at the coffee table in your living room and you let him feed you from takeout boxes, laughing in tandem when his chopsticks don’t want to cooperate and he drops noodles all over the table. you let him help you into the shower and you let him go through your shower routine for you so that you don’t have to expend energy you don’t have.

and after all of that, he still insists on helping. he helps you into pajamas and once you’re nestled in bed, he disappears into your main living area, cleaning up dinner and finally switching your laundry from the washer to the dryer. he does the things that you hadn’t accounted for in your day, the chores that you hadn’t designated spoons for.

and even still, after all of the tidying up is done, he crawls into bed next to you and beckons you toward him. he sets aside his preferences and lets you rest against him, soft bodies leaning and pressing into each other, melting so that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. your head rises and falls in time with his breathing, his heartbeat under your fingertips, his arms heavy against you as they keep you anchored against him.

for the first time in a long time, sleep calls to you. she isn’t evading you this time, but willingly approaching, extending out an olive branch. she’s a bitch, you think, for not coming to you earlier when all you wanted to do was get a good night’s rest, but maybe this is her way of telling you that you’re where you’re meant to be with the person you’re meant to be with. you find peace in his arms and even if it’s not permanent, you know he can carve it out for you again the next time you need it.

#woozi x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #kpop x reader #svt.fic #woozi.fic #angst.fic #stories.fic

54 notes · View notes