#awkward nerd tom

[spideyhexx]

watching tom’s film Scott & Sid and he’s just a little nerd in it I love it

#an adorable awkward nerd #with an incredibly British accent #it’s so different after seeing him play someone like Coryo or billy lmao but he is a good actor🫶 #tom blyth #kit talks

[spider-stark]

INFINITELY YOU

part three // spitfire

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, minors DNI

WORD COUNT - 4.5k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // no way home fan fiction // rewrite

name key: tom!peter = peter // andrew!peter = parker // tobey!peter = pete

On the walk back from Peter Pan’s, it seemed as though Parker had managed to entirely escape the sputtering awkwardness that had ensnared him the night before. 

And, after countless city blocks of listening to him babble about absolutely everything and anything, you realized that there was one very striking similarity between him and Peter. 

Both boys had a fervent interest in all things nerd. 

“New Hope takes place nearly two decades after the rise of the Galactic Empire, meaning that Leia is only nineteen when she's kidnapped and forced aboard the Death Star! Which is like, absolutely insane, right? Seriously! Imagine being nineteen years old and stuck inside of something that has the potential to obliterate an entire planet!” 

Shoving open the lobby door to your complex, Parker hardly even waits for you to hum your agreement before continuing his retelling of the Star Wars film. 

“And at the exact same time, Luke is finally beginning his Jedi training! Which, honestly, nineteen is actually super old for that, but-” 

Moving towards the stairs, Parker close on your heels, you cut him off with a question. “Too old? Nineteen is hardly even an adult,” you argue. “What age do most Jedi start training?” 

“About four or five, so obviously Luke was way behind,” 

Not even a full three stairs up, you come to a grinding halt, leaving Parker to bump into your back. “Four?!” You cry out, wide-eyed as you spin around to face him. “That’s insane!” 

Parker only lifts his shoulders, clearly not understanding the reason for your horror. 

Furthering your point, you add, “There’s nothing ethical about taking a bunch of little kids and training them to be weird, intergalactic warriors!” 

“It’s the best way to train them!” He lifts his hand defensively, explaining, “The earlier they start training, the less likely it is that the kids will have formed an attachment to their families! That way they learn to act out of logic instead of emotion!” 

For a heartbeat, you’re rendered entirely speechless by the absurdity of his claim, left to stand with your mouth agape as you blink at him. 

“That sounds like emotional abuse,” you finally huff, shaking your head. “Actually, scratch that—it doesn’t sound like emotional abuse, it just is!” 

“It’s not abuse-” 

You hold a hand up, stopping him before he can say anything else. “Give me one good reason why a group of adults should withhold love and affection from children if they aren’t abusing them.” 

“Uh, how about the fact that love is basically what made Anakin turn to the dark side!” Parker scoffs, clearly unwilling to recognize how insane the notion he was pushing actually is. 

“Or maybe Anakin turned to the dark side because he was indoctrinated and traumatized by some stupid space cult!” 

The expression on his face is downright laughable. 

It was as if you had just reached out and slapped him across the face. His jaw went slack, his mouth hung open in blatant offense. As a sputtering noise falls from his lips, trying and failing to come up with a good rebuttal, you smirk. 

“Exactly,” you boast, taking his inability to speak as a sign of victory. 

Twirling on your heel, you continue up the stairs, nearly all the way to the top before you finally hear him come stomping up behind you. 

“The Jedi Order is not a cult!” He finally shouts after you. 

Already traipsing through the hallway, fiddling with your keys, you sing-song, “Whatever you say, bug-boy.” 

Reluctant to admit defeat, Parker continues grumbling under his breath as you unlock the door, spouting something off about your lack of respect for George Lucas. 

“Look,” you tell him, pushing the door open, “if liking Star Wars matters this much to you, then I’ll gladly watch them with you.” A wry smile plays on your lips as you turn to look at him, standing in the doorway, “Maybe watching them will be enough to change my opinion on turning kids into galactic slaves.” 

Eyes narrowing in a playful glare, he’s only able to hold the expression for less than a few seconds before a laugh causes him to break character. “I just can’t believe that Peter hasn’t made you watch them already,” he admits. “I had you watch them so much that you could probably recite the scripts from memory alone!” 

His amusement dies off as soon as he finishes the sentence. Despite having been the one to bring it up, the mention of his world seems to cast a sullen shadow over him, ruining his sweet, boyish smile. 

Curiosity instantly claws at you, begging you to ask him why his world seemed to have such a negative effect on him. Or, rather, why his version of you seemed to have such an effect. 

This had happened last night too, when you had asked him if the two of you were friends in his world—and it was because of this that you assume that you’re somehow the common denominator in his discomfort. 

Still, you don’t let yourself ask him about it. For as much as you’re starting to like Parker, you don’t know him nearly well enough to try prying into his life. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Well, you’re more than welcome to force me into sitting through them in this world, too.” You tell him sweetly, sweeping an arm out to gesture inside of your apartment, inviting him. “It’s not like I’ve got any plans for the rest of the day.” 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you did have plans. Life had been so quiet since that last night with Peter and Mj—the night when everything went so horribly wrong. 

Parker sucks in a breath through his teeth, a hand coming to rest against the back of his neck. “I should probably get back out on the streets,” he reluctantly says, sounding more like he was convincing himself of that than you. “But, I don’t know, maybe we can take a rain check on it, yeah?” 

Disappointment washes over you, sudden enough that you’re sure it shines through on your face. It takes a shocking amount of willpower to stop yourself from trying to persuade him to stay, wanting to remind him that two other Spider-Men were already running themselves ragged in pursuit of the villains—so why did he have to go, too? 

You had grown used to his constant talking, having found solace in the chatter that kept you from slipping too far into your own thoughts. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay so that you wouldn’t have to be alone; so that you wouldn’t have to risk thinking too long about Doctor Strange or the multiverse or constants or Peter. 

The thought of admitting any of that out loud, however, felt incredibly humiliating. 

“For sure,” you force a smile, trying to ignore the many thoughts swirling in your mind. Then, eyeing the slightly too-tight Ramones shirt that he’d stolen from you, you add, “But shouldn’t you at least come in and change?” 

His nose wrinkles slightly as he shakes his head. “Nah—I think this city has more than enough spider-people swinging around it right now. I figure we might actually benefit from one of us patrolling on the ground-level, y’know? Maybe I can ask around for any giant lizards or blown light bulbs.” 

It’s hard to tell if the last bit is meant to be a joke or not, but you laugh anyway if only to avoid knowing why you should be worried about lizards and light bulbs. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you second his idea. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later then?” 

A surprising sense of joy lights his eyes at the sound of your hesitance, unfitting of the simplicity of the moment, but charming nonetheless. He grins—a wide and endearing sort of grin—as he takes a step back, “I won’t be gone long,” he promises before reminding you, “lock the door behind you, alright? And if you need anything-” 

He pauses, patting the pockets of his jeans only to remember that he didn’t bring a phone with him to this universe—and that, even if he did, there likely wasn’t a wireless plan good enough to support multiversal travel. 

“If you need anything, call 911.” 

“Got it,” you laugh, watching as he stumbles backwards towards the stairwell, cheeks red with faint embarrassment. 

Turning to go inside, you can’t ignore the warmth that now blooms in your chest. 

You could definitely get used to having him around. 

A peculiar sensation prickles at your skin, curling along your spine like icy fingertips. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong. 

The usually comfortable atmosphere of your apartment had shifted. An eerie tension fills the space, a near-suffocating feeling that has the very walls holding their breath, humming a tune of warning as you inch further into the living room. 

Your stomach twists as the sharp tang of exhaust fumes fills your nostrils. By the couch, a faint breeze rustles the curtains of a window, wafting in the nauseating scent of the city street below—a window that hadn’t been open when you left earlier. 

A mere foot or so away, you notice that the picture frame Parker had been fiddling with before is now lying on its face, having been knocked off the end table and abandoned. Atop the table, you notice that the lamp is sitting askew, its base just inches from tumbling over the edge and joining the frame. 

Someone had come in through your window—and it didn’t appear as though stealth had been very important to them, given that they had clearly stumbled into the table upon their entrance. 

Adrenaline floods your senses, your spine stiffening as you take a series of slow, quiet steps. 

Moving towards the corner, you carefully reach out a hand to grab the metal bat propped against the wall. The bat had been an unlikely housewarming present from when you first moved in, given to you by Peter’s mentor and your own reluctant renegade, Tony Stark. For nearly two years now it had sat in this corner, unused and gathering dust—until now. 

You wrap your fingers tightly around the base, wincing slightly as the rubber grip pulls at the still-healing flesh on your palm, making you curse yourself for not properly bandaging the wound last night. 

But you’re used to pain—and so you’re easily able to bite back against it as you ease through the living room, checking for any sign of the intruder's presence. 

As you walk, gripping the bat like your life depends on it, you can’t help but hear Tony Stark’s voice echo in your mind. 

If you’re gonna live alone, then you should have some sort of protection—he had told you, gently placing the cool steel into your hands for the first time, a ribbon tied sloppily around it—not that you need it. 

Satisfied with your search of the living room, you start easing towards the hall. You’re good at sneaking around, having had a lot of practice at it—every movement you make is calculated, every footfall so purposefully gentle that it’s nearly silent. 

Quiet as you were, you could do nothing to ease the sound of your blood thrumming wildly in your own ears, your heart pounding against your chest. 

The incessant beating worries you—because you know that there are people in the world with the unnatural ability to hear such things. Peter, even with his enhanced hearing, had to be close to someone in order to hear something as soft as their heartbeat; but you had heard rumors that there were others who could hear a pulse from miles away, others like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

The thought makes your blood run cold, though you try to push the worries from your mind. From what you know, the Devil doesn’t have a habit of breaking into apartments, nor was Queen's his usual jurisdiction. 

No—what you were dealing with had to be no more than an average burglar! 

An average burglar who, somehow, scaled up the side of a building to break into your apartment… 

Alright—you think, approaching the end of the hall—perhaps it’s a not-so-average burglar, then! Still better than the Devil. 

Peeling one hand from the bat’s handle, you curl your fingers around the doorknob to the guest room, Parker’s room. You ease the door open slowly, trying to keep the old hinges from crying out as you peer into the space. 

The sweet scent of vanilla is the first thing that hits you, contrasted by the subtle bite of vetiver. 

Parker—the room smells of him, even though he had only been here for one night. 

On the bed, the quilt is rumpled and thrown about, pillows strewn about. The doors of the armoire are wide open, a few old shirts hanging over the edge of one of the shelves, no doubt from when he went digging through your clothes in search of something to wear. 

The room was messy, but empty. 

Your shoulders sag, half-a-breath loosing from your lungs. The relief is short-lived, however; as by the time you edge back into the hall to turn towards your own door, you’re overwhelmed with dread. 

If whoever broke in was still here, then this was the only place they could be—save for the bathroom, though you seriously doubt any burglar would have much interest in scouring through your toiletries… 

Easily, gracefully, you twist the knob, the metal yielding quietly to your careful touch. 

The curtains are tightly drawn, eradicating any trace of sunlight and leaving the room cloaked in shadows. But, even in the darkness, you’re able to see the rough outline of a figure sprawled out across your mattress. 

For a split second, you think of Parker’s advice to call 911, the weight of your phone suddenly heavy in your back pocket. 

You think of how you should follow that advice. 

You think about how fast you could run—if you would be able to reach the front door before they could catch up to you. 

But then you stop thinking, disregarding all logic and reason as you take a step into the room, as if drawn in by some invisible force. 

Remaining mindful of your surroundings, you slowly approach the edge of the bed. Squinting in the darkness, you try to study the body laid out atop your comforter. Watching the steady rise-and-fall of their chest, it suddenly hits you that, whoever they are, they’re asleep. 

Slinking around the corner and coming to stand at your bedside, you’re finally close enough that you can see them in spite of the absence of light. Crimson and blue spandex clings tightly to their arms as they cling one of your pillows to their chest, and you feel your entire body sag with relief as you loosen your grip on the bat. 

So this must be Peter 2. 

The fabric of his mask is bunched up and resting along the bridge of his nose, which is somewhat smushed against the pillow he’s holding, no doubt leaving him to breathe in the scent of laundry detergent and your perfume. 

Lower, you can make out the subtle contours of his jawline and the curve of soft, pink lips. Higher, you’re met with the impassive stare of then white lenses sewn into his mask. 

The lenses shield his eyes from your view, and a curious feeling begins to tug at the furthest corners of your mind. Take it off—it seems to whisper, compelling you to move in closer, your shins pressing against the side of the mattress—take it off. 

You grit your teeth and try to ignore the feeling, try to ignore the velvet-voice slithering through your mind; begging you to look at him, to touch him, to notice him, to-

Pain shoots along the side of your temple, likely in response to the sudden tightness in your jaw. It distracts you enough that you’re able to shake the strange feeling long enough to regain your focus—even if the remnants of it still linger. 

You shouldn’t be interested in him—you should be pissed at him. 

Not only had he broken into your house, which was already bad enough, but he had also climbed into your bed and made himself cozy! The absolute gall, the audacity he must have, has you allowing the tiniest sliver of rage to ignite inside of you. 

Both hands still gripping the bat, you lower it from where it rests against your shoulder to swiftly jab its head into his stomach. 

A cough sputters past his lips as the impact pushes the air from his lungs. 

You’re actually shocked that you landed the blow—in truth, you had expected his spider-sense to kick in and detect the incoming hit, waking him with just enough time to dodge the shot. But, apparently, his instincts had made the mistake of assuming that you were of no threat to him. 

“Morning sunshine,” you chime, your feigned cheerfulness set off by a sneer. 

He’s scrambling into an upright position, knees sinking into the mattress as he presses a hand against the sore spot you’d created on his stomach. “What the fu-” 

His voice is hoarse—from sleep or pain, you’re not sure—and he doesn’t finish the curse spewing from his mouth once his head shoots up towards you, as if finally registering the sound of your voice. 

“I don’t know what things are like in your world,” you muse, swinging your bat back to rest against your shoulder, “but in this one, breaking and entering is considered a crime.” 

He’s still catching his breath, and while those damn white lenses covering his eyes give so little emotion away, you assume that he’s going to apologize. It’s what Peter would do, and Parker, too. 

But not him. 

“Your friends said I could stay here,” he defends himself. Taking another deep breath and extinguishing the burning in his lungs, the lower-half of his face transforms into a defiant smirk. “It’s not breaking and entering if you were invited.” 

“And did they tell you to sleep in my bed, too?” You shoot back, brows rising in annoyance. “Word of advice: next time you’re invited to stay in a total stranger’s house, maybe try not to repay their kindness by crawling through their window.” 

He mocks you without missing a beat, “Word of advice: you live in a shitty neighborhood—if you don’t want people coming through your windows, you should try locking them.” 

“Ah, right! Cause the average person is definitely willing to scale the side of a building for the prospect of an unlocked window!” 

“You’re a pretty girl in a dangerous city,” he drones, lifting a shoulder as he meets your sarcasm with purposeful calm. “You’d be surprised what people would be willing to do for a chance at getting you alone.” 

The insinuation sends a shiver down your spine, but you mask your unease, flashing a smile that’s more predatory than sweet. “Aw,” you coo, “so you think I’m pretty?” 

He returns the expression, skillfully avoiding your derisive question. “I think you’re irresponsible—and a little cocky.” 

“Better to be cocky than a felon,” you remark. “Just spare my neighbors the acrobatics show next time, would you? Maybe try knocking on the door like a normal person! Preferably when you’re not dressed like… that.” 

It’s not that his suit wasn’t nice, because it was. But it lacks the advanced Stark-tech that makes Peter’s suit so uniquely sleek, meaning that it was likely safe to assume that no one in this world would mistake this boy for the real Spider-Man. 

Unless they were to catch him scaling up the side of your building… 

“I tried knocking.” he sounds exasperated, as if you are testing his patience. “You weren’t home.” 

You snort a laugh, wondering if he truly believes that is all the reason he needs to break into someone's home. 

“Then you should’ve waited until I got home,” 

“I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I was too tired to wait.” 

“Then you should’ve slept in the alleyway with the rest of the strays,” you hiss at him, fingers tightening around the bat as your frustration builds. 

The sheer ferocity in your voice gives him pause, stunning him into silence. 

Then the corner of his mouth begins to twitch upwards, lazily grinning at you as if he actually enjoys the verbal onslaught. 

You can tell that he’s watching you through those white lenses, and his tongue darts over his bottom lip, you feel your breath catch in your throat. “Fine,” amusement dances in his tone as he raises his gloved hands, “fair enough.” 

For a moment, no sound comes from your parted lips, leaving you to stand there gaping at him until you remember how to speak. “Fair enough?” You echo, shaking your head slightly. “That’s all you’ve got? No apology?” 

He moves, forcing you to take a step back as he shoves his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s not as tall as Parker, but he still stands an inch or so higher than you, making it hard to not feel intimidated as he stares down at you, your own face staring back from the reflection of his lenses. 

“Better not push your luck, Spitfire,” 

He’s baiting you—he has to be! Using a stupid nickname to get under your skin, to try and prod further at your short temper. And it’s working—god, you hate how much it’s working!—because you find yourself contemplating putting his superhuman durability to the test by whacking him over the head with your bat. 

“By the way,” he says before you have a chance to act on your intrusive thoughts, pointing at your hands, “you’re bleeding.” 

As if his words switch a flip in your head, you’re suddenly aware of the acute throbbing in your palm. You loosen your grip on the bat, letting it clatter recklessly to the floor as you hold your hand out to examine it. 

Unsurprisingly, the rubber handle managed to tear open the barely-healed cut on your palm, courtesy of your too-tight grip on it. You hiss through your teeth, watching as blood oozed from the cut, dripping down towards your wrist. 

Slipping past you, the boy only half-manages to stifle his laugh. “You should probably take care of that.” 

He’s already slipping out into the hall by the time you regain enough awareness to follow after him, gritting your teeth against the pain. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

“To the other room,” he calls over his shoulder. Once he’s standing in front of Parker’s door, he spins back around to face you, his snarky expression still in-tact. “Where I’m hoping you won’t follow me.” 

Everything about him causes your blood to boil—his grating voice, his insolent attitude, his stupid soft lips. 

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?” You exclaim, your voice strained with pain as you try to wrap your hand in the lower half of your shirt. 

It takes no-time for blood to start seeping through the thin material, and you certainly don’t look intimidating like this—the lower half of your abdomen on display as you try to apply whatever pressure you can to the wound—but you don’t care. 

“I don’t have to let you and Parker stay in my house—I’m doing it because I’m nice, alright? And, so far, you’ve been nothing but a dick!” 

The thin fabric of his mask shifts, brows furrowing at the mention of Parker. Unlike Peter, however, he doesn’t bother commenting on the nickname. “Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe you. Especially since you’re the one calling me names.” 

The levity in his tone makes you want to scream—what was his deal?! 

You press harder against your bleeding palm, your breathing turning shallow. You’re not sure if it’s frustration or pain or what, but you feel like your head is spinning. “Look, I don’t know you, alright? But this? Isn’t gonna work,” you bark at him, chin lifted defiantly as you stare into his mask, unrelenting. “If you plan on staying in my house, then you’ll get your shit together—got it?” 

His head tilts, curiously watching as you continue your frantic speech. 

“No crawling in through my windows or sleeping in my bed or smarting shit off! And take off that stupid mask!” You huff, shaking your head. “Or, I don’t know, pull it down the rest of the way! Just do something because you look stupid like that!” 

The words are spewing from your mouth like a torrential downpour, fueled by the rage swirling in your stomach and the throbbing in your hand and—

He laughs, a genuine laugh that isn’t born of derision, and you feel your racing thoughts slow to a halt. “You should work on your insults,” reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs his mask off. “Because that was pathetic.” 

It’s no longer just your thoughts that have slowed, but the entire world. Everything around you feels like it has come skidding to a stop—leaving you staring up at him like a dumbfounded idiot. 

He’s beautiful—a commonality among Peter’s variants, it seems. 

He’s smirking, an infuriatingly charming smirk that lets you know he has no intention of listening to your demands for him to silence his quick wit. But you’re not focusing on that—no, you’re focusing on the features that had been hidden from you this whole time; his dark hair, tousled from removing his mask, falls in a chaotic halo around his face, contrasting the vibrance of his eyes. 

His eyes. 

They leave you breathless, and you hate it. Colored with the deepest cerulean you’ve ever seen, his eyes feel like staring into the depths of a crystalline ocean. You can almost feel yourself getting swept up in their tides, feel them enveloping you in a feeling of familiarity, as if this wasn’t the first time you had been pulled into their ebbing waters. 

“Have we–” your mouth has gone dry, your voice cracking. “Have we met before?” 

It’s a ridiculous question, and you recognize that even as it’s spilling from your lips. You couldn’t have met him before—not when the two of you weren’t even from the same universe! 

He seems to be thinking the same thing, and you’re already preparing to take the full force of whatever smartass comment he’s about to fling at you. “I’ve met you,” he says simply, taking you by surprise. Then he inclines his head towards your still-bleeding hand, “You should patch yourself up before you stain the carpet.” 

You look down at your hand, at the hem of your shirt, soaked in blood. 

“But just so I know,” you look back up, his body half-turned towards the door, his fingers resting against the knob, “if Peter and Parker are already taken, then who does that make me?” 

You have to force yourself to take a breath. “What did I call you in your world?” He’s silent for a moment, staring at the floor and chewing on his lip. Then, pushing the door to Parker’s room—their room—open, he smiles.

“Pete.”

a/n - ayyy, pete's finally here! and, ofc, lots of other little important details sprinkled around as well.

also, i really wanna say thank you to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this story so far! it truly means the world to me to read all of the nice comments and to know that you guys are interested in this story! so, again, thank you 💖 as always, please comment/like/reblog and let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

part four, titled "blooms of subterfuge", to be released april 29th

#peter parker imagine #no way home imagine #peter parker fan fiction #peter parker fic #peter parker one shot #mcu imagine #spiderman imagine #spiderman fanfiction #andrew!peter imagine #tom!peter imagine #tobey!peter imagine #tom!peter x reader #andrew!peter x reader #tobey!peter x reader #peter parker x reader #spiderman fic #peter parker #mcu x reader #mcu imagines #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #andrew garfield #tobey maguire #tom holland #spiderman headcanon #spiderman imagines #tasm imagine #tasm imagines #raimiverse imagine

[shawnxstyles]

the list

DATE: JUNE 15, 2023

summary: tom offers for you and your writing partner to work at the empty frat house when you have no other options. even though you hate tom with a burning passion, you can’t fail this class. when all is going fine, your partner has to leave abruptly for an emergency, leaving you with no way home (wink). thinking you’re all alone, you decide to snoop through tom’s belongings to try to find his rumored list.

request: yessss

song: Hot in Herre- nelly

words: 9.2k

warnings: SMUT (f- receiving [oral, fingering, cock-thumping, nipple play, choking, deepthroating], m- receiving [blowjob], [small] daddy kink, degrading kink, rough/protected sex [not clearly consensual, but implied], mention of reader going under/slight subspace), pet names (princess), a lot of language, and a lot of dialogue.

note: I’M BACK and i’m with this big baby right here. i hope you guys enjoy this because it took me a few days to write. i’m glad to finally have some time to write again!

frat!tom x college!reader

–

“I’m really glad we got to be partners on this,” You smile as you hug your textbook and notebook to your chest.

“Yeah, me too. I think we’ll do great,” Brandon replies, and then the conversation basically stops there. It was dry and kind of awkward, but he was pretty nice, so it’s alright with you.

Your Creative Writing class was assigned a project that consisted of writing a short story with another person. Your teacher picked the partners and you got Brandon, which you were thankful for because he is original and creative, also known as not being a plagiarizer. But you weren’t sure how well your guys’ genres mixed.

You wrote a lot of old realistic romance stories, whether it was for free-writing in class or on your own time. Brandon apparently wrote a lot of futuristic science fiction and read a lot of comic books. You weren’t against the idea that he was a nerd or a geek, but you just hoped it didn’t overwhelm your writing process. But again, he was nice, which you didn’t get from most guys.

The campus is bussing like usual. All different kinds of people roam the concrete ground waiting for their classes to start or trying to leave without dropping all their things or wandering because they don’t know what else to do. It’s a balance that you’ve been accustomed to for the past year. Yeah, you took a gap year at 18 and are now a 20 year-old sophomore in college, but that doesn’t mean you have your shit figured out. No one does, and that kind of comforts you.

With these random thoughts, you and Brandon walk through the crowded campus until you reach the library.

“What the hell,” You squint your eyes at the paper sign that is taped to the glass door. You suggested the library as your work spot because Starbucks may be a little loud and you needed a lot of silence while writing. You’re also very picky with your own stories, so you can’t even imagine how it’s going to be when you combine ideas. Maybe you should just be less conceited…

As you read the surprisingly fine print, you find out that the room is having an inspection check.

“The librarian told people not to eat in there,” Brandon shakes his head in disappointment and you sigh in subtle annoyance.

“Well what are–”

“Oh, shit, it’s closed?” A voice appears from behind you and you nearly turn around and swing at the body. Only because you know whose body it belongs to.

A body with perfect fucking arms and a stupidly good-looking face–

Stop it.

“No, it’s just locked and has a sign that says it’s closed,” You roll your eyes as you spin around, facing Tom in all his stupid glory. A slight smirk creeps up his face as his eyes look down at you. You watch as he chews his gum, and you hate that it’s kind of hot.

Stop. It.

“What’s with the attitude? I just asked a question–”

“Well, it was a stupid question,” You snarl, biting on your lip in irritation. Even looking at him gets you all riled up because you know how he is.

You’re not sure exactly when you started hating Tom, but you know exactly why. Hate might be a strong word, but it goes well with the feeling you experience every time his name is mentioned or you see his smug face. You hate the way he talks about girls. You hate the way he treats girls, like they’re on some type of list and he’s just checking them off. Every time he even looks at a woman he finds mildly attractive, she’s instantly on said-list. He probably has a handwritten copy somewhere. You wouldn’t be surprised because you’ve heard that rumor before.

You heard a lot about him before you actually knew him. You heard through the grapevine that he lost his virginity to a girl in college when he was only 15, and now he’s a senior in college. And that he fucked three different girls in the same day during his senior year of high school. And a new one that you’ve heard is that he has sex every single day with a new person because he can’t live without it. You’re not sure if all of these are true or correct, but after you got to know him just a little, you know that it can’t be too far from the truth.

Tom was in your Film Analysis class last year. You purposely sat next to him because you thought he was cute, and you weren’t wrong, but you paid for it at the end of the year. He would constantly peek at your papers, and at first, you thought it was a sign of flirting. But he was just too involved with his phone during the films that he never knew what was going on once the assignments came. Your professor didn’t let you guys change seats because it was easier to take attendance with a seating chart, and he had “hundreds of students every day” blah blah blah. Why did your teacher have to be so old he was on the brink of death?

Throughout the entire year, you would overhear Tom talk about girls and what he was doing with them. It disgusted you that someone could be so objective and still get the girl (or girls), but you tried not to get involved with it. Then one day, like a random switch, Tom tried to hit on you. He tries to deny it, saying “Why would I do that?” and “You’re not my type” and shit like that, but Tom is only in it for the sex. He doesn’t care too much about appearances, so that’s how you know he was full of shit.

To this day, you swear you’re still on his list, whether it’s a physical or mental one. Tom flirts with you like he can, and yeah, sometimes that fucks with your head, but you remain composure. Because of your curiosity, you want to find out, one, if he actually has a list and two, if you’re on it. But your hate for him overpowers your curious wonders. If you did find this “list,” you wouldn’t stop making fun of him for it. And, he wouldn’t be able to survive if you were actually on it.

“Can we work at your place, Y/N?” Brandon asks, completely ignoring Tom.

“Can’t,” You reply, “my roommate asked for the evening, so she can…have her boyfriend over.”

“Oh,” he stares at the ground awkwardly and scratches his neck.

“Oh, you mean have sex?” Tom inserts himself into the conversation. You glare at him with searing lasers in your eyes. “What? You can’t say the word sex? Does it turn you on too much or something?”

“Tom!” You whack him in the arm with your heavy textbook and he simply laughs. It was whole and deep, and it made you feel all warm, but so did your hatred for him, so what’s the difference? “What is wrong with you? Do you have any filter?”

“I’m going to say…no,” he winks and crosses his arms like he is the coolest person to walk this earth. His smugness makes your fists clench and your blood overheat with fiery.

“Okay, before this gets into an argument, where are we going to work?” Brandon chips in with his hand on your shoulder. You take a deep breath, trying to think rationally.

“You can work at my place,” Tom licks his pink lips and infamously smirks again. Your body is so hot that it melted your brain into a mush of incomprehension, so you can’t even respond to his idiocracy before Brandon very unsurely says why not.

Fuck.

–

“Welcome to The House,” Tom introduces dramatically while flinging the door open for you both. You swear that was the most gentleman-like thing he’s ever done.

“At least come up with an original name,” You roll your eyes again like your body has been programmed to every time Tom opens his mouth.

“So much attitude for such a tiny person,” he taunts, shutting the door behind him. Brandon walks quickly into the dining room with his backpack, leaving himself out of the very heart-felt conversation between you and Tom. Your jaw ticks a tad at his words. “I love when you roll your eyes.”

Your face scrunches in disgust, but can’t help it when your curiosity slips from your mouth, “Why?”

“Because then I know I’ve done my job,” A hint of a smirk rises on his lips while your eye twitches at his arrogance.

“And what is your job? To annoy the shit out of me? ‘Cause if it is, congratulations! You get promoted every time you talk to me,” No matter how badly you want to, you resist the urge to roll your eyes just because you know how much it would please him. Even with your irate words, that all-too familiar smirk lingers like he’s proud.

He likes when you fight back because no one ever does. It’s easy for him. Too easy sometimes. Yeah, he likes when he can sleep with a girl without having to try too hard, but once he met you, he realized he liked a bit of a fight. Tom craved the passion and bubbling tension that strangled the air between you both. It was thrilling and enthralling, and he knew with enough poking and prodding, you would snap. That was his job; to make you snap.

“Close, but no cigar.”

“What are you, like, a hundred?”

“I’m surprised you’re still talking to me, princess.” There’s that name. That stupid fucking name. You know that he throws that title around like candy to women. You know that the sweet undertone of the tag is what it does for them and what gets them in his bed at the end of the night. It angered you that he thought you were so easy, so gullible. But no, you weren’t going to let him smooth-talk you all the way to his bedroom. Even if it was just upstairs…

“Actually, I’m not anymore,” You finished the conversation and walked away. After you stopped facing him, your eyes immediately went to the back of your head in a dramatic roll. As you enter the dining room, you are suddenly aware of the heat radiating off your skin. You lift a hand up to your beaming cheeks, which turn out to be flaming with the fury bubbling in your blood.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Brandon asks, being the nice guy he is. You swallowed and inhaled.

“Yeah. Let’s get started.”

–

Not even ten minutes later, Tom comes bustling into the room. He says he was just checking up on you guys, but he was just trying to annoy you. After half an hour, he comes back again, saying something about the last football game and if you two have watched it. You inhale a few times, squeezing your pencil in your hand. He walks into the kitchen ajar and grabs something from the fridge.

“Tom, can you leave us alone? We have to get this done by Friday.”

“But it’s my house. I should be able to go wherever I want in my own house.”

“You literally invited us here, so we could work in peace!” You didn’t mean to shout, but Tom brought out the worst in you.

“I never said anything about peace–”

“Look, Tom, just please leave us alone, yeah?” You lowered your voice a bit, hoping maybe he would hear you. To your surprise, he licks his lips and re-enters the dining room, standing near your chair at the end of the table.

“All you had to do was say please, princess,” he winks and struts away, and somewhere inside of you is annoyed that he got the last word. But a big part of you was…affected. Badly. You never thought in a million years the name princess coming from his mouth would hit you, but for some odd reason, it did. Maybe it was because of his impromptu alliteration. Or the wink–no, it couldn’t have been the wink. Maybe it was the octave of his voice? You noticed how it got a tad deeper when he talked to you compared to how he did earlier. Were you looking too far into it?

Fuck, now he’s got you in your head.

Was this his job all along?

“How does that idea sound?” Brandon’s voice pulled you from your overwhelming thoughts, but not fast enough.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch what you said,” You apologize with a head shake. He repeats, and you write it down. This goes on for about an hour or so; you two throwing ideas back and forth.

You tried to find middle ground. You assumed you would be writing some sci-fi romance, and you were correct. Although you wanted to be there in the moment, you couldn’t stop thinking about Tom, and just the thought infuriated you. If you were present, you wouldn’t have complied and agreed to some of Brandon’s suggestions without more of a fight. The more ideas he spouted out, the weirder they got.

“Robots…God, I love writing about robots. Robots falling in love?” he pauses for a moment. “while trying to take over the world! You have to write that one down.”

You wrote it down, but your mind was moving differently than your body. As he suggested more topics, you zoned out completely. He was clearly very into the process and you…couldn’t have been farther from it. Like an echo, Tom lingered in your mind.

Where was he? What was he doing? Was he having sex right now? Why wasn’t he bothering you anymore?

You might have told him please, but Tom is just as stubborn as they come. You can’t say much though because you’re just as stubborn yourself. Maybe that’s why you two always bicker. You wondered if he fought with anyone else like how he battled you. Was he trying to make you mad just for the fun of it, or did he want something more?

Was there really a list? You can’t be the only person who’s considered that, right?

“Oh no.” The two words out of Brandon’s mouth brought you back because they were different from one of his absurd ideas. His eyes are staring at his phone screen once you start focusing in on him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“It’s…a family emergency. Shit, Y/N, I have to go up North. Like right now. Do you think we can pick this up in a few days?” He wavers out nervously and clearly full of panic.

“Y-yeah, of course!” You blink rapidly at the sudden change and nod to every word without really thinking.

“Are you sure?” He questions, but he’s already standing up from the table with his backpack tight around his shoulders and his keys in his hand.

“Yes, now go!” You flee him from the house, so he can get a head-start on his drive. As his car zooms down the street, your eyes wander to the empty driveway of the house. And then it gets you wondering again.

How are you going to get to your dorm?

“Fuck,” You grumble in the evening air, the sun barely beginning to set.

You had no money on you, and of course your card wasn’t linked to your phone, so you couldn’t buy an Uber, Lyft, or anything. You creep your way back into the frat house with slugged shoulders. You drop yourself onto the small couch as silence roams around. You never in your life thought that a frat house, or any house with just guys, would be this quiet. It makes sense that they’re all out though because they’re all social butterflies trying to get laid at the latest party. Woo hoo. Sense the sarcasm?

Feeling sorry for yourself, you wander around the house. You pad the entire downstairs area before making your way up the staircase. The second you touch the top step, your curiosity starts to plague you.

Where’s Tom’s room?

Yeah, okay, maybe it’s rude, but you don’t know what to do. And, come on, it’s Tom. He doesn’t care. More specifically, you don’t care. You don’t care that you’re about to snoop his room because no one is here and it’s not like he’s going to know, right?

There’s about five bedrooms upstairs and three of the doors were open. With delicacy, you barely pushed open the doors that weren’t closed completely as if they would creak loudly and someone would find you. You peeked in a few rooms, glancing at the designs to see if you saw something that related to Tom. None of the rooms seemed fitting.

And then, like a lightbulb, you remembered that Tom was the leader, or whatever bullshit they called him. You know the title only ever gave him an ego boost. In most cases, the “leader” gets the biggest bedroom, well, at least that’s what it was like at your friend’s sorority house. So, testing your theory, you trail down the carpeted hallway until you reach the last room, which you assumed was the largest. Turning the knob, your eyes stare at the master bedroom before you.

Called it.

The room had white walls, just like the others. But Tom had a lot more personality through his decorating than you would have thought and it was…surprisingly…well-kept. Maybe it wasn’t his room.

As you stepped a foot inside, you got the hint that his favorite color was blue; navy bed sheets, baby blue desk lamp, midnight-colored nightstand, cyan desk chair, and a few other accessories that solidified the idea. Your eyes stay glued to his bed for a moment. It was a little ruffled, like he had been sleeping in it, but you knew that bed had been through more than just sleeping. You never thought you’d feel bad for a mattress and some sheets.

Before you know it, you’re traveling towards his desk, which was white (everything was very randomly assorted). You nibble on your bottom lip, debating on if it’s worth digging through the four drawers to find the one thing that’s been nagging you for months.

The list.

Something deep inside of you is warning you that searching through his belongings is a bad idea, but there’s really nothing that stops you from pulling open the first compartment. Carefully, you shift around the assortment of pens and pencils until you admit there’s nothing but those in there. Moving on to the second drawer below the first, it’s extremely heavy. Then you realize the weight is from three hefty textbooks that look completely untouched.

Makes sense.

In the next top drawer, there’s nothing useful beside clean, unused binder paper. Losing all hopes of being right, you check the final drawer. Just in case.

You didn’t know what you were going to find inside of there. But whatever you may have thought, it wasn’t this.

In the deep compartment was a bunch of clothes. Women’s clothes. A few shirts, even some socks, but mainly bras and panties. You almost touched them to sift through it, but immediately retracted your hand before doing so, assuming these articles haven’t been cleaned. Your face is frozen in disgust at the pile as if your gaze is going to burn all of it away.

“I thought it would take a lot more work to get you into my bedroom,” A deep accent says, causing you to jot and slam the drawer closed.

From your crouch, you fall to the ground, heart racing erratically at the sight of Tom. Every nerve of your body was screaming in alert because you thought you were alone. Layers of goosebumps litter your skin when you visually take in his appearance; frizzy, damp hair, dark blue briefs, and a white towel draped over his buff shoulder. You swallow every bit of your saliva and leave your mouth completely dry as your eyes shamefully trail down his entire physique.

It’s not like he’s trying to hide anything.

“It’s a bit rude to stare, yeah?” he ticks, using the towel to dry his hair a bit more. His briefs were a little tight, and you wondered if they were the wrong size. Especially from your seat on the floor, you got the perfect view of his bulge outline. Your stomach burned and your eyes couldn’t stop blinking, trying to make the image go away, but it didn’t. It was real. At this point, he’s basically just giving you a free show. You mentally hated yourself for enjoying every second of it.

Stop it. Now, how are you going to get out of this?

“What were you looking for?” Tom asks almost innocently with a lick of his pink lips, trying to hold back a little smirk. Tom liked watching you snap, but he loved when you were flustered. He loves watching you get embarrassed because you feel hot all over. It’s a sight to see.

“Something to get you arrested,” You reply just as lightly, trying to hide your startledness before awkwardly pushing yourself on your feet. You try to keep your eyes away from him, but it’s difficult when his body is practically glistening in all its chiseled glory.

“Like what? A gun?” he jokes with a charming smile, slowly striding closer to you. Your breathing staggered a tad, but you kept your composure. Mostly.

He honestly looked like he had a gun in his briefs.

He laughs.

“I hope you know it’s not a gun, princess,” That lingering smirk is plastered on his arrogant face again and you wanted to punch it off of him. You couldn’t believe yourself for thinking out loud, especially because it was the last thing you wanted him to hear. You knew it was only an ego-booster. Your entire body flushes in overwhelming heat, wondering how you’re ever going to escape his looming presence.

“I-I obviously know that’s not a gun, Thomas,” You grind your molars at your stuttering because it makes you look and sound weak. Your trembling fingers turn into heated fists that have been ignited by only one thing; your arousal.

“Thomas? That’s a new one,” While you’re stuck in place, Tom doesn’t shy away from inching closer towards you. You don’t even realize it, but you’re holding your breath. “Are you okay, Y/N? You look a bit…flushed.”

Your heart unconsciously stammers against your chest, attempting to find an outlet. But there is none. Just like there is no escape from Tom as he stands in front of you unmoving. He’s so close, impossibly so, that your pounding heart is lurching towards his.

“It’s…hot in here,” You reply with an observation. Your voice was whispering as if your voice was afraid to speak any louder. With his proximity he could probably hear every heated pump of your blood.

“Like the song,” Tom smirks because he knows the real reason why you’re all hot and bothered. It’s something deeper than the temperature of his bedroom (because it really wasn’t that warm). “You know it, right?”

“Yeah, who doesn’t?” You almost roll your eyes before you stop yourself.

“Remind me, what’s the next lyric?”

A wave of heat crashes over your neck at his words, deep and low. Your stomach was burning with desire while your clit was throbbing in your underwear. You never would have thought that you’d be turned on by Tom, but you were doing only the impossible today.

Escaping this situation has left your mind. The only thing in your head now is staying in it.

“Take off all your clothes,” A breathless sound wavers out of your throat and you’re surprised you were even able to respond. Tom’s face is smug, almost proud at how flushed you are. His hand reaches up and ever-so delicately traces over your jawline. It was so gentle, but because he was finally touching you, you nearly moaned. You’ve never needed someone so badly before, and you never thought the person you’d be needing the most would be Tom.

You keep thinking that, but it’s just so hard to comprehend the idea of anything Tom.

“Is that something you want?” Tom’s husky voice fans over your heated skin as his fingers trail down your neck. Your chest raises up and down, and even if you’re trying to fight the feeling, you can’t. Your entire body wants him–no, damn-near craves him–to the point where you can’t even speak. Your subconsciousness hates you because you know how much he is just loving this. You hate to give him such satisfaction. “D’you want to strip? Right here in front of me? Or do you want me to do it for you? Because–”

“Yes,” You whisper with your eyes facing his chest, too afraid to stare into his lust-taken eyes.

“No,” he says, and for a moment when he took a breath, you thought he’d just rejected you. “I need to hear you say it all. I need to hear you tell me what you want. Tell me how bad you want it. I bet I can give it to you. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

His words practically made you a puddle at his feet, but they also made you want to slap him with those heavy textbooks until he learned some manners. Has he really been waiting for you? Or is that just another one of his lines? One that he uses on every single girl he gets in his bed?

Your mind might have cared at any other time, but your body overruled.

“I want…” Your mind was filled with so many possibilities, it was crowding your brain. Tom’s hand that was tracing your jawline then cupped your neck gently, causing you to sigh. You couldn’t resist swallowing all of your saliva again along with your pride. Because you were about to do something really stupid. If you were in a clear mindset, this would have never happened, you’re sure of it. But common sense isn’t here to guide you right now; only desire and lust. “I want you to fuck me, Tom. Hard. Harder than you’ve ever fucked anybody before.”

“Not quite what I was looking for, but I’ll get you there.”

Tom doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hand completely around your neck while crashing his lips to yours. They mush together so sloppily, you could barely call it a kiss. But, damn, did it feel good. Fire and passion laced your lips, and it was so intoxicating that you thought you would overdose on his euphoria. Your mind couldn’t even react properly while your body was going haywire. One of your hands snaked up to the nape of his neck while the other was squeezing his naked bicep tightly.

The proximity of your bodies was about to make you pass out from a heat stroke.

In the misty moment, he leads you towards the bed. If you’d known better, you would have pushed him and told him to fuck off because he would not get to sleep with you. But you didn’t know better. Matter of fact, the only thing you knew right now was Tom Tom Tom.

When your knees hit the edge of the mattress, your body goes tumbling backwards, causing your heart to race even more than it had been. You break the kiss in a gasp, but Tom doesn’t let you fall too far, holding you securely with one hand on your waist and the other on your neck.

“Already falling for me. It’s a bit soon, yeah?” Tom flirts condescendingly with a single chuckle, standing on the edge after dropping you onto the bed. Good, you thought. You didn’t want delicacy anymore. You wanted roughness. You couldn’t allow yourself to be sweet and intimate with Tom. Not if you didn’t want to fall in love with him or get attached.

Not that that was possible.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m trying to, princess,” Even with the insult, his smirk lingers on like a tattoo. Although you despise that ridiculous nickname, your body didn’t care. When the word rolled off his tongue, your stomach erupted in needy desire and your cunt clenched around nothing. Tom isn’t new to a woman’s arousal. He knows when someone is turned on. It appears in their voice, their body obviously, but always in their eyes. And that lust was laced within you: in your voice, body, and eyes.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” he taunts, hovering over your trembling body while your mind still tries to come to terms with what the fuck is happening.

“Of course not,” You grumble, but it comes out all quiet.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that. Maybe you’ll be surprised,” he infamously winks before traveling down your neck in harsh kisses. You try to withhold the whimpers he’s causing because it's impossible with the amount of pleasure you’re feeling.

Kneeling on both sides of you, Tom’s hands weave their way under your top, exploring your torso mindlessly. His palms are heavy and rough, the only type you wanted to feel when it came to him. You were wearing a simple bralette that you would feel his fingers trace over impatiently.

“Take it off,” You moaned when he nimbled a bit hard behind your ear. You felt him breathe a chuckle, and you just knew he was smirking. As per usual.

“That’s not very nice,” Tom tsks, halting all his movements and hovering over your flushed face. You were in a daze and he hasn’t even done anything yet. Your core was on fire waiting desperately to be taken care of by the so-called “sex god.”

“I didn’t want it to be,” Grumbling, you grind on your teeth again in impatience. “This was a mistake–”

In complete irritation, despite your body’s desires, you force yourself to sit up. However, Tom does not let that slide. Within seconds your arms are being pinned above your head and he is straddling your hips snuggly. There was no escaping him.

In this position, you could feel his bulge barely pressing against your lower tummy. The thickness nearly made you moan because you were so desperate for it, but God knows you would never get on your knees and beg for it. That’s the last thing you’ll ever do, especially for someone like Tom.

“Slow down there, princess. We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already trying to do the walk of shame.”

“Because you’re being an asshole!”

“I just wanted you to say please, princess,” Tom says innocently, but the most devilish smile rises upon his lips. It’s cruel how contradicting the two are, but you loved it. It spiraled you on even more. “Now, I don’t really care what you say.”

Following his word, Tom didn’t listen to a single word you said. Even though they only consisted of calling him a dickhead, asshole, and fucker, but that’s not the point. Before you know it, your clothes are stripped completely from you and you’re basically in the same predicament as Tom. He clips off your bralette and hastily rips it from your body, tossing it to some unknown place on his surprisingly well-kept floor.

Your breath hinges at the new vulnerability. Tom licks his lips lustfully at the sight of your near-naked body, but doesn’t say anything. No two-cented comment or some witted joke. Nope. Nothing. Something inside of you tingled.

His aggressive hands roughly massaged your breasts. He twisted and flicked your nipples with no care in the world, and that’s just how you liked it. You released a breathy moan when your nipples reached their peak, but he didn’t stop his miniature torture. Mindlessly, you bucked your hips up, right into him.

“Getting off just from some nipple play? God, you must be desperate,” Tom dryly chuckles.

“Shut up,” You groan when his mouth latches onto your raw nipple, intensifying the pain and pleasure that’s firing up in your body.

Tom’s wandering tongue finally makes it down to your underwear, which is soaked through with your arousal. You’re embarrassed to discover his reaction because you know it’s only going to make him even more air-headed than he already is. Your legs are tightly closed, but you widen them just a tad more. Tom isn’t having it.

“Open. I want to see what I do to you.”

You swear your heart skipped a beat because you nearly fucking died right there. Annoyingly obeying him, you open your legs more, giving him more access to your vulnerability. Also, giving him more ammunition to use to make fun of you. You knew for a fact that you would regret all of this in the future, but right now, for some fucking reason, you didn’t give a damn.

“Fuck,” Tom growled so low that you almost didn’t hear him. His face was now so close to you that you could practically feel his grumble vibrate through your thighs and straight to your cunt. “This is what I do to you? This whole time? And you’ve been running away…how selfish of you. To keep this from me.”

“I’m selfish? You are definitely the last person that’s–” The power of your words are cut short when he slides down your panties without hesitation. “–able to say that.”

“How about you stop saying stuff and let me get on with it?”

“Oh, please! Like I’m the one that’s stopping you.”

“Look who learned how to say please,” he smirks, hands prying open your thighs even wider than before. You inhale sharply as your cunt opens completely for him, dripping in your arousal. “Now, shut the fuck up unless you’re crying my name. Got it, princess?”

In the midst of an eyeroll, Tom places his mouth onto your clit. Places might be the wrong word. He latched his mouth hungrily onto you, like he would starve if he didn’t have you right now. Your eyes squeeze shut in shock, trying to decipher the incredible feeling of his mouth on you. Slurping and licking, Tom devours you whole and you can’t stop your body from squirming all over the place from the overwhelming euphoria.

To make you even more insane and to make you lose a bit more of your brain cells, Tom slyly slips one of his fingers in your cunt. It was undeniably soaking, so he slid it in easily. His pace is rigorous, thrusting in and out while sucking harshly on your clit.

Like Tom had requested, you were moaning. At first, it was just a few noises, but then, it turned into his name. The only word you seemed to know was Tom as you wailed and cried from his attack on your cunt. Even as your hips bucked into his face, he held you securely down with his forearm and continued to ram into you until you eventually came.

When you came, it was like you were hit by a freight train. Your orgasm slammed over you so powerfully that you saw stars for a moment. Oh, and you squirted, which you’ve never done before. Your wetness dripped down Tom’s face, and it was kind of funny to you, even if you felt a little bad about it (not really). But Tom had that tattooed-smirk on his face that let you know he was enjoying himself too much. Conceited as always.

“Didn’t know you were a squirter,” Tom wipes away your orgasm with his shower towel while your entire face goes hot again.

“Neither did I.”

“First time? What a pleasure.”

“Oh, shut up,” You roll your eyes, forgetting that he actually likes that. He smiles, but hides it with a smirk. Then Tom pulls down his tight briefs. Looking at his equipment, you nearly choked. It was thick and veiny, and the tip was an angry pink.

You wanted him inside of you, but if this was going to be the only time you do this, might as well get your fill.

“Actually,” You start, heart thumping rapidly. “Can I…”

You didn’t even really ask, you just slowly lowered yourself onto the floor. Tom didn’t stop you, just watched as you kneeled. Your eyes flickered from his eyes to his cock, waiting for him to terminate your movements.

“I’d never say no to a blowjob, princess.”

Rolling your eyes, your warm fingertips rub over his leaking slit. He hisses at the sudden contact, but moans gutturally when your tongue touches him. You lick up his shaft, soaking the entire surface with your saliva. Tom’s hefty hands find themselves tangled in your hair, using it for balance.

Once you take him deeper into your mouth, the urge to pump himself down your throat gets tougher. You hollow out your cheeks, slurping up and down until your face is burning. With confidence, you push him lower down your throat until you gag around his length.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groans, his sounds echoing on his blue walls. His stomach contracts, abs tensing as he senses his high approaching.

A few tears twinkle in your eyes, and to kill Tom even more, you decide to stare up at him through your lashes. Your expression appears innocent, but he knows you’re anything but with the way you’re taking his cock amazingly.

When Tom can’t restrain himself anymore, his hips start bucking into your face. He feels you moan against him even if he caught you off guard, sending a wave of vibration through his whole body euphorically. His grip on your hair tightens while the tears that were brimming your eyes start to fall down like a waterfall.

The picture of you crying while his cock was shoved down your throat was enough to get him off through the rest of college. Maybe even the rest of his 20s. You wanted it rough, and you took him like a champ.

With your fingernails digging into his thighs, Tom was sure to come soon. And in the next few moments, he did. He was so blindsided that he didn’t warn you, didn’t tell you to get off of him so you didn’t choke on his cum. But then, you swallowed him without any hesitation.

Tom was nearly hard again because of it.

His remaining orgasm leaked from the corners of your lips, which you wiped away with the towel on the bed. Tom was trying to not appear dumbstruck while you were trying to rid the tears from your face, even though you were almost positive that Tom got off on them.

You had done a lot of blowjobs and deepthroating throughout your college years because again, men aren’t too nice or generous. You just so happen to be both.

As you stand up from the ground, Tom doesn’t wait to push you onto the mattress again.

“That was…” he starts before groaning quietly. Was he reliving it? “I need to be deep inside of your cunt.”

You blinked at the suddenness of his words. He couldn’t give you a single compliment? At this point, you weren’t going to waste anymore time fighting about it. Looking at his cock, he was basically hard again. That seemed like a compliment in itself. His angry tip and thick veins looked like if he knew how to use his dick, it could potentially destroy you. Isn’t that what you wanted, though?

Hell yes.

“Get on with it then,” You pressed, trying to widen your legs a bit more. After your first orgasm and Tom’s, you’re not as shaky as you’d been in the beginning. You got some of your wits back.

“Impatient much? Didn’t the palace ever teach you manners?” Tom jokes with a knowing smirk before hovering over you. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes irritatingly at his extra comment. His cock thumped over your clit a few times, causing you to gasp at the weighted feeling. You didn’t even know he had put a condom on, but the texture of his cock felt like latex, so you assumed.

Even though you told him to get on with it, he doesn’t. Tom’s lips kiss and bite your neck while he continuously slaps your clit with his heavy cock. Whimpers elicited from your mouth at the friction; it wasn’t a lot, but you were still sensitive from your last orgasm. Every time his dick hit the hood of your clit, shots of electricity fired inside of you.

“T-Tom!” You shouted annoyed, attempting to get his attention. But of course, your voice came out as a wavering moan and you saw his ego fly into the sky like a rocket. You can never win, can you? “Can you just fuck me already? What’s with all the foreplay?”

“Can you just shut the fuck up?” Tom stops all of his movements and grasps your throat in his hand. You glare into his blackened-eyes with an angered lust that he’s never seen before. But he likes it. He really likes it. “I’ll fuck you. Yeah, and I’ll keep fucking you until I’m done.”

His last words come out as a growl, one that was so primal and aggressive, you couldn’t stop the arousal that leaked from you. Finally, Tom pushes himself inside of you with no mercy.

Tom’s fingers are still wrapped around your throat, his pressure on and off so you get a millisecond to breathe. His cock slams into you at a meticulous and quick pace. Even with the condom on, you can feel every inch of his length sliding through you like it was raw.

You couldn’t even imagine how good it would feel if it was raw.

With no warning, Tom begins to flick his hips up into you. A broken croak elicits from your trapped throat while your cunt squeezes his cock harshly.

“Fuckin’ love this, aren’t you? Love how I fuck you? Love how I talk to you like you’re nothing?” His voice is guttural and low, laced with lust and degradation. “You’re just a hole f’me. A hole so fucking tight I can barely get my big cock through.”

You hate how egotistical he is, but your core is still on fire with every one of his words. He releases pressure on your throat for a bit longer, and you cry out in moans. His now free hand gropes your breast, slapping and twisting the nipple without care. Your back arched so aggressively, you thought you might cramp up.

Tom rammed into you like there was no tomorrow. His balls slammed against you while his light pubic hair tickled your clit and gave you just a bit more stimulation. Everything was making you float. Your body was just taking everything he was giving you and you were loving it. All the other times you’ve had sex they were gentle and sweet, but now, you’ve realized that it was just boring.

Tom somehow manages to curve his cock inside of you in such a way that it hits you in the perfect spot. A scream of his name flies out of your mouth before you clench snuggly around his shaft again. His name is the only thing your lips know.

“Daddy! Fuck,” You gasp at your own words, the title just slipping out. Your hand covers your mouth in a haste, shutting yourself up before you say anything else. Your eyes screw shut in embarrassment, hoping he didn’t hear you. But it was hard not to when you fucking screamed it. The neighbors probably heard you.

When you got too deep into it, you tended to say things like that. However, you’re usually able to compose yourself before you let it slip. But the way Tom is absolutely destroying you gives you no time to think, no time to do anything but feel.

“Of course, you’re fucking filthy. If I knew you were such a slut, I would’ve made you beg for my cock,” Tom growls in your neck, pounding into you with no remorse. Your mind is in a haze and your body is still on fire from embarrassment and passion. You tried your hardest to hold in your moans after satisfying him with that title, but Tom won’t let you.

He rips your hand away from your mouth, and for leverage, you instantly grip onto his shoulders. With each hostile thrust, your nails dig deeper into his skin, creating red curves all over him. Somewhere inside of you felt a sense of pride because you know that there will be marks later on. Is this what Tom feels like all the time?

Your cunt clutches his dick again, but this time your orgasm is near. Your hand travels down in between you two to rub your clit, but Tom beats you to it. His rough fingertips violently circle the little nub, sending your eyes rolling backwards. When you feel his pace slowing just a tad, you assume that he’s just as close.

“Daddy,” You mewl, scratching his arm as your hips thrust up towards his. Yeah, you were pretty deep.

But so was he.

“Know you’re close, baby. Feel you squeezin’ m’cock,” Tom grumbles gravely in your ear, and his voice sends a tingle down your arched spine. Although it was rough and raggedy, it was the softest he’s been to you all night. “Come, right fucking now, princess.”

Yeah, you might despise him outside of the bedroom, and maybe a little bit in it, but who are you to disobey such a thing?

Your entire body tenses and your heart stops. You don’t even feel yourself breathing as your orgasm washes over you like a never-ending tsunami. Your brain is overwhelmingly fuzzy, your breasts are sore, and your cunt is aching from all it. But you loved every bit of it. It was something you didn’t know you wanted, but when you got it, it changed your views and feelings on everything.

Sliding in and out of you slickly, Tom comes soon after you with a string of profanities falling from his pretty lips. Even if he was conceited, he was a striking man. His body was hand-crafted by God in addition to going to the gym every day. When his muscles contracted over you, you couldn’t stop fawning over him. And his face was remarkable, it was unfair how someone could be given so many good social-standard genes. You wished you could say it was all a rumor. But it was hard to insult his looks when everything he gloated about was true. It was just annoying that he was aware of it.

Funny, right?

“Y/N,” Tom repeated your name over you, hoping you would wake up in the present moment. You were clearly in your head and Tom was a little concerned to say the least. Maybe he sleeps with a bunch of different women and maybe he’s arrogant, but that doesn’t mean he’s heartless.

Blinking several times, you snap out of whatever mindless daze you’ve been in. He’d already thrown away the condom and put on some boxers, not briefs. He gently wiped any excess orgasm away with his towel, your body subtly squirming from the stimulation. When Tom finally sees you coming to your senses, he slowly leans away from you, assuming you want space.

“Wait,” You find yourself saying without knowing what you want him to wait for. When his body rose from yours, you felt cold. It was so uncomforting, knowing that you’ve been so warm this entire time. Tom stares down at your naked body and watches goosebumps fan your skin. Your nipples pebble and stomach contracts. You feel so vulnerable.

“What?” Tom asks a little breathily, one arm holding himself up for balance. He couldn’t really say anything else. For the first time in a while, he’s completely starstruck by you. Your bare figure with your lion-like frizz of hair on his bed, tangled in his blue sheets is a sight he’ll never unsee. He honestly thinks he needs a moment to collect himself before staring at your beauty again.

Have you always been this beautiful?

“It’s…cold.”

“Now, it’s cold? I’m not the weatherman, princess,” Tom smiles like a child with a slight tilt. Your eyes roll like usual, but a smile is tugging at your lips this time. “Maybe you should put some clothes on.”

“Maybe you should shut up,” You retaliate, pushing yourself up. You’re face to face with Tom, merely inches away from each other.

“I love when you fight me,” he compliments, moving his head in little shakes like he adores you. Your heart skipped a beat at his words.

“Why? Because I put you in your place?”

“Something like that,” Tom sits next to you on the bed while you wrap yourself in his sheets. You really didn’t feel like wandering around the entire room completely naked with his eyes watching you. “Also, what were you looking for earlier? I know it wasn’t a gun.”

That familiar wave of heat flushes your skin and your mouth gets all dry. Are you sweating?

“Pfft, I don’t even remember. Must have slipped my mind,” Out of all the things you could have said, you decided to act stupid. Good going.

“C’mon, it can’t be that bad. I’ve probably heard worse,” Your wide eyes meet his, full of embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m assuming it’s some rumor thing you heard, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Tell me.” You’ve already had sex with him, and that’s the lowest you could go. So, it can’t be worse than that.

“I was looking for the list.”

“Not even a list but the list? Must be some pretty special list,” he smirks with an arrogant lick of his lips. One of your hands rubs your arm for comfort while you explain the entirety of what you’ve heard. It took a few minutes, but Tom was listening to every word. He nodded along with a sly smirk on his lips.

“So, it’s a list of all the people I want to sleep with. Is this list in order?” Out of all the questions he could have asked, that’s what he said? Maybe he is completely conceited.

“I guess so. I assumed you could rearrange it if you’d like.”

“Are the women rated?”

“What? That’s disgusting!” Physically writing down how well someone was at sex was pathetic to you. But the curious cat in your mind was wondering one thing:

What would Tom rate you?

“Well, if I had a list, you’d probably be near the top.”

There is no fucking way you said that out loud.

“You did, though,” Tom laughs while your fists clench his sheets embarrassingly. You fall backwards onto the mattress, covering your face with the bedding.

Why are you still in his room? Why have you not felt the urge to flee yet?

Your skin was burning from embarrassment and your heart was beating sporadically, but your breathing was steady and your mind was decently clear. So, why were you still lying in Tom Holland’s bed naked without a single thought of leaving? Did you…like it?

Or maybe because you have no way home and what’s the rush?

“Hey,” Tom says while you’re still beneath the covers. “Are you still cold?”

“Yes,” You mumble quietly.

“Do you…want to take a bath? Or a shower if that’s weird–” Your head slowly peeks out from the navy blue, finding Tom’s wandering eyes. His large hand was scratching the back of his curly head. A single tingle shot through your body, making you a degree warmer. It was the first time you’ve seen him even a little bit unsure of himself, and that made you smile. Just a tad because it let you know that maybe you’ve made him snap out of whatever bubble he lives in. Even just for a moment.

Discarding the sheet, you sit up on your knees at the edge of the bed. Like before, you’re face to face with Tom, and you can see the struggle in his eyes to not look down at your bare breasts. It nearly makes you break out into a fit of laughter, but you carry on.

“I’ll go with the bath,” You whisper seductively and don’t hide the way you stare down at his pink lips. You couldn’t help it. They just look so kissable.

What is wrong with you!

“I’ll, uh, leave you to it then,” Tom coughs awkwardly. He’s never been like this before. He’s good with the flirting, seducing, foreplay, sex, and even the aftermath of leaving right after. But the second it even gets remotely romantic or intimate, he shuts it down quickly before anything else can happen. Though right now, he’s the one who made it sweet and offered you a bath. A bath is cute and domestic, which is so unlike Tom. He would have never offered something like that before, especially with no one home. He should’ve just kicked you out.

What’s different?

“Oh,” You look at the floor in pretend disappointment. Just to note, you’re still completely naked, standing in front of his bathroom door. You’re so glad he has his own bathroom. “You don’t want to join me?”

Tom blinks, wondering if you’re being serious. He never thought you out of all people would want to have sex in the bathtub, let alone with him. He swallows, trying to keep his cool.

“Yeah, obviously, I was just letting you get a headstart,” Tom rapidly removes his boxers while you strut into the bathroom, shaking your ass in your trail. Streaks of curses leave his mouth while he slams the door closed, not forgetting to lock it.

For the record, the rumor was true; Tom did have a list. It was in a spot he knew no one would check; his textbooks in his desk drawer. A single sheet of paper that has a list of the girls he’s been with and the ones he wants to be with. It’s crazy how such a rumor was developed when no one knew about the list except for himself.

Yes, it was listed in order and he reorganized it whenever he needed to. That’s what erasers are for. He writes it in pencil because nothing is set in stone. It’s honestly hard for him to remember who’s in his top five right now. Yeah, Tom sounds like a complete douchebag, but he didn’t really care.

Tom said that your name would be “near the top” if he had a list. What a liar he is.

Ever since he met you, you’ve been the first on his list. You’re the only name that hasn’t been erased since he wrote it his junior year. Also, you’re the only person who has a little note on the side of her name:

1. Y/N Y/L/N -The one

Tom had a feeling that he won’t have to write any names down, or even need the paper anymore. Even if he never had a list to begin with, he would have never needed one to remember you.

—

i hope you guys liked this i worked hard!! likes, comments, and reblogs are all appreciated <3

taglist: @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3

crossed out= not able to tag

#shawnxstyles #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #enemies to lovers #tom holland daddy kink #frat tom holland

[zeta-in-de-walls]

TommyInnit Times article

Hey, so Tommy apparently did an Interview for the Times. I’m copy and pasting the whole Times article for those who can’t access it. It’s a nice read. Enjoy!

If you’ve never heard of Tom Simons — aka TommyInnit — your children most definitely have. The 18-year-old gamer from Nottingham is one of the world’s most successful online streamers, with 40 million followers across all social platforms hanging on his every (loud) word and anarchic in-joke. You know, the kind of shouty Minecraft-related banter that tweens and teens find hilarious but leaves their parents baffled.

There’s no doubt he’s a master of his craft, with Guinness world records for most viewers of a Minecraft livestream on Twitch, the gamers’ platform, and most followed Minecraft channel. His net worth is estimated to be $10 million. His live show in July at the Brighton Dome sold out within 24 hours and he had a book published this week. Not many gamers make that crossover, or have their first interview in The Times come to that.

Simons must be one of the richest self-made 18-year-olds in the country and has a running joke with his subscribers that he’s a billionaire. (It’s presumably a joke, but he won’t be drawn.) “It’s cool I’m set up for life, but it doesn’t feel relevant to who I am. I don’t spend very much,” he says. “It hasn’t changed how pissed off I was when they upped the cost of the bus fare by 10p to £1.30.” He seems to mean it. This summer he visited fellow YouTube millionaires in their mansions and on private jets in LA, but he’s content living in the two-bedroom flat in Brighton he bought from his landlord, and his mum still orders him a Tesco shop occasionally.

He’s definitely got one over on the kids at his secondary school in Nottingham who made fun of him after they discovered Channelnutpig, the first gaming channel he set up on YouTube aged 11. He was mortified and took it down immediately. “You want to fit in and make friends, and in year 7 you’re beginning to understand that girls exist,” he says. “So it wasn’t that cool shouting, ‘Hello everyone, it’s me, Tom!’ on my channel every week and have people play that back in front of you.”

Two years later he migrated to Twitch, again streaming Minecraft videos and filming banter with his online friends, and at 14 began the TommyInnit YouTube channel that now has 11.8 million subscribers. This time he kept it secret. “Every time we’d be in a science lesson and they’d show an educational video my eyes would be glued to the ‘recommended’ on YouTube in case I popped up and people found out. I kept that secret for so long. I had 100,000 subscribers when people started finding out. “When I got to 100,000 there was this weird new respect everyone had for me. I’d walk through the hallway and they would still glare at me, but no one would shove me. It was like I had a force field around me. It was so strange. I remember a week before someone getting me in a headlock and shoving me around. I thought, ‘Wow, I’ve levelled up!’ ”

Was he bullied at school? He pauses. “Just normal arseholes, not anything more than anyone else. I was quite quiet. I just teetered on the edge of being funny enough that people wouldn’t beat me up. If someone was shoving me around I’d just make jokes and they’d leave me alone. But also funny enough that no one thought I was cool. At all. Which is the exact place I’m in now really.”

Simons is more quiet, thoughtful and endearing in person than he is on his channels or in the book, a collection of silly quotes and zany ramblings. He’s a self-confessed nerd (“My dad and I are massive nerds”) and says that his audience are mostly “the people I would hang out with at school, who were awkward like me”. He adds, “I’m quite anxious in real life, but I’ve always been very social on the internet. If you message someone and they ignore you, who cares? It’s not real life.”

He believes that most of his fans are aged between 14 and 20, but he knows that a lot of younger kids tune in for the Minecraft banter (or possibly the swearing). A year ago he started a YouTube channel under his own name to make real-life videos that now has 5.6 million followers. It’s free to subscribe — his earnings come from the advertising. He recently spent a month in New York vlogging his daily antics, such as I’m literally Spider-Man, in which he dressed up as the superhero, and Making 100 Friends in 1 Day.

Why does he think he’s so successful when there are others creating content along the same lines? He’s perceptive in his answer. “I think it’s the loud funniness — me having fun with my friends. But there’s also this element of warmness. It’s welcoming and safe,” he says. “It’s never toxic or preying on other people. Nothing is at the expense of anyone else. It’s better for the world not to say the easy, rude joke or the put-downs. There’s so much of that on YouTube.”

He says that his parents have always been supportive. His dad, Iain, was in the gaming industry, owning an arcade in Nottingham before setting up the GameCity festival. He now works with his son.

Simons’s mum, Sarah, is an actor-turned-English teacher for adults with disabilities who set up the further education group, UKFEchat on Twitter. “She was on Twitter long before I was,” he says. “Now she has a cool internet personality advising people how to keep safe online.”

She was less cool, he admits, when his GCSEs were approaching in 2020. “She sat me down and said, ‘Right, you have 100,000 subscribers and that’s really good, but you need to take school seriously. I know you’re not revising and your grades are dropping.’ She was right — I was getting grade 3s in science. Then that week we went into a global pandemic and I didn’t do a minute of revision as the exams were cancelled.” He ended up with a very respectable collection of GCSEs, including a 9 (the top grade) in English language. “It was the perfect amount of ‘mum points’ I needed to spend the [lockdowns] in my bedroom making videos.”

He then went to college to study for a BTEC in film and TV. By now he was vlogging and would spend time out filming. “Near the start of the second year I remember saying to my tutor, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t make it in very much.’ He said, ‘Listen, I shouldn’t say this, but we’re teaching you the thing you’re already doing so if I were you I would drop out.’ So I did. I started college with a million [subscribers] and ended it with ten million.”

When his schoolfriends were studying for their A-levels this summer, Simons already had his own flat in Brighton, renting then buying it. However, he says: “A lot of people want to live a lavish life and I just don’t. Mum still orders me a Tesco shop occasionally and will say, ‘I knew you needed groceries.’ I’ll say, ‘How on earth did you know that from Nottingham?’ ”

He says that his parents were no pushovers when he was younger and his dad refused to let him play Grand Theft Auto 5, even though his friends were allowed. “He said: ‘It’s got strippers in; you murder in that game. You’re 12, you can’t look at that, I’m sorry.’ They were really on top of it because they understood [gaming] and they communicated with me about it. When it turned into a career, they said, ‘OK, it’s important. We get it.’ But they’d still make sure I didn’t stay in my room all day. I’d still have to walk the dogs and [we’d] have dinner as a family.”

Simons doesn’t know how his career will unfold. He’s also getting used to being recognised. “Walking through Brighton I can hear my name being whispered all around me. It was a big adjustment. I became a bit scared of people after being inside for a year [during the pandemic]. I forgot how big the world was beyond my screen, but I’m loving it now.”

TommyInnit Says . . . The Quote Book by Tom Simons, curated and edited by Wilbur Soot, is published by Quercus, £14.99

#tommyinnit #it wants you to subscribe to see it online so here:

[wishmaster]

Hey wishmaster or is it billy? Anyways I’m the most painful awkward and average gay nerd. Like a walking stereotype. Glasses. Braces. Pocket protector. Doctor who posters on my wall. And a huge crush on Tom holland. Anyways, life hasn’t been that great lately and I was wondering if you could turn me into the dumbest and straightest guy on a college campus to ease my pain?

YEAH BRO

Fuck dude wish you wouldn't go all himbo bro, I could sure work with a bro like you as a cute gay stud, fuck I'd have made you a twin of Tom had you wished it, but another straight douche it is, sorry to hear it, wish guys would be a bit more adventurous than wishing to be a dumb ass frat bro, but since you made the wish.

As you stood in your room admiring your nerd life, the word kept bouncing around in your head. it went from describing you and your cool clubs to taking on a negative meaning, nerds were nerds there to get there ass kicked and heads flushed in the toilet, in fact more things began to piss you off as wwell, faggots you hated them and there cock sucking ways. Why couldn't they jus like pussy like you loved pussy.

You grabbed your football, that was a man's sport and you, you were the manliest fucker on the team. You tossed in on the ground before moving into the mirror and checking out your new bad ass body, so perfect.

Fuck so perfect, a knock came to your door. You found one of your old nerdy friends standing there a shock on his face that lasted only a moment as soon as he passed through the door he altered to fit your new life.

Your sexy ass girlfriend was there to give you your daily blowjob before you headed out to spend some time with your boys, sports, chicks and staying in shape was all that fit inside your once massive brain. You were now the dumbest, straightest bro on campus and you loved every minute of it. Not that you knew any better any more.

#body transformation #male transformation #twisted wish

[eroguron0nsense]

Assorted One Piece Modern AU HCs

The Whitebeard Pirates are all part of a shelter/relief/mutual aid network for drug users, unhoused people, and vulnerable youth. Ace looks up to them all immensely and volunteers part time, but he's still very much on a journey of self discovery and healing

Ace is a massive music nerd and hobbyist with a near encyclopedic knowledge of genre histories and subcultural spaces. He goes to a lot of local acts his friends are involved in, plays the drums and bass and hangs out at Brook's recording studio/jams with him from time to time while he's in town (Brook loves Luffy and his family, and he's just happy to entertain young people who make or love music and let them use the space). He's undecided in his major but kinda leaning toward sociology or social work.

(Rayleigh is his prof, and unbeknownst to him, a college buddy/old flame of his bio parents who recognized him immediately and has no clue what to do with himself.)

Sabo is, of course, a socialist student organizer in a poli-sci/law program and interning at Dragon's practice (grassroots activist turned civil rights lawyer). The ASL brothers live together in a shitty apartment with barely any heat. He's secretly a massive film snob and organizes Radical Documentary Screenings with Koala from time to time.

Dadan has a cabin like 2 hours outside the city in the mountains and the brothers crash there every now and then over the holidays. She's retired now and constantly gripes about having to feed and shelter her stupid kids every time they come home but she still gets teary whenever she watches them go. Their childhood bedroom and three bunk beds are perfectly preserved and cleaned, and she wouldn't ever dream of moving Ace's posters or Sabo's old bookshelf and criterion DVDs or Luffy's plushies and taxidermied insects.

Brook's band is a genre-blending indie darling that occasionally tours the country. I'm definitely not the first one to think of this, but Laboon is a Newfoundland with severe separation anxiety and Brook has to bring him on tour or to half of the group outings. The Rumbar Pirates are a local jazz act he performs with from time to time, and he may or may not have dated Calico Yorki.

Usopp (fresh out of high school) only recently reconnected with his father and they've been having awkward family dinners with Kaya but it's getting less weird having Yasopp around. He babysits the Usopp Pirates part time and they love him to pieces; he's low-key interested in studying Botany and horticulture and has been checking out local degrees and training programs.

Franky's in the middle of an auto mechanic apprenticeship and is debating trying to get into a mech eng program at Robin's university; he was raised by Tom as a carpenter, and has worked as one for a really long time, but he's increasingly getting into engines and inventing things and the family's very supportive. Robin's a Masters student doing an hourly TA thing in Clover's class on Archaeology of the Void Century, and they're married.

Sanji, naturally, works at the Baratie and Zeff lets him brainstorm and test daily specials or set menus for holidays. He and Pudding are in the same patissier courses at culinary school (she's obviously a baking major); they're exes who've stayed friends and care deeply for each other. The ASL brothers sometimes pick up shifts at the Baratie (with the exception of Luffy who broke way too many dishes)–Zeff really likes all of Sanji's friends and dumps leftovers on them

#one piece #one piece au #one piece fandom #portgas d ace #revolutionary sabo #monkey d luffy #franky #cyborg franky #nico robin #usopp #one piece usopp #god usopp #straw hat pirates #yasopp #calico yorki #soul king brook #kaya one piece #curly dadan #whitebeard pirates #silvers rayleigh #modern au #sanji #black leg sanji #charlotte pudding #red leg zeff #baratie #Sanji's bi awakening was Ace but that crush on his friend's big brother didn't go anywhere and he's deeply in love with Zoro #I just wanted y'all to know that

[goodobservationshirley]

rewatch thoughts - ep 310

here we go people, we've almost made it to the last season. just have to get my heart crushed to get there

me looking at donna still thinking she can fix things: look at this fool

i had forgotten it was cameron who asked to meet at the old Mutiny place

you know i think this might be the first real joe and donna convo? as awkward as you might expect

lol when gordo got there joe went for a hug and gordo didn’t and just tapped him on the shoulder. awkward idiots the bunch of them

can you believe tom is a ‘i hate open source’ guy now? an amazing case of your-younger-self-would-hate-you

i really love the gordo and donna friendship. like yeah the marriage didn’t work out, but at the end of the day these are two nerds who spent the majority of their lives together

"if joe is a problem for you then he doesn’t have to be here, we can get rid of him" 😂

"i can't work with you. it will never be like it was. it can't be.💔

can you imagine if season 4 wasn't picked up and the show ended with season 3? a major tv crime was avoided

#halt and catch fire #hacf 2024 rewatch #can't believe it's already time for season 4 #i don't think i'll write my thoughts as the episode goes for this one #i want to enjoy it fully #i'll do it post episode #it may still be exactly the same format #maybe not #we'll see

[figureofdismay]

Every time i start getting back into Voyager fannishness i end up remembering that while Tom Paris is one of my favorite of all Trek characters, he is a lot of other people's... really not favorite character. Which, fair enough! But it's awkward 💀. Not the first time I've liked the wrong little guy from a thing, it's just that it gives me the kind of feeling of standing in a busy-ish room talking to myself in the corner lol.

Anyway I love that boy from his brash Cool Guy performance to his lonely nerd kid heart, outrageous flirting and obsessive, detail oriented escapism and all 💜❤️

#tom paris #beloved beloved #character theory: tom #fic: younger than we've ever been #st:voy

[saintsenara]

bookbinding tom riddle/myrtle warren teen | 35.5k words

‘men like practical women, pudding,’ had always been mum’s advice. men who like country walks don’t want girls in vertiginous high-heels, they want girls in wellington boots. men who like hearty meals don’t want girls who’ll only eat lettuce. men who are in trade unions don’t want girls who don’t pay the greengrocer on time.

men who are orphans, who believe themselves damned and are too thin and don’t sleep properly and live their lives sustained only by a current of murderous fury, require a different type of practicality. they don’t need to be soothed by a wet blanket - with those girls, they’ll push their luck and get into trouble and end up either in hospital or in prison.

they need a girl who’ll take charge and keep them on the straight-and-narrow, since they've made such a hash of managing their own lives so far.

which will win: sixteen years of planning for brutal world domination, or one (1) teenage girl?

this piece was written for week nine of @ladiesofhpfest, on the theme of heartthrobs and heartbreaks [you can find the masterlist for this week's fics here].

tom riddle and moaning myrtle may not be an instinctive pairing for that theme, but i like a challenge...

fortunately, so do they.

bookbinding is, at its heart, a romantic comedy, which means that it’s crammed full of lovely tropes and character archetypes.

there are some author's notes under the cut. let’s dive in.

our cast of characters

our heroine is, of course, moaning myrtle.

myrtle is someone who is not treated particularly kindly by the canon narrative, even though she ought to be objectively sympathetic by virtue of being a murder victim.

on the one hand, this is because she is sincerely and extremely annoying, and harry - from whose perspective the narrative is written - is a teenage boy with a low tolerance for irritation.

but, on the other, she is a victim of one of jkr’s worst tendencies: defaulting towards describing characters whom the audience is not supposed to regard as heroic as physically unattractive (and, especially, describing them as either fat or unusually thin). jkr also has a tendency to write women whom the narrative considers insubstantial in character as emotionally volatile and demonstrative: myrtle’s theatrical wailing and oversensitivity, for example, puts her in the same category as characters such as lavender brown and cho chang - not villains by any stretch of the imagination, but not people whose emotions really deserve to be taken seriously. the ‘good’ women of the series - ginny and hermione chief among them - are not emotionally repressed, but they are emotionally controlled.

i’ve always really disliked this - indeed, i’ve always thought that there’s a slightly victim-blaming tone to myrtle’s canon death (that is, that if she wasn’t crying in the loos about something trivial - olive hornby teasing her about her glasses - then she’d have been fine), rather than a message that voldemort’s bloodlust was unstoppable, and most of his victims were ordinary people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

the flip side of this is that myrtle makes a great rom-com heroine - the awkward nerd who ends up with the hottest boy in school is a popular trope for a reason. but, all too often, the heroines of these pieces of media end up conforming to stereotypes in the other direction; the ‘weird’ girl is actually cool, the ‘ugly’ girl takes off her glasses and is hot. the harry potter series already uses this trope with hermione - who only needs one hair product to transform into someone who looks as though they belong on the arm of an international quidditch star - and i thought it was trite when it was first published and i still think it’s trite now.

so it was important to me, then, that the myrtle of bookbinding wouldn’t transform either physically or emotionally beyond the changes which happen to all of us as we go from being fourteen to almost-nineteen. [after all, one of the reasons why the canonical myrtle acts the way she acts is because being perpetually fourteen must be hell - as she tells us here.]

it was also important to me that the characteristics and actions which jkr tends to take a dim view of in women would end up being myrtle’s greatest strengths. her pettiness can be a bad thing (she saves tom from dumbledore - her least favourite teacher - the night he kills the school roosters, allowing the chamber of secrets to be opened), but it also brings her power, not least since she is unwilling to let tom win any arguments. her tendency to seek out gossip and eavesdrop on the staff table ends up saving the world, when she informs tom that the school will be closed if the basilisk’s attacks continue. her predisposition towards wallowing and her own experience of sadness and loneliness makes her emotionally sensitive and good at reading people (as draco malfoy can attest). the fact that she is bullied gives her a certain devil-may-care attitude towards embarrassment. after all, buying chocolates for tom riddle and being rebuffed is probably less humiliating - in the world of the teenage girl - than olive hornby pointing out your spots.

so why shouldn’t myrtle get a hot (and only mildly terrifying) boyfriend? as a treat.

dear old tom marvolo riddle is many things.

he is a connoisseur of dark magic, a brilliant pupil who aspires to be a mass-murderer, a profoundly- traumatised orphan seeking a place in the world.

he is also a cringe teenage edgelord, who spends most of his time in the library doing extra reading and making up anagrams of his own name for fun. [which is of course why, like all teen edgelords in the 1940s, he has a performative interest in communism.]

i always think it’s worth remembering this: that lord voldemort was once actually young. so much about the adult voldemort is presented as inevitable in canon - even the eleven-year-old tom we meet in half-blood prince is written off as fundamentally inextricable from the shape his adult self takes - that the potential that even tiny things would have had on the outcome of his life aren’t considered. i think this is a shame - and i think it’s a great oversight from the series, given its emphasis on the value of choice.

and these tiny things could have been profound - dumbledore making any effort to deal with the young tom’s crushing grief over the death of his mother, for example - but they could also have been the sort of thing which seems more frivolous - a first kiss, a friend you can chat shit with, a really good piece of chocolate - but which can have a huge impact on the rest of someone’s life.

the tom of bookbinding, then, ends up on the straight-and-narrow through a series of lucky accidents. and this does not require him to be all that different from his canon self - he’s just not a murderer. this tom retains all of the canonical voldemort’s best character traits - he has a surprisingly well-developed sense of honour (the voldemort who castigates wormtail for betraying the marauders would certainly be scathing towards the bullies who don’t have the courage to attack myrtle to her face), he’s very camp, he’s extremely thin, he’s prickly and sickly, he’s a magpie (that the canonical voldemort loves working in the antiques trade is a headcanon i am completely wedded to), he’s a pragmatist, he has a series of very defined mannerisms (he tilts his head to one side when considering things! he examines his hands! he paces!), he’s not somebody incapable of empathy but just someone who sees these things primarily through the lens of himself, he has a tendency towards magical thinking and a very idealised view of his lineage and his place in the world (it’s good for all of us that he never realises how wrong he was about the gaunts)...

and he is absolutely desperate for affection.

which myrtle gives to him, one chocolate frog at a time.

and it turns his whole world upside down. not that he’s prepared to admit it until the very end of the story, of course - before then, he justifies his affection for her as pragmatism (he doesn’t allow the basilisk to hurt her because that would make it obvious it was him who’d opened the chamber), but he’s lying to himself.

i’ve never liked the fanon that tom was bullied at school - he dislikes being condescended to about his background, but i don’t think anyone would dare mock him for it - and i’ve always assumed that his descent from slytherin is widely known in his house. this leads to the belief among the student body in bookbinding - which he is only too happy to encourage - that he is a rich pureblood from exactly the sort of background as his friends.

and i have always preferred the idea - in contrast to dumbledore’s belief in half-blood prince that voldemort has no actual interest in them - that the teenage tom’s ‘devoted friends’ are exactly that. he feels a great deal of affection for the knights of walpurgis in his own little way and they’re not ‘rigidly controlled’ by him (another dumbledore special - in bookbinding we see all of them clearly thinking that tom’s obsession with the chamber of secrets is insane, and conspiring to make him less of a boring workaholic). the issue is that - since all of them are loved and well-off - they can’t entirely appreciate the depth of his need to be paid attention. it’s a good job they have myrtle to pick up the slack.

fans of my other writing will recognise the standard cast of knights - romulus lestrange (having a much better time in this piece than in one year in every ten), abraxas malfoy, tarquin rosier (brother of domitiana), eadmer avery, iago carrow, augustus rookwood and so on.

[if tom has a best friend, though, it’s definitely the basilisk, who is an absolute sweetheart.]

the knights are certainly not good people - none of them have any qualms about disparaging myrtle for being muggleborn - but, crucially, they’re teenagers who have the option to choose a better path. [i’d like to think they’re all sincerely delighted for tom when they hear about his upcoming marriage, and salazar and merope jr. have a devoted team of uncles who don’t spare their blood status a second thought.]

and, as with tom, i therefore wanted to give them a chance to be teens. they’re all deeply uncool piles of hormones who drink in the hog’s head - which trips the adult voldemort up in half-blood prince when he comes to hogwarts for his job interview, exactly as it does for hermione in order of the phoenix - because they think it makes them look interestingly dangerous. [it doesn’t.]

they’re also all obsessed with getting their ends away.

writing tom’s sexual awakening made me chuckle self-indulgently at numerous points - the poor thing was spiralling! and i will never get over how a commenter pointing out that he behaves like ‘a chaotic slut’ at several points in this story made me scream! - and so i think that we ought to give props to the two other women who end up saving the world beside myrtle. antimony tremblay is named after a poisonous metal, but her willingness to throw herself at tom in slughorn’s cupboard ended up curing him of his tendency towards isolation and detachment. domitiana rosier - sister of agrippina rosier lestrange, tom’s scourge in one year in every ten, who is minding her own business here - has an imperious demeanour to match her name, and her lack of interest in tom’s muggle blood ended up curing him once and for all of his flirtation with blood supremacy (she also trained him very thoroughly on what to do in bed). she will get her lovely pureblood marriage and be happy enough, but she will always regard tom as the one that got away. even though he considers himself to have hit the jackpot with myrtle, he will be insufferably smug about this.

we have two final shout-outs.

the first of these is to myrtle’s parents. in canon, all the muggleborns we meet seem to extract themselves from their world of their birth - hermione, who ceases to spend any meaningful time with her parents from the summer before prisoner of azkaban onwards, and whose violence towards them in deathly hallows is never interrogated, is the main example. i’ve never liked this - since it’s undermining the point the series thinks it’s making about how blood-supremacists’ beliefs that the magical and muggle should never mix are wrong - and so it was important to me that myrtle came from a loving home which she regards as infinitely superior to the cruelty of the magical world, with parents who respect and encourage her magic.

like their daughter, the warrens are ordinary people who show how being ordinary can change the world. myrtle’s mother, in particular, is the best sort of activist - a normal woman who snaps one day and throws an orange at the prince of wales, who believes that the hard work of compassion is best done through plying tom with iced buns, who is stubborn and never gives up, who isn’t afraid of taking on the state (she’ll get her review into wool’s orphanage), who is happy to be giggly and silly, and who gives extremely good advice. men do indeed like practical women.

the second deserves to go to albus dumbledore.

beyond the fact that he takes against the young voldemort immediately on the basis of his own self-loathing, one of the canonical dumbledore’s flaws is his tendency to prioritise interesting people and take a lack of interest in those who are not spectacular. as a teacher, i can imagine him having little time for the average pupil - as myrtle certainly thinks.

but he learns an important lesson here. there is, as he tells us, beauty in the ordinary - and he recognises, long before tom does, that the beautiful ordinariness of teenage friendship, and girlfriend trouble, and chocolate frogs, and a brilliant (but strange and lonely) boy realising that the love of his life is the world’s most normal girl has altered the course of history. he throws himself sincerely into match-making from then on.

and he’s definitely invited to the wedding.

our setting

we get some hints in canon - especially in half-blood prince - that hogwarts is a school full of teenagers, doing what teenagers do, but harry’s whole ‘saving-the-world thing’ means that he’s a bit too preoccupied to notice what must be a fundamental truth: that hundreds of hormonal creatures, locked up together for months at a time with virtually no adult supervision outside of lessons, will be insatiable.

our setting is also the hogwarts of the forties. i had great fun with the period slang, as well as with the names - beyond the anglo-norman names i use for most of my purebloods (tremblay, duhamel etc.), reginald chive and hubert fawley owe something to p.g. wodehouse, autonoë dashwood-brandon’s mother had clearly been reading sense and sensibility, isabella spats is a distant relation to carmelita spats from a series of unfortunate events, sandraudiga rowle has a norse name like her nephew thorfinn, henrietta savernake is from the poirot novel the hollow, and igor bagman - canonically friends with augustus rookwood - is just as good a quidditch player as his son.

this time-period is, of course, when the second world war was taking place. i’m on the record as disliking the fanon that the canonical voldemort is traumatised by the war (especially the blitz, which he’s at school during), and here his main hardship - as it was for many people - is rationing. myrtle’s shared detestation of the practice is one of the things which really makes his feelings for her (something he’s not quite understood yet when they run into each other in chapter two…) click into place.

our themes

jkr’s lack of sympathy for myrtle contrasts with the fact that she clearly has a sincere dislike of female bullying - and, especially, the sort of petty sniping about appearance which is so profoundly damaging to teenage girls [i do really advise reading what she says about pansy parkinson on this matter.]

however, it’s always seemed to me that her view can be assumed to be that ‘good’ women simply suffer through this torment, knowing that they have the moral high-ground - hermione must, like myrtle in bookbinding, be isolated by being the only girl in her dormitory not in a cliquey friendship-group, but she never seems upset about lavender or parvati excluding her; luna, whose shoes are hidden like myrtle’s are (i think this must be a standard ravenclaw thing), simply shrugs everything off.

but i think that’s bullshit. myrtle is allowed to wallow in her devastation at being bullied and ostracised - and, especially, at her devastation at not ever knowing what she’s done wrong. bringing your own packed lunch, or spilling pudding down yourself, or being happy to receive a birthday present, or having an attractive male friend are such benign things, but they are also the sorts of things which trigger so much cruelty in the teen ecosystem.

i also thought it important that lot of myrtle’s bullying should be connected to being muggleborn. olive hornby doesn’t have the sort of name which indicates being pureblood in canon, but here she is one, and her relationship with myrtle is absolutely driven by the fact that she is an inherent insider to the magical world and myrtle isn’t.

in canon, we get the hint that bullying people over blood status is the preserve of slytherins with death eater sympathies, but this has always seemed reductive to me (not least because blood status drives so much of the ‘good’ side’s narrative - the weasleys are protected by their class, for example, and this changes how they interact with the world to a significant extent, as ron’s view of house elves shows). after all, the trigger for so much teenage bullying is difference of any kind - and muggleborns are objectively different from those raised in the wizarding world. [especially since, as tom himself points out, wizarding society is pretty medieval - they should think about opening cinemas.]

they are also subject to plenty of pressure. i liked myrtle’s fury at dumbledore trying to make her work hard in transfiguration simply because she wouldn’t want to let other muggleborns down (with dumbledore never stopping to think, for example, about how myrtle might be disadvantaged by things like the trace, which never applies to her pureblood classmates). tom, too, is a victim of this pressure. i’m always struck in half-blood prince that dumbledore never tells mrs cole that he’s a wizard, meaning that he must be the only child in hogwarts whose guardian - whose relationship with him is already poor - must have no idea where he goes all year. this is one of the main examples of dumbledore failing to understand the canonical voldemort’s disjointed sense of belonging, and how his isolation feeds his rage, and it was nice to resolve it here, as tom’s colossal abandonment issues become something he finds more manageable once he’s created his own place in the world, with his house, his rabbit, his job, and - of course - a family of his own.

our love story

because, of course, bookbinding is really about one thing: how love can save the world.

tom and myrtle are a crack ship, of course, but i do think that they can be made to sincerely work as a couple because they both have a fundamental need for attention - it’s why he flounces over to her when she’s crying in the library, it’s why she storms off after him when he snaps at her, it’s why their meet-cute is neither of them allowing the other’s emotional state to distract from what they want to say.

but their need for attention manifests slightly differently in each of them. myrtle needs affection as reassurance, tom needs it as validation - dumbledore presents his belief that he’s special, his breathless glee at someone taking an interest in him, his joy at being listened to by his death eaters, as arrogance, but it’s clearly caused by the fact that he wasn’t allowed to develop a sense of being wanted and liked as a child. together, tom and myrtle can provide each other what they need - his expectation that she should take an interest in his interests ends up making her feel cleverer and braver, her expectation that he should hold her hand and walk her through things she fears ends up making him feel comforted and wanted for the first time in his life.

after all, the chocolates upend tom’s whole world. and the idea of love-as-comfort - something which the canonical series relegates to a subordinate position far below love-as-suffering and love-as-sacrifice - is one of the key themes of bookbinding. tom always refers to his attraction to myrtle using metaphors of things which are comforting - the roses round the door of the house, honey (after all, he has a famous sweet tooth), the cinnamon sprinkle on the top of a rice pudding, milky tea, a feather bed, a blancmange which cools a sore throat - which seems to be something which has really stood out to many readers. and he seeks out this comfort despite not really knowing why - in chapter two, it should be emphasised that it does, in fact, take that long to walk from spitalfields to walthamstow; tom is making at least a fifteen-mile round trip daily to see myrtle’s house.

and myrtle - who is much more insightful than she’s given credit for, even in canon - understands this. it’s why she notices that tom’s need to comfort himself is lying under the sinister things he reveals to her in the cave. his belief that he killed his mother is something i’ve written about elsewhere, as is his belief that he was always a wizard but nobody understood that - and the self-protective anger in which he wraps his loneliness and grief is a favourite theme of mine to explore when writing him. the shells and sea-glass - a motif of his childhood throughout my writing - turn up in bookbinding too, when myrtle forces him to think about his childhood for the first time in years.

it’s also why she gives him the marriage certificate. it’s implied in canon that voldemort never knows his mother’s name, and myrtle finding it for him is - therefore - one of the most sincerely lovely things anyone has ever done for him and his sense of self. i think it’s for the best that he believes that his parents’ marriage was happy, even though i know that many readers have found this bittersweet to consider.

of course, the fact that they’re both equally stubborn also helps myrtle set tom on the straight-and-narrow as well. the fact that myrtle doesn’t share his love of hogwarts or his obsession with magic is something tom initially can’t comprehend, but he comes to understand how his feeling of not belonging in the muggle world is what myrtle feels in the magical one. by chapter six, he’s a paid-up muggle defender, proud of his background, much to his friends’ initial dismay.

this is a rom-com, though, so they still manage to break up for a bit - although tom, whose canon version is capable of a surprisingly steadfast faithfulness, remains loyal to myrtle the whole time (as she does, bar some igor-bagman-wrangling, to him). but myrtle manages to show some self-growth of her own and realise that she is being a bit of a drama queen. [who among us?]

the course of true love rarely does run smooth… but everything works out in the end.

and the love between the soon-to-be mr and mrs riddle brings about glimpses of the changed future which numerous readers have told me have moved them. my favourite? it has to be tom riddle sr. falling in love with frank bryce, a concept which now has me in a chokehold.

after all - to borrow a life lesson from tom marvolo riddle - there is always something that can be done to fix things.

#asenora fics #tom riddle x myrtle warren #tom riddle #myrtle warren #bookbinding #ladies of hp fest #moaning myrtle stan account #annoying him into changing #i can fix him #and you did baby

[babygirllinds]

First Lines of 10 Fics Game

rules: share the first lines of 10 of your most recent fanfics and then tag 10 people. If you have written less than 10 fics, don’t be shy and share anyways :)

tagged by: @mackwinnon (thank you for tagging me 💗)

I have 14 published fics on ao3, so I’ll just be pulling from there. 8 of them are Top Gun fics and 2 are from The Magicians :)

1. lend a helping hand (complete)

“You need to ask one of them, Mav,” Carole’s honey-sweet southern accent rang through the phone. “I reckon one of them would step up without making a big deal of it. They’re good men, as well as good alphas. Nick always said so.”

“They didn’t like me at first,” Maverick stressed back. He was leaning up against the counter of his base housing, twirling the twisty phone cord with his fingers to distract himself from his anxieties. “They’re civil with me now, but I don’t want to upend what little friendship we have by making it awkward.”

“Honey, trust me when I say this,” she says slowly like how she talks to Bradley when explaining things, “Alphas would jump at the chance to be with any omega during their heat. They’re not going to worry about ruining a friendship if you’re offering yourself up. Especially with what you’ve told me about Tom and Ron. Either one of them would be happy to help.”

2. I saw him first (ongoing)

Slider had seen him first.

Before ever stepping foot in the classroom where he had to watch Ice stare him down like a predator waiting for the right moment to catch his prey. He’d seen him roll up on the motorcycle outside while waiting for Ice and was struck for a moment at how beautiful the other man was. If Slider had seen him out at a bar, he’d have no reservations about approaching the man and inviting him back to his housing.

3. Let me Teach you a Lesson or Two (ongoing)

The sitting room outside the dean's office is quiet for the most part. The only sound is of clicking computer keys coming from the receptionist's desk and Pete is starting to get antsy. He's been waiting to see the dean for 20 minutes now. Boredom has him staring at his thumb nail and picking at the skin around it until it starts to bleed. His hair is falling into his face and he tries to blow the strands out of his eyesight as he watches a small dot of blood bead around the nail bed. He winds up flicking his hair out of the way and tilts his head back, sticking the thumb in his mouth to suck away the red liquid. The iron taste is unpleasant and his stomach turns.

Then the sound of a door opens and he's snapping his eyes up and over to the sound, only to be met with piercing blue eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses. His blonde hair is gelled back and he's tall enough that Pete has to crane his neck up from where he's sitting. The man looks like a classic nerd, but he's muscled and carries himself confidentially. He's actually quite handsome and is Pete's type to a T. He lets his thumb go with a pop and the man lets his gaze on Pete dissipate quickly before walking off. Pete watches as he leaves, lingering on the way the man's back muscles shifted under the tight button down.

"Mitchell," Pete's head snaps back to the open door. Dean Metcalf stands there, back straight, face hardened. "Come in."

4. seduction plan: failed? (complete)

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell was having a crisis.

He was the type of man who made girls and guys swoon at his feet. He could knock someone's socks off and make them laugh until they cried. He was sweet as sugar and confident with his words. He was wickedly charming, albeit a little shit as well, but people liked that about him. So he knew a thing or two about making someone someone fall for him.

What he didn't expect was the person he was head over heels for to ignore every effort he made.

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky was this all-consuming man. He was handsome, funny, smart, and he could match Mav's energy verbatim. He was quick to whip back each retort Maverick threw his way and then tease him endlessly until they were both laughing.

5. say you’ll be my wife tonight (complete)

Maverick was used to snide remarks and sly comments thrown his way. He had put up with it his whole life, even more so when he stepped foot in the Navy. Men loved to rib him on his height, on how he played loose with the rules, and how his father was a coward. Those comments didn't bother him anymore. He took them with stride, knowing he was more than just random words being hurled at him.

But this was new.

"He treats you like his little wife, like a bitch who needs to be put on a leash," the words were snarled at him, sharp and piercing. "Kazansky got you trained good? He calls and suddenly you're the perfect little wife?"

6. Merry Christmas (complete)

Tom had never really enjoyed Christmas all that much. His father was absent quite frequently because of the Navy and his mom spent her time depressed when his father wasn't home. Christmas felt like any other day, only with presents. The presents were just material things. What he craved was how the kids in his class were able to spend the day wrapped in warm joy with family. He'd never had that, instead his mom sipped champagne while his sister and him opened presents. She'd smile a small, sad smile when Tom would hold up a new toy he was excited about, then continue to stare blankly at the window.

Now that he was older, he knew his mom was just longing for her husband to be there. She didn't understand how to be more than a shell of a person under her husband's thumb; to be openly there for her kids. His sister was the one who showed him warmness during the holidays. She'd spend the day making sure he was shown happiness and some semblance of Christmas joy. She showed him how to make Christmas cookies from scratch and then they'd spend the day huddled in pajamas, watching Christmas movies with hot cocoa. His sister was the only fond memory of the dreaded holiday.

Growing up, he realized that only some people that came into his life were going to look out for him. After learning that lesson, he became closed off and aloof to others. That's when he took on the ice-cold persona — Iceman.

7. happiness (complete)

Honey, when I'm above the trees

I see this for what it is

Maverick knew this was coming to an end one of these days, but he hadn't expected it to crash and burn so suddenly. He's spent so many years trying to be enough — trying to show Ice that there was more in the world other than settling for his father's version of his future. He wanted to prove that he could be enough.

Ice's father wanted him to marry a decent girl and start a family. Cue Maverick who crashed into his life and halted all plans that pointed to a future that was expected of him. Until now at least.

Ice had stopped frequenting Maverick's home, stopped staying the night after fucking him into the mattress, stopped whispering sweet nothings as they cuddled on the couch. Back was the cold demeanor that Maverick had first encountered when meeting the infamous Iceman. He didn't smile like he used to and when he did meet up with Maverick, he smelled of a woman's perfume. Maverick was losing him and he knew Ice was dragging out the inevitable.

8. Danger is Calling my Name (complete)

When Ice told Maverick that he was dangerous, he wasn't lying. The man flew too close to the edge, never once following the rules set in the parameters of the mission. But when Ice said those words, he held an entirely different meaning in mind.

Maverick was dangerous in the way he confidently held himself – head held high as his green eyes sparkled and his smug smile pulled back to show his teeth. He was dangerous in the way that Ice had to hold back from pinning him against a wall; had to let himself flush with anger, not lust. He was dangerous in the way that Ice was willing to lay his life with the Navy on the line just so he could lay Maverick down in his bed.

9. Illicit Affairs (complete)

Make sure nobody sees you leave

It's nearing six in the morning; the sun still chugging it's way over the horizon to light up the new day. He hears Margo's light snores down the hall, and the soft patters on hardwood of him and Eliot making their way past her door. They both know she knows, but neither ever mention it aloud. Leave it to Margo to turn a blind eye, but leave the glint of knowing in plain sight.

He looks at the back of Eliot's head, curls messy from the night spent in his bed. Quentin aches to reach up and soothe the wisps of hair down and feel the softness that comes from years of pampering himself. He's beautiful, even in the morning, and Quentin wants nothing more than to kiss him in front of everyone.

Too bad he can't.

10. Happy Birthday, Q (complete)

"Jules, no." Quentin frowns at his best friend from where he's sitting. "I don't want to have a party. You know I hate them."

Quentin turned 28 today. He's not particularly fond of his birthday since his dad died two years ago. They had a tradition of getting breakfast at the crack of dawn and then, per Quentin's request, they would watch whatever movie was currently playing at the small theatre in his Jersey town. Then Julia would come over for dinner and they'd eventually end the day sitting on the porch as his dad pointed out constellations to them.

no-pressure tags: @waaugh @r-dtoblack @polar-equinoxx @brainjuicey @destinedtobeloved @blazingstar29 @broketraveler87 @sunwarmed-ash @honckity @abliafina-18782 (tagging all of y’all bc I confidently know you all write because I’ve read some of y’all’s work 😅)

#thanks so much for the tag 🥹 #tag game #first lines of 10 fics #my fics #my writing #top gun #icemav #slimav #slicemav #the magicians #queliot

[stackthedeck]

in your opinion, which of the three live action spideys is the most comic-accurate, and why?

Oh, Andrew Garfield easily! Like don't get me wrong I love the other spideys but they don't go beyond Peter Parker is the shy awkward nerd. Like yeah, he's an antisocial nerd but that usually looks like picking fights and fighting back the bullies. Like people always say "Tobey was the best Peter, Andrew was the best Spider-Man, and Tom Holland was the best of both" and it's like no! Never have I heard something so wrong!! What are these people reading?? What is their reading list I want to see it, what steered them so wrong???

Tom Holland's Spider-Man is a blatant rip-off of Miles Morales, this is a given. But also he's polite and middle class, he's not even in the competition for comic accuracy. Tobey Maguire's isn't half bad and I think they really nailed the portrayal of poverty and the "Parker Luck" but his response to it is so pathetic and sad, like he doesn't get angry. And they just make him so relentlessly miserable like the man does not get a single win and it's like...maybe give him something. His real crime is how he treats MJ, giving her absolutely nothing except disrespect. Aunt May did not raise a misogynist! (he and Harry are perfect though <3)

Andrew Garfield's Spider-Man is so perfect because I can tell that Garfield was given the freedom to show his interpretation of the character and really brought depth to the character. He's an awkward nerd, but he's also angry and antisocial, but his nerdy moments are filled with such joy. And his quips are so sarcastic and perfectly Peter. The skateboard thing was genius because it alludes to the freedom and rebellion that Peter is looking for and finds in the spider persona. And he's so good with Gwen!! Like he respects her and trusts her and they've got incredible chemistry. there's truly so much depth when it comes to characterization and relationships in those films. It's a shame that the actual plots sucked and they fucking mascaraed Harry's character arc.

#asks #the action plots of the raimi movies are the best but how the characters treat each other is vile and an insult to the comics #the plot in tasm is not great and makes peter a chosen one #but they actually let peter have an emotion besides 'poor me' like peter is a fucking menace and a bastard #and he's hot!! #people criticize andrew garfield for having fucking game #but it's like have you read a spider-man comic peter pulls bitches

[zeravmeta]

Now that the event is out and you are the authority on cringe failwomen, is Van Gogh also a cringe failwomen or is she a separate but similar species?

absolutely no idea where anyone got the idea of me being the cringefail woman authority or any sort of authority on basically anything but thanks

van gogh is in fact a separate species, because osakabe is a loser and xu fu is a prick but van gogh has some manner of vexation unto her

you can talk to osakabe and realize shes inherently pathetic the moment she opens her mouth, but osakabe herself when it comes to being a cringefail woman is held back by her own insecurities, because she can be competent when push comes to shove. in her case it is in fact that her anxiety nerfs her powerlevel

with xu fu you have what is essentially an anime girl Tom Cat from tom and jerry who can macgyver any sort of invention to try and kill you with but due to being a Tom Cat she will also fail. part of what makes her cringefail as well is that she absolutely can not lose with any sort of grace because she is your toxic bitch ass friend who gets whats coming to her. if you put your fingers near her she WILL bite them

van gogh on the other hand is just Like That. shes a fundamentally different type of loserwoman than both osakabe and xu fu.

to put an example, osakabe is a nerd who in classic nerd fashion gets bullied and records super long youtube compilations of her video games. xu fu is the type of loser woman who would write a 500 tweet callout dissertation and gets ratiod so hard immediately that she deletes. van gogh you learn that she runs a sideblog dedicated entirely to examining and dismantling incredibly niche and specific computer programs and has an avid fanbase composed of the scammers who make those nigerian prince emails, something that she herself is unaware of and if she learned about would make her cry.

they all have anxiety but different flavors of it: osakabes anxiety is dependant on her knowing shes a nerd loser and being unable to keep up with the cavalcade of her popular normie friends that she has no idea how she managed to pull. xu fu has a SINGLE burst of anxiety related to her crush and outside of that is generally soft spoken and awkward but has no qualms about killing people. van gogh has something wrong with her where she feels awkard and tries to smile and laugh it off but shes been out of natural sunlight for like a month so it comes out raspy and her lips are chapped and talking to another person is sooooo taxing so she tries to make a pun and if theres no reaction she only gets worse dear god someone help her

osakabe is a nerd, xu fu is a prick, and van gogh can Hear The Voices

#whoooo go girl give us nothing #zerav meme #fgo #fate grand order #zerav responds

[lovelykhaleesiii]

✨CRACK DREAM✨

ok I think I had a dream where I went to this boarding school/Uni with Ewan (who was as MASSIVE nerd, very awkward and a little clumsy) and we were close only cause we must’ve had classes together.

and this HULK would rampage across the school from time to time causing huge destruction but would always be after Ewan and I, so we were constantly running and hiding together…

come to find out the HULK was Tom (TGC)…. And Ewan and I were shooketh & so we began to spy on Tom at a distance (who was I think popular/a jock cause he wore those like football jackets). when we both confronted Tom (Ewan terrified so I did most of the talking) TGC said it was because he was jealous Ewan and I were close. And right when I was about to explain how we’re just friends, I woke up.

I can’t breathe, I actually quite enjoyed this dream 🤭

#personal #tom glynn carney #ewan mitchell

[randomfandomdom]

Loki season 2 review (without spoilers) (I'm on episode 4)

Lack of Lokius is a sin.

New characters but I don't remember anything about them because lack of background story.

The writing kind of predictable. Lots of pauses to add some kind "suspense" to a very mediocre line.

The comedic relief is kind of forced and awkward and not running as smooth as season 1.

Creating a hype over what Mobius's past in every single episode and I will be disappointed if he would get a wife and a kid.

Silvie is way more annoying than season 1, yes, apparently that's possible. Her girl boss trope is failing so much that I'm rooting for the "villain" girl boss more.

Hyping that man as a skilled soldier but I don't even remember him in season 1 and he barely do anything in this one to show that he actually is strong.

(KIND OF SPOILERS???????????????) Ms minute acting all serious and mysterious only to be the biggest, cringiest plot hole of the time.

Too many "I hate you too but we have to do this together" dialogue, I count like two in every episode.

This one is a personal problem I have with sci-fi genre: too much scientific bullshit of made up device names.

Silvie, blames everyone but her, as always.

Loki was strong and got to showcase his skills but by he still freezes a lot, no development of his strength whatsoever. And yes, I'm aware he can't use his power in TVA. I'm talking about when he's out there. Like seeing your MC being dumb down to make the plot make sense.

Silvie's haircut. Again, girl boss trope where the girl is getting an ugly haircut just because she doesn't want to appeal to the male gaze. My wlw part of bisexuality was dried. The hetero part wasn't really that excited either.

The nerd was too stereotypical it hurts. Still got me though, I love him, but it seems like the writer kind of want him to be shipped with EVERYONE.

Overall Tom Hiddleston and Owen Wilson carries. Jonathan's acting was too theatrical and cringe. I don't even want to find the name of Silvie's actress, she's in the same level as Gal Gadot.

#lokius #mobius #loki #loki season 2 #silvie sucks #TVA

[sailforvalinor]

Final thoughts on Amazing Spider-Man:

- Andrew’s Peter is a bit edgier than your typical Peter Parker, almost an even split down the middle between awkward shy nerd and troubled bad boy. It’s such a departure from the Spider-Men that I grew up with (Tobey McGuire, Spectacular Spider-Man, Ultimate Spider-Man, and other various Spider-Man cartoons) that it’s almost difficult for me to consider him the same character, but I nonetheless found his character extremely compelling.

- Andrew from an acting standpoint is well-versed in subtleties, and has an extremely readable face—even in scenes where he has few lines, you can tell exactly what’s going on in his head. Honestly, his acting style as Peter is just so interesting that I feel like I want to go back and analyze some of those scenes beat-by-beat. He plays him as nervous and fidgety in social situations, particularly one-on-one conversations, but one of the ways he conveys this is by having him turn away from the person he’s talking to mid-conversation, sometimes even multiple times a conversation. Sometimes this tactic is used in acting to indicate conflict, or at least that the two characters aren’t seeing eye-to-eye, which certainly is the case in some of these scenes, but the way he does it also serves to indicate discomfort. It’s something I find myself doing in real life too—it felt very human.

- I think that’s the thing that I really love about Andrew’s Peter—he feels very human. Not that Tobey and Tom don’t feel that way, but this film more than the others was certainly going for realism, and while I don’t think that always worked in its favor (what was going on with that Lizard design?), the character writing and dynamics, especially in the way the Parker’s interacted with each other, felt very real.

- I would like to award both Andrew and Emma a medal for Best On-Screen Stuttering. Stuttering on command is extremely difficult, and that was impressive.

- Speaking of realism, if they really wanted to go that direction, all I’m saying is that I don’t think I would have picked the Lizard as my villain. I think it might have made it a bit better if they had made it more clear that Connors and the Lizard were two separate consciousnesses, a Jekyll and Hyde situation a-la-the comics. I don’t think this was untrue in the movie, as Connors seemed himself when he transformed back, but he also seemed pretty excited about turning everyone into lizards earlier. 🤷‍♀️

- I forgot to mention this, but the hallway scene after Uncle Ben dies where Flash comes up to try to talk to Peter, Peter pins him to the lockers, then realizes that he was just coming to check on him, and then Gwen hugs him and he walks away, was probably my favorite scene in the movie. It was just so well-executed. (I also really like this version of Flash!)

- I was always such a Peter and MJ fan growing up that I didn’t think I’d like Peter and Gwen. I was most definitely 100% wrong. (And yes, I know what happens, and I don’t want to think about it.)

#oh crap val’s spiderblogging

[wheels-of-despair]

20 Questions for Fic Writers Game Thanks for the tag, @jo-harrington!

It's always fun to learn more about friends through these games.

1) How many works do you have on A03? 34

2) What's your total AO3 word count? 132k

3) What fandoms do you write for? Anything that has a Quinn in it.

4) What are your top five fics by kudos? The Fastest Fix-It The Nerd King Cops a Feel How Evil Woman Got Her Name The Ups and Downs of Dating a Trash Panda It's Okay If You Are

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Occasionally on tumblr. AO3 is just… awkward.

6) What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Technically Enough, since the epilogue's not out yet. But as with everything I write, there will eventually be a happy ending there too.

7) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I never really end anything, but probably Worth It, 'cause Ralph deserves ALL the fluff.

8) Do you get hate on fics? Nope.

9) Do you write smut? If so, what kinds? I attempt it occasionally, but keep it vague.

10) Do you write crossovers? If I borrowed characters or settings from obscure things and blended them with things you know, how would you know?

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated? *shrug?*

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before? Sometimes unhinged rambling in messages inspires a blurb.

14) What's your all time favorite ship? Mickey and Mallory from Natural Born Killers (Oh, this was for fics. Well done, wheels. 😂 Uh, I don't do much canon-ship-reading.)

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? A month ago I would've said the Tom one, but that's finally done.

16) What are your writing strengths? I don't really care if you like my fics or not. :)

17) What are your writing weaknesses? I edit too much. I could show you early versions of Enough and you wouldn't recognize it at all.

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? No thoughts, just pointing to Google Translate.

19) First fandom you wrote for? Stranger Things. Exactly one month 'til my one-year fic-iversary.

20) Favorite fic you've written? Worth It. I peaked with my first series.

Extreme Pressure Tags: @eddiemunsonsmum, @pollenallergie, @oneforthemunny, @spookyscarydemonbabe, @rehfan

#games of despair