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soxcietyy · 28 days

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Anatomy

Gojo x reader

18 + You’re about to take one of the most important exams. Unfortunately you suck at your anatomy and need to learn the material fast. Luck for you Gojo is good at everything, not only that but he’s also a teacher. Soon you learn about his odd teaching techniques.

"I don’t think I’ll be able to pass this test." You groan as you drink your coffee Shoko had bought you.

You were out with the two of your friends so they could cheer you up. As a healer you had to go the health care route in your studies but it wasn’t so simple.

"Why don’t you just cheat? Shoko is cheating!" Gojo looks at her before returning his gaze back at you.

You let out a deep sign as you slouch in your chair.

Just because she’s cheating doesn’t mean you should too. She’s had some good memory so it was easy to learn everything for her. Unlike you who had to actually go study for it.

Shoko said she would help you cheat through the homework, quizzes, project but you where on your own for the final exam. If you wanted to graduate at the same time as her then you would have to ace this anatomy exam tomorrow.

You felt too scared to cheat. What if you were caught? You would be academically expelled!

You groan loudly before looking up at your friends who had worried expressions.

"How bad do you guys think I’m going to do?" You ask.

"Fail"

"You’ll be fine"

They both said at the same time. Shoko elbows Gojo and then proceeds to grab your hands.

"Just study hard. I would love to help but I have a mission to go on but…" she turns to look at Gojo who was biting his biscuit. "But Gojo here is a teacher now."

Ah right, that moron did take up a teaching job right after graduating. Now that you think about it Shoko might be right. He’s a teacher! His job is to teach material to students. He could help you learn everything you need to. Not only that but he was good at everything he did, he would be able to learn everything in no time.

"Gojo you have to teach me!" You say with a pleading look.

"Haha, right as if you would want to learn anything from me. Don’t you two always make fun of me? Saying I’ll be a horrible teacher and whatnot."

Both of you glare at him.

"Ah, your serious I see.,." He says confused yet surprised.

—-

He was taking his sweet time looking over your text book. Giggling over a few certain pages before slamming the book shut.

You lift your head up from the couches arm.

"Alright I got everything down. Do you want to start with the bones or muscles?"

Gojo decided that the best place to study was in the comfort of his own home. You had protested by saying a library or coffee shop would be better because it would motivate you more.

He then proceeded to call you delusional and dragged you to his place.

It’s not like you haven’t been here before. You all used to hang out here almost everyday during high school. Now he was too busy working while you and Shoko were busy at school trying to get a masters degree.

"Bones"

You figured out really soon that his teaching techniques were quite odd.

Wack

"Ow! What was that for?!" You say as you rub your thigh.

Did he really just hit you with his arm?

"Where did I hit you?" He asks.

"My thigh you idio-"

"Wrong, tell me the name of the bone."

Ah, of course. You sigh as you tell him that he hit your femur with his ulna.

Wack, wack

That’s how studying went for a while. Eventually he would speed up the process by going faster and by hitting multiple spots at once. At the end you felt so sore.

You laid sprawled out on the floor as an ice bag rested on your rib cage.

At this point five long hours had gone by. Thankfully you had learned all the skeletal bones in the body but it was taking longer than you initially expected it to. If you guys keep on like this then it would take you forever to learn the muscles.

"You look so defeated already." Gojo said amused as you laid still.

"This is just harder than I thought it was going to be. Don’t you have a different way of learning anatomy without hurting me?" You ask.

You saw his mouth turn into a wide grin before he squatted down.

"I do have a different way but I feel like you’d dislike it." He smiles.

"I Dont care, I just need to learn the muscles in two hours!" You say looking at the clock.

"Let’s put consequences, people are prone to make less mistakes and to try harder if there’s a punishment."

You roll your eyes.

The exam was early in the morning and you needed all the rest you could get. He was just wasting time at this point. You sigh and just go along with his nonsense.

He grabs your hand and pulls you up so you could sit. He then sat across from you and took his mask off from his face.

He must finally be taking this seriously. Grabbing your hand once again he pulls your index finger and puts it on his cheek.

This was the exact same method, just with no pain involved.

"Masseter"

Then he dragged your finger to his temple.

"Temporalis"

You watch as he squints his eyes at you and looks at you suspiciously.

"I thought you needed help. Seems like you have it down."

"I obviously know a few things. For example the obvious ones like biceps. I know everything above the neck too."

He sits there in his thoughts for a moment before grabbing your hand again.

He slowly unfolded your hand and brought it to his chest. It surprised you for a second but you quickly remembered why he was doing this.

"Breast."

The both of you look at each other for a solid second. Holding eye contact before he suddenly burst out laughing. He had to catch his breath before correcting you.

"Pectoralis major"

Right… you would have totally gotten that right if it wearing for him doing such a thing.

You repeat the answer under your breath as he moves your hand once again.

This time it’s was his abs.

You swallow hands as he runs your hands over them. He wore a tight black shirt making it feel like it was his real skin. You could tell he was watching you carefully. Trying to read the facial expressions you were making. He was enjoying this…

You could concentrate at all. You had the answer on the tip of your tongue but it would spill out.

He kept running your hand up and down

"You’re taking too long y/n, the answer is recuts abdominus. We can come back to it later. Shall I give you a hard one?" He asks.

Maybe this was enough for today. Clearly he was toying with you and you had no time for such thing. Once you get home you’re going to study till midnight.

He moved your hand before you could tell him the study session was over.

It took you a moment to realize what you where not touching and it was indeed hard.

You jolt as he squeezed your hand around his length.

Don’t think about it.

Just answer the stupid question and be over with his games.

"Your small penis"

He glare’s at you as he runs your hand up and down his shaft.

"You know well this isn’t small."

You turn to look away from him so he wouldn’t see your cheeks turning pink. You could feel how it twitched under your touch, how it was pulsing begging to be let out. Begging for any sort of attention. Something you weren’t willing to give so easily.

"Anyways you’re wrong. A penis isn’t a muscle."

Huh?

"It’s not?! But you can move it right?"

Gojo for some reason took this as in invitation to unbutton his pants and to spring it out. You didn’t know whether to look away or take this as a learning observation.

Learning! You’re doing this to learn about the human anatomy! You hum in your head.

Averting your eyes down you see it. That wide long monstrous thing. How could that possibly fit inside of anyone?! Who would even want to sleep with him?

He moved it somehow. You watched it move up and down slowly.

"That’s two answers wrong in a row y/n" he coos.

Right. The punishment.

"So what are you going to make me do? Run laps? push-ups? Your chores?"

"No it’s something even better. Not only will this benefit me but it’s also going to make you learn a bit faster hopefully." He says.

Grabbing your leg he drags you towards him. You yelp at the sudden surprise. You knew he was a hundred times stronger than you so you didn’t bother to fight back. You watched him carefully as he climbed over you. His hair dangling over you.

He leans in slowly into your ear and whispered six words.

"I’m going to put it in."

Your breath hitches as you pushed him back.

This man was trying to kill you! There’s no way, absolutely no way that was going to fit in you at all! Of course you’ve had your fare share of men in you but nothing this big.

You shake your head repeatedly at him.

"You scared? Don’t worry I’ll be nice and careful. I’ll even let you stop me from moving if you answer my questions right." Gojo moves your hair to the back of your ear.

He ran his thumb over your temple in circles trying to sooth you.

All you had to do was get the answer correct right? You’ll just get them all right so he won’t even be able to enter you.

You feel as his hands run over your waist. His cold hands touching your sensitive skin before he gripped your bottoms and yanked them down. Your hands quickly go down to hide everything but he was quick to grab both of your wrist with one hand.

"You’re tempting me to just ram into you if you keep squirming like that."

You stay still causing him to laugh.

"Since you got two wrong I get to put two inches in." He says as he lines himself up with your hole.

You kick him and yell at him to stretch you out first but he refuses by saying that it wouldn’t be a punishment if he were to do that. With that out the way he began sliding into you. The second his tip went in you let out a cry of pain.

You try to run away by scooting back but he held you down and kept going in.

His eyes would squeeze shut at he bit his bottom lip. You could feel as he gripped your wrist and the leg he was holding up.

You let out a louder cry as he kept going. Begging him to stop and to let you adjust. There’s no way women actually enjoyed sleeping with him. He was carrying and actual weapon. He could literally kill someone with that.

Once he did stop you let out a loud groan.

"Such a good girl, you’re doing so good. Who would have know you were so tight." He kisses the inside of your leg.

You whimper in protest.

"What’s this?"

He points at the side of his rib cage.

"Y-your external oblique." Your voice trembles.

"Atta girl."

He then points at the middle part of his thigh.

You began to panic. Name, what’s the name?!why couldn’t they have simple names?! Why are there so many different muscles?

You open your mouth hoping the right answer would hopefully come out. The femur was located there so it had to have the word in the name right? Or at least rhyme with it. Femur-loris? Femoris? That sounded right but what if there’s a second part. Or maybe it was just one word.

You looked at him hoping for a hint but he just stared at you. Finding it amusing the way you were trying to think so hard while he was inside of you.

"You’re taking too long." He says as he shoves himself deeper inside of you.

Ngh!

You whimper as gets I n deeper.

"Femoris!" You yell out.

He makes you take in another inch.

"Fuck! You piece of shit! You’re a horrible teacher! I’m not going to learn anything like this!" You curse at him.

He slams the rest of his three inches inside of you causing you to cry. Your eyes almost roll back as you felt him stuff you. He slams your arms above your head and presses his pelvis deeper into yours. Rolling his hips over and over again making you go crazy. Your eyes began to water as you felt overwhelmed. Hot tears coating your eyelash.

Mascar stains your under eyes and your face begins to heat up. You’re begging him to slow down. Looking at him with a pleading look.

"Gojo, please! I don’t know the answer. I can’t even think straight right now!" You sob.

“Recuts Femoris." He says through his teeth.

He leads your hand to his chest and makes you tell him the answer to that one again.

You give him the correct name of it and felt as he began to slow down inside of you. He lets go of your wrists and brings his thumb to your clit. Rubbing it in circles to give you pleasure.

"A reward for being such a smart girl." He whispers.

He watches as you squirm and jolt at the sensation. He kept sliding in and out of you slowly but the pleasure was more overwhelming than the pain.

You start moaning out his name the faster he went. You’ve never felt this good before. With all the men you slept this had to the best one yet. He wasn’t even fucking you probably! He was toying with you!

What would it feel like if he was actually trying?

"Can’t you just fuck me properly?!" You say

He looks at you shocked before smiling. He put your legs over each shoulder and leaned in closer to you. You moan as he somehow reached a deeper area inside of you.

"I will when you get everything down and if you pass I’ll even eat you out." He groans as he grinds himself onto you.

You don’t know how or where all of this knowledge came from all of a sudden. Each place he pointed out you got the right answer, well almost. You would slip a few times making him pull away and slam into you. At some point your body finally adjusted to his length. This making the punishment more wanted. Sometimes you got the answers wrong on purpose.

By the end you had everything down and he was finally fucking you the way you wanted.

He had you on your knees as he plowed into you.

"I think this technique of learning is way better. Now shall we keep doing this for every exam?" He grins.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo saturo #gojo sensei #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru

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streetlightyeri · 2 months

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oklahoma smokeshow ; t.o

"cause you're a small town smokeshow."

w.c.: 6275

content: lovers to enemies (?) to lovers, angst, fluff, do i have to disclose natural disasters lol, death of a family member, no beta, and as always: FMC is named but has no descriptors

The thunder rumbled around Harlow, the sky turning blue with every flash of lightning. These circumstances aren’t what she pictured coming back to Oklahoma to be; the forecasted unprecedented storm week seemed like it was less of a random once-in-a-generation weather cell and more like a physical amalgamation of her emotions. She spent the entire plane ride pretending to be asleep with her head covered so the flight attendants didn’t see her tears; her seat partner acted like he didn’t hear the occasional sniffle. Harlow was grateful for that.

The rental she chose was the last truck on the lot: a Toyota Tacoma with an Arkansas license plate. She wanted to kick the metal plate and pretend it was her ex’s University of Arkansas alumni plate. Instead, she pretended to be normal, and climbed in, immediately turning on the seat warmers and relaxing against the leather. She pulled the seat up the farthest it could go; whoever rented before her practically had it brushing against the back row.

She felt like she was back in high school, driving her dad’s truck to Dairy Queen with her friends. Now, she couldn’t even remember the last time she saw a truck. She spent most of her time on the metro or in a yellow taxi. After her and Tyler’s blowup breakup, Harlow declined her full ride admission to University of Oklahoma and accepted a spot at Columbia University. She fantasized about him showing up at the airport to wish her luck; he didn’t. Similar to how she just did, she pretended to be asleep while she cried on the plane to JFK.

Tyler Owens got famous - there was no other way to say it. He was a hot-shot storm chaser with seemingly little regard for the dangers. But Harlow knew; he was calculative and a downright mathematical genius when it came to tornadoes. He completed his degree in meteorology a year early with high honors. He walked summa cum laude. Harlow watched the livestream. When she walked across stage in her powder blue cap and gown, she couldn’t help but wonder if he did the same. Or if he did it when she walked again two years later for her Masters. And again when she walked four and a half years later for her PhD.

She didn’t just run from him: she ran from the town of Clearwater, Oklahoma. Harlow was . . . a smokeshow. There was no denying it. But she was more than just attractive and Prom Queen. She was valedictorian, president of the Beta and Spanish Clubs, the organizer of natural disaster relief programs across the county. But everyone in Clearwater saw her as one thing: Tyler Owens’ pretty girlfriend who would soon be nothing more than a passing face on the street with a baby on her hip with another on the way. And Harlow couldn’t deny that maybe . . . just maybe she would’ve enjoyed that. But there were so many things that she couldn’t do in Clearwater, so many opportunities outside of the county lines.

But Tyler didn’t want that. He found out she applied to more than just UO and laughed at her. He asked what she could possibly want to do that wasn’t already in Clearwater, asked if she thought she’d be able to leave her mom. And Harlow couldn’t answer. She had nothing concrete that she wished for; she had nondescript dreams of moving away. She spent so long being what everyone wanted her to be, she had no clue what else there was to wish for - what else there was to be.

Their argument was one of her core memories, and in the Tacoma, even with the radio on and the thunder nearly shaking the road, she could hear everything like she was there again, that night 2 weeks after Prom as she helped him clean up his gear from his first ride of the season.

Tyler threw his rope down against his saddle. “If you hate it here so much, maybe we shouldn’t be together then!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t!”

The empty arena was completely silent. The groan of the tin roof in the gentle breeze was the only thing that interrupted the tense moment.

He swallowed hard, but didn’t move from his spot a few feet away from her. “Is . . . is that what you really want?”

Harlow tried to shrink in on herself, wrapping her arms around her torso, still wearing his sweatshirt. “I don’t - I don’t know, Tyler. The problem is I don’t know what I want, just what everyone else does. It’s just - you can’t understand. You’ll never be able to understand.” She dropped her arms and opted to lean against one of the bull shoots, the cold, rusty metal grounding her.

He just turned around, busying himself with tightening the straps of his gear. He was silent.

“Tyler-”

He shrugged so hard it shut her up, reaching in his pocket and tossing his keys onto the dirt. “Take the truck. I’ll get my keys and my stuff tomorrow. I’ll call for a ride.”

Harlow crossed her arms, “No, I’m not taking your truck.”

“And I’m not having you staying here in the dark waiting for someone to pick you up. So unless you want me to drive you home, take the damn truck.”

Harlow picked the keys up from the dirt. She cried on the way home then in her mom’s lap. After nearly an hour of listening to her daughter cry, Shiloh James brought her daughter to the family laptop and had her sign into her University of Oklahoma admissions portal and deny her spot. Shiloh looked at her diploma from UC Davis hanging on the wall, “Sometimes a fresh start is what you need most.”

Now here she was, back in Clearwater for the first time in years. The few times she visited before were quick, a few days at most before she jetted back across the country; she never came during storm season, too afraid to cross paths with him or hear his name.

This time, Harlow had taken a month off work to spend time with her mother. All it took was one call from her mom's nurse Kelly for Harlow to book her plane ride home.

Shiloh scolded Harlow when she learned she took a month of unpaid leave. “Honey, you’re being dramatic. Your coworkers need you more than I do here! Honest. I haven’t felt better.”

Harlow playfully rolled her eyes at her mother and cuddled against her on the couch, pretending once again that she was here for different reasons. “Nah, I think they’ll be just fine.”

She was learning she was really good at pretending. But, maybe she had been all her life.

Harlow dropped her mom off at her best friend’s house as was customary per Kelly. Shiloh had long since stopped treatment and no longer cared about keeping distance from her loved ones. So Thursdays became nights for her to spend with Ruth to reminisce on their years together. Harlow planned to spend the night getting drunk and pretending her life wasn’t unraveling, like she wasn’t about to spend the weekend deciding between cedar and mahogany and pine.

Instead, she got a call from a college of hers in New York, Kate.

“Hello?” She answered, not sure what could prompt a call like this at 5pm. The two were work friends, the one the other would drift to during conventions - nothing more. Neither liked talking about anything personal. She could count on one hand the amount of real conversations she’d had with the girl. But perhaps weather could get her mind off the storm brewing in her life.

“Hi, this is Dr. James?” Kate sounded unsure, as though her number may have changed.

After receiving confirmation, Kate started into a spiel about how she was in need of a second opinion on the cells that were forming over the next few days in Oklahoma.

“Wait,” Harlow cut her off, “Are you . . . in Oklahoma?”

Kate swallowed, “Yes, as a favor to a friend. He’s testing out new equipment.”

“I mean - I’m in Oklahoma as well. I can meet with you, if that’s easier. That way I can see the models you’re describing.” Harlow wasn’t sure why she was so ecstatic to help. Maybe she just wanted a distraction, a taste of what Tyler did every day, what prompted him to leave Clearwater just a year after she did.

After half an hour of preparing a bag with her laptop and other essentials for the night she was going to spend at the motel, she was headed towards a town a few dozen miles north. The ride was the same as every ride through the Great Plains: filled with wheat, windmills, and cows. When she finally arrived at the address she was given, Harlow sighed and looked at the backseat, wishing she brought extra blankets. The parking lot was full: there was no chance of her getting a room that night. Nevertheless, she unbuckled, pulling her bag from the passenger side floorboard. She didn’t need to search for the StormParr trucks. They were stark white with the brutalist style logo slapped on every inch of the vehicles. She scanned the group for a second, looking for Kate - or any woman in general.

Kate saw her first, gently waving her over to introduce her to the group. After a while of comparing models and data (most of which was written off by the StormParr team and deemed as rudimentary), Kate got the hint that Harlow was about to snap. In an attempt to mediate, she cut off the tall, broad man while he was in the middle of talking about his data collection, “I’m sorry, but I really do have to run to the restroom. Dr. James, would you mind accompanying me?”

Harlow gave her a thankful look. The two set off to Kate’s room on the second floor. “I’m sorry about all of that. I thought what you said was very helpful. The prediction of rain habits in the area can definitely contribute to the-”

She cut Kate off with a raised hand and a laugh as they ascended. “It’s fine, really. I have a PhD in Climatology. I’m used to being talked over by men. It’s not like they’re paying me, so I don’t really care.”

They were about to start up the second set of stairs when a man called up at Kate, “Well if it isn’t Big City! That was a good call today!”

Harlow would’ve thought they were talking to her if she hadn’t known Kate was surrounded by these same groups of storm chasers for the past couple of days.

Kate rolled her eyes and whispered to her, “Tornado Wrangler crew.”

Harlow felt her eyes blow wide and her blood run cold. She could hear the rushing in her ears and her heart pumping in her chest. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Kate introducing her, “This is Dr. Harlow James.”

She got the nerve to turn to see the group of people. They looked exactly how they did on YouTube - cool, fresh, and close knit. Harlow felt like she was looking into a portal to what her life could’ve been. Harlow swallowed hard, the world spinning around her aside from Tyler. His eyes were locked on hers, his face giving none of his thoughts away. Harlow wasn’t as confident in her own facial features. Of all the things to come out of their mouths, she wasn’t expecting one of his crewmates to know about her.

“Of course we know her!” Boone laughed, “We use her weather mapping patterns to plan our-”

Tyler’s boot connected with his side, making him yelp in pain.

She felt her stomach jolt upwards. Harlow gripped Kate’s arm, whispering one word: “Bathroom.”

The blonde took her up the rest of the stairs. The second the door was unlocked, Harlow made a B-line for the bathroom, falling to her knees and emptying her dinner into the toilet. Kate stood awkwardly at the doorway to her hotel room, acting like she couldn’t hear her colleague vomiting through the door. She walked to Harlow’s duffel bag and rummaged through it until she found her mouthwash.

She mulled over if she should check on her or leave her be and throw the mouthwash bottle into the bathroom like it was a grenade. She was given a few extra moments to decide when a knock interrupted her thoughts. Kate opened the door, expecting Javier coming up to apologize for his crew’s actions towards Harlow but instead was met with Tyler Owens.

She couldn’t hide her surprise, “Oh, um, hello.”

He looked down at her hand and saw the travel sized bottle of Listerine. He tried to peer around her, but Kate pulled the door. He realized how it must’ve looked, “I came to check on her. Is she okay? She looked like she was about to faint.”

It was clear there was a history between the two, but Kate couldn’t tell what exactly it was. She wasn’t sure if she cared either. But she wasn’t about to leave this girl who she brought over. Kate tried to lie, to say that she was fine and just using the restroom, but a particularly violent gag sounded out.

He looked like it took all of his willpower to not push Kate out the way and run to the bathroom. “I just need to make sure she’s okay, alright?”

Kate went to deny him again, but Javier came up the stairs at that moment, talking without looking until he got right to her door, “Hey, Kate, I want to apologize about the way they treated Dr. James. It was entirely unprofession- oh . . .”

Javier sized up Tyler, whose jaw was locked. He turned to Kate instead. “Where’s Dr. James? I want to apologize personally.”

“Bathroom.”

He nodded in understanding when he heard another gag and Kate slightly raised the bottle in her hand.

“Please,” Tyler pleaded. “Let me check on her. She will dry heave until she passes out. She’s done it since we were kids.”

Kate wanted to say no, but the sounds were not letting up; if anything, they were getting worse. And she was not good with comforting someone or with bodily fluids. She glanced between the two, eventually stepping outside and handing Tyler the bottle. “Leave the door open.”

“Of course,” he assured her before bolting to the door. He knocked softly and was answered by a dry heave. He swallowed thickly, his voice soft, “Harlow?”

She made no noise of acknowledgement. He knocked again to nothing. He tried the handle, and it was miraculously unlocked. Once the door swung open, he was met with Harlow on her knees, arms wrapped around the toilet, dry heaving so hard her back arched up and down. He got on one knee next to her, gently running a hand down her back as he said her name. Her body shook with another heave. He pulled the hand towel off the bar on the wall and ran it under the faucet before wringing it out and placing it across her burning neck. That seemed to snap her out of the cyclical vomit-dry heave moment she was having. Her breathing started to deepen and even out as she reached up to flush the toilet twice. The redness in her face started to recede. She braced herself to stand, but didn’t have the strength to do so yet and almost stumbled head first into the counter.

Tyler was quick, “Whoa, whoa, darl- Harlow.” His hands reached out to steady her against the counter. She took deep breaths as she regained her bearings, running her hands under the cool water. She washed her mouth out, taking a swig of the mouthwash he offered. She splashed her face with water. She rubbed away the residual tears that formed during her vomit spell. Her mascara was still smudged underneath her eyes.

“Can you uh, grab my toothbrush and a shirt?” He didn’t need any explanation as to why she couldn’t get it herself. He brought them to her after practically emptying her duffel bag contents onto the bed. He ran a soothing hand up and down her back as she kept her eyes on the running water. She took another swig of mouthwash and swallowed it for good measure. He closed his eyes and turned away as she changed her shirt.

“You good?” He asked. She wanted to throw up again at how soft his voice was.

She nodded. She glanced up and met his eyes for a brief second before wiping her nose with a strangled laugh, her voice raspy, “Great first impression.”

She wiped up the water droplets on the counter with the towel he gave her earlier, doing anything to not look at him or acknowledge how close he was after a decade of nothing.

“Harlow.” His voice was still soft, but firm. “What did those guys say to you?”

She scoffed and wiped her wet hands on her shirt before walking out the bathroom. “Nothing I can’t ignore. I’m used to it.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged, putting her things back in her bag that were strewn across the bed, “The usual. No one taking my models seriously because I was the only female graduate in my PhD program and because I’m the only person using them.”

“I use them.”

She pulled the zipper, staring so hard at her bag Tyler thought it might burst into flames, “So I’ve heard.”

There was a beat of silence. “Why’re you working with guys like that?”

That made her look up, eyebrows knitted. “I’m not. I have no clue who they are. I came here as a favor for Kate. We’re professional acquaintances. It was a coincidence we were both here.”

She said too much with that because he immediately asked, “Why are you back in Oklahoma?”

She kept her response short and guarded, “Seeing mom.”

Silence stretched on for an awkward amount of time. Harlow went back to looking at her bag. Tyler’s eyes never left hers.

“Let me take you get food. You just flushed yours down the toilet.”

“No!” Harlow almost jumped back as she heard those words. “No, no, I’m fine.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I ate on the way here.”

“And that’s gone. Before that?”

Harlow tried to do the math in her head. She skipped lunch because she was so worried about getting her mother bathed for her night with Ruth. She picked at an egg this morning but couldn’t stomach it, too aware of the texture of it. She wasn’t about to tell him she hadn’t digested a meal since the night before, so she opted for “A while.”

“I’m taking you get food. Come on.”

There was little reason for Harlow to argue - if she said she was going to bed he’d insist on walking her to her room and then she’d have to admit she didn’t have one, or that she was going to get food herself and he’d insist it was pointless to go alone if he was offering to drive.

That’s how the two ended up at a 24/7 diner, cramped into the only booth available next to the front window where everyone walking past could stare at them. It felt very similar to how Harlow felt when the two were a couple in Clearwater: watched, judged, and laughed at.

The two did not talk. Harlow became more comfortable with looking up, so instead of staring at the plate the entire meal, she was able to get as far up as his nose. His eyes were off limits in her mind. If she looked at them this close up, she was sure she’d feel everything she felt that night in the arena come rushing back.

She wasn’t sure how the two ended up in a pasture across from the diner, but she had made the mistake of looking at his eyes when his hand covered hers when the bill came. And she did feel all of those emotions come rushing back. It felt like their argument picked up right where it left off. The tall grass tickled her legs that were now accustomed to fancy lotions.

“I LEFT BECAUSE IT WASN’T FAIR! IT STILL ISN’T!” She shouted at him, hoping no one across the street could hear.

“What are you talking about?” Tyler scoffed.

“I left because the only thing I could ever be in Clearwater was ‘Tyler Owen’s girlfriend.’”

“Would that really have been so bad? A picket fence? A few babies?”

“No! It wouldn’t have! But you got to be Tyler Owens. Hot-shot bullrider extraordinaire. Loved by everyone. I was nothing more than the town smokeshow, and that’s all I would ever be.”

“You chose to go to college!”

“And look where you ended up! Mr. Summa Cum Laude! Why was it okay for you to go and not me?”

Tyler couldn’t hide the shock on his face. “You . . . you kept up with me?”

Harlow nodded. “Yup. Watched the livestream of you graduating. Even though you started a year after me, we still ended up graduating the same year.”

“But why keep up? You left. You went to New York.”

“I was going to UO at first. Wanted to stay close to you. They were gonna pay for everything, can you believe that?” She let out a humorless laugh. “Then we broke up. And my mom told me to go to New York. Get a fresh start. Turns out I fucked up that fresh start, too.”

He knit his brows. “What do you mean?”

Harlow fell onto the tailgate, her feet dangling. She tried to speak but only a sob came out. She hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut, a tear running down her nose and falling onto the dirt. Tyler walked over slowly and apprehensively took a seat next to her. She didn’t move to bite his head off or push him off. After a few seconds, she was able to compose herself to say the words she’d been refusing to say. The ones she refused to repeat to Nurse Kelly. The ones she knew her mom didn’t like. “She’s dying, Tyler. That’s why I came home - to plan her funeral. The doctors gave her until the end of the month. I-I left and never came back, and now I’m never gonna see her again.”

“Oh, baby,” his heart clenched. Of all the people in the world that deserved something like that, Shiloh was the last one. She raised Harlow alone after her father skipped town when she was two. She baked homemade cakes for him on his birthday and included him in Christmas and donated every penny she could to those in Clearwater who needed it. He wrapped his arms around her, and she broke. She held onto his button down and let out the sobs she’d been pretending to not be holding back, the ones she muffled in her pillow at night so she didn’t wake her mom.

She would’ve continued if it hadn’t been for the breeze she felt. It was warm. Like the ones before it, but different. The heat was weighing the breeze down, not being carried by it. She slowly pulled away from Tyler. He tried to say something, but she held her hand out to quiet him. She slowly dismounted from the tailgate, landing on the ground with a thud. Tyler made significantly less noise when he stepped off. Harlow pulled her hair tie out, slipping the band onto her wrist before leaning down and snapping a few blades of grass from the ground.

“Harlow, what are you-” He shut up when she let go, the blades flying away. He understood what spooked her. He suddenly felt the heaviness in the air, the air blowing her hair in the same direction as the grass. Heat lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating a monster cloud. Tyler grabbed her upper arm, “Get in the truck. Now.”

She nodded, racing to the passenger side just as the wind began to pick up. Heading back to the motel was too risky and too far. The best bet was to find shelter in town. Tyler started down the main stretch of road, Harlow screaming out the window for people to find shelter; if it was just her in her rental, she knew that no one would take her seriously. She had no fame and was no household name, but the red truck she was in gave her all the credibility she needed. Pedestrians heeded her warning and turned, fleeing to the nearest buildings. Power began to flicker across the city, darkness rolling in waves as transformers blew. The tornado siren started its song. Tyler had to intervene by rolling the passenger side window up on his control panel once the hail started, Harlow getting pelted as she stuck her head out to yell warnings.

“The hail is enough extra warning for them, sweetheart. Look for a shelter we can go into.”

Her eyes scanned, but the lack of power made it hard to see anything, even with the flashes of lightning. But then she pointed to the right, “Look! A motel! They most likely have one!”

He pulled into the parking lot, not caring how shittily he parked. But to the two’s horror, there were still three people in the lobby and they were soon joined by a mother and daughter. The young woman was laughing at their nervous state.

“Chill, guys, 9 times out of 10 there’s not even a tornado.”

The other two men were arguing about a bad Yelp review. Tyler instructed her to find a shelter, stating he’d round up everyone in the lobby. Harlow never ran so fast in her life. She checked every room, but found no doors that led to a storm shelter. She felt her heart fall to her stomach as she returned to the lobby to tell them they’d have to try and stick it out there. But out the corner of her eyes she saw the empty pool. “Tyler! Over here!”

He guided them all to the door she was at. “We have to run for it.”

The mother, daughter, and shop owner nodded. The other two scoffed, refusing to admit that a tornado was making its way down main street. Tyler nodded to Harlow and she unlatched the door. It swung off its hinges and flew across the parking lot, then she patted the mother and daughter to go, then the clerk.

“This is your last chance! Come with us!”The two others shook their heads, finally starting to understand the severity, but too scared to venture out. Tyler could not wait any longer; he grabbed Harlow’s arm and pushed her out before going last. They caught up quickly, each helping the other three down the ladder.

Her voice was getting sucked away by the howling wind, “Get to the pipes! Hold on! Do not let go!”

She tried to help Tyler down, but he pulled his arm back. “Absolutely not! Harlow, get in and do not wait for me!”

There was no time to argue. She could hash this out with him when they made it out of this. He grabbed onto her torso and helped her descend. She immediately ducked down, making a run for the pipes. Tyler was right behind her, until he wasn’t: the clerk stood up to see the tornado behind them and got sucked to the middle of the pool. He held onto the ladder, but had to let go and duck when a vending machine flew towards him. Tyler fell to his belly, making his way around the machine, reaching his hand out for the man. But the man ignored Tyler’s warning. He got to his knees to reach Tyler’s hand faster. Harlow watched in horror as the man hit the side of the pool with a crunch before getting sucked away.

She was crying just as the mom and daughter were; the screws of the pipes shook with the strength of the tornado that was rapidly gaining on them. Tyler was slowly making his way back over to the group on his belly. She screamed his name, but it was covered by the sound of a train horn. She hooked her arm through the pipe and extended her body as far out as she could, trying to reach him.

He wanted to shout at her, to tell her to get back against the pipes, that he wasn’t letting her mom bury her, that he wasn’t going to bury her. But if she hadn’t done that, he’d be dead right now. Just as he made it back to her and wrapped her body in his, a truck flew into the pool and wedged itself above them. He could feel her heartbeat hammering; he tried to tighten his grip on her, his biceps protecting her head as he ducked his own. He whispered soothing, sweet nothings against her head.

The winds slowed, but her breathing was still hard. He broke first, trying to move to peek around the truck to ensure they were in the clear, but Harlow moved her hands to grip one of his arms. He squeezed one of her hands and placed it back on the pipe. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

She returned to her death grip on the pipe. He was back seconds later to pry her off and bring her above. The mother and daughter thanked them with tears in their eyes. Harlow knew she should be embarrassed at how she was clinging to Tyler the same way the girl was clinging to her mother. But he didn’t seem to mind. He let her cling to him as they waited for the rest of his crew to arrive for relief efforts. Once they did, he sat her in the passenger seat of his truck. He tried to help set up tables with food and water, but Lily shooed him away with two bottles of water.

She nodded in the direction of his truck where Harlow was on the phone, her body shaking from the adrenaline crash. “She needs you more than we do. Get her back safe. We have it from here.”

He glanced between Lily and Harlow. He wanted to ask if she was sure, but he knew Lily wouldn’t let him leave if they truly needed his help, so he thanked her and went to start up the truck just as she was hanging up the phone.

“She okay?” He didn’t have to ask who it was. There was only one person who Harlow went to for comfort.

She wiped at her cheek, “Yeah, yeah. Not even a drop of rain. She’s with Ruth.”

That made Tyler let out a belly laugh. “Are we sure they didn’t cause this?”

Harlow laughed wetly, “I would not bet money against it.”

When they arrived at the motel, Tyler was adamant on walking her to her room and getting her settled. It was nearing 1AM. Harlow looked at her lap and scratched at the nape of her neck. “So, uh, about that . . .”

He cocked an eyebrow, motioning with his hand for her to continue.

“I was gonna sleep in my rental. There’s no vacancy.”

He looked at her incredulously, “You’re joking, right?”

She stayed quiet.

“So you were just planning on getting here and sleeping in your truck?”

She shook her head, “No, I just wasn’t expecting every storm chaser in America to be at this motel. That or I was going to go home. Kate said there was still vacancy when we talked on the phone. She even verified that there were a handful of rooms left.”

“Well you’re not sleeping in your truck, absolutely not.” He turned his truck off, grabbing her duffle bag he threw into the backseat earlier.

She looked at him questioningly, holding her hand out for her bag, “Then I’m going home.”

“No. You are not driving half an hour in the dark right after you just waited out a tornado in a pool, especially not to be home alone. And you’re not sleeping in the backseat of an untinted rental in a parking lot, especially not one where I have confirmation that there are people here who do not respect you. You’re staying in my room.”

“I can’t!”

“Relax, I’ll sleep in the chair.”

Harlow felt her face flush. “That’s - that’s not what I meant. You paid for the room. You need to sleep in a bed without having to worry about your ex-girlfriend who dry heaves as an anxiety response.”

He rounded the truck by the time she finished talking. He reached over and unbuckled her, grabbing her hand to help her down. He shut the door behind her. “I didn’t care before, don’t care now. Come on, we need showers.”

“I’m sleeping on the chair then.”

“Yeah, sure.” He replied sarcastically.

He all but forced her to go first; while she washed all the dirt and mud off herself, he prepared a makeshift bed on the chair with bedding he found in the closet. It smelled of mildew, but there was no way he was giving her those blankets and keeping the ones on the bed for himself.

When she came out in a towel, he nearly tripped over the footstool he was adding padding to. He slammed his eyes shut and turned around. “A heads up would’ve been nice.”

He could hear the embarrassment in her voice, “I said your name like 4 times but you didn’t respond. I thought you were asleep. I have shorts on, I was just coming to get my other shirt from my bag.”

He felt silly talking to the wall with his eyes closed. “Don’t tell me you mean Throw Up shirt.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

He groaned in frustration, reaching blindly for the pile of clothes he set out for himself. He felt for his shirt and tossed it in her direction. The noise of it hitting the wall let him know he missed, but he heard her shuffling to pick it up.

“Thank you.”

Tyler was about to scold her again when he opened the bathroom door, steam wafting out into the room, but found her asleep in the chair. She was curled into herself, legs pulled to her chest and secured by the mildew blanket. He shook his head in disbelief and pulled at the blanket to try and wake her up. She groaned and pulled the blanket back against herself.

“Harlow. Wake up. Take the bed.”

She simply groaned in response, turning to tuck her head farther against the chair.

“Baby, I’m not playing this game. Take the bed.”

Her words were almost incoherent, but he managed to decipher them, “If I’m in th’ bed, then you will be too. M’not takin’ from you.”

“Suit yourself, then.” He said, placing one arm under her back and the other under her knees, lifting her and bringing her to the bed.

He let her get settled and couldn’t ignore her shivers. He reduced the fan speed on the AC before climbing into bed behind her, his back to the door. He kept distance between the two of them, but she was shaking so hard it nearly turned the mattress into a massage bed.

“C’mere.” He hooked his arm around her torso and pulled her into himself. He was still pulsing with warmth from the shower. “You wouldn’t be cold if you had used hot water for your shower.”

He wasn’t aware if she was conscious or if she was acting on instinct, but she curled up into him, fitting like the puzzle piece he’d been missing for a decade.

Two and a half weeks passed. And so did her mother. Kelly announced her.

Her first call was the coroner’s office. Her second was Tyler. It had been radio silence since that night in the motel. He walked her to her car and made her promise to text her when she got home safe; aside from that, Tyler was trying to mentally piece himself back together enough to go back to never seeing Harlow James again.

The phone hadn’t even finished its first ring before he picked up. She was sobbing and incoherent, but he knew. He promised her he’d be there as soon as he could; he beat the police. He held her as she sobbed for her mom on the lawn as they wheeled her out the house. She spent every moment since that night with her mom, even those nights at Ruth’s. She savored every moment with the woman who raised her, but it wasn’t enough. She had too many memories of New York, and not enough of her mother. Her visits were so infrequent that her mother's weight loss was stark instead of gradual. But she knew if she had the chance to do it all again, her mother would be the one telling her to do it, that in order to find herself, she had to start anew.

Tyler was one of the pallbearers. After he did his duty, he found his place right back next to her. He held her while she cried, while she laughed, and while she sat there blankly. Everyone in town talked about how good it was to see the two together again despite the circumstances. And Harlow found herself wondering if maybe her mother knew this was how it was going to end all along. That she could be happy in this town. That the storm he caused would only be tamed by him.

And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t be pretending anymore.

#imagine #twisters #twisters 2024 #Tyler owens #Tyler owens imagine #glen powell #zach bryan #song fit #Tyler ownens fanfiction #Tyler owens fanfic #Tyler owens one shot #twisters movie

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star-anise · 5 months

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are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

#staranise original #therapisting

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erodasfishtacos · 5 months

Text

Boredom & Blind Dates [pt I]

summary: yn is a good friend, who's willing to go on a blind date so that her friend can try to pull the man of her dreams. the new bigshot doctor at the hospital she's works. the dinner isnt as charming as she hoped

word count: 5k

warnings: angst

author's note: hii! this was based off a request. the rest will be posted on patreon and there’s already another part up :)

You can subscribe for $3 USD a month here

Victoria was a friend that YN had made in college when they were both studying completely opposite majors but happened to be roomed in the same two-bed dorm.

They clicked instantly and just like their majors, they were also exact opposite in their personalities too but it somehow just meshed perfectly together.

Victoria was a social butterfly who did not have a fear of being the center of attention, going after whoever she wanted (and typically pulling them), and her confidence was impressive.

Despite how smart Victoria was, she had a tendency to come off a bit ditzy, and has been called an air-head more than twice in YN’s presence.

The boys in more prestigious majors like law and medicine usually didn’t find her carefree attitude as appealing.

While Tori snagged the frat boys, YN steered clear of them which worked because they had never once had a crush on the same man.

After graduation, it only made sense to move in together because Seattle was a ridiculously overpriced city but their job wages were competitive.

Victoria was a nurse, she worked on a surgery recovery wing, and complained about her job constantly because of the crabby patients and long hours.

YN worked behind a desk all day, very rarely having to interact with anyone but if she did - it was all virtual from home.

She was the head accountant for a social media marketing company which was a pretty high position for the few years of experience she had.

YN had always been serious, more mature for her age, and always excelled above everyone else in her grade.

It hadn’t been a surprise when she was valedictorian or made summa cum laude in her undergraduate and masters degree with ease.

YN didn’t party, didn’t love socializing out in clubs but would go when Victoria pressured her enough to do so, and it was fine.

YN had been so involved in establishing her career, creating a successful life, and making a name for herself that she didn’t have time for the things Victoria did.

Dating app hookups, one night stands from the bar, and casual flings that only lasted a few weeks was how Tori rolled.

Typically, at least once a month, she was bawling to YN about the latest dickhead who treated her like she was disposable but kept going for the same type.

YN had empathy to an extent, always uncorked the wine and half-listened to her rants about chivalry being dead while she was still thinking about an account she needed to work on because the deadline was coming up.

YN liked to think she lived vicariously through Victoria’s stories which worked for her because then she didn’t have to experience those things herself.

YN had been sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on the wide arm as she scrolled through work emails while catching up on her guilty pleasure reality show.

It was nearly ten at night but she was waiting for a reply from a customer with a time difference, work could sometimes be a whole day and night ordeal.

There was no question that YN was uptight, rarely - if ever relaxed, and did not have much time for anything other than what put a hefty sum in her bank account every two weeks.

Victoria tumbled through the front door in a way that is uniquely her - like a hurricane.

Her keys jingling, her water bottle bumping and sloshing water as she drops her purse on the floor unceremoniously with a chapstick rolling out.

She tosses all of her items in a messy pile on the ground with her bag, kicking off her tennis shoes, and nearly prances into the living room.

YN blinks over at her, the excitement of her arrival was a routine now, she no longer gets annoyed that her best friend makes an entrance like that each time.

“Babe, guess what,” Victoria squeals as she sits down right next to her on the couch, still in her magenta colored scrubs and her mascara smudged near her eyes.

“What?” YN replies as she mindlessly clicks refresh in her email, wishing for this message with the information she needs to appear.

“Our new Chief of Medicine started today! He was the head of neurology at another hospital. A literal brain surgeon which, of course I’ve met others but he’s like…the best of the best. They write news articles about him, his studies in medical journals, he’s a big deal,” Victoria is still excited as she nearly bounces in her spot, shaking YN’s laptop.

YN puts a hand up to make sure her computer doesn’t topple, still nonplussed as she looks at her friend, “What does this have to do with you? Is it just because he’s famous in the medical world?”

“No, he’s fucking gorgeous too. I didn’t think you were allowed to be as smart as he is while looking like he just walked off a runway during Paris Fashion Week,” Tori giggles as her cheeks go a bit pink, “He’s the hottest doctor I’ve ever seen.”

“Tori,” YN sighs, clicking her refresh again - nothing, “Again, what is this information leading to?”

“Well I bumped into him today, literally, in the hallway. We spoke briefly, he was polite but serious, and I felt like he was flirting with me. I feel like I have a chance with him,” Her roommate tells her, that same confidence present as ever that she can pull this big shot doctor.

“Good luck with that. I’m sure he’s married with kids,” YN replies somewhat dismissively, unamused that this is how her friend spends her time.

“Nope,” Tori quips back happily, “I googled him. He just made the New York Times list as one of the most eligible bachelors in medicine. Single as they come.”

“I thought you didn’t want to date someone who also worked in medicine,” YN reminds her, clicking refresh once again to no results.

“He’s the exception. If I could settle down with a fuckin neurosurgeon, chief medical officer like come on that would be my biggest achievement,” Victoria pulls out her cell phone, tapping across the screen.

And YN just…cannot relate.

YN only fell in love once.

Where she could fantasize about a life with that person, marriage, kids, a house but it was all fantasy as they were never official in that way.

It was crushed and YN made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t let herself dream like that again.

“Do you want to see a picture?” Victoria asks as she looks for an image to show.

As a stroke of luck, YN’s work phone starts buzzing, and it’s the client she was waiting for to email her, “I’m sure he’s as attractive as you say, Tor. I have to take this.”

Her friend mumbles something about her being in a relationship with work which is honestly not that far off at this point.

However, it gives her an excuse to lock herself in her office for a few hours to avoid the ideas of love, Victoria’s fantasy world, and think about nothing but numbers and percentages.

The next few weeks blend together for YN.

Every few days she actually catches up on her work.

Every few days Victoria recounts her very purposefully crafted run-ins with the chief medical officer to shoot her shot.

Victoria has always been forward, asking bluntly for what she wants but with such a seemingly intimidating man, she finally has met her match.

Her roommate deems the doctor as ‘playing hard to get’ but YN starts to wonder if she’s imagining the spark between them or if it’s truly there.

She talks about times where the doctor flat out ignores her in the hallway but brushes it off that he was extremely busy on a pressing issue.

But then there are times where he will pull her aside, gently by the wrist and ask her about how her day was going, and appear to be interested in her answers.

YN loved her friend but was wildly uninterested in these events, the only thing that kept her curiosity lingering was if she was actually going to snag the head of the biggest hospital in Seattle.

She doesn’t hear much for a week or two.

At least three months have passed since the doctor started.

And this finally appears to be a payoff when Victoria comes home with her usual hurricane routine of leaving a trail of her belongings as she comes through the front door.

“Oh my god, oh my god. Close your laptop and look at me!” Victoria announces dramatically as she rushes over to the couch, taking it upon herself to close the lid of YN’s work computer.

“Tori,” YN scolds with a grumble, she really didn’t appreciate it when her friend interrupted her work flow in the middle of her meticulously constructing a report.

“Hush,” She replies, brushing off her concerns, and patting YN’s thighs, “I need the absolute biggest, most massive favor from you ever. And I really need you to agree, I’ll owe you for eternity.”

This didn’t sound good.

YN blinks at her, expression still unamused as ever.

“Okay. I am going on a date with the chief,” Victoria squeals, high-pitched and loud, “But it’s a double-date, he was telling me he’s looking for a date for his friend. I offered you and he invited us all to dinner at The National.”

Fancy.

And YN tries to settle the itching annoyance at her friend offering her up without her approval but unfortunately it was a very Victoria-like thing to do.

Despite how uptight YN could be, she had a soft spot for her friend and would do anything within her to make her happy so instead of lecturing her about setting her up, YN agrees.

YN thinks about it as the days pass until the date, what’s stopping her from actually giving this a try?

The only information she received about her blind date was that he was also a doctor, orthopedics, and his name was Mitch.

YN dresses nicer than she had originally planned, in a form fitting black dress that shaped her chest phenomenally, making her smaller tits look full and lifted.

It also defined her backside well too, making it rounded and voluminous in a way that it normally didn’t look in her regular outfits.

YN hadn’t been with anyone in over a year, not even a casual hookup because she didn’t do those - she did commitment.

Maybe Mitch would be the one.

YN wasn’t one for magical thinking like her best friend but maybe this is what optimism was supposed to be like as opposed to her normal pessimist outlook.

Victoria dressed stunning as well, albeit a bit more revealing which was her go to, cut-outs along her ribs and the hem was nearly to her bum cheeks so she couldn’t bend over without revealing all of her bits and pieces.

YN was sure that the doctor she was pining after would take her home with her that night but she also knows Victoria is possibly looking at this to become serious.

It was all up in the air.

The National was a quiet restaurant, where business meetings were held and deals were made.

Everyone dressed in expensive outfits that made YN and Victoria’s seem a bit out of place but they blended in well enough.

Neither have been to the location before because it was reservation-only and you had to have enough of a name in Seattle to bother calling.

The fact that the chief was able to get them a table, at relatively short notice was flex in itself, showing off what clout he held in the community.

YN wasn’t impressed, per se, felt like it was a bit-show off but nevertheless it was a nice experience that she’d never likely have again after this night.

Victoria gives the hostess their name before they’re being guided towards the back of the restaurant, it lit dimly enough that it would be hard to see the menu.

As they arrive at the table, there’s two meticulous dressed men sit across from one another, both handsome in different ways.

However, one has a big smile and stands up whilst the other stays seated with a scowl that seems permanently etched on his face - light wrinkles to show for it.

The man who stands up reaches for YN’s hand, kissing the back of it, and introducing himself, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been looking forward to it all week, darling. I’m Mitch.”

“YN,” She replies even though he already knows, allowing the kiss and giving him a polite smile back as he pulls out her chair for her.

Victoria walks around the table, somewhat awkward as her date doesn’t get up or offer to move her chair out, only a curt, “Hello, Victoria. You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Tori blushes easily, YN has to refrain from rolling her eyes at the interaction, she always fell for the rudest, douchey men on Earth.

This doctor was no different as he says back in his chair, shoulders broad, and back straight, head held high as he watches Mitch help YN in her seat.

“Thank you,” YN brushes her fingers against Mitch’s shoulder as he sits down, making eye contact with her date once again.

He had these sincere brown eyes, a shy smile, and his long hair was pulled back into a ponytail as he nods at her.

Mitch wasn’t her type, though she wasn’t picky, and was willing to give anyone a chance - he just wouldn’t be someone she would pick herself.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

“What’s good here?” YN asks Mitch as she opens her menu, it was a small list of entrees, most that YN had only seen on cooking shows or never even heard of.

“I haven’t been here. Styles here is a regular but that’s because he’s the big name ‘round here, well according to London Times - everywhere,” Mitch teases as he glances up at his friend.

Styles doesn’t even lift his lip in a half-smile, his eyes dart to YN before his friend, “The Steelhead Trout is good as is the Filet Migon.”

YN’s eyes trace back over the menu, heart seizing a bit as the numbers next to the entree - realizing that was the price was a bit of shell shock.

She knew that Mitch would pay for her but she felt guilty about ordering something that was well over a hundred and fifty dollars when she would never pay that for dinner herself.

“I think I’ll just get the thai salmon,” YN replies as she glances over, it was the cheapest option, not by much but still.

“There’s peanuts in the sauce,” The doctor tells her as he glances up from his own menu to look at YN.

YN brow furrows at him, lips turning down, and about to say something when he adds, “Victoria informed me that you have a severe peanut allergy and to choose a restaurant that could prepare your food properly.”

YN blinks to process before looking over to Victoria, “Thanks, Tor.”

“I’d rather not see freshman year thanksgiving happen again,” Victoria jokes but there is some real concern there from such a traumatic incident.

YN had accidentally come into contact with some type of nut that sent her into an anaphylactic shock.

They couldn’t find her epipen for a good two minutes until they did and were able to administer her medication until she could make it to the hospital.

Victoria had anxiety about food in their house for ages, paranoid about her own contact with the allergen, and always made sure everyone was aware of YN’s condition.

“I’ll get the filet then,” YN sighs, giving up on picking a cheap option as she closes her menu, and the waiter pours a red wine into her glass.

YN was not in the mood to drink, preferring to sip on her water instead as Victoria and Mitch emptied their first glass quickly.

Victoria’s date sipped more sophisticatedly on his, swirling it like a proper snob before taking a minuscule sip as if he was savoring it.

Mitch seemed very interested in YN, asking multiple questions about her work and personal life, he put an arm around the back of her chair which YN didn’t necessarily mind as they spoke.

From what YN could see, Victoria was not having as much luck with her date as their conversation appeared strained, her friend was doing ninety percent of the talking, and Harry was nodding with an expression of boredom.

After the soup and salads arrive, Mitch and Harry start to chat about something going on with the hospital protocols.

Victoria tries to add in, he doesn’t acknowledge her but Mitch does instead after an uncomfortable pause of silence between them.

YN stays quiet, unable to add anything, and after a moment, Mitch huffs out a laugh, “Enough work talk, we’re excluding YN.”

Harry raises his eyebrow at her, “Need to be the center of attention?”

“Hey,” Mitch frowns, rubbing at YN’s shoulder, “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I’m sorry if I just-“

“You’re fine,” YN waves her hand dismissively, giving her friend’s date a displeased glance that Harry returns the scowl just like he’d been doing all night.

Victoria is oblivious, as she tends to be, and is much too focused on keeping her date’s attention to worry about anything else.

“What do you do for work?” Harry asks her, randomly cutting off a story that Victoria was telling about a patient that eloped recently.

“I’m a head accountant for a social media marketing company. What about you?” YN returns the question with sickeningly sweet politeness.

She felt like Harry was a pompous prick, taking pride in his rankings, education, and had a better than attitude that YN really felt was unappealing.

To act like she didn’t know shit about him was the perfect way to irritate him apparently.

It works.

The way his teeth clench together as the wrinkle between his brow deepens further, he straightens his suit jacket before leaning forward to appear casual.

“I’m the Chief Medical Officer of The Hospital of Seattle, a neurosurgeon specializing in spinal cord injury as well as stroke and trauma, I own three outpatient medical practices, as well as instruct other neurosurgeons on new techniques and equipment,” Harry boasts, to be fair, it was extremely impressive.

There was no doubt that the man sitting across from her was extremely intelligent, she’s probably never been around anyone as smart as him but it didn’t excuse his attitude.

You can be intelligent and humble at the same time.

Apparently Doctor Styles did not get the memo.

“That’s nice,” YN replies as she takes a very small sip of wine, even though she was impressed, it didn’t reflect in her bored tone.

Harry scoffs, sitting back, and licking the front of his teeth.

His eyebrow was raised as he repeated in disbelief, “That’s nice? Nothing else, huh?”

Victoria’s eyes dart nervously between the two, she grips Harry’s bicep, “I think it’s the most impressive thing I’ve heard. Not to mention the medical journals you wrote for or the volunteer work.”

YN tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, tampering down a smile at getting a reaction out of her friend’s date, just as she had hoped.

“S’really not as impressive when the person needs to flaunt their accomplishments so extravagantly,” YN shrugs as she puts down her wine glass, nonchalant as ever, and acting as if she was being casual.

Tori delivers a kick to her shin underneath the table, along with a scolding look for her to drop the attitude with Harry because it was ruining their date.

YN pulls back because she did feel guilty at getting into it with this doctor who Tori was trying to pull and she wasn’t increasing the chances with the snide comments.

Harry is about to respond, his ringed fingers clenched on the table, and there were tattoos peeking out from the cuffs of his suit that were very undoctorlike, “You know what I think-?”

“Uhm,” Mitch coughs awkwardly to break up the tension that was getting thick and cloying between everyone at the table, “Victoria, where did you get your nursing degree from?”

The conversation breaks off, Victoria and Mitch start chatting as YN and Harry remain pretty much silent throughout the appetizers.

Victoria is forward, trying to touch her date when possible.

A brush of his hand here, a squeeze of his bulky bicep there.

Though Harry doesn’t shrug her off, he also doesn’t return the favor at all.

He is nearly statuesque, unmoving, and able to sit very still for long amounts of time.

Of course, maybe that is overly obvious because of how all over the place her friend was at all times, unable to sit still for more than a few minutes without needing to adjust the way she’s sitting or fiddle with something on the table.

YN wonders if this whole thing was set up for Mitch and Harry just settled for being on a date with Victoria to help his friend out.

The thought hurt her to think about because she wanted better for her friend.

YN enjoyed having a job that paid her well, more than most people her age were making but it didn’t define who she was.

Doctor Styles seemed to be his entire job as his personality.

How boring.

When Harry manages to get the topic back onto a work issue, YN cannot help but let out a yawn that she very half-heartedly tries to cover with her hand because she could only hear so much about a spinal surgery before she’s zoning out.

Victoria is hanging onto his every word, asking questions, and being overly interested in a lackluster story in his monotone, deep voice that could honestly lull her to sleep because of how bleak and morbid he sounded.

However, when she yawns, no one at the table notices but Harry.

His eyes have darted over to her a few times while he’s been talking, almost to gauge her level of interest, and when she yawns, he visibly huffs before continuing - his words a bit more harsh and a flutter of annoyance twisting into his cadence.

YN had neglected her date during this whole time, in full honesty.

Victoria and Mitch seemed to have a great conversation.

When YN talked to Mitch, he was nice enough and easy to have a conversation with but his boss across the table was distracting and apparently felt the need to constantly be the center of attention even though that’s what he called YN out for.

It’s rude, YN knows it is when she excuses herself to the bathroom mid-story, placing her napkin on the table before swinging her purse over her shoulder, and navigating into the dimly-lit restaurant towards the back.

YN goes into one of the many stalls, a larger bathroom, and sits down.

She didn’t have to go to the bathroom but she had just needed a break because…

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck?

YN would be crawling out the bathroom window if Victoria wasn’t with her.

YN hears the door open and she just knows it’s Victoria.

She is definitely going to give YN a piece of her mind for her attitude at the table and she really can’t blame her because she was not being on her best behavior admittedly.

When YN pushes open the stall, already starting her speech, “Tor, I know you’re probably pissed but -”

However, YN stops mid-setence when she sees that it was not Victoria standing across from her.

No, instead it was Harry, leaning back against the sinks with his arms crossed and a scowl worse than anything that he had displayed at the table across his face.

“Already dating again?” He asks unhappily, the slight crack of his deep drawl gives away the jealously laying behind those words, “That’s pretty fuckin’ rich, innit?”

“Don’t you dare,” YN hisses back, defensive and straightening up, “You don’t have any room to talk.”

“I have plenty,” Harry grits out, his gaze unwavering, his hand twitching like he wants to reach out, “You fucked everything up, not me.”

The awful thing is that YN wants him too.

“That’s not true,” YN murmurs softer, trying to keep the feisty edge in her voice but struggling.

The emotions that she was attempting to hold in at the table were much harder to bottle up when they were standing face-to-face like this.

“You like Mitch?” Harry ignores her rebuttal, his knuckles were white where they were gripping the kitchen sink, “Think he’s nice? Boyfriend material?”

“It’s none of your fucking business,” YN snaps back, finding her bravado a bit more.

“Come here,” Harry orders, voice quiet but sharp, demanding, and it sends a chill down her spine.

“Harry-” YN begins to argue but finds herself walking forward, her heart pounding hard enough that it hurts and her hands were shaking as she clung the strap of her purse as a lifeline as her heels clicked against the tile.

“C’mon, dove,” His voice is sweeter, more goading until she’s close enough to touch.

Her lips parted in nerves, excitement, dread.

His hand reaches out to curl around the nape of her neck, fingers lightly pressing into the sides of her throat and though it was gentle, it was possessive - rooted in the jealousy of what was going on tonight with their dates.

Harry brings her towards him by the hold he has on her, until her hands are laid on his chest, and he’s leaning down as he tilts her head up.

He brushes their lips together, once, twice, and on the third time, YN pulls back and takes a few steps away from him.

“You can’t just do that,” YN huffs, grabbing a tissue from the counter and dabbing at the corners of her eyes to prevent the tears from falling and ruining her makeup, “I’m on a date. You’re on a date. It isn’t fair to either of them.”

Harry laughs unhappily, shaking his head as pushes away from the sink, heading towards the door but before he leaves, he bites back, “I don’t think you have room to be talking about fair. You obviously don’t fuckin’ understand the concept of it. Pull yourself together before you come back out.”

YN knows it immature, proves his point but gives him the middle finger before going back to dabbing at her eyes - fuck, she wishes she didn’t cry around him.

She wondered if it was worth sneaking out the window and facing the wrath of her friend later.

ahhhhhhh.

let me know your thoughts. this was difficult to write but im glad it turned out how i wanted it too! what do you predict?

😙😙😙

#harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles fanfic

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ckret2 · 26 days

Note

Hi! I don't remember if anyone asked this, but do you have any headcanons about Shermie Pines?

Sure, here's the big one.

I've decided to resolve the "if he's the baby then Mabel & Dipper are the product of two generations of 15-year-old parents; if he's older than Stan & Ford and maybe already out of the house then where is he and who's the baby?" problem the most ridiculous way possible:

He IS the baby, but he grew 20 years in 10 years.

I don't mean he's a 10-year-old that looks 20, i mean that for every year he existed, he experienced two years of life. Like at the start of September he entered 1st grade and at the end of next May he exited 2nd grade, and nobody knows how, he didn't jump up a grade during winter break or something, everyone around him clearly remembers him going through nine months of school and then summer break and then another nine months of school, his first and second grade teachers both remember teaching him for a whole school year, but it happened within one year.

Nobody else is affected; they all remember experiencing two years of life with Shermie, but they didn't age two years too. Just him. No one can explain it. It's the darnedest thing.

"But how did this happen." Time magic. "What caused it?" Magic. "Did he experience every year twice?" No just once; the year was twice as long for him. "Then how did he experience two school years instead of one double length school year?" Magic. "How does that even work???" I'm not an expert on time magic.

Caryn told Ford about it, but he was busy with more PhD programs than any human should ever endure and assumed it was some kind of hyperbolic lie to communicate how fast it feels like Shermie's growing, so she's going "this sounds like one of your strange anomalous things you study, isn't this one of those things you study?" and he's like "uh huh that's great mom."

Stan, of course, didn't hear any of this, so the first he learns of it is during a reluctant family reunion soon after he takes over Ford's life and Caryn's like "and over there's your brother Shermie and his wife, I don't know if you've seen him since your master's degree, try to talk to them won't you?" and Stan goes "Shermie?? Isn't he supposed to be twelve, why's he look like a MAN? Whaddaya mean wife??? Is she pregnant????" and Caryn went "😏 I KNEW you were never listening on the phone."

Shermie gradually stopped experiencing life on double time and slowed down to age normally around his mid twenties (well, mid twenties from his perspective; around 13 according to his birth certificate). Filbrick and Caryn sort of agreed that getting married must have helped him "settle down" and they don't really question it.

Ford gets to learn this several hours after he gets home when he finally gets a break long enough to put two and two together and goes "wait, SHERMIE'S grandkids?? But he's barely in his forties, how does he have 12-year-old grandkids" and Stan tells him and Ford goes "You mean Mom was telling the truth?!"

That fall while Shermie's yelling "WHADDAYA MEAN YOU SWITCHED PLACES AND FELL INTO A SPACE PORTAL" Ford's yelling back "CAN I CARBON DATE YOUR FACE"

#anonymous #ask #shermie pines #gravity falls #(I don't remember if I've shared this on tumblr before or only on discord)#(if it was tumblr then here have it again)#headcanons

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whirlybirbs · 23 days

Text

— BURNER CELL ; 2 ; DABI ; 荼毗

summary: after a week of silence, you finally text dabi. pairing: dabi / f!reader ; quirkless word count: 1.3k tag: humor, maladjusted dabi meets normal adult woman, flirting, canon-based world building, cancer mention, texting as a plot device, slight au, univeristy student!reader a/n: this stole all my concentration. siri play emo boy by ayesha erotica ← previous | the tag

It's the kind of week where, aside from class, human interaction isn't really on life's setlist.

It's also the kind of week where you rediscover making a meal of raw cookie dough straight from the package. Your econ textbook might have a stranglehold on you, but you make enough time to scarf down a few globs between chapters — after all, who needs protein or fiber when you're sure this five-year master's program will kill you first?

Your head hurts.

You slump against the counter, refilling your water bottle.

It's late now — and you can feel the quiet woes beginning to wane as you blink at the clock. By now, your friends are probably on their second or third drinks. You turned the invite down when they asked yesterday. Nuri tugged on your sweater sleeve and pouted the best pout she could manage, but you didn't budge.

I've gotta finish this paper, I'm sorry, Nur'.

You roll your jaw as you shut the faucet off, wandering to your freezer to wrangle some cubes from the tray. You bend it slowly, deep in thought. A few pop out, and you idly drop them into your water bottle with a twang.

You're staring at your phone. It's by your computer on the counter.

...You never did text Dabi.

You told yourself it was for the best — after all, you weren't looking for a catastrophic derailment of your life at the moment. Things are good. You're two semesters away from finishing University, your family's bakery back in Kyoto is doing well, and Dad's chemotherapy seems to be working. Things are good! It's almost fall, you've managed to stick to your monthly budget, and Mizu settled in happily to your new apartment.

No four-day poop strike like the last time you moved.

The large tuxedo cat in question ambles through the kitchen — brushing against your leg and letting out a long, low mrrooow.

Things are great!

You shouldn't text Dabi.

But... even if you did, it's not like it'd be the end of the world, right?

Wait, could he figure out where you lived from your number...?

You could use one of those anonymous texting services. Then, it wouldn't even be your number. Just some fake string of digits that allow you to satiate the bizarre curiosity that's been swirling in your head for the last week.

You're sure the novelty will wear off.

He's probably not even going to respond.

You're telling yourself this is stupid as you begin to set up an account with the service — the app boasts privacy, andunlimited calls and texts... You can't help but feel a little strange as you finalize your account.

It's done.

You import his contact with two taps and stare at the blank screen.

...Now what?

Are you really going to do this? I mean — he's a wanted criminal. He's a member of the League of Villains. If anyone ever found out you were in contact with him, you'd be toast. You'd have All Might kicking your door in and demanding to look through your phone and that mental image is enough to make you cringe. Say goodbye to your degree, goodbye toyour future as Sakura Flour's owner, and goodbye to freedom. You're sure the Safety Commission would place you on some watch list for the rest of your life, and frankly, your tweets are already questionable. You don't need more scrutiny.

...So, there are two options.

Delete his number and move on... or don't get caught.

You shouldn't text Dabi.

...But, you do.

Truth be told, he isn't shocked to see that cute Nuri girl hanging on Giran's arm again. The Broker seems pretty into her — the guy even mentioned something about taking her to a nice dinner during the week as a congrats on passing some big test. Dabi can't blame him. She's cute. Looks good in red. Not his type, but he can appreciate it from time to time.

However, Dabi is a little shocked that you're not a part of the group cheering in Giran's VIP section. There's bottle service being ordered, laughter, dancing, and a gaggle of pretty, five college girls — and none of them are you.

His lips twist into a scowl.

He decides he's leaving; his piss-poor drink is tossed back, and he dumps a bill down for the bartender before tugging his hood up and sucking his teeth.

He never liked this club anyway.

He's crossing the threshold of the back door, stepping into the damp and dark alley, when the phone in his back pocket buzzes. Someone's smoking a Marlboro by the dumpster. The familiar smell makes Dabi's fingers twitch.

He's tryna quit.

He tugs the phone from his pocket, no longer bothered by the splintered glass screen. His battery is at 13%. This fuckin' thing barely holds a charge anymore.

The number on the screen isn't one he knows.

Dabi's passcode is unnecessarily long. His phone clicks open as he narrows his eyes and shambles towards the opening in the alley. He doesn't know this number. He has everyone's cell memorized that he needs. Shigaraki, Toga, Spinner, Jin, Compress, even Giran. He doesn't keep contacts. Doesn't work when he's ditching phones all the time. He's got his noggin. That's good enough.

The text is one word:

hi.

Dabi's squinting at the text when another buzzes through.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:48pm sorry, this is bar girl

→ dabi ; 11:46pm thought u were never gonna txt me ur girlie nuri is here where r u

There's no way.

Your phone buzzes three times from its far place where it sits face down on the counter — you just walked away from it, hellbent on distracting yourself while you waited out the potential reply. You go rigid in your kitchen.

Did he seriously text you back immediately?

You purse your lips, then slink towards the phone. It buzzes again.

→ dabi ; 11:47pm c'mon don't leave me hangin pretty

Your eyes are wide as you stare at the string of replies. He has read receipts turned on like the psychopath he is.

You lean back against the counter, chewing your cuticle as you let out a ragged sigh. Nuri is with him? Or... No, they said they were going to that club you hate.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:4pam oh, are they at the bar?‎

Dabi's fingers move fast.

→ dabi ; 11:49pm nah in downtown club tropical or whatever the fuck it's called

You snort a little.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:49pm i hate that place. their drinks suck.

Dabi has started making his way back to their hideout — back to the shit box apartments they're renting above Kurogiri's bar. He's slow, idly texting as he weaves through the crowds of nightlife in Kamino Ward.

→ dabi ; 11:50pm a girl after my own heart where r u ur dodging my question u on a date or smthng????

He's insistent, you'll give him that. You cross your legs as you lean back against the laminate counter and chew the inside of your lip.

He's typing. It starts, then stops, then starts again.

When you start typing, the bubble disappears.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:50pm nah, got a huge paper to finish uni student, remember? sorry to disappoint

→ dabi ; 11:51pm ur missin out giran got bottle service him and nuri looked cozy

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:51pm not shocked she thinks she can fix him

→ dabi ; 11:51pm ooooo love when that happens poor girl

Typing...

→ dabi ; 11:51pm u think u can fix me? :p

The emoji makes your face break into a smile — it's so... not what you expected.

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:52pm nah i'm not stupid

→ dabi ; 11:52pm just busy.... really lame of u tbh coulda been fun

← 909.999.3399 ; 11:52pm wasting cash on mid drinks is the opposite of fun

→ dabi ; 11:52pm i meant seeing me

Oh, what the fuck.

Why does that text make your face feel hot? Why does that text make you feel like you're not texting the League of Villain's #1 Arsonist, but some cute boy from class? He's not a cute boy from class. He's a danger to society.

You're glad you don't have the opportunity to reply. Your phone is buzzing in your hands, the haptic feedback lighting the neurons in your brain on fire.

→ dabi ; 11:53pm gtg phone is gonna die have fun with ur paper u loser hope u get a good grade or whatever i'll txt u later

You shouldn't have texted Dabi.

But you did.

#burner cell #mha dabi #bnha x reader #bnha dabi #dabi todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi imagine #mha imagine #bnha imagine #touya x reader #touya x y/n #dabi x y/n #this is ridiculously fun i love these two haters

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roosterforme · 9 months

Text

The Intern Prologue | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You barely have a minute to yourself after graduating at the top of your Ivy League class before your father insists you find an internship. Your days of lounging by the pool and partying are numbered as he has an endless parade of his colleagues visiting the house. But one of them is familiar to you in a way that warms your skin just like the San Diego sun.

Warnings: Language (eventually 18+)

Length: 1800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

"We need to start talking about your summer internship."

You had been home for less than one full day, and your father was already on his favorite topic of conversation: your future as a business mogul poised to take over his empire.

"Can we talk about it tomorrow, Daddy?" you asked, flashing him your sweetest smile as you yanked your sunglasses down lower on your nose. It was the end of May. You'd just graduated with top grades and a master's degree in business analytics and finance from his Ivy League alma mater. You were doing everything you could to uphold the family name as his only child, but you just wanted one day off before you got fully immersed in his world.

He sighed and glanced between you and the enormous pool behind the house you grew up in just outside San Diego. "Tomorrow morning. We will talk about it at breakfast," he said sternly. But then you watched his features crack into that soft smile he only ever shared with you. "I'm really proud of you, Sweetheart. You'll do big things."

Your annoyance with him melted away. "Thanks, Daddy." Most of your motivation to succeed came from him and his own personal success, but he worked nearly all the time. You would find a way to balance out a summer internship along with hanging by the pool and partying with your friends. You'd spent years perfecting this routine in college so that you graduated first in your class while still devoting your weekends to your sorority sisters and fraternizing with the fraternity boys.

Your father kissed the top of your head, and once he was gone, you rolled onto your belly. You wanted to feel the glorious heat from the California sun on every bit of your skin. While you enjoyed the different seasons on the east coast and the beautiful Ivy League campus, you certainly missed this weather. You were half tempted to untie your bikini top now that you were alone, but your father always had a parade of his colleagues and employees coming through the house to talk shop. And a lot of them were older and ex-military, and your dad would have a fit. You smiled, because that made you want to do it even more.

You spent all morning and most of the afternoon laying out by the pool with a book that wasn't holding your interest and your enormous water cup. You only ventured inside to get lunch where you waved off your father's chef when she tried to make something for you. It was her job, but you were twenty four and far less helpless than your father when it came to most things around the house. You made a sandwich and took it back out to the pool where the groundskeeper was testing the water.

Everyone here was calling you 'Miss' which was already getting on your nerves. Nobody cared who you were when you were strolling through campus at the University of Pennsylvania, because their mommys and daddys were even wealthier and more famous than your dad. They just called you by your first name and let you blend in.

"Miss, the pool chemicals look good," the groundskeeper told you. "Enjoy your swim."

Before he wandered off to work on his next chore, you called out, "Thank you." The funny thing was, your dad never used the pool. All he did was work. He probably only kept it open for the past six years while you were away in Philadelphia just in case you wanted to use it when you were home on breaks.

And that's what had you walking over to the edge and dipping your toes in the water. There was a bit of a chill to it, probably because the sun had warmed you to your bones. Goosebumps ripped along your skin, and your nipples furled softly in your bikini top. You were suddenly very aware of your body as you heard your dad's booming laughter coming from inside the house along with dress shoes on the Calacatta marble floor.

You swirled your toes around again as you turned to look through the open French doors at the group of men and women all in black suits. Most of them were as old as your dad with graying hair and scowling faces that conveyed how little they appreciated having their time wasted. All except for one. He was younger and taller than the rest, and he was the only person you knew by name. You hadn't seen him since you were home in December, but Bradley Bradshaw looked just as good now in his navy blue suit as he had with a glass of champagne and pink cheeks in his silk Fair Isle sweater at your father's holiday party. Maybe even better.

Now that he was a mere fifty feet away from you, it surprised you a bit that you hadn't really thought about him in months. His brown eyes met yours and he took a few steps to separate himself from the group. He shot a crooked little grin your way, and you smiled back before your eyes shifted to the pristine pool water.

That night had been fun, even though your dad insisted you wear a modest forest green dress instead of the black one you brought home from Philadelphia. The champagne and mulled wine made it almost entertaining for you to drift from one of his geriatric colleagues to the next, intentionally asking them almost bizarre questions just to see how they would react. But Bradley had been there, and when you asked him if he'd ever had wine from Domaine Tropez in the south of France, he responded in a deep rumble of a voice saying, "I have a box of wine in my refrigerator that just says White Wine on the side of it. Does that answer your question?"

You couldn't remember the last time someone made you laugh so hard, and he didn't look at you like the spoiled brat you almost enjoyed playing the part of.

"The vineyard sent me a bottle of rouge for my birthday. Want to try it?" you had asked him, feeling a little drunk and silly as he set his empty champagne flute on a passing tray.

"You want to waste it on a guy who drinks boxed wine?" he asked, his voice impossibly deep and his mustache twitching with amusement. "I thought you were supposed to be smart. Your father talks about you all the time."

You had been about to take him by the hand and lead him to the kitchen where you'd stashed the wine so your dad wouldn't drink it, but then Bradley got pulled into a conversation with someone else. But you felt his eyes on you frequently throughout the night. And he did make it a point to say goodbye to you, letting you see those rosy cheeks up close one more time.

Just then you were jolted back to the present as you nearly toppled into the pool. Your father's voice carried outside, inflection full of pride as you heard him say, "My daughter flew back last night. Graduated top of her class with the same degree I earned. Following right in my footsteps, if you can believe it. Higher marks than I ever had."

There was some soft laughter and words of congratulations aimed at him, even though you were the one who had worked so hard. You rolled your eyes and planted both feet on the edge before diving as gracefully as you could into the pool. You swam nearly all the way across underwater, grateful for the bit of silence as you collected your thoughts. The water cooled you without being cold enough that you wanted to get out, and when you surfaced, you took a deep breath.

Everyone seemed to have moved along from the open French doors, probably heading deeper into the house toward your dad's study or his conference room. You swam off toward the pool float that was drifting along in the shallow end, and you pulled yourself gracelessly up onto it. Just as you were fixing your bathing suit, about to settle in for another hour of sunbathing, a shadow crossed your face, and you nearly landed back in the water as you jumped.

"Congratulations."

It was Bradley Bradshaw standing over you with his hands on his narrow hips and his tie loosened in a way that you couldn't stop looking at. You desperately wished you had your sunglasses to help shield your eyes from the bright light as well as the fact that you were on the verge of checking him out.

"Heard you graduated with a splash," he added, smiling as you dipped your foot in the water.

You rolled your eyes and settled back against the raft. "Crazy, isn't it? There's almost nothing you can't accomplish when you set your mind to it and have a billion dollar bankroll behind you, just helping you along the way."

His laughter made you feel warmer than the sunshine. "Are you daring to call yourself privileged?" He kept his eyes on yours, and you were impressed that they weren't straying south.

"Are you daring to say you aren't, Mr. Bradshaw?" you asked him with a smirk. "I didn't know you could buy Armani suits at JCPenney. I guess even an Ivy League valedictorian can learn something new every day."

He rubbed his hand over his lips and mustache to try to hide his amusement, and you wiggled back against the raft with a smile of your own. You weren't sure what possessed you to talk to him like this; he was your father's colleague after all. But you felt validated as he squatted down in his three thousand dollar suit to test the water temperature with his hand, because he shook his head slowly at you and said, "I'm impressed you even know what a JCPenney is. You're a bit of a brat, aren't you?"

Now you were the one trying to hide your smile behind your hand. "Don't get it twisted. I've never actually been to one. But all the prep school kids used to talk about shopping for suits off the rack along with knockoff handbags just to rile up our parents."

You thought you heard him mutter the word brat again as he stood. "Well, as much fun as this has been, I'm not dressed for swimming, so I guess I'll go find the other Armani suits and get back to work instead."

"Shame, that," you replied, clicking your tongue. "Bring your Armani swim trunks next time and stay a while."

Now that he was standing at his full height, his gaze slowly drifted down your body, and his cheeks turned ruddy just like they had after an evening of indulging in champagne last December.

"Maybe I will."

------------------------

Stay tuned for chapter one. We're about to go on an adventure. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 1

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sato111u · 11 months

Text

rich boyfriend gojo, who is 8-9 years older than reader (who is a master degree’s student in this fic)!

sees you for the first time on the lobby of one of his big chain hotels.

a cup of black expresso in the table in front of you while you worked on a project.

he approaches you confidently, fully transparent about his intentions.

expresses his feelings, by saying you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life, and how he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

he managed to get your phone number, and a few days later, gojo politely asks you out on a date.

gojo was always a true gentleman, picking you up, opening doors for you, taking you home and making sure you go to sleep safe and sound.

but there was something else that brought gojo immense pleasure. taking care of you financially.

gojo always had money. since the moment he was born, he had already his life taken care of.

spending a few millions was like nothing to him.

but there was something about spending money on you that made gojo’s heart feel so warm, even if it was a few dollars on acrylics. it brought a feeling of accomplishment, knowing he was taking care of his girl. he felt his stomach doing cartwheels when you sweetly thanked him, your gentle eyes looking up to him.

far into the relationship, gojo made sure he was paying for your education, and other expenses you had, such as acrylics, salon appointments, dinners with your girlfriends, etc…

but at first you felt uncomfortable, and expressed to him that you genuinely liked him, and you were not with him just for the money. he simply respected you and asked you just to accompany him so he could buy new suits, telling you that your opinion on the matter was more than important.

and there you were sitting pretty on the expensive chair watching your boyfriend try on suits.

after that, gojo innocently guided you to other stores, to see if anything would catch your attention.

and for your surprise, gojo wanted to buy almost everything you layed your eyes on.

a few mall visits later, and you were already more comfortable with this idea.

having your tall, attractive boyfriend, enter lingerie stores with you, making everyone in the store feel slightly uncomfortable.

gojo, with no shame, would point at the most sexy lingerie’s in the store and confidently say “this would look so good on you princess, let’s buy this in red, black and white. maybe blue too so it can match my eyes” as he lowers himself down to give you a quick kiss.

passing by fancy clothing shops, stopping and pointing at dresses and affirm that he was 100% sure that the dress was made for you, which was an excuse to buy it in at least two different colors.

the dates were always super romantic, either taking you to really nice restaurants, or going more for a casual vibe, taking you to museums, walks on cute parks and so much more. and of course, everything was always taken care of.

he loved bringing you to his apartment. cuddling with you on his big king size bed. playing with the strap of the cute pijama he bought you, as he fought against his sleepiness. loved to fall asleep on top of your chest, making him feel safe and loved.

waking up to you playing with his undercut, telling him that he needed to wake up or else he would be late for work. but what difference did it make? he was the CEO after all.

you made his house feel like a home. your love was such a beautiful energy, and everytime you left, he felt like his house was empty.

“satoru, baby, if you don’t get up i’m going to by squashed by you!” you said giggling. gojo was laying on top of you, head in between you breasts.

“'m so cold … ion wanna leave…” gojo said, still half asleep, hugging you tighter.

“then how about i change positions with you hm?” you said caressing the side of his face.

“mkay” gojo slowly got up, guiding your hips so you could lay on top of him. he didn’t wanna waste a single second without you being on top of him.

you gently sit on his lap, and lower your head to his chest. one of his hands instinctively goes on your lower back, while the other one plays with your hair.

“can i ask you something?” gojo said, his voice sounding a little bit more awake.

“yes” you said.

“do you want to move in with me?” he asked.

“you don’t need to answer right now, but i really needed to ask you. the last 10 months have been so great, all because of you. you make me want to be a better person, with better habits and better experiences. waking up without you on my side feels wrong, therefor i ask. would you like to live with me?”

read the bonus here

IN MY DREAMS, I HAVE A PLAAANNNN IF I GOT ME A WEALTHY MAAAANNNNN

anyways ty for reading 😮‍💨🙏

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icyminghao · 1 year

Text

i don’t understand (but i love you)

pairing: minghao x gn!reader genre: fluff, some angst, comfort, established relationship word count: 1.5k warning(s): none

summary: despite the communication barrier, minghao and you have been doing well. at least, that’s what minghao thinks. but when he sees you conversing so freely in your native language with someone else, he doesn’t really know what to think anymore.

based on this request by @phenomenalgirl9!

read (pretty) hungry, you nailed it! and a little sweet, which are set in the same universe!

Minghao and you have always been doing great. At least, that’s what Minghao thinks.

He’d met you while he was browsing the shelves of a bookstore while on vacation, and he’d forever be grateful that you reached for that one mystery book the same time he did, or he would never have known of your existence (he can’t bear to imagine how he would have turned out if he hadn’t).

You didn’t speak any of the languages he did, but he was absolutely mesmerised by you nonetheless, too lost in your eyes to pay attention to how you were frantically apologising for grabbing the book, rambling on in your native language about how you’d actually read it before but loved it so much you had to get the physical copy that he’d gotten caught staring after failing to notice that you had already stopped talking for about a minute.

He’d wordlessly placed his phone on your hands, and you looked down at the screen to see the interface of the Phone application, except the text was all in Korean. You’d marveled that you’ve never actually met a Korean before in your broken Korean, and Minghao swore he fell for you harder in that instant, too absorbed in the fact that you had tried to converse with him in a language he knew to correct you on his heritage. He could do that later (and that he did).

Subsequently after your first meeting, or as Seokmin calls it, your “meet-cute”, Minghao spent every moment he had with you while he was still in the country. Dates mainly consisted of getting to know each other at your favourite café, where the both of you fell into a routine of trading book recommendations and talking about each other’s book recommendations. It was there that you found out about Minghao’s first language and subsequently hounded him to teach you Chinese, much to his enjoyment. Of course, Minghao wasn’t naïve and was well aware of the limited time that the both of you shared, but he couldn’t stop himself from falling deeper and deeper for you anyway.

It was like luck was really on his side, though, when you told him that you’d been accepted into a college in Seoul for your Masters Degree. He’d been so over the moon he asked you to be his partner right away, and the rest was history.

So, despite the communication barrier, Minghao and you have definitely been doing great. The two of you may not be able to say much to each other (but you’re both trying, really hard), but the comforting reality is that there isn’t a need for much words between the two of you. You always seem to know what he’s thinking, as he does for you (much to the dismay of Minghao’s friends, who constantly groan about how the both of you always communicate with your “disgusting, lovesick eyes” and leave them out), so there simply isn’t a need for much words to be exchanged between you both.

But as he looks at you from across the bar, smiling and laughing at a childhood friend visiting Seoul for the week, as he looks at you being more talkative than you’ve ever been with him considering that your friend shared the same first language as you did, Minghao can’t help but let the insecurities eat away at him.

Your Korean has definitely improved a lot since the both of you had first met, so you could definitely engage in more conversations with each other now, but it’s the way you looked so comfortable conversing in your first language that really struck Minghao. Maybe you would be better off being with someone like your friend, someone who spoke the same language as you did? Maybe you’d be much happier than you were with him if you’d just left him and went for your friend instead? After all, the both of you do look very much like a childhood-friends-to-lovers kind of pair. Minghao’s just getting in the way, right?

As Minghao starts spiralling down the bottomless pit of his insecurities and overthinking, you seem to pick up on his deteriorating mood, eyes searching and finding his from across the crowded bar. Your eyes soften as you slightly raise your eyebrows in what Minghao interprets as an “Are you good?”, and he sends you a tight-lipped smile in response, nodding slowly. You don’t seem to buy into Minghao’s flimsy attempt at waving off what’s wrong, however, and excuse yourself from the conversation promptly before making your way over to him. Minghao tries not to let his glee at you picking him over your friend show, instead keeping his eyes on you for the entire duration it takes for you to walk over to him.

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask the moment you’re face-to-face with Minghao, reaching to rest one hand on his cheek. Minghao sighs and closes his eyes, leaning into your warmth.

“Did you…” he slowly opens his eyes to look into your glittering, love-filled ones, “did you manage to catch up with your friend?”

A look of surprise washes over you, having not expected your friend to be the topic of conversation. “Oh, yeah! We talked a bit about how things were like back at home, but that’s it, really.”

Home. Minghao feels his heart ache at that word. Home is where you and your childhood friend reside, where he doesn’t exist. Home is where you should be, is all that crosses in Minghao’s mind.

“Baobei*?” your saccharine voice pulls him out of his self-deprecating thoughts, your eyes softening as your brows furrow at him in worry, “What’s wrong? Should we leave?”

You remove the hand on his cheek to grab his wrist and lead him towards the exit without waiting for his answer, and Minghao yearns for your touch on his face again. You weave through the crowd expertly, with such a determined stride that Minghao can’t help but smile at how seriously you’re taking this. It’s really not good for his poor heart.

As soon as the both of you step out of the bar, you’re pulling Minghao to a nearby bench and sitting him down, fretting over him as all he does is stare up at you with the softest eyes. Not seeing anything external to worry about, you move to sit beside him, taking one of his hands in yours to rub the back of his palm soothingly.

“Are you feeling unwell? Please tell me,” your voice comes out soft, and laced with so much worry that Minghao can’t help but feel bad for making you feel like this because of him.

He shakes his head, moving to rest his free hand on top of yours. “It’s nothing, I just… I just wasn’t used to seeing you so talkative, I guess.”

Your face morphs into one of confusion, seemingly not understanding what Minghao is getting at. He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“Do you… sometimes wish you were with someone whom you could speak the same language freely to? Like… your friend just now.

It’s just… when you’re with me, it’s like you’re always thinking before speaking, like you’re trying to piece together coherent sentences that I would understand, and when I saw you today talking to your friend with such ease it just made me think that maybe you’d be better off with someone like him, someone whom you don’t have a language barrier with, you know?” Minghao doesn’t know when his grip on your hand tightens, or when the first tear falls, but he’s suddenly finding himself sobbing like a child on your shoulder as you wrap your arms around him and pat his back reassuringly, cooing at him to calm him down.

“Baobei…” you coo, patting his back rhythmically as a sign that you’re there with him, “Who’s to say that I’d be better off with someone else who’s not you? I would have an easier time conversing with someone who speaks the language I speak fluently, yes, but I chose to be with you because I think we have a bond that transcends the limits of language, Minghao. You always seem to know what I’m trying to say even when I fumble with my words, as I do for you. I’m choosing to be here with you to navigate our relationship together because I love you, Minghao, and no one else. So no, I don’t sometimes wish I were with someone whom I could speak the same language freely to, because I have you.”

Minghao removes his head from your shoulder to stare at you with his reddened eyes and tear-stricken face, and you pout at the sight. It’s not often that you see Minghao crying, much less in public, so this issue must have really affected him badly.

“I love you too,” he chokes out, practically launching himself into your arms, hugging you so tight as if you were going to slip out of his grasp if he didn’t. “please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Baobei,” you smile, tilting your head to plant a soft kiss on his hair.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

*: Baobei (宝贝) — Chinese term of endearment for “baby” or “love”.

a/n: i love them sm i feel like i’m probably gonna be writing drabbles set in this universe bc minghao reminds me sm of jem carstairs (from the infernal devices) here and 😵‍💫😵‍💫 jem my book boyfie fr

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @slytherinshua @xomingyu @belladaises @pepperonidk @tastymintchocolate @dahliatopia

masterlist

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nxuvillette · 4 months

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hi celeste bby! how do we feel about professor! welt yang? bc i think he would be such a hot— i mean, good teacher! imagine you enroll in college a few years after graduating so you're a little older than most college students, a little more mature. it sets you apart from your younger classmates and he can't help but notice, yk?

❥- note : hi eliza !! forgive me if this sucks, this is my first time writing welt </3. i hope you enjoy and thank you for sending this :> !

content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, professor!welt, age gap (reader is 24 and welt is 28), semi public sex, classroom sex, creampie, use of pet names (good girl + darling), rough(ish) sex.

professor welt yang was one of the more chill professors on campus. he wasn’t very stingy about grades, and he was very close with the students who took his course.

especially, you.

welt first noticed you on the first day of class. you seemed a little older than most of the students in the lecture hall, and it turned out you were actually trying to obtain your master’s degree and had to take his course as an elective to move forward. he was used to dealing with typically eighteen or nineteen year olds who didn’t really know what they were doing, so you were kind of a perfect change to his class. you did your assignments, did very well on tests, participated regularly, and always showed up on time. he admired that a lot.

soon enough, you started sticking after class to try and prepare for his exams which were usually pretty tough. he didn’t mind giving you some tutoring. you were one of the few students who actually seemed interested in his class. it was also nice to have your company. you were much more mature than the rest of your peers, and welt really liked that.

then again, he was just your professor and you were his student. he couldn’t do such a thing.

but, you were so attractive. some days you would come to class in a skirt and it would ride up just a little to where he could see the fat of your thighs and a brief glimpse of your ass. welt would have to stop himself sometimes from taking a look at your cleavage whenever you had a tank top on. he didn’t want to cross boundaries by any means. you were somewhat near his age, but still someone who was above you. he could get in trouble!

though, today was the day that all of his self restraint went out the window.

you had stopped by at the end of the day to talk to welt about a question you had about something he taught during his lecture. somehow, the conversation had shifted to a more personal one, and you ended up sprawled out on welt’s desk with his fat cock splitting your pussy to almost its limit.

he knew he shouldn’t have been doing such a lewd act at school of all places, and with his student, but he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. not when you flashed your cunt that was hidden under your skirt with no panties on. he wanted to try and forget what he saw, but you just kept drawing him in. welt knew what you were trying to do. he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by either. not when the chance was absolutely perfect.

you were underneath him babbling sentences while he fucked your brains out. the papers he was grading were now discarded and some were even on the floor. the desk creaked from the sudden ruts of his hips into yours. oh, how cute. “m-mr.yang! more, more!” you whined, sounding desperate for his touch.

welt’s thumb toyed with your clit, sending bolts of electricity dancing around your stomach. he had fantasized about this moment more times than he could count. his pretty student taking his dick that was much better than the shitty college boys who didn’t know how to use their own. “you’re such a good girl, fuck..” he groaned with gritted teeth. “you like when i give you extra credit, hm?”

you responded with several nods. this was turning you on so much. you were already so close to cumming, and he could feel it. your pussy squeezed his cock like a vice and he was becoming enthralled with how amazing you felt.

“mm..! i’m close! ah.. please cum inside me, mr.yang! pump my pussy full!” you cried, rolling your nipples between your fingers.

welt practically lost his damn mind when he heard you moan such a slutty thing to him. his fingers dug into your hips, setting up a very quick speed that knocked the air out of your lungs. he was lost within you and the orgasm he had been desperately chasing for the last few minutes. “anything for you, darling..” he grunted, sweat casually trickling down his face from the heat of the room.

the two of you let out completely different noises the moment your orgasms had finally crashed onto you. thick cum spurted inside of your walls, covering them with white, and your pussy gripped welt’s cock so tightly he found himself not wanting to pull out of you.

“make sure you come by again. i have many other lessons i’d like to teach you..” he whispered.

#꩜— interstellar communications.#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ official work !#˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ new message: eliza !#welt yang smut #welt x reader #welt yang x reader #welt smut #welt yang x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #star rail x reader #star rail smut

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hellenhighwater · 4 months

Note

when you went to law school, did you only have a bachelors in graphic design? i heard you could only do lawschool if you already did university and got a degree. i’ve been interested in law for years but the length of time and price threw me way off. im 23 now and just starting in an engineering degree and now im second guessing myself again 😭

I feel like maybe I'm not following this ask precisely, but yeah, I had a double-major Bachelor of Fine Arts when I went to law school. In most states of the US, you need some kind of bachelor's degree to apply to law school, and you get a Juris Doctor at the end of it. If you then also pass the Bar Exam, and pass the character & fitness review, and the Professional Responsibility exam, then you're licensed to practice law and can call yourself an attorney.

Some attorneys go back and get legal Master's degrees, but it's not a prereq for the JD and is usually more about specialization than anything else. Most people do not start their JD with a Master's.

So if your engineering degree is a Bachelor's, not an Associate's, then yeah, you could go to law school afterwards if you did well on the law school entry exam, which is called the LSAT. The Bachelor's doesn't have to be in prelaw necessarily, it can be whatever.

Also, it's not unusual for people to add "lawyer" as a new thing on top of an existing career. Because the field is so broad and touches so many areas of expertise, many people chose to go to law school after working in an industry and deciding they want to also practice law in relation to that field. It's not a bad thing to put the Bachelor's degree to work for a while before deciding if you want to do the law thing.

#i also have an associates in stage tech but thats not really related to anything else #i am obscenely overeducated but in completely arbitrary directions #I also wound up with like #nearly a minor's worth of random extra credits floating around from doing a fuckload of AP exams and weird random classes that didn't #wind up counting towards any degree

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bucketslutz · 1 month

Text

Don't Be Late (Professer Logan Howlett/Fem Student Mutant Reader)

Chapter Summary: Logan's behavior continues to intrigue you as you begin to struggle to hide your feelings towards him.

A/N: I've never churned out a chapter so fast before. i'm having a lot of fun writing this!

Warnings: Smut, 18+, minors DNI!!, unprotected p in v, dirty talking, logan talks you through it lowk, grinding, swearing, no use of Y/N, pet names for reader tho🤭

Word Count: 4,040

Chapter 2

The door to the classroom creaks open loudly causing you to turn your head abruptly from your notebook, finding Logan staring at you incredulously. Adamant to not repeat the same mistake as you did Monday, you arrived at class 15 minutes early this morning. You smile awkwardly and look back to your notes, trying not to pay him any mind, despite that familiar swirl deep in your stomach telling you to jump him right then and there.

“Early bird today huh, bub?” Logan chides, his sudden display of humor surprising you. You chuckle, unsure of how to respond.

“Yeah, getting used to that commute, Monday I was too late, today I’m too early, what can ‘ya do?” you reply, laughing lightly, not to Logan’s amusement, however, who glares at you like a horn protruded from your skull as he settles himself at the head of the classroom. You clear your throat and go back to your notes. So, he’s funny, but he doesn’t like small talk, got it. You think to yourself, becoming even more confused by his demeanor. You couldn’t find anything about him online last night, not a social media post, no articles, no information about his credentials besides a flimsy description on the school’s website that describes him as having a “masters degree in the history of american wars,” whatever that means. It doesn’t say where his degree is from either. Everything about this man is clouded in obscurity.

You jump slightly when Logan slams a piece of paper in front of you. Glancing upwards, attempting to meet his gaze, you’re confused to see he’s already turned away from you and walking to the front of the room. You look down at the paper to see it’s the attendance sheet, your name already has a check mark next to it. Before you can even mutter a thanks, people have already started to file into class and you swallow any more potential verbiage that may escape your mouth, not wanting anyone to perceive you.

…

“Professor Howlett, I’m not quite sure I understand,” a brunette in the front row pouts, “Could I see you after class?” she asks suggestively, flicking her hair and resting her pencil between her lips. Her attempt to subtly gain Logan’s attention almost makes you laugh.

“It’s Logan. And no,” he snaps, not breaking his focus from the dates he’s writing on the board. The girl scoffs in surprise and sits back in her chair in defeat, looking at her friends on her right and left like she couldn’t believe he would rebuff her like that. It’s not lost on you now that Logan is very attractive, at least, you’re not the only person who finds him attractive; maybe not the only person who has had a lewd wet dream about him either. Why that girl would attempt to be so bold is beyond you, seeing as Logan is so goddamn terrifying. Just one look from him makes you want to crawl into a shell and never come out again.

“Friday’s essay—I want you to write about independence,” Logan asserts, leaning against the whiteboard and nonchalantly crossing his arms. The room is quiet, some people even looking around for clarification, yourself included. The brunette in the front row raises her hand causing Logan to roll his eyes and nod in her direction, affirming her request.

“I’m sorry, like, do you mean what independence means? Or how it played a part in the revolutionary war? Or, like, what it means to maybe fight for it in the modern era?” she asks carefully, not wanting him to snap at her again. Logan considers her for a moment.

“Yeah, sure,” he concedes with a shrug of his shoulders. There’s still an air of confusion hanging in the room. You’re struggling to understand how this man made it past a vetting process to secure his position in the first place. Logan looks at his watch, sighing in relief. “That’s all I’ve got. See ‘ya Monday.”

Logan wastes no time in collecting his coat and briefcase and rushing out of the classroom. Everyone pauses, sharing glances of bewilderment. You avoid eye contact with others, opting to just quietly collect your things and depart with the one or two stragglers who’ve made the same choice you did.

…

It’s painfully slow at the store. You had hoped there was inventory that needed to be stocked, or a shipment, or cleaning, a robbery even. But there’s no action here. The only customers being two teenagers who bought candy and soda after school, an old man and a case of beer, and an old lady with a pack of smokes. That’s it. That’s all you’ve seen for the past 5 hours. The free time at least allows you to work on Logan’s essay for Friday. The vague topic gave you quite a bit of room to work, it’s a good thing you have a lot to say or else you would’ve had a much harder time working on this. The store’s door opens with a jingle, the bells hanging by the hinge shaking, the sound draws your attention.

You’re surprised to see Logan entering, broad shoulders tucked into a brown leather jacket. He scans the store and eventually makes eye contact with you. Your breath hitches when you notice the chest hair peaking out from beneath his wife beater, the tank top revealing slightly more of his chiseled physique than you’re used to seeing. You involuntarily clench at the thought of what he might look like without that tank top on…No. You shake the thought from your head, trying to keep your composure despite your growing arousal towards your professor; an arousal that only started from that damned wet dream.

Boots click against the linoleum tile towards the register you’re situated behind. Logan slams a case of Budweiser onto the counter as he rifles through his wallet for cash. You quietly ring him up.

“Get me two Arturos,” he instructs, rather impolitely. You look at him, he doesn’t even attempt to make eye contact. You decide to make a little joke, seeing as he was feeling so humorous this morning.

“What’s the magic word?” you coo, teasingly, through a friendly smile. Logan finally looks up at you through slightly raised brows.

“Go fuck yourself.” Logan was not in a teasing mood.

You purse your lips in embarrassment and defeat as you retrieve two Arturo cigars from behind you. With a sigh, you ring him up and tell him his total. He pays in cash. As you’re loading the bills into the register, Logan hesitates before leaving.

“What’re you doing working this far out of town? Aren’t there better stores to work at closer to campus?” he questions. You try to hide your surprise at his inquiry before answering.

“Oh, uh, I don’t live too far from here. It’s an easier commute when I’m not taking classes,” you answered, trying to be as matter of fact as you can possibly be. Logan chuckles.

“No offense, but how can you afford a place over here? Who the hell died and left you their place?” he asks, resting a hand on his hip. You swallow hard, not wanting to draw too much attention to the peculiarity of your living arrangement. Houses over here are expensive, there’s only farmland on acreage that can be worth millions. But sometimes a plot of land can be cheaper than a whole house, and a whole house is something that you can manage to manifest with your powers by consuming around 25,000 calories a day. You offer Logan the same answer you’ve prepared for anyone else who might question you this way.

“I used to rent here until my landlord passed away and left me the property. I’m just lucky, I guess,” you explained with a shrug of your shoulders, trying to hide your nerves. You tug at the hem of your polo, hoping that’s the last of his line of questioning. Logan just offers a simple nod of understanding, before turning around and heading towards the door.

“What about you?” you blurt out, shocking yourself with your own abruptness and sudden want to continue the conversation. Logan turns on his heel and stares at you in confusion.

“Whaddya mean?” he asks, narrowing his hazel eyes.

“I mean, it’s just such a hike from campus, I was just—I mean it’s a fair question. You asked me, I ask you, you know?” you explained clumsily, hoping he at least understood a quarter of what you were trying to say. He looks down at the floor and chuckles with a shake of his head.

“I do live around here, if that’s what you’re asking.” He turns on his heel and starts towards the door. “See ‘ya Friday.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, and you try not to watch his ass, framed by those tight, worn jeans, as he exits the store. Unsure if the feeling in your chest is caused by anxiety, or how you secretly want to bang your professor, you clear your throat in an attempt to bring your mind back down to planet earth.

Despite your own constant correction and policing of your mind, you can’t help but drift away; reminiscing in the way Dream Logan devoured your pussy like no one else ever has. The way he roughly grabbed and pawed at you, pleasuring you in a desperate, animalistic way. Why your subconscious brewed up this intoxicating cocktail, is beyond you. You’ve never been with someone who’s fucked you the way Logan did in your dream, nor have you ever watched any porn that portrays a man acting that way towards someone. No matter what you tell yourself, it felt so inexplicably real. You’re starting to believe that the way Logan acted in your subconscious was strangely true to how he really does act in real life. But no matter, you have an essay to write, for a class you cannot figure out whether or not it's happening on Friday due to Logan’s own vagueness and potential misspeaking.

By the time you finally get home from work, you have maybe a page and a half written of your essay. In an attempt to be as prepared as possible, you decide to finish your work tonight so you can proofread and edit throughout the day tomorrow. But you’re struggling to keep your eyes open at your desk. It’s 1:30 in the morning, and you have a class at 9 am, but you don’t want to pull an all-nighter tomorrow just to work on this stupid essay. It’s getting increasingly more and more difficult to focus. Your bed, just a few feet behind you, beckons to you. It’s so, so tempting. Maybe resting my eyes for just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, you think to yourself, wanting to give in to your exhaustion so desperately. You lay your head back against your chair and close your eyes. Oh, this feels so good.

So, so good.

Your eyes, half slit, peek open to see a broad chest; you're barely awake as an arm hooks under your legs and behind your back and cradles you before lifting you up against the strong, firm chest. You hum gently, turning into the man’s touch and getting comfortable. You feel yourself being lowered down onto your bed and tucked in under your comforter gently before the bed dips behind you as you’re joined in comfort by the man that tucked you in so tenderly. His arms wrap around you and he pulls your back flush against his chest, meeting the curve of his pelvis with the protrusion of your ass. He’s so warm and firm against your back, cocooning you in an embrace so gentle that it almost makes you want to wake up and fuck him.

You sigh in contentment, circling your ass ever so gently against his crotch, hoping to feel a firm indication of arousal through the boxers of the man behind you. A rough groan emanates from behind you as the pair of arms draped around your waist tighten slightly. His breath is hot against your neck, his scratchy beard tickling you.

His hands move up your stomach and to your chest where he palms your breasts languidly. The grip on your tits causes you to arch your back into his crotch, finally feeling the stiff outline of his cock against your ass. You smile and hum as he trails kisses up and down your neck, biting the flesh there gently.

“Not so tired now, huh, baby?” Logan’s voice rasps from behind you, causing you to gasp quietly. He’s here.

“You’re hard to resist,” you purr, an inexplicable truth bleeding through your words. You turn your torso, facing him, “I missed you.”

Your fingers raise to run over the patch of stubble on his chin that’s nestled between his mutton chops. His eyes look hungry, desperate. His hands, still fixed on your breasts, now lazily stroke them through your shirt.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, his mouth turned upward into a cocky grin. You nod in response. He places a gentle kiss to your lips, chastely.

“You know, I missed you too,” he whispers against your lips. He kisses you again.

“Yeah?” you ask flirtatiously, swiping your tongue against his bottom lip as he continues to kiss you repeatedly, gingerly making contact each time.

“Why don’t you show me how badly you missed me big guy?” you challenge against Logan's lips, your voice dripping in a seductive tone. He smiles against your lips before shoving you roughly onto your back, situating himself between your legs. One hand moves to your waist, the other pressed against the wall above your head to support his weight.

“I’ll do just that, princess,” his gravelly voice beckons to you from above, his breath fanning your face. A flirtatious smile spreads across your face, causing Logan to waste no time in capturing your lips with his. Unlike last time when you were pinned on his couch, this kiss is sensual and tender. His tongue dances with yours carefully, creating a specific pace with the move of his lips. You follow suit, matching his rhythm, allowing your hands to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. His hips grind down into yours, the two of you moaning into the kiss at the sudden friction. Logan’s hand moves down your waist and under your shirt, traveling up to your bare breast. His thumb circles your nipple softly as his hands knead your tender flesh. You arch your back into his touch, humming in contentment against the kiss.

You could be here for hours, Logan palming at your breasts, his stiff cock grinding against your pussy, the rhythmic swipe of his tongue between each expert kiss to your lips. You’re putty under him. Needing to feel more of him, you snake your hands down his back, and slip them under the hem of his wife beater. You hike the hem up his torso, incapable of moving it much further. Logan breaks the kiss and sits up before he pulls the tank the rest of the way off his body and over his head, revealing his bare torso to you. He’s unbelievably toned, chiseled like he was made by the gods. The veins in his chest and arms bulge with each breath he takes. You bite your bottom lip as you take him in, your fingers creeping up his abs, eventually sliding up his chest to stroke it tenderly. You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at Logan seductively.

“Come here, baby,” Logan growls, snaking an arm around your waist before hoisting you up onto him. Your legs wrap around his waist as he spins the two of you around so his back is against the headboard and you’re straddling him. You can feel the full length of him at this angle as he’s aligned deliciously with your pussy, applying the most intoxicating pressure to your clit. Logan stares at you hungrily, pressing your chest into his, his hands firmly gripping your waist. You both moan as he grinds up into your pussy with his hand occasionally dipping down to squeeze your tight ass. You mewl at the feel of his hand there.

“Need more of you, princess,” he growls, taking no more than a second to grip the hem of your shirt and rip it up off of your head, you gasp with no time to react when he reaches down to the waistband of your shorts and tears them in half with ease. Both your shirt and ruined shorts tossed carelessly onto the floor.

“Logan!” you exclaim, trying your best to hide your amusement from him.

“Much better,” he drawls. He attacks your neck where he aggressively trails kisses and bites up and down the flesh, occasionally sucking and leaving purple marks in his wake. You throw your head back in ecstasy as you grind your naked cunt onto his cock, wetting the fabric of his boxers with your slick. His head dips down to your breasts, sucking purple bruises into your skin and leaving as many marks as he can before bringing a sensitive bud between his lips and sucking there as well. You moan throatily, gripping the back of his head and forcing his head further onto your breasts as he sucks, licks, and bites with animalistic need. You circle your free nipple with your fingers as he continues his onslaught, alternating with him when he switches attention between each breast. The feel of Logan’s clothed, firm cock against your clit as you grind against him is not enough. You need more of him.

“Logan,” you whine. “I need you. Inside me.” Your hand travels down to the waistband of his boxers, slipping them down as far as you can in desperation.

Logan responds by lifting you slightly off of him, allowing you to pull his boxers further down. You watch as his cock reveals itself, pressed firmly against his stomach. Your breath hitches at the sight. The girth shocks you, curious how it’d feel splitting you into two. You’re sure his length would take up entirety of your pussy once inside, most definitely pressing into your cervix no matter the position. A gasp leaves your lips as your hand wraps around his length, surprised at the difficulty in which your fingers have encasing the entirety of him. Logan hisses against your breast at the sudden touch, the grip on your waist growing tighter. He leaves one last lick on your breast before capturing your mouth in a feverish kiss. He attacks your mouth aggressively, his occasional bites almost making your lips bleed, his tongue thrusting into your mouth without a care. The onslaught of your mouth is so intoxicating, you almost don’t notice him lifting you up to position himself at your entrance. The tip of his cock prods your pussy and you whine into the kiss, driving your hips down as much as you can.

“We’re gonna take it nice and slow, baby,” Logan rasps against your lips encouragingly. Logan grips your jaw so you’ll look into his eyes, “You’re gonna take it all for me, won’t you?”

You nod eagerly as you squirm on top of him, so desperate for him to fill you up. He slides himself in about an inch further, causing your moan to turn to a wince at the delicious stretch he applies to your pussy.

“That’s it, princess,” Logan praises with a gravelly drawl that makes you melt. He groans as he spears into you a few more inches, your moans fanning his face.

“Good girl,” Logan encourages, making you fawn, “Just take a bit more for me, princess.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as he splits you open. He's bottomed out inside of you and already grazing your cervix. Your pussy’s stretched to its maximum around his girth. You can tell Logan is holding back, he’s tense beneath you, gripping you with such fervor that you’re sure he’ll leave marks.

“Logan,” you pant, “fuck me.”

He grunts as you raise your hips, allowing him the space to thrust up into you. The force of his thrust makes you groan in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“That’s a good girl, take it,” he coaxes, thrusting slowly into you, acclimating you to his length. Slowly, the winces become replaced with needy, lewd moans. Giving Logan permission to hammer into you harder and harder with the progression of groans and moans that escape your throat.

His cock is so deep inside of you that it applies the most delicious pressure to your cervix, pinching it each time he bottoms out. The feeling is so full, so stretched, each ridge he passes making you moan in ecstasy.

“So tight…so, so tight for me, baby,” Logan growls, his face so close to yours that his beard scratches your face with each of his thrusts. “M’gonna pound this fuckin’ pussy.”

The feel of his breath against your neck makes you whimper. His mouth latching onto you and biting down possessively making you yelp in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Logan hoists you up off of his pelvis, supporting the entirety of your weight in his arms. To keep your balance, you grip his shoulders tightly gasping when Logan begins to hammer into you with such strength and speed you almost sob.

“Yes,” he drawls, his voice raspy and breathing ragged, “good girl, you take it so well for me.”

Your moans become unrecognizable to you as a pleasure unlike any other you’ve experienced ravages all your senses; Logan’s mouth on your neck, his cock surely bruising your cervix, his finger suddenly drifting down to your clit to rub circles into the sensitive bud. The pitch in your voice rises with each flick of your sensitive nub. If you were with any other person, surely you’d feel self conscious about the way you’re screaming—almost sobbing as you’re being fucked up into. But Logan draws this kind of unabashed pleasure from you that makes you forget where you are in the world and allows you to just focus on how fucking good he feels inside of you. How he can sustain this kind of power, force, and strength as he fucks into you, is beyond you, especially while supporting your weight with only one arm. Your cries of pleasure grow further and further together as the familiar swirl of heat and pleasure rises in your stomach.

“Keep going, Logan, keep going…don’t stop,” you plead as you desperately seek your release.

“You gonna come for me?” Logan grunts into your ear, sending shivers down your spine and making a whimper escape your lips.

“Yes, Logan,” you mewl, now cheek to cheek with him, his beard almost vibrating against you as he sustains the speed of his thrusts.

“You take it so well, princess, can’t wait to feel you come around this cock,” he rasps into your ear, taking a lobe between his teeth and nibbling gently.

Your pleasure swirls inside of you, building and building into white hot pressure against your clit, causing your breaths to quicken and thighs to clench.

“Logan, I’m—“ you warn.

“Look into my eyes when I make you come, babygirl,” Logan commands, pulling your head back to look at you.

“M-my eyes?” you question, a wave of realization washing over your face of what he might see if that happens, “No…I can’t.”

A gasp jerks you awake. Your chest heaves, your pussy clenching around nothing. A pain grows in your neck and lower back, due to the position you feel asleep in your chair. This one felt so much more real than the last one, a slight lucidity to your thoughts and feelings. How the hell are you supposed to look him in the eye on Friday? Everything just felt so right.

Doing your best to shake your feelings from your head, you check the time on your phone to see it’s only 1:45 am. You huff in annoyance, looking back to the essay you neglected for a wet dream.

...

A/N: i promise this will probably be the last chapter that ends like this, i just desperately need an excuse to write logan smut without compromising the plot too much🤭 hope you enjoyed. to view this work on ao3 click here

#wolverine smut #x men #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman #james logan howlett #logan howlett has a big dick

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