#and like even though this year has been pretty shit so far I'm pretty sure regularly engaging with stuff that feels new is helping

[thethingything]

oh yeah also, Bread Quest bread 10: cheese topped rolls

I almost forgot to count these ones and I'm pretty sure there are other types of bread we've had that I've forgotten to count too. we just had these buttered with truffle salt earlier and it was a really nice breakfast

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

This part includes the Russian torture scene, so adding a warning for gore/violence just to be safe!

-----

Eddie comes by Scoops, once Steve gets the job there.

The first time, he laughs at the sailor hat for a minute straight until Steve rolls his eyes and calls back, “I'm taking my lunch!”

“Now?” Robin bitches. “Did you actually get a girl to fall for those ridiculous li-” She cuts off as she comes out of the back room and sees Eddie. “Oh. Huh.”

Eddie flashes a sharp toothed smile at her, and Steve rolls his eyes again and elbows him.

“I'll be back before the actual lunch rush hits this way,” he tells Robin, untying his apron and depositing it to the side of the counter.

To Eddie, he says, “Here, since this brought you so much joy,” and drops the sailor hat onto the top of Eddie's head.

Eddie gives a squawk and squirms around like he's trying to bat him off, though Steve notices he doesn't actually push him away as Steve adjusts the hat to his liking.

“There,” Steve says, shooting Eddie a teasing little grin as he steps back. “You keep that on the whole time, and I'll buy you lunch.”

“A small price to pay for a free meal,” Eddie says solemnly, but his eyes are crinkled a little like they do when he smiles, and he doesn't take the hat off the entire time they eat together.

—

He and Eddie sit out back behind Scoops, passing a cigarette back and forth. It's the end of Steve's shift, and technically he doesn't have to stay anymore, but he's not in a hurry to get home.

Dustin's away at camp, after all.

“Why the hell are you working here?” Eddie asks, sounding like he's been mulling it over for a while.

Steve snorts. “Needed to work somewhere.”

“Okay, fine, but haven't you done the lifeguard thing for like three years?”

Steve - didn't actually expect Eddie to know that, and he shoots him a little smile before he rolls his eyes. “Not a real job, according to my dad. It's just hanging out at the pool all day.”

Eddie scoffs. “Would your dad even know a real job if it bit him?”

“My dad's never really had to work for anything,” Steve mutters. “I didn't get into any of the colleges they wanted me to, so I needed to be taught a lesson. Pretty sure he was hoping it'd humiliate me.”

Eddie tips back, looking him over. “You don't look very humiliated.”

Steve shrugs. “Because I'm not. Yeah, sure, the outfit and the hat are stupid, but work is work. Ice cream makes people happy, I make people happy, it could be worse. Besides, he has no idea what I'm even making here. Every paycheck is a little more I can stash away where he can't touch it.”

Eddie's watching him very closely now, in a way that Steve's never seen before.

“How long have you been doing that?” he asks quietly.

“What, saving money that my dad doesn't know about?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.”

Eddie's face is serious - far more serious than Steve's ever seen him, than he thinks the situation warrants. Steve frowns.

“Since I got my first job, I guess? Anything I ask for from him comes with some kind of string attached, and I got tired of paying for it.”

Eddie's quiet again. “You've gotten in a lot of fights the last couple of years,” he says, slow and careful like he thinks Steve might bolt. “Lot of bruises.”

He clocks on to what Eddie's trying to get at, then, and a rush of relief washes over him as he hurries to set him straight. “Oh, no, my dad's not abusive or anything, just an asshole. He's never hit me.”

Eddie considers that. “Your dad can be an abusive piece of shit without ever hitting you.”

Steve licks his lips, takes his turn watching Eddie a little more closely. “Sounds like you're familiar with it.”

Eddie laughs, sharp and humorless. “Come on, man, you know who my dad is.”

“I know what people say about him,” Steve agrees. “But I've learned not to listen to rumors.”

Eddie flicks the cigarette butt off into the distance.

Steve gets out another one, puts it between his lips to light it. He takes a long drag, then - pulls his heart out of his chest, setting it between them before he passes the cigarette over.

Eddie's eyes drop down to his heart as he takes the cigarette, but this time he doesn't say anything.

Steve still doesn't ask to see his, even though he's tempted.

“You can listen to these ones,” Eddie says after a while. “They're mostly true.”

“You deserve better,” Steve tells him.

He looks over when Eddie doesn't say anything, finding him watching his heart. It's beating strong and steady.

“So do you,” Eddie says without looking up.

They sit in silence for a while longer, until the cigarette is gone.

Then Steve tucks his heart back into his chest and stands up. “Come on, I'll get us lunch.”

Eddie scowls at him. “You bought last time.”

“Yeah, but a conversation like that deserves a burrito bigger than your head, and I've got employee discount,” Steve counters, holding out his hand.

Eddie concedes, accepting his hand up.

—

Steve keeps making up excuses to buy Eddie lunch after that, every time he comes by at the end of an early shift or close to his lunch break on a later shift.

One day he gets them both pizza from Sbarro, and they sit at one of the sticky plastic tables in the food court. It's so small their knees knock together as they devour their slices, but -

But it also means that Steve can tuck his ankle up against Eddie's, hook his foot half around it, and have an excuse if he needs one.

He doesn't need one.

Eddie doesn't move his foot away, but he does shoot wide eyed little looks over at Steve like he's not sure whether this is a joke or not, and -

“Hi,” Steve says, soft and ridiculous and holy shit, he has to have something better than hi.

But apparently hi works, because Eddie ducks his head, looks back up at him with something soft and wary and surprised all at once.

“Hi,” Eddie says back.

And that's -

It's something.

—

Steve gets closer to Robin - their bickering has started to become playful, and even though her teasing's never been mean, now it sounds almost fond. She still gets annoyed when customers watch them work in complete sync and think they're a couple, but now she just rolls her eyes and complains to him later instead of throwing things off by trying to protest it.

It's nice. He thinks he might be winning her over, and it makes the days pass a lot quicker.

—

He doesn't see Eddie for a week after their pizza lunch.

He tries not to think much about it, just tells himself that if he hasn't seen him by the time Dustin comes back from camp, he'll call him.

—

This isn't like any beating he's taken before.

Steve'd thought he was prepared. He was prepared, at least in the beginning. Billy did just as much damage, even if it was in a shorter span of time, and the ache in his ribs and stomach and face is familiar.

He can handle it.

Besides, it doesn't matter how much they hurt him - protecting Robin and Dustin and Erica is more important than anything else.

"Let's take a look at his heart," one of the soldiers says. "See how honest he's really being."

Steve's pretty sure he makes a choked off little guh.

He doesn't want to let them anywhere near his heart.

But on the other hand - he isn't lying as much as they think he is, and maybe that will prove it? They'll have to undo his hands to get him to take it out, and he briefly considers trying to get the drop on them, but he has to concede that probably won't go very well for him.

It's not like they're really asking for his opinion, anyway.

They aren't making any move to untie his hands, either, and Steve's brow scrunches in confusion.

He sees one of them holding what looks like a mix of a gun and a taser. It - honestly, it looks pretty stupid, like a prop in a bad movie, and he wrinkles his nose at it.

They press it up against his ribcage, pull the trigger - and fuck, he jolts back with the force of it.

His chest splits open.

The shock of it makes him numb for a precious few moments, staring down at the gaping hole in his own chest. The pain doesn't hit him until they take his heart out. It feels like it's being carved out of him, ripped from his chest as though he were being mauled by a wild animal, and he has the somewhat hysterical thought that he shouldn't be alive for this.

His heart was torn out of his chest, and somehow it's still beating, erratic and racing.

"Hmm," one of the soldiers says, tilting his heart this way and that. "Feels real."

The soldier squeezes it, and this time Steve screams at the pressure tightening around his heart, making him convulse in his bonds.

The second soldier laughs.

"They're making such good fakes these days," the second soldier says.

The first soldier relaxes his grip, and Steve sucks in ragged gulps of air, too disoriented to really understand what they're saying.

"Much more sophisticated than patches and paint," the first soldier agrees. "What good would a spy be if he showed his real heart?"

"No," Steve protests. "It's real, come on, you can feel it."

There’s no sign of deception from his heart, but it's beating too wildly from the pain to really make a difference.

"We'll see about that," the second soldier says, handing a switchblade to the first.

The first soldier presses the flat of the blade against his heart. "Let's see what's underneath if we shave a little off?"

—

Steve doesn't really remember anything after that. He must have passed out, because the next thing he hears is Robin's voice, and he realizes he's in a different room, tied back to back with her.

His chest aches.

Everything aches, really, but his chest is the worst of it.

Steve looks down, sees himself solid and in one piece again. He might have thought the whole thing was just a pain induced hallucination if it weren't for the unstable beat of his heart. It's pulsing unsteadily, and he feels as though if he even breathes too hard, it might burst into pieces with the next beat.

But he's not alone now.

He's with Robin, and she makes everything better, and even though his heart beats too fast when he thinks of how much he likes her - it's the good kind of too fast, not the kind that makes him think his heart is going to explode.

He is pretty sure that his heart is going to explode, though, that they're probably going to die here. He knows Robin is thinking the same thing - he just knows, like going through Russian secret agent torture together has made them automatically on the same wave length.

They were heading towards being friends before this, he knows, wonders if maybe they could have ever been for real.

It's a shame he doesn't think he'll ever get to find out.

—

Dustin and Erica find them before Steve loses any fingers.

Which is good. He might not be on the basketball team anymore, but he still plays with Lucas sometimes, and he likes all of his fingers attached to his hand and not on the floor of a secret Russian base.

He tells Dustin that as they're escaping from said Russian secret base. Dustin looks a little pale, hugs him tight around the middle, which makes Steve laugh - it should hurt, he thinks, but he doesn't feel a thing.

The only thing he feels is kind of floaty, and the itchy, overheated sensation he always gets when he's had his heart locked inside his chest for too long.

When no one's looking, Steve takes his heart out of his chest.

His stomach turns.

Whatever he's feeling about it seems distant, too far removed for him to be able to react to it, but the physical sensation of his stomach heaving is present and accounted for.

It only barely looks like a heart. The shape of it is hardly visible, more like a double handful of the precut chuck roast he gets to use as stew meat, sluggishly oozing every time it beats.

The thought of putting it back in his chest makes his stomach heave again, but even like this, he knows he can't keep it out in the open.

He rips off the red scarf from his Scoops uniform, wraps it around his heart to hold it together, and ties it off.

There.

Now no one will notice.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 6

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @samsoble @persnicketysquares @cryptid-system @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse

[zelcii]

sense | james potter

"you're not selfish for wanting to be treated well," you remind yourself, your voice barely a whisper as you slip into the dimly lit library. the echoes of your parents' howler still ring in your ears as it did while it echoed off the walls of the great hall. its harsh words were seared into your mind. you can still see the mocking smirks of the slytherins, and hear the whispers from your own housemates—hufflepuff loyalty running thin.

you’ve been trying so hard, but your grades this year have been less than impressive, and nothing you do seems to make a difference to your parents. it was enough that you'd been housed in hufflepuff. you just always seemed to find a new way to disappoint someone.

you wander through the rows of books, blinking back the tears that have been threatening to fall since breakfast. you find a quiet corner, hidden behind a stack of dusty old tomes, and sink to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. the library is mostly empty this time of day, a perfect place to disappear for a while.

but not for long.

you hear him, harsh whispers exchanged with his friends, before you see him.

james potter's sat in front of you, a concerned frown replacing his usual grin. he leans back, crossing his arms as he watches you with those warm, green eyes. the two of you would talk often. either in passing or during classes. he'd gotten into the habit of pairing up with you for projects. whether compelled by pride or pity, you weren't entirely sure. you considered him a good friend. not so much a close one.

“fancy finding you here,” he says, trying for his usual light-hearted tone but failing. "don't even remember the last time I've seen you 'round a book."

you don't look up at him, your vision blurry with tears. "not really looking for company right now, potter." your voice is muffled as you speak.

james tilts his head, his frown deepening. "good thing it found you, then."

you sniffle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "what do you want?"

“to talk, maybe?” he suggests, leaning forward with a playful smirk. “or at least distract your pretty little head from all that house shit with my dazzling wit and charm.”

you can’t help but let out a small, watery laugh. “you really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“someone has to,” he quips, but there’s no real arrogance in his voice, just a gentle teasing meant to pull you out of your funk. “besides, you’re one to talk. weren't you the one calling yourself dumbledor's reincarnate?” james laughed, his eyes teasing as they held your gaze. "he's not even dead, love."

love.

you roll your eyes, but his effort to make you smile isn’t lost on you. “was just joking."

"well then, it was a wonderful joke."

"flattery will get you no where, potter," you retort.

"charmed thing i like it right here with you, isn't it?" james' expression softens, his teasing fading into genuine concern. you blush. “i saw what happened this morning. i'm sorry about your parents… they’re tough.”

you nod, swallowing hard. “they're just… pureblood. you know? nothing will ever be enough.”

james sighs, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on your knee. the warmth of his touch somehow grounding. his silence is far more reassuring than any combination of words someone else could string together.

you look down at his hand, at the way his fingers curl gently against your knee. your voice is barely above a whisper, ashamed of all that's happened in a single morning. “they said I was selfish. for… for wanting more from them.”

“they’re wrong,” James says firmly, his voice steady and reassuring. “you’re not selfish for wanting to be seen and heard. for wanting to be loved for who you are, not for what they want you to be.”

“you sound like professor mcgonagall.” a tear slips down your cheek though you can't help but laugh. "thank you," it's soft and endearing when you say it.

james grins, a bit of his usual mischief returning to his eyes. “anytime. now, what do you say we blow off some steam? maybe a trip to the kitchens?"

james stands up, offering you his hand. you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. he doesn’t let go right away, his fingers lingering in yours as he looks down at you, his expression suddenly serious again.

“you know, the others'll make sense of it. eventually,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

"i know," you give him a small, grateful smile. “just as long as it makes some sense to you.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Lay the Table With the Fancy Shit

Prompt Day 13: Family Dinner | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Future Fic, Established Steddie, Open Secret Relationship, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?, It's The Harringtons, And Uncle Wayne

Eddie peeks through the curtains, and so far, the driveway is still empty. 

"Anyone?!" Steve hollers from the kitchen.

"Not yet!" 

This is the first Christmas that they're having both sides at their house, and it's a little nerve-wracking. They didn't think the Harringtons would accept the invitation. Historically, they haven't. They've always been in Spain. London. Hawaii. 

Anywhere, except where their perfect only child and his weird shadow have been.

And even if Steve's never shown it, Eddie knows that's been disappointing, though not unexpected. 

But, Steve kept extending the offer.

And this year, they said they'd come. 

Eddie doesn't trust it. He's more scared they'll no-show than he is that they'll show up and be assholes. Assholes? Assholes, Eddie can handle. But deliberately getting Steve's hopes up just to hurt him? Unforgivable. 

Steve's drawn from his rich kid upbringing, and set the table fancier than it has ever been in their house.

Eddie hears a door slam. He peeks out: Wayne. 

"It's just Wayne," Eddie yells, and that sounds wrong. Wayne has never been just anything. His love and presence is constant. Him showing up is not news, it's just any other week, holiday or not. 

Eddie hears a second car pull in, and it's them. 

"They're here!" Eddie screams, and Steve appears in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Really?" he asks, grinning. 

"Really," Eddie confirms.

Steve is smoothing down his sweater, as if it might be rumpled, but it's definitely not. He's perfectly put together, as always.

Eddie's slightly concerned about Wayne being out there alone with them. Wayne's not gonna take any shit, and definitely won't forgive as easily as Steve has always been willing to, that's for damn sure. If they so much as look at either of them wrong, Eddie's sure Wayne will be willing to start an all out war. 

Steve goes to the door and opens it before anyone has the chance to even ring the bell.

It's not like Eddie hasn't met them. He has. In short, very controlled bursts. They call Eddie Steve's roommate, and honestly, it could be worse. If they want to pretend that's all he is to Steve, Eddie can live with that, if Steve can.

They have a support system, more than most are lucky enough to have, and if the Harringtons can't get on board, then so be it. Steve's mother kisses both of Steve's cheeks, and his father shakes his hand, and so far, so good. 

They've made it inside without any bloodshed. 

Steve takes his mother's coat and introduces them to Wayne, who gives the bare minimum of a greeting, and Eddie feels frozen to the spot.

Why this year? Why now? 

He's suspicious, and scared. Terrified, honestly. 

Are they going to try and put a wedge between them? Do they have the perfect, marriageable girl that they're going to try to sell Steve on? Finally tired of this unacceptable detour that is a life with Eddie "The Murderer" Munson?

Anything is possible, and Eddie hates that he's expecting the worst.

It might be fine.

He hopes it'll be fine.

Eddie doesn't know what to do with himself. Roommate Eddie, reporting for duty.

The first chance he gets, after the forks go down, he excuses himself and flees.

Eddie is sitting on the bed in their bedroom. There's a familiar knock and Wayne steps in, closing the door behind him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, and he is. Just uncomfortable. "What's going on out there?"

Wayne laughs, "Polite conversation."

Eddie grins towards the floor, and Wayne sits next to him. 

"It'll be fine, kid."

It will. Eddie knows that. They'll leave, and life will go on.

"Does Steve seem happy?" Eddie asks, because that's all that matters. 

"Yeah," Wayne answers. "How 'bout you, kid?"

"I'm good," Eddie says.

"You sure?"

He's pretty sure. He just wants Steve to be happy, and wants him to have a good relationship with his parents. Even if that means he's the roommate in the most unconvincing lie ever told.

Wayne has left him alone, and Eddie is still sitting there, when he feels eyes on him. He looks over, and Mrs. Harrington is standing there looking at him through the cracked door. 

Eddie freezes. 

She comes inside and shuts the door with a heavy click.

Eddie swallows.

"Eddie," she says, and he nods, as if he's confirming that he is, in fact, Eddie. 

He's suddenly hyper-aware of their bedroom. Specifically, their co-mingled shit all over. They didn't clean up, because that felt like it'd be an unspoken bad omen for them not showing up. Either way, Eddie doesn't have a fake bedroom down the hall. It's just this. His stuff on one nightstand, Steve's on the other.

She sits next to him.

Eddie sits up straighter, ready to take whatever she's about to dish out. He'll take it, if that means Steve won't have to.

"They're watching the game," she says.

"Good," Eddie replies with a nod.

"We know, you know?" she asks bluntly, and Eddie wants to bolt. He has to force himself to stay. Eddie assumed, though. Steve's not dumb, and they aren't either.

"Yeah," he says.

"We're waiting for him to tell us," she says, and Eddie is flabbergasted. 

"Huh?" he says.

She laughs, and it makes him feel a fraction more at ease.

"He can tell us," she states, plain as day. There's no beating around the bush, "It took a bit, but we're ready now. Whenever he is."

Eddie hopes that's true. Fuck, does he ever.

"Thank you," he says, and feels kind of dumb, but he is thankful. Big time.

"He was a sad child," she comments, seemingly changing the subject. 

And Eddie stares at her. Steve? Sad?

"Lonely. He learned to fake contentment," she clarifies, turning to look at Eddie, smiling ever so slightly, "But I don't think he's faking it anymore."

Eddie bows his head, smiling to himself.

He made Steve Harrington happy. How the fuck did that happen?

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🍽️

Notes: Title from Tolerate It by Taylor Swift.

[gratelove]

*I've been rewatching Orange is the New Black and I forgot how in love with Nicky I am. So here is Nicky one shot I've been thinking about. There may be more of these. Saddle up, cause this is a long one.*

Say You're Mine

Nicky Nichols x Reader

Warnings: cursing, 18+, fingering, oral, jealousy

When you were sentenced and sent to Litchfield, you promised yourself that you would keep your head down and do your time. You met Nicky and became best friends, but still kept your promise to yourself. You wouldn't let yourself get involved with anyone and soon became a prize to win. Boo and Nicky decide to see who can get you first during their competition to see who can sleep with the most girls after Boo finds Nicky's sex diary.

You have been at Litchfield for a year now and you have one year left on your sentence. You told yourself when you got sentenced that you would come in, do your time, and go back to your life. You didn't want to get in any trouble or attach yourself to anyone, and you definitely weren't going to get physically involved. You've kept most of that promise to yourself so far. Most, not all. You have become attached to one red haired junkie in particular, though. Nicky Nichols. She became someone you leaned on for everything. She made this place feel normal.

"Hey, beautiful." You hear a familiar raspy voice from behind you, breaking you from your thoughts, and look from your eggs to see Nicky taking a seat next to you, breakfast tray in hand.

"Hey," you smile and bump her elbow with your own.

"Nicky, great you're here. Y/N wasn't being helpful, and I need you to tell me which dress you like better." Morello slaps a bridal magazine on the table in front of the two of you, pointing to a large, puffy wedding dress. Nicky rolls her eyes and you can't help but crack a smile.

"Morella, I love you, but it's too fucking early for this shit. Can I just eat my eggs in peace," Nicky says as she takes a mouthful of just that.

"Alright, fine," Morello pulls away the magazine and continues flipping through the pages.

"Hey, Y/N. You look pretty this morning." You look to your left to see Big Boo sliding in next to you.

"Morning, thanks Boo," you say and smile at her.

"How'd you sleep, princess," she asks and rests her chin in her hand, looking at you. You furrow your brows together. She is being weirder than usual. Boo has made attempts in the past to get with you, but this is off.

"Fine. Are you okay," you question and she offers an awkward laugh.

"I'm great, especially now that I'm here. I see you finished your eggs. Did you want any of mine?" She slides her tray closer to you.

"No, thanks though. You sure you're good?"

"I'm wonderful. You know," she begins, but pauses to brush a strand of hair over your shoulder. "I'd be even better if you'd sit next to me at the movies tonight." Her smile grows and she raises a brow in question. You hear Nicky scoff from behind you.

"Could you be any more desperate," Nicky calls from over your shoulder, and you turn to see her face slightly red. Her brows knitted together in annoyance.

"Why don't you shut the fuck up, Nichols," Boo says in a sweet voice.

"Um, sure Boo. I'll sit with you." You smile and give her a nod. You hear Nicky scoff again. You wonder why Nicky is so bothered by this. So many questions are running through your head about both of their behaviors this morning.

"Great, let me know your favorite snacks and I'll make sure to pick some up from commissary for you," she says and rubs your shoulder. You look down at her hand, then back at her, with a confused expression.

"Oh, okay, thanks. I'll do that," you nod and she grabs her tray, leaving the table.

"What the fuck? We always sit together for movie night," Nicky exclaims with a frustrated tone.

"Well, she asked and I didn't want to be rude. Why do you care so much, anyways?"

"I don't. Just forget it." Nicky rolls her eyes and continues eating her breakfast.

"Hey, you can sit with us."

"No thanks." She shakes her head and you look to Morello, who gives us a confused shrug. Breakfast continues without another word from Nicky.

***

You are sitting in your bed, reading a book when you feel the mattress sink next to you. You look to see the familiar mane of red hair. You look back to your book, trying to seem as though you are unbothered by her presence. In reality, you are still incredibly annoyed with her because of her behavior this morning.

"What's going on in your book," she asks, knowing how much you love to talk about your current read. You always go into great depth about your books, and even though you end up spoiling it for Nicky every time, she loves how excited you get when you talk about it.

"Nothing," you say and continue reading. She lays her head on your shoulder and your stomach tightens.

"Come on, I know you want to tell me all about it." She nudges you slightly. You don't say anything and she lets of a breath. "Are you mad at me from this morning?" You stand your ground and try to continue to focus on the words on the page. You feel her getting closer until her lips are almost touching your ear. "You know you can't stay mad at me," she whispers, and her warm breath sends shivers through your whole body. You force yourself to keep your composure, but then you feel hands on your ribs. She begins tickling you and you squeal, throwing your book down.

"Stop," you scream through your laughter and fall onto your bed. She crawls on top of you and continues attacking you. You can't help but laugh and scream, pleading for her to stop in between sharp breaths.

"Are you still mad at me," she asks through her own laughter.

"No! No," you screech and suddenly the torture stops. You open your eyes to see her hovering over you. Her hands are on either side of your head, her frizzy locks are a curtain over both of your faces. She has a lazy smile on her face, and you can only assume it matches your own.

"I'm sorry for being a bitch this morning," she says, and moves a piece of hair off of your forehead and behind your ear. Her finger traces the shape of your lobe. You feel goosebumps rise on your skin. You sit in comfortable silence for a moment. You are still catching your breath while you admire her beautiful face. Her finger moves from your ear, to your jawline, up to your bottom lip. She is watching her thumb trace the shape of your face. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and the action makes your chest tighten. You can't help but admit that Nicky does something to you. You push down those feelings and avoid it as much as possible. She does make it hard for you, though. She is never this affectionate, but flirting is common for her. You never let yourself take it seriously. You know her track record and about her sex diary. You found it one day on accident and snooped. You didn't see your name in there, thankfully, but sex is a sport to her. In here, it's a good distraction for most. It's a way to cope. It's hard being alone and never having physical touch. Even you can admit that you struggle with it. Some days it becomes almost unbearable to not want it, but it only leads to trouble. You have seen too many broken hearts or drama start from prison relationships. You don't need that, especially not when you'll be stuck with that person the rest of your sentence.

"Get off of her inmate," you hear someone yell behind you, making you both jump. You look to see Bell standing at the edge of your cube. Nicky rolls her eyes and moves off of you, sitting next to you on the bed. Bell continues on her way down the isle.

"You shouldn't go to the movie with Boo," Nicky says. You stitch your brows and look at her.

"Why," you question.

"Well, she's clearly trying to fuck you."

"Yeah, and that bothers you," you smirk and she gives you an annoyed look, but doesn't respond. "Come on, Nicky. You know I don't play that game. Even if I did, why would you care who I fuck," you raise your brows in wait for an answer.

"Because Boo is a slut. She fucks anything that moves." She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Oh what, and you don't? I've seen your fingers in five different girls' pussies just this week. You're not any better. You and Boo are the same with your pussy competition. Who's winning that by the way," you laugh. "At least Boo doesn't keep a bang book." You roll your eyes. Boo and her have this ridiculous competition going on to see who can fuck the most girls. Nicky shoves you and you shove her back. She does it again and this causes a play fight to break out between the two of you. You are both laughing as you push each other, until Nicky grabs both of your wrists. She pulls you close to her, so your faces are only inches away. She has that famous smirk of her lips and you try hard to keep your smile at bay. Her gaze moves from your eyes to your mouth and back again. You could cut the sexual tension in the cube with a knife. You feel butterflies fighting to erupt inside you. She leans in closer and closer until your lips are brushing against one another, just a whisper of a kiss, as if Nicky is asking for permission. Your breath hitches and your head is screaming for you to stop, but your body is pleading for more. Ultimately your body wins the internal battle as you push your fingers into her mane and pull her into you. Your lips meet and her hands find your waist, squeezing slightly. Your lips melt together as one entity as you kiss. She inevitably pulls away for air and you find yourself missing her lips, already.

"You want to go to the chapel," she asks as she bites her bottom lip. Sex. That's all she wants. You can't deny that you want that too, more than you ever have while being in here at this moment, if you're being honest with yourself. You can't, you won't. If she can make you feel like this from kissing, then sex is just going to make you addicted and you don't need that.

"No, I don't. I'm sorry, Nicky." You rub your thumb over her cheek before pulling you hands into your lap. She pulls her lips into a thin line.

"Right, you don't play that game," she huffs before exiting your cube.

***

The room is dark and the only sound filling the room is the munching of snacks and eruption of laughter every once in a while. You are focused on the movie as you share a knitted blanket with Boo while you enjoy the Snickers she got you from commissary. Nicky is sitting on the other side of you, arms crossed, and every so often making a side eye at you and Boo. You feel Boo's hand move to your knee and rest there. You make note of it, but ignore it as you continue to watch the movie. Eventually that hand starts to run higher up your thigh. You put your hand on top of hers to stop it in place. In your peripheral, you see Nicky shift next to you. You move you hand back to where it was. After a while, Boo's hand starts to explore your thigh again, getting closer to the inside. You shift and stop her hand once again. You look at her, and her gaze meets yours, giving you a wink.

"You look sexy. No one will see," she whispers to you.

"Boo, I-"

"Would you guys shut the fuck up. I can't focus on the movie," Nicky leans over and joins the conversation.

"Hey, Nichols, why don't you mind your own fucking business and quit with the cliterference."

"Why don't you keep your hands to yourself," Nicky retorts.

"I don't cock block your efforts, so how about you show some respect and don't do it to mine. You had your chance. You're going to lose, so deal with it." You take in the back and forth arguing between them and finally it hits you. The competition. The fucking competition. That explains their behavior. You're the target. Your blood beings to boil as you realize that they are competing to see who can fuck you first. You told Nicky when you first heard about this stupid bet that you would not be apart of it. She promised that you would not be involved in this. You can't believe that she really let Boo place bet on you.

"Shut the fuck up, Boo," Nicky spats.

"Why don't both of you shut the fuck up? I can't believe you. Me? You made me your fucking competition. Fuck both of you." You throw the blanket at Boo and rip your ear bud out, rushing out of the room. You can't believe Nicky. The flirting, affection, attitude, the kiss were all for this fucking competition. You are not some prize to be won. You are not some piece of meat. You make your way through the halls until you push open the doors to the chapel. You sit on a pew and put your head in your hands. You do your best to fight back the tears that want to escape. You will not let her make you cry. You feel like such an idiot. How could you let her kiss you? How could you let her get to you and make you feel something for her? You know Nicky, maybe better than anyone in here. You know that she can never be serious. She will never let herself feel for someone. It's all just physical, all for her own benefit. After the kiss, she was mad at you for rejecting her, like it hurt her feelings. What bullshit.

"Y/N?" A cracked and raspy voice comes from behind you. The sound of it alone makes you want to explode. It makes you want to scream. "Y/N, I'm so sorry."

"Fuck you, Nichols. Leave me alone." You shake your head, refusing to look at her. More in fear that you will cry than anything else. You hear her sit down next to you. You feel her hand touch your shoulder and you smack it off of you in an instant. "Don't you dare touch me," you say, rage dripping off of every word. Seeing her deep brown eyes makes your heart crack. Your restraint is falters as a single tear escapes. You see Nicky's bottom lip quiver. "Don't start fucking crying. You have no right." you shove her chest and she looks down at her lap. "You have no fucking right," you say louder, pushing her chest again. All she does is take it. "You're a horrible person, you know that?" She still doesn't say anything. "I trusted you. I told you not to involve me in this shit! I trusted you, and you tried to use me!" The anger in you begins to grow and the tears are falling freely now. The more you say, the more angry you get. The more you want to take it out on her. "You're supposed to be my friend! I'm not just some other bitch for you to fuck and dump!" Your palm meets her chest again. "I'm not nothing! I'm not just another conquest!" As your hand is about to meet her again, she grabs your wrist, finally making eye contact with you. Tears are running down her cheeks.

"I don't think that," she yells. "Fuck, I've never thought that." The sentence is barely above a whisper.

"Really, because it sure seems like you do."

"Well I don't." Her voice is sharp. She looks away again, not able to meet your gaze. "Boo wanted to make you competition. I told her no, but she was going to try either way. She said that whoever got you would win. She was fucking set on you. I couldn't..." Her voice trails off.

"You couldn't what?"

"I couldn't stand the idea of you with someone! Someone that's not me!" You breath catches in your throat at those words. More tears slips down her face and the sight makes you hurt. Nicky would never let someone know how much she truly cares. She's said it herself multiple times. She has commitment issues and a fucked up idea of love because of her mom, but here and now, she's admitting it to you. As much as you love hearing that sentence, it also infuriates you.

"Nicky, you're so fucking confusing! You can fuck every girl here, but the minute someone might have an opportunity with me, it's not okay? That's some twisted shit. You know that right," you ask and she offers a sad laugh.

"I never said I wasn't fucked up. I'm sorry, babe," She gives a smile that doesn't meet her eyes as she brings her hand to your cheek, wiping away the left over tears. You can't help but lean into her touch. It is silent for a moment, while you both let your emotions settle. Finally you break it.

"So, you really can't stand to see me with anyone but you? That sounds like a confession."

"Well, we are in a chapel. You're supposed to confess, right?" Her hand moves from your face to your neck.

"So, confess then, Nichols," you lean in closer to her. She lets out a breathy laugh.

"I confess that I want you so fucking bad, all the time, and not just sexually. Even though I do think about that quiet a lot." There she goes, biting her damn bottom lip. Her hand trails down your shoulder, to your arm, then to your thigh. You take in a deep breath, trying to settle the bundle of nerves building in your stomach. "I confess that I think about you day and night. That I love the way you rant about your books, the way you smile, the way you say my name." Her fingers play with the hem of your pants before she slides her fingers under them and into your panties. She runs her fingers over your lips and you visibly shiver, making her smile. Her index finger finds you clit and she rubs small circles. "I confess that I touch myself to the thought of you," she whispers in your ear, before taking your lobe between her teeth. You let out a small whimper.

"Nicky," you moan as the her movement on your core picks up speed.

"I love when you say my name, baby." Your eyes flutter shut and your head falls back when she plunges those fingers into you. You let out a loud moan and feel her move. You open your eyes when her fingers pull out of you. You see her now on her knees in front of you. She grabs either side of your pants and tugs, indicating for you to lift. She pulls your pants off frantically before grabbing your bare hips, and pulling you to the edge of the pew. She throws your legs over her shoulders, wrapping her arms around your thighs, and grips tight to hold you in place. "Fuck, I've thought about the way you taste for so long," she groans and rolls her eyes seductively before bowing her head to meet your throbbing center. You feel her tongue flick up and your head instantly falls back, mouth dropping open. She buries her face into you, her tongue running up and down in fast motions, before stopping at your clit and taking it between her teeth. She gently rubs it between her teeth while sucking, forcing you to let out a loud scream. "As much as I'd love to make you scream, you need to be quiet for me, baby." You nod and she smiles, kissing your inner thigh. "That's my girl," she praises before moving her face back to your now soaking pussy. Her tongue shoves inside you and you gasp.

"Fuck, Nicky," you moan as quietly as your body will allow. As she continues to lick you up and down, exploring every inch of your flower, her hand reaches up to squeeze your breast. She then pulls away.

"Take the rest of your clothes off," she demands, standing up. You obey, pulling your shirts off, and then your bra. You're now bare and suddenly feel self conscious. You move your arms over your breasts and stomach. Nicky grabs your arms, pulling them off of you. "Don't hide from me. You're fucking perfect."

"Take your clothes off," you say, nodding your head toward her attire and she smirks. She pulls her work boots off before peeling off her uniform. She is now standing in front of you, naked and beautiful. You lick your lips and the sight of her.

"Fuck, the way you're looking at me makes me so wet," she moans and grabs your arm. She pulls you onto the stage and behind the podium. She sets you inside the large hollow middle of the podium, hidden away from anyone that may come in. She latches onto your neck and begins to suck hard. You groan as your fingers find her center. You play softly with her folds before sliding your fingers inside her. She is so wet and so warm. She moans and follows your actions by sliding her fingers inside you, while her other hand is placed above your head on the podium, propping her up. You both finger each other and she rests her forehead on yours. Her hair sticks to her the sides of her face from sweat and you know yours is doing the same. You both pick up pace and are plunging your fingers into one another. You are both a mess of moans as you stare into each other's eyes. She has a lazy smile on her lips and she brings her thumb to your clit. Her thumb rubs hard circles on your clit as her index and middle finger pump into you.

"Oh my god, Nicky," you say as your eyes close. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she watches you being to unfold. "Nicky, fuck," you say her name again, your moans getting louder. Your fingers are still pumping in and out of her and she moans. You take your other hand and being to rub her clit.

"Say my name again, baby," you moans out. The command makes you more wet, if that is even possible.

"Nicky," you moan and her motions on your core become faster and harder.

"Fuck, you're mine, aren't you baby?" You bite your bottom lip and nod. "Say it. Say you're mine." You buck your hips against her hand. She is riding your fingers the same way you are hers.

"I'm yours, Nicky. Fuck, I'm yours." You meet her brown eyes. They are dark in a way you've never seen. They are hungry and determined.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

"Nicky, I'm about to..." You can't even finish your sentence from the tightening building in your stomach and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel like you're about to explode from the pressure rising inside you.

"Me too, baby. I want you to look at me when you cum," she says and you open your eyes to meet hers again. Your legs being to shake wildly as you feel sweat roll between your breasts. You can't hold it any longer and you release. You scream as you stare deep into her eyes and allow the tension to release until you feel pure bliss. Once Nicky feels your cum now dripping down her hand, she pulls out of you and her hand grabs the other side of the podium, squeezing the wood as you finish her. Her eyes slam shut as her head falls back. You bring one of her nipples into your mouth and roll it between your teeth. A moan erupts from her lips as you feel her tighten around your fingers and then hot, wet cum soaks your hand. You pull out of her, making her shiver. She slumps down in front of you, resting her forehead against yours once again. She brings her fingers to her lips and sucks your juices off of them. The action makes your center twitch as you roll your eyes in pleasure of the sight before you.

"You are so fucking sexy," you say and pull her head to yours until your mouth meets. Your lips move in sink, still hungry for one another. She breaks the kiss and laughs as you rest your hand comfortably in her hair. "Tell me you're mine," you demand and she gives you a wide smile.

"I'm yours," she says and kisses you softly.

"And I'm yours."

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

XD @flurraz that's brilliant- clothing montage at the Carmine Compound!!!!

but it’s just Clara and Odette holding various weapons up next to Vaggie while their new adopted little sister scowls at her reflection and repeatedly says “NO” to the even more scowling reflection of their mom behind her

Vaggie: “Yeah no. I’m not wielding that.”

Clara: “It has spikes!”

Odette: “And hand protection.”

Clara: “And SPIKES.”

Vaggie: “Great, I could stab myself while swinging it around.”

Carmilla: “Only if you are terrible at it.”

Vaggie: (glaring) “Well I already know I’m not terrible with my spear, so I’m sticking with that.”

Carmilla: (Glowers) (goes back to pretending to check weapon schematics)

Odette: (ticks off failure on clipboard) “Sticking... or skewering?”

Vaggie: “Ha ha, very funny.”

Odette: (ticks off another point for herself on a little odette vs sisters score board)  

Clara: (rummaging in crate) “This isn’t funny and you guys shouldn’t be laughing.” (holds up new weapon) “Now THIS goes with your hair.”

Vaggie: “You’re kidding.”

Clara: “No kiddo, you’re kidding yourself if you think the long-ass shaft of a spear makes sense with a do that lovely and flowing.”

Vaggie: “What the fuck does that-”

Odette: “She’s right.” (makes new score board clara vs vaggie with one point to clara)

Clara: “No wonder you had trouble sparring with mom. Like, more that you would’ve had normally.”

Vaggie: “I haven’t been in a real fight in years okay!”

Carmilla: “It shows.”

Vaggie: “I’m. Working on it. I was one of that asshole’s best Exorcists once, I can-”

Carmilla: “Be better than that, hopefully.”

Vaggie: “Thanks.” (GLARES)

Clara: “All I’m saying is- no point fighting against yourself too, right? How hard did you have to focus to keep the stupid butt end from tangling in your hair?”

Vaggie: “I’m NOT cutting it.”

Clara: “Who’s asking?” (dangles weapon enticingly) “Look! Your new best friend!”

Vaggie: “A gun.”

Clara: “I know I know- you like sharp things and staby stuff, but look!”

Clara: (twirls gun dramatically)

Clara: “It has a knife on iiiiiit~”

Odette: “It would also not interfere with your hair.”

Vaggie: “I don’t know shit about guns.”

Clara: “What’s to know? Point and shoot. AND it’s got more reach than a spear! Which is good ‘cause you’re hair might be long, but the rest of you?” (rests elbow on vaggie’s shoulder) “Rest of you kinda comes up short.”

Vaggie: (grinding her teeth) “THANKS.”

Odette: (ticks another point for clara)

Clara: “Wait- You’ll take it!?”

Vaggie: “No.”

Odette: (ticks another failure) “Why not.”

Vaggie: "Oh wow I don't know maybe because-"

Vaggie: (ticks off reason on hand) “With a spear I have to choose every skewering I do and it’s a lot harder to miss and stick the wrong person. Even if I throw it it's only gonna go so far or through so many people. A bullet can go anywhere once it’s loose. If your aim is off by a centimeter that little thing goes wide. Maybe don't give the gun to the woman with a missing eye??? Definitely not when there are moving targets and things around she ISN'T supposed to shoot?"

Clara: "Oh riiiiight." (looks from gun to vaggie's eyepatch) "Huh."

Carmilla: (not looking up) "You were very accurate during our little play fight."

Odette: "I confirm. I've watched the security footage. I'm sure you could compensate."

Vaggie: "Well I'm not. I’m trying to protect my girlfriend and our friends and kill angels. I'm not not in this fight to ACCIDENTALLY kill someone.”

Carmilla: (smiles)

Clara: “Uh-huh. You like being close enough to catch all that blood splatter, don’t you.”

Vaggie: “…it’s just a perk.”

Carmilla: (smiles wider)

Clara: “Ew.”

Odette: “Impractical.” (adds ‘deranged’ to list of new sister’s traits, right under ‘gay’) “Mother, tell her she’s being weird.”

Carmilla: “I fight people with ballet, I’m afraid the toe of judgement I’m balanced upon is rather precarious.”

Vaggie: (SMIRKS) “Pretty badass though.”

Carmilla: “I know.”

Clara: “OH-!”

Clara: (disassembles gun) (chucks it) (claps hands) “I GOT IT!”

Vaggie: “What now.”

Odette: “Nothing good, statistically.”

Clara: “MOM! Mom- maybe she needs- You know!” (GRINNING EVILLY) “If the shoe fits….?”

Carmilla: “….Hmm.”

Vaggie: “What.”

Carmilla: (standing up and prowling around vaggie thoughtfully)

Vaggie: “…seriously, what?”

Carmilla: “Would you spin, please.”

Vaggie: (gracefully turns) “You know what I look like, miss Carmine.” (glares at clara) “There’s not much of me to look at anyway.”

Clara: “There’s enough, don’t worry~”

Vaggie: (rolls eye) “Wow. Such praise.”

Carmilla: “Can you stand on one leg without falling, or does the loss of your eye-”

Vaggie: “That’s more distance and depth and stuff.” (tucks one leg) “I’ve figured it out, kinda.”

Odette: “Yes? Constant assessment of changes in size and angle of objects?”

Vaggie: “You got it.”

Odette: “Seems rather strenuous for daily life.”

Clara: “Aww you get headaches or shit?”

Vaggie: “More like just tired. Keeping things in the same place when I can manage it helps a lot. Or it does when no one’s moving the lobby chairs around and then LEAVING them messed up like that anyway, for ME to clean up…”

Clara: “Or stumble into?”

Vaggie: “Whichever comes first.”

Clara: "Ow."

Odette: “So tidiness helps.”

Vaggie: “Yep.”

Odette: “Noted.” (notes it)

Carmilla: “Well you certainly are steady. Excellent posture.”

Carmilla: (leans in)

Vaggie: (leans back to maintain distance) (still on one leg)“Don’t forget confused and slowly losing patience, ma’am.”

Carmilla: “Mm? What? Oh sorry.” (leans back)

Carmilla: “You are a dancer, aren’t you.”

Odette: “...Oh no.”

Clara: “Oh YESSSSS.”

Vaggie: “Yes? Why the- why the fuck is she hiding behind her clip board-”

Odette: “I don’t want to relive my trauma.”

Clara: “I DO!”

Vaggie: “What the fuck does that have to do with me!?”

Clara: “Everything~”

Odette: “It’s about to be YOUR trauma.”

Vaggie: “What does THAT m-”

Clara: “Welcome to the family!”

Vaggie: “I- wh- why’re you making it sound like a THREAT!?”

Carmilla: “Our family is a threat. Now.” (taps heavenly steel ballet slippers together so they chime) “Can you stand en pointe?”

Vaggie: “….”

Vaggie: “….oh HELL no-”

Carmilla: “You already use your training as a dancer in battle. Weaponizing it fully is merely the next step.”

Clara: “Heheh. Step.”

Odette: (marks a point for mom)

Vaggie: “En pointe?” (clutching her spear) “THIS IS THE ONLY POINT I NEED!”

Carmilla: “Clara, fetch the practice slippers.”

Clara: (salutes) “Yes mom!”

Vaggie: “CLARA WAIT!”

Odette: “May mother have mercy on you.” (follows clara towards door)

Vaggie: “NO HEY- pendejo- WHY ARE YOU LEAVING TOO???”

Odette: “I will oversee the rest of the weapon loading. Also, I do not want to witness this, and am escaping.”

Carmilla: (sighs) “Dancing is a passion that is not always passed down from mother to child…”

Odette: “Not willingly anyway. Much like trauma.”

Clara: (out of sight) “I liked my trauma!”

Vaggie: “I’ve already got some, I don’t need more!”

Carmilla: “But you do not have your order of weapons yet. It will take half an hour to finish bringing out stock, checking each weapon for readiness, and crating them up again. Plenty of time for a little… assessment.”

Vaggie: (folds wings around herself) (backs away) “I’ve- dancing’s just a hobby, I’m, not even that good-”

Carmilla: “Your lies are terrible. Your form is perfect.”

Vaggie: “I’ve only danced for FUN!”

Carmilla: “And is not battle fun for you? The rush, the deadly interplay of partners you know so briefly and so intimately, to move in response and shape their own movements with yours?”

Vaggie: “…. I also like stabbing people!”

Carmilla: “Choreography for a spear. An interesting challenge.”

Vaggie: “Is this part of the deal for getting weapons from you, or-”

Carmilla: “Yes.”

Vaggie: “-en la madre…. fiiiiine.”

Carmilla: “You will submit to a small rehearsal?”

Vaggie: “Whatever.”

Carmilla: “Good. Now tuck those wings away.”

Vaggie: “Won’t I do better with-”

Carmilla: “You are more used to moving without them now, they're very nearly throwing off your balance. That, on top of your long hair, we do not have time to contend with.”

Vaggie: “But-”

Carmilla: “Fight without wings and keep them in reserve or cut your hair. Your choice.”

Vaggie: “…I guess.. keeping them as a surprise makes sense…”

Carmilla: “And you like having long hair, I know.”

Vaggie: “It’s whooshy.”

Carmilla: “Regardless, you will also at least be tying it back.”

Vaggie: (glowering) “Yes mom.”

Carmilla: “….”

Vaggie: “…”

Vaggie: “Ma’am I said ma’am.”

Carmilla: “I’m sure you did.” (turning away) (hiding smile) "Now. What always comes first?"

Vaggie: (sighing) (resigned) "Stretches..."

[skxllz]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬✦✦▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

male! reader introduces ian and mickey to the gayness goodness of iced coffee.

a jug of the cold beverage pulled from the fridge and sat on the counter, along with whipping cream, flavored creamer, sugar and chipped ice. you make quick work at blending each beverage — and then top it all off with a spin-top of whipped cream at the surface.

plunking a straw into the cups, before picking each glass up with little difficulty and shuffling to the living room of your apartment where the two males are spotted wrestling on the couch.

ian has mickey in a head lock, a smug look upon his handsome face, “ y’gonna apologize or what? ”

“ no! ” mickey huffed, trying to push the ginger's arms away — but to no avail. “ fuck off, gallagher! get off’a me! ”

you stand there for a minute and admire the little innocent, happy moment the two share. it isn't often mickey or ian catch a break, with the way the two's lives have always been — mickey either winding up in the can again, have something goin’ on with his family or even some shitty occurrence going on in ian's life like every other day. the two deserved to smile and laugh with one another... and you, who dropped into their lives just a year ago, wanted to make sure it happened.

so far, these past couple’a weeks, you've been doing a pretty good job at it.

“ hey, idiots- ” your presence gracing the living room caused both males to look up; ian being distracted, so mickey finally frees himself from his hold. the brunette shoots him a glare, but ian pays no mind to it - instead, wonders what exactly is in your arms.

“ what's that? ” ian nods at the drinks you're holding, watching as you cross the room to set them on the coffee table.

you hummed, “ iced coffee, ” before plopping down a good distance away from the two.

mickey's brow furrowed a good bit as he took note of that, but you didn't say anything. “ the fuck is iced coffee? ” he questions, looking between you and ian with his famous ‘ what the actual fuck ’ expression.

ian rolls his eyes. “ it's obviously coffee with ice in it. ”

“ and whipping cream, ” you add, smiling proudly. ian chuckles at that, seeming to find your beam of proudness cute. “ plus- the coffee itself is store bought in a jug. I didn't make it. ”

mickey's busy eyeing the drink, looking as if he was expecting it to jump out at him. then, he switches his eyes onto ian; giving him a small nudge. “ you try that shit first. I'm not dyin’.

“ why the hell would you die? ”

“ what if he's tryin’ ta’ fuckin’ poison us, huh? ”

ian gave mickey a deadpanned stare, absolutely done with his shit. although you didn't know whether he was joking or not, you still tried not to laugh — milkovich sure could be an ass sometimes.

ian sighs, turning to wrap his fingers around the cup. “ he's not going to poison us, mick. ” but, even though ian said that with confidence, he still sniffed the iced coffee once he brought it upwards.

as if he could smell anything, though.

.. but then again, he was an emt before. for all you knew —if you were going to poison them— there could be some type of technique behind it to sniff out drugs. like a damn blood hound or something.

oh well, not like there was drugs in there anyway.

slowly, after bringing the rim of the glass to his lips, ian took a sip. his brows pinched together and he hummed, smacking his lips together as he swallowed; pulling the cup back from his mouth. “ it's... ”

“ it's what? ” mickey looked ready to slap ian for being so vague with his dramatic pause. “ fucking what? spit it the fuck out. ”

“ good, ” the ginger grinned, taking another drink. that left mickey to look at him bug-eyed — before his gaze was turned to you.

then the drink.

... and he was snatching the cup up, taking his own sip out of curiosity.

“ the hell? ” mickey mumbled into the surface of the liquid, causing bubbles to arise; his brows were knitted again. whipped cream was sticking to his upper lip, making both you and ian grin.

“ you like it? ” you question, eager to hear his answer. you could never know with mickey — he often had the same reaction with everything.

something negative? swearing. something positive? swearing. only difference was, is that he sometimes changed his tone.

but right now, he just sounded uncertain.

to you, at least. ian could decipher that mickey enjoyed it, because he was laughing quietly under his breath and smiling. “ oh, he likes it. he's just surprised ‘s all. ”

“ hell yeah I'm surprised! ” mickey announced rather aggressively, his eyebrows now risen. “ this shit tastes like queer rainbows and- and fucking fairy sprinkles! and I actually like it! the fuck is that about?! ”

you had to press your fist to your mouth to keep from laughing. “ I'm, uh- I'm glad you like it. ”

it wasn't long before mickey chugged his entire iced coffee down. he ended up slamming his glass onto the table —a whipped cream ring around his mouth and on his chin— with widened eyes, and pupils blown out with amazement. “ get me s’more of this shit. ”

“ yes sir- ”

“ don't call me sir, that shit turns me on. ”

“ ... yes, uh- yes sir. ”

“ ian, grab his ass. I'm done playin’ games. ”

[suzukiblu]

Tim?

Tim did not actually mean to kidnap an alternate reality's version of Kon.

In his defense, he'd had very limited time in that reality and everything in it had been going to shit and . . . well, everything in it had been going to shit.

Also, Lex Luthor had been a lot more heavily involved in that particular reality's Cadmus, and fuck it if Tim was ever going to leave any version of Kon with that bastard.

With any bastard who could ever look at Kon and call him "it".

"Ow," Tim grunts into the dirty pavement of what he hopes is his own Gotham as blood drips out of his mouth, and feels Kon's fingertips brush very, very tentatively against his back. He's a little too dizzy to lift his head, but he figures it doesn't matter. Like it's just . . . it's fine. They're not in Cadmus and Kon is safe and Tim is . . . conscious, at least, which means he can work with the situation.

Whatever the situation actually is, anyway.

Kon's hands flatten against his back, which is a very familiar tell, and Tim immediately feels the even more familiar embrace of TTK wrapping him up.

Less familiar is the impulse to find said embrace adorable, but in Tim's defense, this Kon is physiologically about ten years old and so far every single thing he's done has been either adorable or heartbreaking or some terrible combination of the two.

"Robin?" Kon asks anxiously. "You're okay, right?"

"M'okay," Tim mumbles blurrily, because it's more or less true. More blood drips out of his mouth and splatters on the pavement. "All okay. S'fine. You hurt?"

"No," Kon says, still sounding nervous. "Dunno where we are, though."

"Should be Gotham," Tim says, forcing himself to lift his head enough to check and nearly laughing as he recognizes their surroundings as the exact part of Crime Alley that he got interdimensionally yanked out of seventy-six hours ago. "Yeah. Gotham."

He pushes himself up enough to look over at Kon. Kon looks very small crouched down next to him with buzzed-down hair, barefoot in pristine white lab scrubs with a shiny metal cuff stamped with an identification number locked around his wrist. "13" features prominently on it.

Tim wants to melt it into slag.

"Is it your Gotham?" Kon asks.

"No clue, but I'm hoping," Tim says. He thinks about getting to his feet but he's pretty sure he'd throw up if he tried. Or fall over. Or both?

Probably both, at this point.

Oh well, he figures, and pushes himself up. He doesn't vomit, surprisingly, although he is very definitely sure that Kon's TTK is the only thing keeping him from falling over.

No reason to look that particular gift horse in the mouth, Tim decides.

"I need coffee," he says as he gives Kon's shoulder an appreciative pat, because the caffeine withdrawal is real. Also he needs medical attention, probably, but also-also he needs to come up with either a cover story for the ER or an explanation for Bruce and therefore caffeine can't hurt.

"Uh, okay," Kon says skeptically. "I don't think Starbucks or anything is gonna be open right now, though, it's pretty late."

"God, what did Cadmus teach you, kid," Tim says despairingly, making a face at the thought. "Starbucks is a punishment from God. We're going to the nearest twenty-four diner and I'm ordering roofing tar. And we're getting you a hot chocolate. Do you want a hot chocolate?"

". . . yeah," Kon says, biting his lip. "Um. I mean, I dunno if I'd like it, though."

"If you don't like it, we'll get you something else," Tim says. "But I haven't slept or eaten properly since I left my reality and I need coffee before it becomes a legitimate medical emergency."

"Shouldn't you get, like, real food, then?" Kon asks skeptically. "Not just coffee?"

"Coffee is food," Tim lies reflexively.

". . . I don't think it is," Kon says, squinting up at him suspiciously. "Are you taking advantage of me being too stupid to know if coffee's food or not?"

". . . we can get something to go," Tim says, wishing he'd blown up a bit more of Cadmus on his way out of that fucking cesspool of a reality. "You're not stupid. Luthor can choke on a fucking cactus for all the shit he kept saying to you."

"I mean, I didn't come out right," Kon says uncomfortably. "I'm not as smart as Dadd–as Lex is. Or as Superman was."

Tim pretends that Kon wasn't about to say "Daddy" for both their sakes. Just . . . yeah. At least for the moment, anyway.

Luthor was a lot more heavily involved in that Cadmus.

And horrifyingly.

Tim tries not to think about the way that Luthor had kept touching Kon. All the little too-deliberate points of contact he'd made time and again and too often.

Much too often.

Tim hadn't seen anyone else even so much as enter Kon's personal space the entire time he'd been in that godforsaken lab, and every single time that Luthor had made a gesture like he might touch him, Kon had tensed in something that couldn't decide between being fear or anticipation.

It'd made Tim want to burn the whole fucking lab and every single LexCorp-owned building he could find to the ground.

He'd settled for interdimensionally kidnapping Kon and destroying all of Cadmus's systems and DNA samples as thoroughly as possible. C-4 had been involved.

A lot of C-4 had been involved.

Possibly that had been a slight overreaction, but fuck if Tim cares. Just–Clark had still been dead, and Cassie hadn't had powers and Bart hadn't been in the time period and Tim himself hadn't even existed, for whatever reason, and apparently neither had Cissie or Greta or Anita or Slobo, and Bruce had already had his hands full with Damian and Dick had been off-planet and Jason had also still been dead and just–

Options had been limited, alright?

Options had been limited, and by that point Tim hadn't had time to go check and see what the Kents were up to or track down Lois Lane or Jimmy Olsen or even just tip off the Justice League or the Titans, because by that point he'd been in an examination room with a Lex Luthor who was stroking a frightened Kon's face with one hand while holding a syringe that was glowing kryptonite-green with the other and Tim had just . . . he'd just made some choices at that point, okay?

He'd made some very decisive choices.

And some very decisive commitments.

Or at least one very decisive commitment, anyway.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

i'm loving your posts about the Ghoul!

What are your thoughts about the first time with him? i think it totally makes sense that he is touch starved for the last 200 years.

Maybe the reader reassures him that she wants it, and he says for how long he was thinking about it 😆

Thank you so much for the ask, Anon! I actually have multiple pieces in the works depicting this, so I thought I'd do a little general headcanon overview in the meantime.

First Time Sex With The Ghoul

Despite his big, tough exterior, the poor man is so nervous (and also having a lot of feelings about being with someone for the first time since Barb), so you'll have to really be sensitive to that.

Definitely a long time coming. Even if you started propositioning the man the moment you met him, it would take a solid while of traveling with him before he would even begin to really consider any sort of physical affection between you two as an option. Between self consciousness at how long it's been since he was with anyone, body image issues, touch issues, and genuine disbelief that you'd actually want that with any ghoul, let alone him, he's gotta take a while to work up the guts, frankly.

Also takes quite a while because the mood is spoiled for him easily. I won't say that he's looking for reasons to not have sex (or to stop if you're doing things); moreso that the poor thing simply suffers from hypervigilance after not being able to be that vulnerable for so long. You're camping out within ten miles of a settlement and you wanna fool around? "We shouldn't. Could cause trouble if someone sees us." Slight noise somewhere off in the far distance? "I better go check and see what that was." You make a slightly strangled sound of pleasure? "Shit, am I hurtin' you? Maybe we should stop."

Once you finally work your way up to that point, don't expect to see much of his actual body. At most, he'll take off the hat and the duster. The very first time, I don't even see the gloves coming off, honestly, unless lightening has struck between you. I don't think he would want you to touch any more of his skin than necessary.

All that said, I think once you get him comfortable enough that you're getting naked, he'll be much more at ease. He feels both protected and aroused by being fully clothed while you're naked against him.

Spends a long time in the foreplay stage, mostly because he still remembers what feels good on that front and all your sounds and reactions make him feel confident. Lots of kissing; he adores how much you like to kiss him. He's not so sure he remembers all the steps of the main event, so making you cum on his fingers and tongue over and over again eases his nerves a bit, since he knows that even if he's terrible when the time comes, he at least showed you a decent time.

Speaking of which, as positive as I am that becoming a ghoul would give you pretty decent stamina (increased healing and "recovery" rate?), I am also positive that the second this poor touch-starved man is inside you, he's cumming. You both are sort of anticipating it, though, so no one panics. Give it a few and y'all can go again, trust me. He definitely feels embarrassed, but it'll help a lot if you don't make a big deal of it, reassure him how much you want him, how good he makes you feel. Resist the urge to use the "L" word; this whole situation is already so emotionally overwhelming for him that you're better off waiting.

Once that particular pitfall is navigated, though, his sexual confidence skyrockets. He's dipped his toes back in the pool and no one is dead or heartbroken, and it felt amazing, so have fun navigating 200 years of backed up sexual urges once that dam is broken!

[sergle]

(re: sssniperwolf and jacksfilms) It's laughable that she escalated it that hard. Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure stalking him like that is illegal and it's terrifying regardless, but Jack said in a stream (can't remember which one) that he wasn't about bringing up past controversies of hers or cancelling. And now she shows up outside his house (wtf!!!). Like he was willing to only call her out for stealing and freebooting but she's gone and stalked him and Jack doesn't seem like the type of guy to take that shit. Actual WTF moment from her part. wild

omg long post below bc apparently I have opinions: YES!! THAT'S WHAT'S SO INCREDIBLE ABOUT THIS... Jack has been genuinely diligent about keeping things on-topic in his streams, and hasn't brought up any of her other Stuff, or anything Personal. Despite the fact that she kickstarted the whole thing by making it INCREDIBLY personal and attacking his physical appearance... His goal has been to call out and bring attention to content theft, and he's stuck with it. Dude's also cared about this for years, and she's not the first content thief he's criticized. He just hates the way that freebooting has become so accepted-- to the point where youtube praised her for "coming up with such creative video ideas"? Hey! Ew! Dude wasn't trying to get her cancelled though, there was no smear campaign of her character. He's been rallying to get her to CREDIT the creators that she relies on for all of her content. It would set a precedent for all other "react" channels on the platform for one of the biggest channels on youtube to actually give credit where credit is due. Or, god forbid, get permission first? It's not hard. It's already done the job of making some other people who do "react content" self-analyze whether or not their content is transformative, and to maybe care about crediting the creators they rely on for their genre to work. There is a way to make this kind of video that isn't so slimy. And making fun of her lackluster-at-best reactions is so far from even being a big deal. Bc she literally does just sit there and say nothing. Plus, his goal has a clear End built into it: if she started shouting out the creators she takes content from, and put links directly to their pages in her video descriptions, the job would be done! That's what he's asking her to do. Real bare minimum stuff. It legit would have been easy to steer away from the content theft and to also talk about her history of lying to her audience! her ghosting a dying kid with cancer who was a big fan of hers! the fact that she's been arrested for armed robbery! her history of transphobia! He would also get more clicks that way, which is what she claims is his sole goal- to get more clicks. I'll bring it up though! She's been a terrible person the whole time, and has kept a steady course of manipulating her audience of young children and/or, let's be completely honest, simps- into thinking that she's a Wholesome creator. (And now, into thinking she's an innocent victim.) All of the actual effort put in by her has gone toward optics, not the content she puts out. A carefully constructed online persona, for one, but also literal appearances. Jack totally can't say this, bc she already went off the handle and said the only reason he doesn't like her is bc he Hates To See A Woman Be Successful. But I can! That was a cheap shot for her to use that argument when, for once, it's not applicable! Much the opposite, even! Dudes online wouldn't go to bat for her if she didn't look the way she does. And it weakens any case she'd have against him by making baseless claims like that. She banks hugely on being an attractive woman to get her clicks/following. A massive amount of effort is put into her appearance. The makeup, the lip fillers, putting her hair in little pigtails, the chokers and tube tops, the big non-prescription Nerd Glasses, the thumbnails where she has her mouth open in That Expression?

I don't even have to say anything. But making a weird facial expression and putting your hair in pigtails aren't moral failings. Showing up at someone's real life home (whose address you shouldn't even have access to), filming the front of their house at night, doxxing them to your audience of millions of people? Because you were mad at them online? That is fully scary! Yeah girl I'm pretty sure that Jack can press charges! There is absolutely no way to take the moral highground now that she's literally stalked him, and doxxed his home. She tried to goad him and Erin (Jack's wife) out of the house, also, which creeps me out even more-- because what was she planning to do? The fact that she's been arrested for violent crime before does pop into my mind! lmao! Jack was streaming a game at the time that she was outside his home, and these clips of him, his friends, and Erin reacting in real time to what is genuinely a scary situation have been taken down in case he needs to use them in legal action. Shit is legitimately serious!

[camels-pen]

post-timeskip Sanji is sent back in time to a point before Sabaody. I don't really have a whole thing for this, just Sanji having to restrain himself from yelling at his younger self to please, dear god, do NOT let Usopp get sent to Boin on his own.

He's also taking a lot of time to drag Usopp to the kitchen and give him lessons on proper nutrition and cooking. Usopp- as with everyone else- is very confused. Sanji's the cook, isn't he? That's his job, not Usopp's.

Sanji has to make up some excuse about being sick once and Usopp planning and cooking meals so badly that it has haunted him for years. Man, having a chronic liar and storyteller for a boyfriend is really rubbing off on him. Not that he's complaining at the moment.

Despite his confusion, Usopp genuinely has a good time with Sanji. Especially since he's not really cooking, more just writing stuff down in a notebook while Sanji lists off different recipes and why they're good to know off the top of his head. He doesn't understand why every recipe seems like they'd be best suited for camping out in a large, killer bug and plant-infested forest- specific, yes, but also Sanji keeps making a note about that after he lists off each recipe. Usopp is going to avoid thinking about it too deeply.

Younger Sanji, meanwhile, is pouting and denying it to anyone who points it out. His kitchen gets commandeered and it feels like his older self is mocking him. Like every time he pulls Usopp to the galley, he's saying, "Look how easily I can touch him, compliment him, make him laugh. Look how weak and cowardly you are." and younger Sanji can't stand it.

He'd grown a bit distant from Usopp since realizing his romantic feelings for him back in Water 7- and isn't that fucked up? it was only after they were in a hotel for the night, Usopp well and truly not a part of the crew anymore, that Sanji had felt an aching in his heart. The same ache that followed him now, though it's far more pleasant than it had been in that hotel.

Eventually, there's some kind of portal that appears high above Sunny and very distant high pitched screaming. Familiar high pitched screaming.

"SANJI!"

Sanji gets a big grin on his face and without thinking he uses Sky Walk to meet the quickly growing speck in the shape of a person. He holds out his arms and catches a flailing post-TS Usopp in his arms.

"Oh thank god," he said, quickly wrapping his arms around Sanji's neck. Sanji lowered them down to the deck and they were immediately surrounded.

"Holy shit, I'm buff!" younger Usopp said.

"Did Sanji-san just jump into the sky?!" Brook exclaimed, with similar sentiments echoed by Luffy and Chopper, sparkles in their eyes. "How- what- how?"

"Older Usopp's outfit is looking pretty super too!"

"You're only saying that because I'm half-naked Franky," Usopp said, unimpressed. "Don't put me on the same level as you, weirdo."

"Haha, sure thing, no need for flattery."

"It wasn't."

"Not that I'm not enjoying all this- and loving that you're here, mon cher," -younger Sanji's eye twitched- "but you have a surefire route back, right?"

"Of course!" He pointed up at the still open portal above Sunny. "Zoro's threatening the devil fruit user to keep that open until we come back. He was actually the one to find the guy in the first place."

Sanji groaned. "Mossball's never gonna let me forget it."

"It's nice that some things stay the same." younger Zoro said, smug. "I still have to bail your ass out all the time."

"Shut the fuck up!" both Sanji's yelled simultaneously.

Usopp laughed. "He gets into his share of trouble, but Zoro, you really shouldn't say anything. I mean, just wait until you lose your-"

Sanji slapped a hand over Usopp's mouth. "They're not there yet, darling."

Younger Sanji and younger Usopp's faces darkened.

Sanji could feel Usopp pout under his hand. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

Sanji rolled his eye. "I can guess."

"I could've meant his favourite haramaki. Or one of his swords. Or-"

"Dear, there's only one thing you constantly bring up that mosshead lost. I get that he's never told anyone how it happened, but you really need to let it go."

"How can a storyteller let go of a mystery like that?? You might as well ask me to cut off my tongue right now."

"Ah, but then how would you taste all the snacks I make for you?"

"You know, I survived for two years on a deadly, man eating island with nothing but-"

Younger Usopp loudly cleared his throat. Sanji and Usopp turned to him. With his flush still very visible, he said, "You can get down now."

"Aww, but Sanji's arms are comfy," Usopp whined, nuzzling Sanji's neck.

Younger Sanji stomped towards them. "Either older me lets you down, or I-"

Sanji raised a brow. "You what? You're just an arrogant brat sailing through Paradise. No matter what you do, you can't force me- either of us, to do anything."

Younger Sanji bristled and Sanji was starting to feel like taking him down another peg, make him know his own faults before they're cruelly laid out in front of him, one crewmate disappearing after another. Usopp tugged on his collar, stopping him.

"We talked about this," Usopp said.

Sanji took a deep breath. "Yeah." He turned to his younger self. "Sorry, it's- I'm angry at myself. Not you."

"But aren't we-?"

Sanji shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

And with a few more accidental slip ups and very obvious flirting, Sanji and Usopp bid their pre-timeskip crew adieu and Sanji flies them up to the portal. Usopp definitely says something along the lines of "I'm so glad you're okay, I was really worried and I don't know what I'd do without you." and then he and Sanji share a kiss mid-air before finally going through the portal.

The portal snaps shut and most of the crew ends up hanging out and talking about what the heck just happened in a "oh huh, what an interesting event" type of way. Meanwhile, younger Sanji and Usopp are staring, mouths agape and incredibly flustered, at the spot where their older selves made out with each other.

[science-lings]

Being annoying about each option under the cut

1- Ryunosuke has no other pictures of his bestie's face except for the one of his 'corpse' and that is Fucked Up, which is why I love it. this hc is based on the fact that during my playthrough I looked at the picture so many times bc I missed him immediately. Anyway 1-2 was the worst day of his life and the moment where he was given the photo for the first time really stuck with me.

2- They get to switch off being each other's judicial assistants and they both get to be different flavors of transmasc, I think it would be fun for them. Would they have to attend classes at Yumei to even be considered lawyers? who knows the point is they do it together and are like those cats that bond together and get sad when they get separated.

3- If they are in the same room together that sword is being switched back and forth several times, 'I think it matches your outfit today' or 'I'm on my period I shouldn't be in possession of a deadly weapon' or 'you said in the custody agreement that I get it on weekends' etc etc etc... Though it tends to go with Ryunosuke when they are separated for long periods of time. That sword is symbolic of so much gay shit in these games what's a little more.

4- my guy talks about 'the look' in Ryunosukes eyes so much during the last case, what are you looking into his eyes for? Heterosexual reasons? sure... (also 'fancy meeting you here' that is a pick-up line, you're in a prison, not a bar) Anyway his feelings towards Ryunosuke are complicated and he's so mad that at least one of the feelings in the emotional cocktail is something like attraction)

5- There's that disaster lesbian thing going on but also the situation was pretty stressful but one day she will wake up and it will hit her that her friend was still very interested in her even after she knew it was her in the disguise.

6- Sholmes keeps trying to refer to himself as 'the root of all evil' and how he's 'drawn to the darkness', he's trying so hard to be edgy but he's a six-foot-tall lanky blond man who is dramatic in the silly way and drapes himself over Ryunosuke at every opportunity. Either he's trying to build some kind of reputation or he wants to appeal to the local goth milf populace (Sithe and Tusspells) or even the reaper himself (there's some messy ex energy going on over there...)

7- I need Phoenix to inherit Karuma, he knows a bit about it but he doesn't make a big deal about it. He does have a few prosecutor friends who know the blade and are so annoyed that he's not super proud to own it. Also it's funny to me if the only family that Phoenix knows are a couple of victorian lawyers that haunt him. I think they should watch over him and be a little horrified. Ryunosuke was excited when he was intending to be a performing arts student as a fellow drama kid but it doesn't surprise him that he chose to become a lawyer. It's in his blood.

8- You cannot tell me Ryunosuke didn't want to fling himself off of that boat every night he was stuck in the room he thought Kazuma was killed in. He just didn't want to ruin Susatos trip to England by leaving her alone and he goes into a depression when she leaves for Japan, going so far as to avoid looking at the photo the 221b fam took before she left because it made him sad, which gets put up every time by Sholmes who Gets It. Meaning that he went up to the Naruhodo consulting agency regularly to check up on him. I like to think Sholmes was genuinely worried during the months he spent banned from the courtroom and without his weirdgirl who he bonded with through his best friends 'death'.

9- Wagahai is a good kitty, she can tell who the most depressed person in the building is and follows them around, sometimes Ryunosuke has a nightmare and wakes up with a cat right up by his face.

10- Ryunosuke starts the Naruhodo family tradition of not talking about their personal lives to people they care about and making their own little patchwork family for themselves. Practically all we know about his past is that he's afraid of doctors and studied English from a young age. And then like three months after going to a new country and meeting new people he's just like 'neat this is my family now :)' there is something going on there I swear. I have many conflicting ideas about what it could be specifically though.

[hollowtones]

ayy monhun fan! what are you thinkin of what we've seen of wilds so far?

The initial trailer they dropped months ago was pretty cool. "World" is my least favourite game that I've played (even thought I liked it a lot!!), and 90% of why I felt that way was "this is the first time they're making a game of this scale / scope / direction", so it's exciting to see them make a successor to it now that they're not also learning how to make a game like it from the bottom-up & not also building the tech side of it from scratch.

Big desert environments have me excited!!!! I love the way these games do deserts. I'm always dreaming of Val Habar. I love the colour palette they're using for this area. Big fan of Yoshi being a new mechanic. In general I'm noticing a lot of things in "Wilds" that feel like a really cool mix of ideas from "World" and "Rise" in a way that feels a little more grounded. It's cool that they're bringing back a buddy you can ride around on & control. I wonder if they'll let Yoshi fight with you. I don't remember if they showed that off already. Getting to hotswap between 2 weapons without having to run back to base camp feels like a big deal that I haven't really wrapped my head around yet.

The focus mode thing seems fine. More granular control over aiming sometimes seems neat, & the footage we've seen makes it feel like positioning & animation commitment are still a part of it, which I like. Expanding part-breaking into "opening wounds that take more damage & enable special attacks" seems cool! (There was a similar-ish tenderizing mechanic with the Clutch Claw in "Iceborne", and I fuckin hated using it. Loved the idea of it at first. Having to do this whole separate action that interrupted the flow of the fight in a weird way to enable more damage felt awful after a while!! And they designed all the fights around the fact that you have it & use it! So I'm glad they're seemingly taking what I liked about it & chucking out the rest, haha.) I remember there was some hubbub about focus existing at all when news was first dropping. Some people were mad about it? I feel like this happens every time they announce a new Monster Hunter. They reveal a new feature, and a couple guys crawl out of the woodwork to go "THEY HAVE MADE THE VIDEO GAME PITIFUL AND EASIER - THIS IS THE DEATH OF THE FRANCHISE!" The franchise has died every game since the first one, by my count. (They end up buying the game anyway, of course.) I hope they put out a demo soon, though. I wanna get my hands on it & see how it works in the middle of a fight to see how I actually feel about it.

Weapon & armour design so far has been great. Happy about that. The bits of NPC designs we've seen have been cool. I don't really like the smith's look very much. Which makes me sad because I'm pretty sure she's supposed to be Little Miss Forge. LOL

When they first showed the game off I remember thinking "yeah, that's cool, I'm looking forward to this, but it's coming out Next Year & we're not even halfway done with 2024." Well now we're almost two thirds of the way through the year. And they keep dropping gameplay trailers. And they look hype as fuck!! And now I'm feeling more impatient!!! I wanna try this shit out soon!!! I wonder if they'll drop a public demo after Gamescom or something. I wonder if my computer could even run it...

I liked the way Hunting Horn played in "Rise" but it's cool to see the more traditional recitals back. (But faster!! And with new combo paths!!) I think I've spent a cumulative hour or two watching that horn trailer over and over again for little details. The funny bubble reminds me of bead of resonance but it seems like it might also be some kind of AoE team buff? It could also just be extra damage like bead was. But I loved bead. So I'll take it. Being a Hunting Horn fan is accepting that you'll be playing an entirely different weapon in every subsequent game, so I suppose I fuss less about whether or not it plays like any one specific game. But mannnnnn it looks cool as hell this time around.

[justatalkingface]

New leaks are out

Izuku loses One for All. The one thing he wanted in life was to be a hero, and we all know Horikoshi wouldn’t let him be one without a Quirk. He got One for All for a year and change and then it just gets taken away from him.

It’s so mean-spirited

*siiiiigh*

This shit. This shit is why I'm reluctant to catch up.

Worst thing is, this has been broadcasted as coming for awhile, because that MHA movie? Hero Rising, or whatever, the one where Izuku hands over OFA? If you believe (random shit I found on the internet) (which... admittedly, seems sus, I'm not sure of the validity) that was apparenlty supposed to be the original ending.

(Never mind that Bakugou only came into prominence after MHA got rolling, so unless he was forking it over to... I don't know, Shigaraki, or Uraraka, or Shoto (... my god, imagine the look on Endeavor's face if his anti-All Might child gained All Might's power and became his defacto heir, that'd be amazing) or something, that's already a different ending than the 'original' ending.)

That said, that rumor seems pretty damn validated now, doesn't it? I really don't get why Hori seems to hate his own character so damn much, because the first couple of chapters he seemed to like him well enough; the narrative respected him, he made sense, there was a steady build up of confidence and ability... and then he just... lost all interest, and just seemed to include him more and more grudgingly every time he showed up.

Considering how often the main character had to show up, it really feels like Hori built quite a grudge over the years. And between how damn hard Izuku has been side lined in every possible way, and how much Bakugou is being thrown into the spotlight, this really isn't surprising, all things considered.

A good deal of manga like to end with 'main character is brought down to normal', and honestly I've never liked it; I can only think of one where it was really done well, where I liked the ending (the main character never wanted it in the first place, he always wanted to be normal), and even in setting it only works because shonen manga in general love the 'secret world hidden from the rest of society' bit, so they can 'retire' gracefully to being a normal person without any issues (beyond probable PTSD), but in MHA they can't even do that, because there isn't a hidden world; Izuku is world famous, and without powers I'd honestly expect some random psycho to revenge kill him to get some fame, like that Ending guy.

(...I hate that that doesn't seem impossible still?)

Moreover, big part of that kind of build up is that the character has grown up, and doesn't need the super powers any more, to save the world from the world ending threat, to live the chunnibyo dream of being special instead of being part of society, but being a hero is a job, a career he can do for most of his life and make money in. The super police are still needed, because as far as I can tell, the overarching problems haven't been resolved at all. Just like how Naruto ended up, status quo is god, and the normal that was once terrible and to be fought against is good and just.

And, of course, he's just going to be happy about it, too, I know he is. That's how this kind of thing goes. He's going to be happy about losing everything he's always wanted, even though his friends (which he only got from being heroes) are still going to be heroes, even though Bakugou is almost certainly going to be number one at this point (speaking of which; whatever happened to the 'this is how I became the greatest hero' bit? Let me guess, he'll be referred to that somewhere, and that'll be it.)

He's going to be happy and content with what he was allowed to have (and even though he'll never be able to truly realize it, it is allowed, it's that Hori will allow him this much), and will never dream of wanting anything more. Just like an abused spouse in a truly fucked up marriage that has accepted that this is the 'best' they're going to ever get.

[ponett]

wait, you could have gotten a follow up with Ken himself? did that go very far or were you not interested? i getta imagine even if you dont like his work, asking the man himself about his days on the comic would be illuminating.

I could have. Part of me was definitely curious, since there's so much we don't know about what was going on behind the scenes at Archie and Ken's one of the few people still interested in talking about it. But it's also like... I dunno, I just like to keep some distance between me as a critic and him as a creator. I can talk about his work, I can talk about things he's said publicly about his work, but I don't need to drag him directly into it. It's the same reason why I've never interacted with him directly on Twitter, even though people loooooooove to get into arguments with him about Sonic shit. As critical as I've been of both him and his work, I have zero desire to grill him in person.

Were I to interview him, there are basically two paths I see here:

Option A: I do a totally cordial softball interview, magically putting aside my well-established opinions on the guy from my decade spent running TKP, and use it as an opportunity to get some more insight into the creation of the comics from him. And then what? I go right back to poking fun at him on my Tumblr blog that has his name in the URL? I'm pretty soft on the guy these days compared to all the Sonic fans out there who think he's The Literal Devil, but still, there's no way for this to not feel like entrapment to me. Like I'm just playing nice so he can give me ammo for when I turn around and continue poking fun at his work and his occasional legal threat. And even if I never use anything he says in that interview against him, since I finished covering his Archie Sonic run for the blog years ago rarely have any reason to even bring him up, my audience will sure as hell comb through every word he says to find more coal for the hate train.

Option B: I'm more critical of him to his face, in which case I'm basically just bullying a kinda pathetic old man, who's already alienated most of his peers and committed career suicide, for writing some children's comics I didn't like 20-30 years ago. There is not a single iota of me that wants to turn into Ken's equivalent of that asshole who paid to be a guest on the BumbleKast just to ask Ian Flynn a bunch of questions that boiled down to "hey so this story you wrote sucked, why'd you write it that way?"

It just doesn't feel right to me no matter how you slice it. Ken's not some monstrous public figure who needs to get held accountable for his actions in an interview or something. At the end of the day, it's just comics. It's not that serious. He can continue making his weird little Lara-Su Chronicles comics and putting his foot in his mouth of his own accord, and I can continue being like "lol remember when Knuckles got called a 'proud man-child' at his own funeral" as a side thing to my own creative career, and never the twain shall meet

[keeshya6]

Worth the Effort

Joel Miller x F!Reader Insert

4.8k words

(18+ only. MDNI. To continue, please click "Read More" below.)

This fic is strongly inspired by the Raider Joel series by @toxicanonymity. My own take on him, of course, but Toxic's version of Joel definitely got the idea bouncing around in my head! Love your Raider Joel, Toxic!

If you aren't familiar with the series, you can find it here: Raider Joel.

This fic takes place a few years after the Cordyceps infection outbreak. I'm not entirely sure of the canon timelines for this time period, but this is canon divergent anyway. In my head it's before Joel gets to the Boston QZ, and Joel hasn't met Tess yet.

There is an element of dubcon to this, due to some glaring imbalances in the power dynamic. However, ultimately, Reader is a willing participant. So it's dubcon-ish.

This is meant as a stand-alone one-shot. However, depending on how ya'll like it, I could see turning it into a series of one-shots.

Please let me know you're thoughts! I hope you enjoy!

CW: Plot-what-plot?, plot-maybe-if-you-squint, dubcon-ish, power imbalance, gruff Joel, blow job, rough blow job, oral sex (male receiving), deepthroating, cum eating, breathplay, hair pulling, manhandling, D/s tones, dirty talk, tears, saliva, size kink, sexual acts outdoors. Please let me know if I missed any.

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The snap of a twig is like ice water thrown over you. It makes your blood run cold with fear and your eyes widen as you straighten up from adding another log to the fire. You turn towards the sound, unsure of exactly where it came from, your breath caught in your throat, eyes searching the surrounding trees.

Other than the occasional sounds of a bird or small critter, it’s been quiet since early morning. So much longer than normal. You wouldn’t usually have started a fire before the rest of your group got back to camp, but it’s going to be dusk soon and the autumn chill will settle in. You figured it would be nice for them to have a warm fire to return to. Maybe some of the ones that don’t really like you would even appreciate it.

Not that you’re exactly looking forward to when they return. The leader, Phillip, always likes to ‘celebrate’ a successful run by leading you off to his tent. You play along, make him feel wanted, even if he’s about the furthest from your type as you could possibly imagine. Still, you’re not much good with a gun, so you’re no use out on their raids. You figured out a few years ago that you had to have something to offer in exchange for protection. You’ve gotten pretty good at stitching up gashes and cooking over a fire, but getting ‘friendly’ with the leader of a group like this one has been your best bet, and it's worked out alright so far.

Sure, definitely not the life you imaged for yourself but then again no one ever expected the world to end.

So yeah, you don’t look forward to them coming back to camp, but you also know you’re safest when they are in camp.

But if they were the ones approaching, you know they would be making more noise than whoever… or whatever… is out there right now.

Your eyes dart around the trees and you carefully back away from the fire towards the opposite tree line of the small campsite. Meanwhile you pull a small revolver from the pocket of your jacket, hands trembling and eyes wide.

The soft crunch of fallen leaves to the left has your focus snapping that direction, shakily raising the pistol. There’s an inhuman groan from beyond the brush and a terrified sob lodges in your throat.

Shit. Where the hell did an infected come from? This area has been clear for weeks!

A startled cry nearly tears out of you, though it’s cut off by the hand suddenly clamped over your mouth from behind, as you’re pulled roughly back into something firm.

“Don’t move or make a fucking sound,” an unfamiliar voice growls softly into your ear as the stranger’s other hand snaps out to snatch the pistol from your hands. He holds the gun out in front of you, his hand much steadier than yours ever would have been, as you freeze against him, mind whirling and eyes wide above the hand over your mouth.

When an infected stumbles into view beyond a large group of bushes you bite back another terrified sob. The unfamiliar hand stretched out before you doesn’t hesitate though, squeezing the revolver’s trigger.

You wince as the gun fires, and the infected turns towards you, only for the bullet to lurch its head around before it unceremoniously drops to the leaf strewn ground with a thump.

You, and the stranger you’re still pressed against, remain frozen for what feels like forever, listening and watching the trees.

“Looks like it was alone,” he says lowly, finally unwrapping his hand from across your mouth and stepping back from you, taking your pistol with him.

Trembling, you spin to face him, eyes widening again as you come face to barrel with your own pistol. Your hands lift into the air and you tear your eyes away from the gun and to the brown eyes of the man holding it.

“Please…don’t…”

Those dark eyes glance over you, hard and cold. “If you’ve got any other weapons on you, I strongly suggest you let me know and drop them right now.”

You give a quick, negative shake of your head. “I-I don’t. The pistol is all I had.”

His eyes leave you for a moment, darting around the camp before leveling on your face again. “Where is everyone else?”

“I…I don’t know,” you admit, daring to barely shrug. “They left early, to go find supplies. Left me to watch the camp. They…they’d usually b-be back by now.”

A relieved sigh escapes you as he barely lowers the pistol. At least you don’t have to look down the barrel any more.

His head cocks to one side slightly. “What’s this group look like?” he demands.

“Um…” you hesitate, biting your lip. Giving information to a complete stranger seems like a bad idea. You know Phillip will be pissed off if he finds out.

The stranger gives a faint snarl and lifts the gun again, making you anxiously pat the empty air between you.

“Okay… okay. There’s seven of them. Five men. Two women. The l-leader is kind of tall, bald, and lanky… like, like a skinny biker guy…”

He pauses and then nods, lowering the gun between you and straightening up to his full height as he looks around the camp again. “Well, they ain’t comin’ back. Took them out a few hours ago when they tried to jump my group. Sorry, Darlin’.”

That might be the coldest and most insincere “Sorry” you’ve ever heard in your life.

It takes a few moments for your thoughts to catch up with the news as your heart hammers and your eyes widen, darting around frantically. “Oh fuck…” you barely whisper.

The stranger studies you as dread settles over you and then, apparently deciding you aren’t a threat, he tucks your gun into the back of his pants and steps off to the side to kick at a couple of the sleeping bags laid out around the fire.

You don’t notice at first, your mind running rampant with the implications of Phillip’s death, but when you do notice you turn towards him with some measure of indignation. “Hey! You can’t just-”

The words lodge in your throat as he spins on you again in the middle of rummaging for supplies, the pistol materializing back into his hand, though he doesn’t bother to raise it. You also can’t help noticing that he has a rifle slung over his shoulder, so obviously he didn’t need your gun.

“I ‘can’t’ what?” he snaps back at you.

Eyes wide, you stare at him for several moments before speaking again, keeping your voice as calm as you can. “Please. This is all I have now…”

He huffs at you and looks down to kick at another sleeping bag. “Tough luck, darlin’.” His dark eyes lift to you again, brows drawn together in obvious confusion. “How did you even end up left here? Don’t seem much use to watch camp, if you can’t hold a gun without shaking…or much use at all, for that matter.”

You bristle a little at that, but then sigh. He’s not exactly wrong.

“I…do other things. Cook, first aid, wash clothes…other things…” Your voice trails off.

His head cants at you again and, for the first time, he seems to really look at you. Study you. In fact, his eyes drag over you and then he arches a brow, obviously guessing at what you’d left out.

“Oh really? ‘Other things’?”

Your cheeks flush with warmth, but you tick your chin upward slightly, holding your head high and narrowing your eyes at him. “Fuck you and your judgement.”

The first hint you’ve seen of any emotion crosses his face. Amusement. He smirks.

“Oh, I ain’t judgin’ you, Darlin’,” he says, crouching down to scoop up a can of baked beans that had been under a sleeping bag. His eyes quickly return to you as he straightens up again, stepping over to a backpack you hadn’t noticed before to tuck the can into a side pocket. “Difficult times and all that. Just got me wonderin’ if those ‘other things’ are worth the effort of takin’ you back to my camp with me… or if I ought to just leave you out here on your own.”

That sets your mind to reeling again and your haughty expression disappears as your brows pull together with concern.

What are you going to do now?

It’s your turn then, to really look at him for the first time. To study him.

Tall and broad. About forty, you would guess, with dark curly hair and a patchy beard, both just starting to sport a bit of gray. Plush lips. A strong, curved nose. You’re guessing the tan is natural, though you can’t see much of it given that he’s wearing a long sleeved, buttoned up flannel shirt and jeans with boots and a jacket. And then there’s those dark eyes that seem to pierce through you.

He’s handsome. You can’t deny that.

Then again. Does that matter, given your predicament? It’s just a bonus, really. At least, unlike Phillip, this guy is actually your type.

Biting your lip, you take a deep breath and let your eyes meet his once more. Your head slants and you let the faintest of smiles touch the corners of your mouth.

“I am good at the ‘other things’,” you admit.

That makes him laugh and you’re surprised to see a dimple crease his cheek. It’s not a mirthful sound though. If anything, it’s condescending.

“Oh, Darlin’. You’d have to claim that, wouldn’t you? To save your own skin?”

Biting back a retort, you manage to keep the pleasant smile on your face even as your thoughts jump through a few hoops to consider options.

Turning more fully towards him, you realize your hands are still held up and you slowly lower them to clasp behind you, consciously giving a slight arch to your back to accent the curves of your chest through your own jacket as you look up at him.

“Well, yes,” you admit, “but I could also… show you.”

He gives another chuckle, letting his gaze drop to your torso for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “No lingerin’ loyalty there, hm?”

Your shoulders lift in a slight shrug. “We weren’t exactly close. Plus, if they’re dead, what’s loyalty going to get me? Other than dead, too?”

He studies you again for a few moments, a smirk still touching his lips, before he nods in agreement. “True. So…” He pauses, his tongue tracing his teeth behind his lips. “...what are you offering?”

“Pretty much anything you want,” you say, keeping your tone as steady as possible despite your nervousness, “but only for you, as long as you can keep me safe.”

There’s another pause and then he chuckles darkly. “Oh, that’s a wide net, Darlin’,” he says, his voice taking on a rumbling note. “But I meant right now, to prove you’re worth the effort.”

You blink a few times, biting your lip and letting your eyes dance down his tall frame again. At noting the slight bulge at the front of his jeans that wasn’t there a moment ago, you barely manage to keep from smirking. You obviously have his attention, but his agreement isn’t close to secure yet. No need to get too confident.

Returning your eyes to his, you do let a coy smile tug at your mouth as you dare to slowly take a step closer to him, glad to see he doesn’t tense or lift the revolver again.

“Well… the offer is the same. ‘Pretty much anything you want’.”

It feels like it takes forever for him to respond, and he does by tucking the pistol into the back of his jeans again and stepping closer to you, closing the distance so you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. His hand lifts to adjust the strap of the rifle on his shoulder and you notice he’s wearing a broken wrist watch. Before you can even think to comment though, he reaches out to catch your chin in that hand, and he turns your head side to side, taking in the details of your face.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs start to burn and you slowly force yourself to inhale, all the while keeping your eyes on his.

“What’s your name?” he demands lowly.

You tell him, and then barely arch a brow at him to silently ask the same.

He hesitates while his eyes linger on your lips. “Joel.”

“Joel…” you repeat his name softly, after swiping your tongue out across your lips to wet them, forming the word like it’s something decadent.

His eyes darken and a faint smirk appears again after a few heartbeats pass.

“Oh… you do know what you’re doing.”

You can’t help returning his smirk and giving a faint shrug. No point in denying it.

Joel’s thumb brushes over your lower lip then, stopping in the center of it and barely pressing down, watching the tender flesh pillow to either side. Then those dark eyes lift to look around before coming back to yours and his voice takes on a slightly deeper tone from in his chest.

“How about you show me what this pretty mouth can do, Darlin’? We’ve got maybe half an hour before it gets dark. So you’ve got that long, before I head back to my camp…with or without you.”

You study his face as you consider, briefly.

There was a time when you would have been appalled at the thought of going down on a complete stranger, but like he said, ‘difficult times’. Besides, now that you’re close to him you can see that he at least tries to keep clean and doesn’t even smell badly. You could never claim the same of your now, apparently, deceased protector.

Maybe Joel is an upgrade?

That faintly optimistic thought lingers and you give a little nod of your head with another coy smile, letting your tongue trace over your lips once more. “Okay…”

With a smirk, Joel’s fingers give a firm squeeze to your chin before releasing it, and then he holds his hands out and down at his sides, his head tilting to the side.

An invitation to proceed.

Swallowing thickly, you take a deep breath and nod, hesitantly reaching out to him. When he doesn’t move to stop you, your hands slip under the edges of his jacket to touch his chest and then trace your fingertips downward. You can’t help noticing the muscles beneath the fabric, even where there’s a little softness at his stomach. It reminds you of working men you used to know, before the world ended, and briefly has you wondering what he was before that fateful day.

Pushing those distracting thoughts aside, you focus on the task at hand, your fingers deftly working open the belt looped into his jeans while you shift your weight and sink down to your knees, your eyes lingering on his face as you do.

The smirk on his lips lifts a bit, his tongue darting out over them as his hand cups under your chin again briefly. “Hmmm… lookin’ awful pretty down there, Sweetheart.”

You snort a faint laugh at him, which has him giving you a shameless grin that shows off that dimple again. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but at least he isn’t completely without humor.

When he releases your chin again you finally let your eyes drag down his torso to where your hands work open the front of his jeans. You find boxers underneath them and tug the jeans down just enough so you can reach your hand into the flap of the boxers and wrap your fingers around his hidden cock. Your eyes widen a little again as you carefully pull him free, a hiss escaping above you.

He’s only semi-hard but already impressive. Long and thick with a slight curve. Once he’s fully hard (and he’s hardening more just with your hand wrapped around his base) you have little doubt he’ll be larger than any you’ve taken before.

Well, shit, what have you gotten yourself into?

There’s a dark chuckle above you and you glance up at his face, finding his head canted to the side again.

“Think you can handle it, Darlin’?” he teases.

You blink up at him a few times and then smirk.

You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.

So, in answer, you lean forward and nuzzle your mouth and nose against the underside of his length, eliciting a faint moan. You toss him a smile and he just quirks an eyebrow at you in return. Tilting your head, you mouth at him softly, starting just below his glans and moving downward, all without breaking eye contact.

You can't help noting that your earlier guess had been correct: he at least tries to keep relatively clean. His scent, while decidedly masculine -musky and earthy-, isn’t overpowering or dirty.

A definite upgrade.

Darting out your tongue past where he disappears back into his boxers, you lick at the tender skin where his shaft meets his sac. Watching his face as you do, you’re gratified by the way his teeth clench and a low growl escapes him.

With another coy smile, you let your eyes lower to focus your attention on his dick then, giving him a firm stroke with your hand before flattening your tongue and leaning back in to slowly lick a thick line from base to head, tracing a prominent vein along the underside of his length. The end of your tongue teases the ridge of his glans, before you continue to lick up and over the smooth, blunt tip. You flick your tongue through his slit, getting a taste of tangy, salty precum, and drawing out a rumbling hum from Joel as his cock twitches in your hand.

Glancing up once more, your breath hitches in your chest at the way Joel's eyes have darkened even more and you give a little start at feeling his fingers slip into your hair, his big hand cradling the back of your head. He urges you closer again.

“Come on, Darlin’,” he growls, “time's a-wastin’.”

You hesitate only a moment, finding yourself a bit enthralled by that look in his eyes. But the pressure of his hand increases and you gasp in a breath, snapping out of your stupor and nodding quickly, focusing once more with your heart hammering in your chest.

Wetting your lips with a sweep of your tongue, you part them to feed his cock into your mouth with one hand wrapped around his base. You have to open wide to accept his girth and your brows arch in surprise as you realize he's still growing harder in your hand and on your tongue, for the first few moments he’s inside your mouth.

Fuuuuck… He’s big.

You're grateful when he seems to finally come to full erection a few breaths later, feeling like steel wrapped in velvet. Much more and you might have had to spontaneously learn to unhinge your jaw.

Massaging the underside of him with your tongue, you draw his turgid length further in and hollow your cheeks around him. You give as much suction as you can as you take more of him, breathing through your nose shallowly.

The deep groan he gives is encouraging, as is the increasing pressure of his hand on the back of your head, pushing you further down on him. When his cockhead bumps the back of your mouth, making your gag reflex kick in and your body jolt, his voice is an unsympathetic snarl above you, between breaths that are getting more jagged.

“Better relax and take it, Sweetheart. You got…one shot at this…and tossin’ your dinner on me will be a…sure way of gettin’ left behind…”

You give a muffled mewl around the hard flesh in your mouth, earning you another dark chuckle. He doesn’t relent though.

Gulping in a bit of air at the last moment, you will your jaw and the muscles in your neck to relax, as he pushes past the constriction and into your throat. You can feel the tender skin stretch around his intrusion and tears prick at your eyes. Soon the rest of your body tenses, urging you to struggle, to fight for air. Your eyes flutter as you resist that urge, forcing your throat to accept more as he pulls you in, until your nose is nestled into the cotton of his boxers and pressed against the coarse hair underneath it.

He holds you there.

Every muscle begins to tremble as you fight against that instinctual imperative to lash out until your lungs taste sweet oxygen again. You look up at him, his towering form obscured as more tears fill your eyes, a few escaping to cascade downward.

And yet, with every ounce of control you possess, you hold still and accept.

A pleased growl passes Joel’s lips as he finally relents and lets you back off, coughing and gasping in air.

“Atta girl…” he rumbles.

Your chest heaves and more tears trail down your cheeks. Your blurred eyes lift back up to his face and, despite it all, you’re surprised by the thrill that darts through you at that tiny bit of praise.

But then his fingers are fisting into your hair again and he’s pushing your mouth back onto his cock.

“One more time, Darlin’,” he husks, “and then you gotta get me off.”

You whimper and frantically inhale again through your nose as he fills your mouth once more, your hands lifting to splay on his thighs. It takes conscious effort to just rest them there without pushing back.

He’s not nearly as patient this time, not only pulling your face down around his length but also flexing his hips to push into your throat faster. You gag again but somehow manage to get it under quick control as his cockhead invades your throat once more, cutting off an involuntary whimper. As he holds you in place this time, your head swims and your lungs burn, your fingers curl into fists against his legs, though you still don't push.

Instinct has you trying to swallow around him and he gives a loud groan.

“Fuuuck, Sweetheart…if your pussy is as wet and tight as your throat…you might be worth the trouble after all,” he grinds out.

You blink rapidly against the tears streaming from your eyes, startled by the heat that spears through your body at his vulgar words, despite the oxygen-deprived haze filling your head.

The next thing you know, you're coughing again, pulled off of his dick, desperately drawing in air. His fingers still hold cruelly tight to your hair as you try to catch your breath, though you’re somewhat glad for it, otherwise you might just collapse.

Joel leans down, his stiff cock bobbing heavily between his strong thighs, and reaches with his free hand to cup under your chin, saliva mixed with his precum dripping down it. He guilds your chin up to tilt your tear stained face his way, your lips parted as you pant for air.

“Hmmm…gotta admit, Darlin’, you look awful pretty…with those lips wrapped around my cock,” he softly growls between shallow breaths of his own, a smirk on his lips and a thumb roughly rubbing across your lower lip. “Sun’s almost down though…think you got it in you to make me cum?” he asks with a quirked brow.

You take a few more heaving breaths and then lick your lips, swallowing thickly with a slight wince. Despite the raw ache in your throat, you give him a coy smile and a nod. “Yes…” you rasp.

A cold grin crosses his face and he straightens up, stepping in closer again to let his cockhead bounce against your chin and lips. “Good girl. Show me what you can do.”

Blinking more of the haze out from your eyes, you reach up to wrap your fingers around his saliva slicked base again and guild him back into your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks once more, you suck firmly and quickly begin to bob your head in towards his hips, stroking along his shaft and over the head with your tongue. Your hand moves in time with your movements, fisting him so every inch of his impressive length is stimulated, lips meeting fingers, more saliva easing the glide of skin over skin.

When Joel’s hips begin rocking forward to push a little deeper, you chance a glance upward at the top of one long stroke.

He’s watching you over the curve of his broad, muscular chest, which heaves as he shallowly takes in air, plush lips barely parted. Meanwhile he’s still holding your head with one hand buried in your hair, but he doesn’t try to take control of your movements again.

Oh no, he’s definitely going to make you earn his protection.

You redouble your efforts. Stroking your mouth and hand over him faster. Sucking harder.

His stoic facade finally cracks as his eyes flutter and then close, a loud, drawn out groan escaping. Tilting his head back, his hips begin to rock a little faster to meet the rapid glide of your hand and mouth, his cock throbbing on your tongue. Both of his hands are buried in your hair now, lightly tangled in the locks. He's still not trying to control your movements though; it's still all you doing the work to bob your head and meet his thrusts. They seem more like insurance, in case you change your mind.

Not that you will. You've come too far for that.

When his movements finally start to stutter with soft grunts filling the quiet clearing, you draw him in deep once again. Ignoring the ache it causes, you urge him over the edge, your hand and mouth squeezing around him.

Strong fingers suddenly twist in your hair so tightly that stinging pain erupts across your scalp from the pull, at the same instant that Joel erupts into the warm cavity of your mouth.

Hot ropes of salty semen coat your tongue and the back of your mouth. He holds you there, his length pulsing, giving a couple more shallow thrusts and emptying himself into you with a deep moan that can only be described as obscene.

Then, he’s looking down at you, eyes impossibly dark, skin flushed, panting for breath. A languid smile tugs up one side of his lips as he cups your chin again and traces the side of your mouth with his thumb, where the tender skin is still stretched around his dick, even though it is starting to soften.

His voice is breathy now, but no less commanding.

“Swallow.”

You slowly and carefully inhale through your nose as you meet his intense gaze. Then you tighten your lips around his softening shaft and swallow down his spend, feeling it coat your throat as it disappears.

A pleased hum meets your ears and Joel’s rough thumb brushes across your cheek, wiping away a streak left by your tears. With a nod, he takes a half step back, letting his dick slip free of your mouth with a lewd wet sound, before he releases your face and your hair.

He gives an upward jerk of his chin as he tucks his cock back into his boxers and zips up his jeans. “Get up.”

Still breathing hard, you nod and push yourself to your feet, briefly stumbling. As you find your footing, your eyes widen for a split second at the distinct feeling of slickness gathered between your thighs, no doubt soaking your panties.

You had been so focused on getting him off, that you hadn’t even realized just how turned on you were by the unexpected situation.

It's been a while since that happened.

Pushing the realization aside, you swallow hard, and wince again from the rawness in your throat. Wiping drool from your chin and red, puffy lips, you focus on the man in front of you as he finishes buckling his belt.

If feels like it takes him forever as your heart keeps hammering in your chest, waiting to hear his verdict on your…performance.

Joel’s dark eyes lift back to you and linger (you can only imagine how debauched you look), as his thumbs hook into the pockets of his jeans, his head canting to the side. The corner of his mouth twitches into another faint smirk before he turns on the balls of his feet to take a few steps and scoop up his backpack, slinging it onto the shoulder that isn’t occupied by a rifle.

Your breath stutters, brows pinching together, as a ball of dread drops into the pit of your stomach. Watching him pick up a pack of cigarettes from a sleeping bag and pocket them, your entire body tenses as your mind begins reeling.

What had you done wrong?!

Joel pauses and looks back at you over his rifle shoulder, his voice gruff.

“You’ve got five minutes, Darlin’. Gather up whatever you need to bring along. We're heading out.”