#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

[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.”

[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..."

[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.

[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. ”

[usedtobecooler]

if it's not with you | tom grant x fem!reader

Pairing | Tom Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings | sexual content 18+ minors dni, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, general banter, flirting, all around fluffiness.

Word Count | 5k

A/N | eeeee i'm so excited to share this fic with you all!! honestly i've fallen in love with tom all over again writing this, i hope you all enjoy this flirty fluffy cuteness!!

This caravan park was easily the worst place you’d ever been on holiday to. You couldn’t even lie to yourself — the entertainment area was outdated, the food was far from good, the staff were mostly rude and unhelpful, and the caravan you’d rented for the week was the biggest piece of shit.

Your idea of a nice, relaxing beachside break from the city was basically down the pan the moment you arrived, though you had to admit the one saving grace was in fact the gorgeous beach, barely thirty steps away from your rental, all golden sand and crashing waves. It was peaceful, quiet — the school summer holidays were over so it only left the caravan owners and the odd few stragglers without kids behind. 

Summer was barely clinging on, the nights were beginning to close in fast and the air was feeling that bit crisper once the sun set, like it had done every Summer since you could remember. There was still the odd humid, hot day, and this was one of them. 

Muggy beyond belief, despite the cool sea breeze rolling in from the East. You were sweating, skin feeling sticky as you sunbathed in peace, laid out in a one piece on your towel. Regardless of the factor thirty, you already knew you were going to burn — you always did, no matter what. The harsh rays from the sun were unforgiving to your sensitive skin, leaving you flushed and freckled.

You feel the figure looming over you pretty quickly. The slight darkness on your left hand side as said person blocked the sun. You let out a deep sigh, using your hand as a makeshift sun visor as you open your eyes carefully, squinting up into the sun.

You spy the caravan park logo on his polo shirt immediately — site worker, clearly. He’s all curly hair, pale skinned and a goofy grin on his face as he clutches onto the magazine you’d taken with you to read, obviously blown off in a gust of wind when you’d been blissfully unaware, “Think this was trying to do a runner on you,” His voice is unexpectedly deep, though still chirpy, as he extends his arm out with the magazine rolled up in his hand.

“Thanks, mate,” You bark out a little embarrassed laugh, propping yourself up on an elbow and taking the magazine from him. Your fingers brush, and you can’t help the flush that creeps up to your cheeks at the barely-there touch, “It’s shit anyway — one of them magazines people get paid fifty quid to share their fake stories to, y’know.” 

The man snorts, shoves his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, “I know the ones, my mums obsessed with them. Surely nobody believes the ghost stories?” He’s making conversation, not in any rush to get off, and it’s strange. He’s maybe the second worker you’d encountered who was genuinely an alright person. 

“Oh I know, in this one they’re claiming the ghost made toast in the middle of the night. Didn’t realise they could open a loaf of bread, who’d have thought it?” You humor him, and he properly laughs at that, kicking his toes in the sand as he looks down at you. 

He’s awfully pretty, you notice, as you look up at him properly now the glare of the sun has been blocked a little. Big brown eyes and a freckled nose, tinged pink from too much sun and not enough sunscreen, no doubt. Nice full lips and a cute chin, chains dangling on his neck. Very typical English boy, but that was always your type.

Your mouth runs dry, now that you’re suddenly aware of how attractive this man is and you’ve just called him mate. Ground swallow you now.

“Anyway, I’ve got to get going,” He looks sullen at that, nose scrunching up a little, “Duty calls — these old fuddy-duddies who arrive this time of year always find something to moan about.”

“Well, you enjoy that…” You blush, giggling like a dickhead, suddenly aware of the fact you’re lusting over a man who’s name you don’t even know,  “Sorry, I never got your name. No nametag?”

“Tom,” Tom digs in his pocket, a small triumphant noise escaping him when he pulls the old nametag out between two fingers proudly, showing you it, “I usually don’t wear it. Can’t be fucked when these arseholes complain about the staff and name us to management.” 

“Well, I’ll make sure to name you to the staff when I check out and let them know you were a very helpful young man, Tom,” Your voice drips sarcasm and humour, and you know you’ve got him hook, line and sinker when he bellows a true laugh, throwing his head back and exposing the vast expanse of his neck, veins protruding. Your thighs clench.

You’re both shook out of the little bubble when somebody starts shouting Tom’s name from behind you both, startling you. He rolls his eyes, tapping the watch on his wrist, “Gotta go, darling. You need anything just ask for me personally when you phone, yeah?” 

You nod, dumbstruck as he smiles wide at you, pearly white teeth on display. He takes off in a jog, and for the first time you truly understand the term ‘hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.’ 

You bump into him again two days later, in the laundry room as you’re banging on the washing machine that currently had four days worth of clothes and underwear locked in it. It’d swallowed your token, locked the doors then refused to start, and you were raging — three quid down the fucking drain, just like that.

He knocks up behind you unexpectedly, his hip catching on the soft flesh of your ass as he leans over to pop a token into it. You suck in a breath and hold it, watching with awestruck eyes as the tendons in his wrist flex when he turns the dial. The machine whirs to life, water beginning to fill the drum in just mere seconds.

“What’d I tell you about just shouting for me if you needed anything?” Tom’s smug, lips so close to your ear they’re almost brushing the shell and you have to literally shove down the gasp that almost makes its way up your throat. He’s so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, and a shiver ripples up your spine. 

“I didn’t expect to need maintenance help for washing my underwear,” You bristle, trying to act calm as he brushes past you and opts for leaning against the machine, hands once again buried deep into his pockets — he’s wearing grey joggers this time, clearly to match the miserable and dreary weather outside. You avert your gaze from the obvious bulge in his trousers, willing yourself to just get a fucking grip.

It doesn’t help when you lock eyes with him, and he’s all gooey brown orbs and long eyelashes. It’s embarrassing how much you fancy him, and now you feel like a right slob — down here in your leggings, hoodie and crocs of all things. Hair up in a messy bun and no makeup on, on account of the severe sunburn on your nose and cheeks.

“C’mon, we’ll go back to the token machine and I’ll get you your money back,” Tom nods towards the door, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You want to tell him you don’t need the money back, but a little part of you wonders — and hopes — that he’s offering to do this so that you have an excuse to wander off with him.

“Sure, lead the way my saviour,” You joke, extending an arm out towards the open door. He scoffs, rolling his eyes with a look that could only be described as fond on his features as he saunters past you. You feel your cheeks heat up, and it’s not from the sunburn this time.

“What’s brought you to Cornwall, then?” He asks conversationally — you’re bumping arms you’re that close, and the corridor isn’t even that narrow, he’s just naturally gravitating towards you. You plod along slowly and he matches your pace, your heart thudding in your chest as your hopes were confirmed; he was being nosey, interested in getting to know you.

“Not much, I like the beach but I live in London so I don’t get to see it much,” You admit, shoving your hands into your hoodie pocket, “I work from home, too. So I thought I’d maybe get some work done whilst I was here. The wifi is shit, by the way.”

Tom winces, shooting you an apologetic look, though it’s clearly a mockery, “Yeah, this place doesn’t have much going for it, darling. Though it’ll give you an excuse to actually enjoy your break instead of worrying about work, right?”

You’re walking so slowly you may as well be at a standstill, and you know it’s because the token machine is barely ten feet away, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” You admit, because it’s true — you’d hardly even thought about your job since you got here, enjoying your time soaking in the sun and the peace away from your roommate, “What about you? You from around here?”

“Born and raised,” Tom shrugs. You glance to the side, watching as his adams apple bobs up and down when he swallows, “I live on the site now, though, have done since I was sixteen. I’m here all year with Kai, you’ve probably seen him around, angry looking dickhead with a buzzcut. A girl called Jade used to live here too but eh, she’s gone now.”

You hum, acknowledging what he’s saying. You want to pry, the way his voice changed when he spoke about this ‘Jade’ character leaves a bitter taste in your mouth — an ex, maybe. But you were basically a stranger to Tom, so why would he explain that to you? 

The both of you stop right at the token machine, and Tom fumbles for his set of keys, flipping them until he finds one with a red tag on it. You watch his hands the entire time, thirsting silently — god, his hands were so nice. For a maintenance guy, they were clean, nails manicured, the skin soft. You could tell he took care of himself, and that made him all the more attractive to you. 

He slips the three pound coins into your hoodie pocket, knocking you out of your daze. His hand bumps against your waist when he pulls it out of said pocket, leaving you feeling flustered. There’s no way he’s just being nice, he’s flirting, albeit subtly. 

“Thank you,” Your voice is breathy, catching in the back of your throat as your eyes search for his again, though it doesn’t take long before his eyes are locking on yours once more, “Don’t know what I’d do without you. Or that three quid, actually, that’ll get me another shitty magazine from the shop and a bottle of Coke.”

Tom laughs, showing off his ridiculously perfect teeth once again, “You’re right, it will. Hopefully the ghost story in this one’s a bit better —” 

There’s a sudden harsh knock on the window behind your head that has you leaping out of your skin. He glances up to where the source of the banging came from, and he’s huffing, rolling his eyes, “Gotta go, darling. Another dickhead to deal with. Remember what I said, need anything just shout for me, yeah? Enjoy your magazine.” 

He lands a soothing hand on your shoulder just barely before he’s taking off, and your skin burns even through the thick material of your hoodie. 

There’s one day left of your holiday. One miserable day. You hadn’t seen Tom at all since your encounter in the laundry area, and you had to admit you were feeling deflated over it. You hadn’t been avoiding him, in fact quite the opposite, but your paths had just never crossed again. 

The weather was unbearably hot once more, worse than the first day you’d met Tom, not even a breeze coming in off the sea, and you were desperate for a cold shower to rinse off the sweat from your now sunkissed skin.

The caravan door slams shut behind you as you step foot inside, basking in the little bit of cool air in the living area that’d been bathed in shade the entire day. You strip off your two-piece without a second thought — your caravan doesn’t look onto any others, and you don’t see anybody around, so there was nobody to scar when you stripped naked. 

At the beginning of your holiday you didn’t believe you’d ever become accustomed to the tight living quarters, especially the bathroom, but now that you’d been at the park for a week you almost couldn’t imagine going back home to your shitty little flat in Central London. You actually enjoyed the peace and quiet, and you were saddened about leaving.

You couldn’t deny that Tom was part of that, too. Though you’d hardly gotten a chance to know him you were drawn in, and the thought of heading home the next day and never seeing him again was weighing heavy on your shoulders. 

Stepping into the tight shower, you twist the dial to turn on the water, only to be engulfed in a roaring hot heat that has you yelping and gasping. The sharp sting of the scalding hot water hitting your sunburnt chest brings tears to your eyes, your hands flapping to turn the dial back until the stream stops.

You jump out of the shower, grabbing for your fluffy towel that you’d set in the open window that morning, pulling it around your bare body and tucking it in until it’s sat nicely. The ends of your hair drip wet, the water cooling fast, an almost pleasant feeling in comparison to what you just felt.

There’s not a second thought before you’re dialing 0 on the phone in the living area and asking for a maintenance person to come look at the shower, reeling off that the water was scalding hot and had burned you. The person on the other end sounds bored, uninterested and far from shocked when you tell her what happened. You hang up and, in your anger, stick up your middle finger at the phone. 

You didn’t even think to ask for Tom. You perch your ass on the arm of the U-shaped sofa, nervously chewing on your bottom lip and shaking your leg as you wait, wondering who it’d be that showed up to your call. You really, really hoped it’d be him.

Not even five minutes go by before you’re hearing a rapping of knuckles on the glass pane of the door, and you answer it quickly, all street smarts going out the window as you pull the door open just clad in your towel. Tom stands on the narrow step, clutching onto a metal tool box, and you breathe out a sigh of relief that it’s him.

“Fucking hell, that burn looks sore,” Tom looks with bug eyes at your chest, taking in the look of your skin tinged a deep red, much darker than the rest of your sunburnt body. You flush, moving out of the way to let him in, “If you put in a claim for that this place would be shut down.”

He laughs about it, but visibly looks nervous. You can’t help but wonder if, as much as he complained about the job, he genuinely liked it. Or maybe it was all he knew, which was also probably true, considering he had told you he’d been here living since he was just a teenager. A pang in your chest asserts itself at that realisation.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, it’s my own stupid fault for stepping into the shower before turning it on like a silly bitch,” You shake it off, a wobbly little laugh escaping you, “Nothing a bit of lotion won’t fix, Tom.” 

“No, it’s fucking ridiculous that this even happened,” Tom grunts, stepping past you and wandering the short distance into the bathroom. You follow him like a lost puppy, clutching at the top of your towel with one hand, standing in the doorway as you watch him flip his toolbox open, grabbing for something and banging the shower door open. 

“Dunno why they still rent out this caravan every summer there’s so much shit wrong with it, told the manager it was fit for the scrap yard two years ago,” Tom’s conversational, unscrewing the shower tap and fiddling with it as if you’re not standing there basically naked and still slightly damp from your failed attempt at hosing off.

You’re trying to look anywhere but right in his direction. It’s hard, though. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his arm bulging and straining under the tight material of his polo shirt as he uses his wrench to tighten a bolt, “S’okay, I got it pretty cheap. I’m away home tomorrow, didn’t want the next poor sod to get burnt like I did.”

Tom shoots a glance at you, brows marrying for a moment until he’s turning back to the job at hand, “I didn’t realise you were away so soon, fuck sake. If I’d known I would’ve come and seen you earlier. You’re alright, y’know?” 

“Thank you?” It comes out as a question, and you can’t help but feel somewhat offended by his choice of words, “I suppose you’re alright yourself. Probably the only decent member of staff I’ve spoken to this entire week.” 

“Yeah, the nice face and banter are just a bonus, eh?” Tom flashes you his teeth again and it has you rolling your eyes, though a fond smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, “Not like those posh London boys, they’re stuffy and boring.”

“You’re right about that,” You agree, watching as he throws the wrench back into the toolbox blindly, the tool landing correctly in its place. It’s now or never, you think, as he screws the tap back on. This is it, after this last chance meeting you’re not gonna see him again. “Who’d have thought something as simple as catching a blown away magazine would have a girl weak at the knees?” 

You cringe at yourself, though Tom’s head shoots around. He looks at you with a confusion etched on his features, and you have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Surely you were being obvious enough, right?

You watch him dumbly step out of the shower, even going as far as to shut the screen door behind him, “What do you mean?” He asks, quirking a brow. Clearly you weren’t being obvious, then. 

“Is it not totally obvious that I’m into you?” You scoff, wanting to lean forward and rattle that devourable looking neck. He’s clearly so clueless, it would actually be kind of endearing if you didn’t find it so infuriating. 

Tom balks at you, taking a step closer to you, which has him almost right up in your face, with how enclosed the space of the bathroom is, “Really? I’m really shit at reading signals, sorry, love.” 

Love. You melt at the pet name, going all gooey. You take your chance, fingers tugging at your towel until it’s loosening on your body. He watches you with curious eyes that soon turn lust filled, when you let the towel drop to the floor and pool around your feet.

You blush under his intense gaze, taking in the swell of your tits, the pebble of your nipples, the curve of your hips, the mound of your cunt. He takes another step, so you’re basically toe to toe, and he exhales loudly.

“Not done this for a while,” Tom admits, as his large hands engulf your waist, pulling you closer to him until your naked body is flush against him, the soft material of his worn-in work polo a pleasant feeling against your skin, “Can I kiss you?” 

You nod, far too fast, too eager, but he clearly doesn’t seem to mind, leaning in until his plump lips are capturing yours. You melt into it, arms wrapping around his neck to tug him in closer, fingers burying in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Tom deepens the kiss quickly, tongue running over your bottom lip and you open up willingly, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth. His own tongue glides along yours deliciously, has your pussy clenching and your legs shaking. He moves you blindly backwards, like he knows the entire layout of this caravan — which he probably does, has probably been here many a time.

The backs of your legs hit the bed and you let yourself fall backward, opening your legs for Tom to nudge between them, one hand still on your waist tightly, other slipping down your leg, fingertips digging into the meat of your thigh. You shiver, unable to contain it, the feeling of the hands you’d thought about so much the last week finally on you was almost enough to drive you crazy.

Tom’s hand skates higher and higher up your thigh, until he’s cupping the heat of your cunt. He’s the one to break the kiss, pulling away from you to look you in the eyes properly, like he’s looking for confirmation that you’re still good and you’re okay to keep going, “You okay if I touch you?” 

You melt. You nod, and he dives in, kissing the side of your neck with spit-slick lips, leaving you gasping and writhing below him. He bumps his hips down into you, and you feel the outline of his hard cock brushing against your inner thigh.

Suddenly, your carnal desire for him overcomes your every being, your hands falling from the back of his neck to fist into his shirt, bunching up big handfuls of the material, “C’mon, you too?” You beg, voice whiny, completely distracted by how Tom bites and kisses at your neck, “Need to see you too.” 

He sits back on his haunches, smirking down at you, hands leaving your body and in turn leaving you cold — though it’s not for long, as you watch him pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. He dives back down into you quickly, bumping those godforsaken hips down against your pussy this time, leaving you gasping.

That stupid, shit eating grin never leaves his face until he’s burying his face back into your neck, peppering your skin with kisses, hand nudging between your legs again, until the pads of two of his fingers finally dip in between your slick folds, gathering your juices on them. He grunts against you, rutting his hips down again, “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He mumbles, caught off guard by it.

“Mmph, all for you,” You gasp, breath catching in your throat when he finds the swollen, sensitive bud of your clit and starts rubbing in small, tight circles, until your hips are pushing up into the air, “Oh God —!”

You lose yourself in the feeling of Tom lathering you in kisses, the way his plump lips ghost along the stinging, burnt skin of your chest and soothe it, his fingers working on your clit until your cunt is gushing wetter than before. He’s so sensual, passionate, taking the most attentive care to your body, and it’s driving you wild.

“You feel so good on my fingers,” Tom groans in between kisses, looking at you with those pretty, chocolate brown eyes, now mostly blackened with lust, “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock, babe.” 

You squeal, a moan punching out of you when his fingers leave your clit just barely to dip into the entrance of your pussy and glide back up, taking some of your milky wetness with them. You clench, quivering at his words, a deep heat blooming in the pit of your belly, alarmingly fast, “I’m so close,” You admit, losing yourself in the pleasure of Tom’s fingers catching on your clit, winding you up tight, tight, tight.

Tom kisses the swell of your breast, lips dragging down until they latch onto your nipple, licking and sucking until you’re crying out. He can’t take his eyes off of you, watching every contortion of your face as he makes you fall apart. Your fingers grip into his curls, tugging lightly until he’s groaning, vibrations echoing up your chest.

His fingers work at that same torturing pace, sliding in circles until you’re arching off the bed slightly, coil in your tummy snapping, your entire body tensing and going lax just as fast as your orgasm washes over you, a gush of slick slipping from your hole as you shake through it.

Tom works you through it until you’re jerking away, fingers unwinding from his hair and pushing at his shoulders instead. He presses a light kiss to your nipple, pulling himself up and slipping his fingers from your cunt, “Was that okay?” He asks, though he’s smiling, proud of himself, clearly.

You nod, catching sight of the prominent bulge in his grey joggers, sudden desperation to get to his cock overtaking you — you lean up, tugging at the waistband of the offending material until it’s bunched around his thighs, uncut cock springing out proudly, you gasp, “No underwear? You always wander around like this, you slag?”

Tom laughs, shaking his head, “No, I wasn’t on shift but took the call because I knew this was your caravan,” He admits, and you giggle, a little swell of pride in your chest. That little admission was enough for you, he did like you as much as you liked him. 

He dives back into you, capturing your lips with his own, and you take that opportunity to get a feel for his cock, deft fingers blindly wrapping around the length and giving him an experimental tug, pulling the foreskin back. He gasps into your mouth as you work him up and down, your thumb swiping over the tip, and he’s punching his hips into your hand.

“Keep doing that an’ I’m gonna cum before I get to fuck you,” He mumbles against your mouth, nibbling at your bottom lip just a little. You take that as your cue to stop, hand dropping from his cock and instead wrapping around his bicep.

He makes a show of it, like an arsehole, grabbing a hold of his cock and sliding the tip through the mess of your cunt, catching on your clit and gliding it back down, until you’re gasping and silently begging for it, digging your nails into the meat of his tanned arms.

“C’mon, Tom. Please?” You whisper, looking up at him with pleading eyes, and he takes the bait — he slips his cock into you in one fluid motion, until his balls are flush against your ass. You couldn’t have been prepared for the sheer thickness of him stretching you from the inside out, a gasp escaping you when the head of his cock brushes along your frontal wall.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Tom moans, burying his head into the other side of your neck this time, kissing and biting at your flesh until it’s raised. He pulls out, slamming back into you to the hilt, and you clench around him, unable to help it, the curved head of his cock brushing against the spongey part of your cunt perfectly, “God, babe, don’t do that, I’ll cum so quick.”

You moan, clenching around him again until he’s groaning, fucking in and out of you properly, your cunt sucking him in, gushing around his length. You’re overwhelmed by the feeling of him all over you, his lips and teeth on your neck, his hair tickling your face, his toned torso crushing down into yours, his cock sliding in and out of the tight heat of your pussy.

“You feel so good around me, fuck,” Tom’s mumbling against you, words almost getting lost in your skin, but you’re fucking melting for it, the praises having you keening up into him.

You feel your orgasm building quickly, unaware of how loud you’re moaning until Tom’s picking up the pace of his thrusts, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing in the room, the wet schlick of your pussy mixing with the other sinful noises. 

“M’gonna cum,” You cry, tears pricking at your eyes as your tummy blooms with heat once again, orgasm building a lot quicker this time than the last time, and Tom pulls himself away from the crevice of your neck, looking at you with his lust blown eyes, swollen red lips open in a constant moan, “Fuck, Tom, s’good, so good,”

You’re babbling and Tom groans, fucking you so rough you’re sliding up the bed — your high hits you so hard you see stars, eyes squeezing shut as your cunt flutters and gushes around the girth of Tom’s cock, fingernails biting into his arms so hard that you know you’re going to leave behind broken skin.

“Oh shit, oh fuck,” Tom’s voice goes high pitched, eyes rolling into his skull as your pussy grips him like a vice, and he’s coming too, hips stuttering as he paints your walls in his release, cock pulsing in the tight heat of your cunt.

You mewl, spent body giving into everything. You feel like you’re floating, unable to comprehend what just happened. Tom’s looking down at you with this big dopey grin and you smile back, leaning up to kiss him languidly as his spent cock goes soft.

Tom slips out of you with a hiss, collapsing down next to you, chest still heaving on breath, “You sure you’ve gotta go home tomorrow, darling?” He asks, voice quiet as he tugs you into him, those big arms engulfing you in a tight cuddle. Your whole body melts into his, your mind blank of anything but him. Maybe you didn’t have to go home just yet. 

“I suppose I could see about hanging around for another week… or two,” You admit, and Tom cackles in triumph, squeezing you tighter until you’re giggling into his chest, heart swelling.

[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

[dbnightingale24]

You Didn't Have To Say Yes...

A Pete Brenner Love Story

~~

My first Patreon story!! I decided that Pete needs a love story, cause I feel like he gets shit on a lot. He's not a bad guy, he just has some...bad habits.

Thank you to everyone for your patience (once again), and I hope you all enjoy! As always, thank you to @fuckingbye for my amazing moldboard! I love it and I love you! I wrote this in a week (I don't know what's going on with my brain as of late), and I'm really excited for it!

Word Count: 49,380

Warnings: Pete Brenner, Smut, MINORS DNI 18+, Swearing, Daddy Kink, Drinking, Smoking, Drug Use, Angst, Self Hate, Semi-Public Sex (fingering), Open Marriage (Toxic Relationship), Abuse, Fluff, Family Drama, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Abortion ...I think that's it? I'm pretty sure I covered all the bases...yeah

Songs That Inspired This Chapter: If You're Feeling Down, I Just Wanna Make You Happier Baby

Summary: Pete Brenner is perfectly fine with everyone continuing he's a selfish piece of shit. That is, until you walked into his life, and turned everything upside down.

~~

I do not give consent/permission for my stories/works to be posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior, this is for entertainment purposes only.

~~

~~

“C’mon, give me a smile,” Pete beams, his words tailing a slight slur as you make someone else’s Manhattan.

“I think it’s time for you to go, Mr. Brenner,” you giggle dismissively, flipping your hair and shaking up the cocktail mixer.

“I wonder how much sweeter my name would sound if you were underneath me,” he grins and lifts his eyes at you. You ignore the heat in the pit of your stomach, not wanting to surrender to his smarmy charm.

Pete Brenner doesn’t give up easily, you’ll give him that. 

“I’m sure your wife is happy that you’re always here, trying to bring me home instead of spending time with her,” you nod with a glance towards his left hand. A waitress comes over, picking up the next round of drinks.

“I’ve told ya, she has her fun and I have mine.”

“Cause that’s what every woman loves to hear. Woo me even more, Brenner,” you laugh, turning around and getting started on the next drink.

“Your ass looks amazing in those shorts.”

You laugh as you call over your shoulder, “I’m ordering you a cab.”

“I can take myself,” he mutters with an exasperated sigh. You know he’s pulling out his wallet, frustrated that you’re not leaving with him again.

“We go through the same motions every time, Pete. I don’t want you driving home drunk.”

“You refuse to sleep with me, but you care about my well being? I think you’re finally startin’ to warm up to me.”

“I don’t sleep with married men, Pete. Find a new dream to chase. You know the drill, the cab will be here in ten.”

Pete Brenner came stumbling into your life about a year and a half ago, and he’s been a character since day one. He was down on his luck, drinking until he could barely stand, refusing help from anyone, always ending with the same mantra every night:

“I’ve made this fucking far on my own, I can make it to my own fucking house!”

No matter how much you pushed, he wouldn’t accept help from you. He always refused service from everyone except you. At first he didn’t say anything, he just watched you and let his eyes roam over your body. He never said out loud that he wanted you, but he didn’t exactly go out of his way to hide it either. He was so obvious he never needed to say it explicitly. The glint of his gold wedding band always caught your attention under the sparkling lights of the nightclub, but seeing as he spent every night there until closing, you didn’t think it made much of a difference.

Until one night, eight months ago.

“There she is! My favorite girl!” he beamed, a cocky smile cemented on his lips.

The woman sauntering next to him didn’t seem to think too highly of the nickname he called you. 

“I’ll take a bourbon, and this sweet little thing next to me will have a Strawberry Daiquiri,” he told you, though his eyes never left your chest.

“Oh? Wedding anniversary?” you half smiled as you tried to put on your workplace happy face even though you mentally thought to yourself ‘he can’t be that sleazy to bring her to this dump on their wedding anniversary.’

“Got a new job, sweetheart,” he smirked. You didn’t miss the mischievous shine in his eyes in the club’s half light.

He was a bold mother fucker to bring his wife along just to flirt with you in plain view of her. Not many men had that much audacity when it came to you. 

“I’m Y/N,” you offered with a smile.

You genuinely pitied the woman.

“Tina,” she responded with a plastic smile.

Big boobs, micro-waist, big fake blonde hair, and Pete had ordered her a strawberry daiquiri. She fit the description of most “Tina’s” that came into the club. However, the large rock on her ring finger was nothing to scoff at.

“Oh, don’t pout, honey,” Pete taunted her. “This is what you wanted, right? Me to get a brand new important job and show you off? That’s what you’ve been bitchin about for months, isn’t it? So smile, would ya? You got ya wish.”

Someone was feeling prickly that night.

“First round of drinks are on the house. Congrats, Pete,” you smiled as you set both drinks down.

“Keep ‘em comin’, sweetheart,” he winked at you, handing you a hundred.

While it may have not been anything new to you (Pete always tipped generously), Tina’s eyes went wide and you didn’t miss the way her cheeks burned and blushed with anger.

You wanted to stay as far away from them as the night allowed.

You happily took shots with some of your regulars as the night went on and evened out. Your friends started showing up for their shifts, which helped your sour mood from earlier in the day (even though your ex-fiancee showed up outside of your apartment to harass you yet again). The more you drank, the more you started to dance along with the music; which meant Pete couldn’t keep his gaze off you.

“Why are you single?” Pete asked once his wife got up to go to the bathroom.

“You don’t strike me as the cruel type, Mr. Brenner,” you grinned as you made him another drink.

“Curiosity doesn’t equate to cruelty.”“You’re still here with your wife.”

“She’s in the bathroom.”

“Why’d you bring her tonight?”

“You heard me, this is what she wanted,” he cynically scoffed.

“They’re a lot nicer clubs than this one.”

“Can’t all be that nice if you don’t work there, sweetie.”

You both looked at each other for a moment before you heard, “Darlin’!” coming from the other end of the bar.

“Comin’ Charlie,” you laughed, breaking the stare with him, and shook your head. You used the bar to push yourself off away, down to it’s other end while Pete sipped the last of his remaining drink.

You didn’t need glasses to see that Pete Brenner was an attractive man, and he was important...well, he did his best to imply his importance (as if it would get him far with you). You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t thought about going a few rounds with him in the bedroom, but you didn’t sleep with married men. 

No matter how hard they tried, you had a set of both personal and professional rules that you abided by.

For the rest of the night, you stayed away from Pete and his wife unless they needed a refill. It was almost as if Tina was trying to make him regret his choice of celebration because she was throwing back her drinks like they were water. The night went smoothly enough, nevertheless, until you went outside for a smoke break.

“You should really quit those things,” came the voice of the last man you wanted to see or hear from.

“What do you want, Mark?”

“I come in peace, Sweet Thing,” he laughed, putting his hands up.

You’d always hated the nickname.

“Didn’t get enough arguing this morning? What else could you possibly have to say?” you questioned while you exhaled your frustration.

“You know you miss me, baby.”

“I miss the peace I had in my life before I met you.”

“You’re still working at this dump?”

“I have bills to pay.”

“You know I’d be more than happy to take care of you.”“Don’t want it. Nor do I want anything from you,” you snapped with a growl.

“Yet you drove yourself here in the car I bought for you,” he sneered, nodding in the direction of where the car was parked.

“Take the fucking car back then, Mark. If it means you’ll leave me the fuck alone, take back every single thing you ever gave me.”

Snickering, he made his way to you and grabbed your arm saying,“don’t be bitter when I know just how sweet you’re capable of being.”

With a scoff, you threw down your cigarette and bludgeoned it, “fuck this.”

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Enough with the goddamn attitude, Sweet Thing-”

“Let me go!”

“You’re coming with me-”

“Let her go!” you heard Pete yell as he quickly made his way over to you, leaving his wife to stumble to their car all alone.

She looked slack jawed from Pete to you, before her stare turned venomous and settled on you. It’s just what you needed on top of everything else; his prized Barbie play-toy thinking you were fucking her husband. 

Great.

~~

Read the rest of the story here

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Love at first murder

Paul x f!oc

Happy New Year!

After closing her shop, Nora realised she is being followed. She is prepared and managed to prevent anything bad from happening, but then this handsome boy shows up.

Paul has been feeling like shit lately and figures out why: he has found his mate.

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

Sometimes, the boys would jokingly talk about finding their mate. Someone who would complete them in a way. David was deadly serious when he said that he didn't have a mate - although Paul thought Michael would have been pretty close to it had the whole Emerson affair not happened. Dwayne didn't mind the thought of a mate per se, but still, why would he need one when he was more than fine right now? Marko simply refused, even going so far as saying that he'd just kill his mate right then and there - no way that he would be tied down. Paul knew that realistically speaking, Marko wouldn't even be able to kill his mate, but the point was clear.

Paul, however, just always assumed he didn't have a mate. And if he did have one, it had to be someone who knew how to party. Someone who would yell along to his songs and didn't mind the drugs. But he, too, always said he didn't mind having no mate.

Lately, he had been feeling off, though. A strange knot forming in his stomach, tugging him a way from the cave and towards - well, somewhere. The feeling had started almost a month ago, and every single day that he tried to ignore it, it got worse. First, it was a small tug, but now it felt like he was slowly being ripped apart. So, he decided, after abandoning the boys for the evening, he would follow that bloody tug and see where it would lead him.

On the other side of town, in a small bookstore, a young twenty something year old girl sat behind the counter. The store was mostly empty, except for this grandma with her grandson, and she had decided that she could best spend her time reading while they browsed. Tonight's read was - once again - Anne of Green Gables. Oh, how she loved Anne and her dear friendship with Diana. And, how she loved the budding friendship between Gilbert and Anne. It never bored her, even though this was the ninth time that she read it.

Paul frowned as he sat outside the store in a tree. This girl - pretty but yet seemingly quite nerdy - had been the cause of all this? Was this girl - he realised this as the tug in his stomach lessened - his mate?

No. Paul refused. His mate would not be a hermit, a booknerd, someone who would describe every single drug as "You know, weed and such" and then giggle as if ot was something horribly tabboo. His mate couldn't be someone who probably never even heard of Black Sabbath before. How? In every store he heard about finding mates, he had always been told that they were made for each other. But this girl - she didn't seem to be the right fit for him. For Dwayne perhaps, but for him? He shook his head, deciding to leave.

"Was this everything?"

"Yes, thank you Nora. I'm so sorry for coming in this late."

"Nonsense," the girl behind the counter smiled. "I was still here, and I know how important a good book is."

"Grandma said this one had pirates," the boy looked proud. Nora grinned.

"It does! I'm certain you'll like this one. It's quite an adventure." She wrapped the copy of Peter Pan in some brown paper and handed it to the grandma. "That will be seven fifty."

As the grandma and grandson left, Nora closed the shop. She counted the money, put the bills in the save, locked the doors, and made sure the blinds were locked as well. Grabbing her bag, she looked around one last time before nodding. She had everything.

As she walked out the back, she couldn't help but feel as if she was being followed. Multiple times, did she stop and look around, but every time, the street was empty. "If this is your idea of a joke, it's not funny!" She called out.

"Who says it's a joke?"

Nora turned around quickly, seeing an older man standing four feet away from her. He had a sickening grin, as if she were his prey. Nora's look darkened.

"What do you want?" She sounded impatient, which she was. She just wanted to go home and watch a good movie, read some more, enjoy a cup of tea, and then go to bed.

"Smile for me, pretty."

"Fuck you, asshole," she crossed the street, her hand gliding into her bag. Her dad had told her to always be prepared. She had forgotten her pepper spray at home, but the boxknife she used to open deliveries to her store was safely tucked away in her bag. Her hand closed around it, ready to pull it out if needed.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, bitch!" He came at her, quickly. She couldn't move away. He pushed her to the ground. He was out of breath, grinning madly. She looked at him. She tightened the hold on her knife. The man moved down as if to kiss her and-

She stabbed him. His cheek. His eye. He fell backwards, his blood covering both himself and Nora. She tried to push him off of her, but he was heavy - to heavy for her. She tried to crawl away from under him but had no luck.

"Shit!"

"Fucking hell, are you okay?"

Nora screamed, eyes widened. "Where the fuck did you come from?"

The boy, tall and looking as if he could have been performing at a rock concert looked at her.

"I heard some struggling and came to see what was going on. "

"Can you help me move him? I-" Nora hadn't even finished her sentence, or the guy had already lifted the man up. Seemingly as if the creep weighed nothing.

"Thanks."

"Glad to know you can defend yourself."

"Hm?" Nora looked up. She had been a bit lost in thought, wondering if she had killed him - and if so, what the consequences were. And then, what was this boy doing here, helping her? And why was he so familiar, so handsome, and why did he feel so safe?

"You did quite a number on him."

"Is he alive?"

"Barely."

"Oh." She sat on the curb still, shaking a little.

"You did nothing wrong," the guy held her hands, having a slightly proud look on his face. "You protected yourself. That's all."

"So we just leave him here?"

"Yeah. It's no one's loss. Believe me."

Nora nodded, getting up with his help. "Let's get you cleaned up. The boardwalk is pretty empty right now, so you can use the showers at the beach without anyone asking questions."

Nora walked with him, not asking how he knew about the number of people on the boardwalk or how he knew that no one would ask questions. Her whole dress was covered with blood, and she thought it was quite noticeable. When they arrived at the showers, the guy turned to look at her.

"I don't even know your name."

"Nora."

"Paul." He grinned. "What's your size? Than I'll get you some clean clothes."

"You really don't have to, I-"

"Come on, when I take you out that's when people will notice the blood on your dress."

"Wait, what do you mean take me out?"

"You know, a date? I'd like to know more about you."

Nora couldn't help but feel flustered. "Alright. I'm somewhere between an M and an L."

"Don't worry, I got you," Paul grinned, "I'll knock three times when I get back."

Nora smiled despite everything. Something about Paul made her feel safe. The way he helped her without asking any questions or being freaked out... she liked it. She liked him - which was weird because she only met him an hour ago. And yet, she realised as she washed the blood of her face, she would follow him to hell if he asked.

Paul still wasn't sure what to think. Nora was different than he thought her to be. Even before accepting that she was his mate had he realised that she was beautiful - but seeing how she protected herself, how she was clearly freaked out by the whole situation, and still managed to think straight. He liked it. He liked her. Maybe, he thought as he grabbed two dresses. Maybe she was the right fit. Maybe he didn't need someone who was exactly like him.

Nora opened the door after hearing three knocks. Paul stayed outside, handing her the two dresses. "I didn't know which size would be better, so I got both." Nora smiled. That was kind of him, she thought as she put the larger one on. It was comfy and warm.

"So," she said as she got out of the shower unit, "if we were to go on a date, where would you take me?"

"Dinner, obviously."

"Alright. But, " and she looked very strictly at him, "I pay. You already helped me with well, you know, and with the dresses. I pay for the food."

"That all depends on who gets the waiters' attention first, babe."

Nora smiled. They decided on pizza, and after finishing it, it had been Paul who had been the quickest in gaining the waiters' attention. It might have been because Paul had yelled: "Yo, we're ready to pay here!" Nora had given him the win.

"Paul?" It was in the early hours of the morning, and he had just dropped her of at home. "Do you want to hang out again? Tomorrow maybe?"

Paul was quiet for a moment before smiling. "Yeah, I would. Pick you up at eight?"

Nora nodded. She had almost reached her front door when she turned around, walked back and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thanks for tonight."

With those words, she disappeared inside her house, leaving Paul alone.

"What's got you so happy?" Marko asked as he entered the cave. "Found a good fuck?"

"Better."

"What's better than that?"

"I found my mate."

"Holy shit," Marko looked at him. "For real? What are they like?"

"Nerdy. Adorable. And absolutely amazing."

"You're whipped dude."

"How did you know?" Dwayne had walked in.

"Ah, it was love at first murder," Paul grinned. Maybe having a mate wasn't so bad.

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

Why Do Men?

Quinn pushed the food around on her plate, barely listening to the man across from her. He was attractive enough, seemed kind. But good God, he was boring. From the moment she walked in he droned on and on about him and what he did for work, how much money he made. His big flashy car he had. Right now she was really hoping that Noah had asked her to stay with him instead. In fact, she had been sure that he would. Instead, he had rushed out of that bathroom and she hadn't seen him since. Not even when she knocked on his door before she left.

Him telling her she had shitty taste in men still stung a bit. Mostly because it was true. And who was it that picked up the pieces after every failed date? Every brief relationship that failed after three months? Noah. Always there to pick up the pieces and put her back together again. She was willing to bet he already had a whole thing planned for when she got home tonight, too.

"You're one of those goth girls, right?"

Quinn snapped out of her head. What the fuck was this guy on about?

"Excuse me?"

"I'm asking because you look like one. Tattoos, dark hair. Dark clothes." He leaned forward. "Bet you're into some kinky shit, too."

Her stomach turned. What the fuck? Did he really just say that? It didn't matter so much that she wasn't goth. Though, she definitely had more gothic tendencies than not. The sexualization of goth girls, however, was too much. It was vile. It was disgusting. God. Noah had been right.

"Mmmm. This date is over." Sighing, frustrated, she got up, pulling out her wallet. "Here's my half."

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that. It's just a question."

"Be like what? Bored out of my mind because you can't shut the fuck up about how great you think you are? Or irritated because you seem to think that goth women exist for your pleasure?" She threw the money down on the table, laughing. "See you never."

Satisfied she walked away, pulling her phone out. Everything in her screamed at her to call Noah, not an Uber. Noah would be there faster. But she didn't want to hear his "I told you so" just yet. That might set her off even more and she was trying not to cause a scene.

The cool night air hit her skin as the app told her a driver was on her way. 15 minutes until her ride arrived. Cursing she pulled up the text thread with Noah, debating texting him that he had been right. Just then, however, her date appeared in front of her, angry.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You're not even that pretty, anyway."

Quinn's stomach churned, her palms going sweaty as she glanced up and down the sidewalk. There were people. Lots of them. She should be safe, right? Fuck. What had Noah taught her? He had tried so hard to teach her how to defend herself. Now that the time may be here she couldn't remember a thing. Steeling herself for what may happen she lifted her chin, meeting the man's eyes.

"I said the date is over."

"You know, you should be grateful I even gave you the time of day. I make more money in a year than you ever will in your life."

She laughed. Genuinely deeply laughed. This guy wasn't going to attack her. His ego might be bruised, but that's as far as it would go. The type of guy that used his wealth to get sex. If he even actually made that much money.

"Says the grown ass man crying because the girl that 'isn't even that pretty.' Do you even hear yourself right now?"

"Whatever. Good luck finding a man that'll put up with you."

She watched as he walked off, ignoring the tiny crack in her armor that last comment had made. So many failed dates. Nothing lasting more than three months in the last seven years. Maybe he was right and there was something just inherently wrong with her. Her track record definitely spoke to that.

Her phone lit up, letting her know her ride had arrived just as a vehicle with an Uber sign in the window showed up. Thank fucking God. All she wanted right now was her pajamas, a movie, and her best friend.

Tags: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard