#I liked playing with the phrase “the one that got away” because it can mean a lost chance
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The Ones That Got Away (Touchstarved OC Rewrite)
I changed the lyrics to “The One That Got Away” by Katy Perry (I listened to this cover by Brielle Von Hugel), based on my Hound!MC Alon's backstory and their childhood friend's betrayal.
Summer in the city where we grew up.
Running from our troubles and tryin’ our luck,
Searching for a world that’d be big enough for two.
Used to steal Headmaster’s liquor and climb to the roof.
Dreamed about the future like we had a clue.
Never thought that one day, I'd be losing you.
In another life, I’d still be your friend.
We'd keep all those promises, be us until the end.
In another life, you would make me stay,
So I don't have to say you were the one that got away,
The one that got away.
One night on that rooftop, we’d made our pact
To leave these walls together, have each other’s backs.
Sometimes when I miss you, I climb towards the sky.
Summer kept on passing, and we grew up,
Found something in the city much bigger than us.
It’s time to face the music, we had long run out of luck.
But in another life, you’d be by my side.
We'd keep all those promises to take charge of our lives.
In another life, I would fight to stay,
So I don't have to say you were the one that got away,
The one that got away.
The one that got away.
All that money won’t buy back our time for me.
Can't replace you with a million dreams.
I never thought you’d turn our dream on me.
So I guess this is goodbye.
But in another life, I could still believe
That friends would keep their promises…
In another life, we’d make our escape,
And everyone who stayed would say we were the ones that got away.
The ones that got away…
In another life, I would make you stay
So I don't have to say you were the one that got away.
The one that got away…
#touchstarved#touchstarved game#touchstarved oc#alon the hound#erick the wolf#song parody#lyrics rewrite#the word “dream” is used a bunch because it's not just the childhood friend they lost in the betrayal it's also their shared dream.#the word “luck” is also repeated because of the childhood friend oc erick. he likes card games and gambling.#“we had long run out of luck.” referring to the heist that was the catalyst for the betrayal.#I changed the bridge lyric to “I can't replace you with a million dreams” for one of the songs I had in their playlist. “a million dreams.”#the “turn our dream on me” refers to the promise to leave the city. so alon did actually end up fulfilling that dream thanks to erick.#via exile. we love irony.#I liked playing with the phrase “the one that got away” because it can mean a lost chance#but since the hound mc is a thief it could also mean the person that escaped. like oh no the criminal got away!#with alon and erick in particular it refers to their promise to leave the walled city together once they gathered enough coin#that was also tied to finding a cure for alon's curse but the most important part of that pact was to be together no matter what happened#for the bridge after the chorus I just took out the second part of “we would keep our promises” because I thought it was more fitting#the sentence just ends because it's too painful to repeat. I also think it makes that quieter more subdued part stand out from the others.#my favourite change was the switch to plural in “everyone who stayed would say we were the ones that got away.”#it's meant to convey: “we were supposed to be the ones that made it out. we were supposed to make it out of here together.”#again it's playing with that phrase: “the one that got away.” I imagine it sung in a very raw and agonized way.
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"is there any chance i can fix this?" where james and reader are best friends since birth but he begins to pull away and spend less time with her in favor of the boys, so she just cuts him out of her life and after a while he doesn't know how to deal with it anymore. hiiiii
sad beautiful tragic
james potter x fem reader (angst)
a/n: sorry about any grammar mistakes, english isn’t my first language (also i’m pretty bad at writing angst but i tried my best) also immediately thought of the title because of the taylor swift song, so hope you don’t mind the association. also the first kiss part came to my mind because of a tiktok i saw a few weeks ago but i don’t really remember who’s it was to credit them
warnings: friendship distancing, kissing, fighting, cursing, a bit short (sorry), happy ending
“i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry, honey, please. is there any chance i can fix this? just tell me, please”
you knew james potter and he knew you. knowing meaning comprehending each other, meaning that you stood by each others side for as long as you can remember.
he was your first friend. he was your neighbor and you both grew up together, it was expected that you both would know each other better than anyone.
sure, it felt different when you both started hogwarts and suddenly he had new friends, but so did you. you spent the time you could together, always saving a bit of your days for each other.
during the sixth to seventh year summer vacation, he had spent the whole summer with you, you both would hang out all the time.
until he kissed you.
it was the last day of summer and you both had spent the evening in his room. you were talking about a book you had been reading recently and he listened quietly, like it was the most interesting thing he had ever heard of. until you paused for a brief moment and he moved closer to you. you were sat on the floor with him, the carpet tickling your legs as you played with the fluffy yarn under you.
“honey” he said, you looked at him, doe eyed waiting for him to continue. “a phrase. two words, six letters, two vowels. guess.” he said lowly whilst looking at your lips. your mind went blank.
one vowel for each word. you still didn’t get it.
“what are the vowels?” you whisper back, he smiles.
“i and e” he answers, not taking his eyes from off of you for a second. you knew.
“kiss me?” and so he did. his lips met yours abruptly, his hands grabbed your hips and yours went straight to the back of his neck. it completely changed the way you ever saw him, hell, it completely changed your expectations to a kiss. it was better than anything you’d ever experienced and you loved it.
when you got back to school, it seemed like he didn’t do that, actually, it seemed like he didn’t even talk to you the whole summer.
sure, he did casually say hello in the halls and you might’ve shared one or two conversations, but what the hell? he kisses you like that and expects you to just forget about it? that was the most fucked up thing anyone could’ve done. as the semester went on, your mind was absolutely torturing you over that kiss.
it made you overthink every single thing you ever did around him. but maybe he didn't have time, maybe he was really busy with his studies and quidditch, right? that was probably it.
he saw you every once in a while, said an awkward hi or whatever that thing signaling head thing he did was.
the crush you had developed for him didn’t help at all. it made you crave his presence in your life, even now that you hated him more than you ever thought you possibly could. you missed his pet names for you, ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’ sounded so amazing coming out of his mouth.
but from the moment he started to ignore you, you decided he was absolutely done. he was never going to see a smile coming from you ever again, he was never going to get another hello, nothing. james potter didn’t deserve a single thing from you.
your friends agreed. they thought he was a piece of shit and said you should’ve cut him off a long time before.
life went on without him, you barely thought about him. your studies were going well, everything was great.
christmas break came up and when you saw james at the train station, you were pissed. you knew he was going to be there for christmas dinner, he was always invited alongside with his family. you didn’t know how he was going to act then, was he going to pretend it never happened?
when you got home, your mother instantly started asking you what you wanted for dinner and you were glad to be home, you just hated that he was in the house next to yours.
a few nights after you both got home, you were invited for a date by steven, who worked at a bookstore near the city park. you said yes, he took you to see a shitty movie and tried to kiss you after dropping you off at your front porch. you dodged it and gave him a good night kiss on the cheek. james saw it all.
once the date left, you heard him yelling from his porch:
“who’s that?” you ignored him and went inside, sure, you weren’t going to see steven again but james didn’t deserve to know that.
on christmas day you went to the potter’s for dinner, your parents insisted for you to go, even though you tried to fake being sick. sirius was there too, you politely greeted all of them them and didn’t bother to answer james’ “hey”.
when you sad at the side of the living room table james sat next to you, even though that wasn’t his usual seat. you played with your dress awkwardly and ate less, being there was making you so irritated you lost your appetite.
after taking a bite from your desert, you thanked euphemia for the food and told your parents you were feeling a bit sick and that you were heading home, telling them to enjoy the rest of their night.
as you were opening the door to head out, you heard footsteps behind you. you knew james was there and you had no interest to talk with him.
“don’t” you simply stated, stepping out and shutting the door lightly on him, he followed you during the small walk between both your houses.
“hey!” he shouted, trying to get your attention. you were about to shut the door to your house on his face, but he held it with his foot, going into your house.
he pulled you by your wrist but you tugged it away from him.
“don’t touch me!” you shouted at him, staring into his eyes for the first time that night.
“now you can talk to me, huh? ‘the fucks up with you?!” he shouts back, brows furrowed. you couldn’t believe him, what a fucking nerve he had.
“whats up with YOU?!” you step closer to him, throwing your keys on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. “you’ve ignored me for the whole semester and now you wanna talk?” he had never seen you like this. you had never been this angry at anyone or anything around him.
“i’m sorry?” he had no reaction, he knew he was wrong, he just couldn’t deal with it. with anything. he didn’t know what to do after he kissed you, he couldn’t handle any of it. he knew that if he spent more time around you he would fall harder, he couldn’t risk it.
“i’m sorry! now that you don’t have anyone else near for you to talk to i’m worthy of your attention? i’m so lucky, right?!” your eyes started to tear up, but you held it in, he was not getting to see you cry.
“honey, i’m sorry i didn’t talk much with you these past few months, but i tried to speak with you tonight and you didn’t even bother to answer me!” he ran his hand through his hair, looking at you as you sat down on the couch, staring at your hands.
“you didnt even look at me. the entire fucking night. one lousy ‘hey’ is not trying to do anything” he handed you a piece of paper, it was crumpled up in his jeans’ pocket. you knew he was bad with words, but the paper was written front and back. what was he even trying to do? did he think a letter was enough to fix the damage he had done?
“really? you’re a little too late for this, don’t you think?” you said, looking at him angrily.
“fine, don’t read it then. just keep it, okay?” he knew you were about to cry. it was the worst feeling he had ever felt.
“you don’t get to do this to me, james” you hold back tears once you say it.
“i know, honey, i know” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, cupping your face as you try to not melt because of his touch. he kisses you, but this time you pull away.
“no. don’t do this to me” you say, a single tear streaming down your face, he wipes it off but more tears just keep coming
“im sorry, im so sorry for everything i did and-“ you interrupt him.
“could you just try to listen?!” you shout, pulling away from his touch again. “what makes you think that i want this? after all you did, better, all that you didn’t do?! you kiss me and expect me to forget about it? expect me to be okay with you ignoring me all the time just because you kissed me again? i can’t be okay with any of this unless you actually explain to me what happened. i really try to understand you, but all of this doesn’t help!”
“i love you” he says “i have loved you all my life and i didn’t know, after i kissed you it all hit me and i couldn’t trust myself around you anymore, i didn’t want to hurt you so i pulled away, i just didn’t know it would hurt you more like that. i’m sorry, but im here now and i want to show you how much I do love you” he pauses and sits next to you on the couch.
“i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry, honey, please. is there any chance i can fix this? just tell me, please” he wipes the tears from off your face again. you knew he meant it, you just didn’t know how to trust him again.
“i don’t know” you whisper, looking into his eyes, you had never seen him look this sad. you wanted to trust him, you really did, but how could you? how could you know he wasn’t going to pull something like that again?
you couldn’t be sure of anything, you could only hope for the best and be careful. so you gave it a shot.
“come here” you say lowly, pulling him in for a hug. he buried his face in the crook of your neck and gave you small kisses.
“i’m so sorry, baby” he whispered.
“i know” you whisper back, he looks at you and gives you quick kisses all over your face. you can’t help but smile.
it was going to take a while for you to trust him again, but you knew you could.
#james potter x reader#james potter fic#james potter#james potter x y/n#james potter x you#james potter angst#james potter oneshot#james potter imagine#james potter fanfiction#mrsaluado#lila writes#silencesscreams
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Can you do an Adam x angel reader (romantic) one shot where Adam is at a gig (cus he’s canonically in a band) and he takes notice of the reader in the crowd. Yk just kinda do what you want with it (maybe you could make it a little smutty😏) thx 💜💜
Fucking the Guitarist
A/N: Again, I wrote this high, so I’m sorry for any mistakes ✌️
Warnings: Semi-public sex
(Name) wouldn’t consider herself a groupie by any means, but she did make a point to go to every single performance that Adam’s band put on. She had a massive crush on him, but so did half the girls there. She didn’t feel like competing, so she had never met Adam before, seeing as he was always swarmed by girls as soon as the show ended.
It was another night spent watching Adam’s band, and they had just finished their final set. (Name) slipped out some side doors into an alley to have a smoke. She was lighting up when she heard the doors open again. She turned to see who her company was, and almost dropped her lighter when she saw Adam himself.
He glanced at her then did a double take. “Sup.”
Oh my god, he was talking to her.
“Hey.” (Name) tried to play it cool.
“I know you. You come to every show.”
(Name) was shitting herself. He had noticed her?
“How come you’ve never come up to say hi?” Adam asked, walking over and taking the lighter out of (Name)’s hand. He flicked it open and lit her cig for her.
“Because,” (Name) said after a long drag. “I’m not some groupie.”
Adam was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. “I know that,” he said, handing her back her lighter. (Name) eyed him, taking it and screaming internally when their fingers touched.
Adam held out a hand, and (Name) passed him the cig. He took a long drag from it before handing it back, making sure their hands touched again. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“I always do,” (Name) replied.
“What’s your name?”
“(Name).”
They chatted for a while before Adam needed to get back to his band. “I’ll meet you here next time?” He phrased it as a question. (Name) was star struck. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Okay,” Adam smirked, backing up and making finger guns at her. “Next time, (Name).”
To (Name)’s surprise, he did meet her in that alley again after his next show. And the next show. And the next show. They kept meeting until (Name) would dare to call them friends.
It was after a show and they were talking in the back alley as they normally would. “How’d you get away from your adoring fans this time?” (Name) teased. Adam chuckled but didn’t answer. “I don’t know why you spend time with me instead of getting laid. You’ve got plenty of options.”
Adam smiled, looking away. “Yeah, it would be nice to get laid after my shows more often.” (Name)’s heart dropped. “But there’s only one person I’ve wanted to fuck lately.” He pointedly looked at her and she blushed.
He grinned, backing her against the brick wall. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”
“Who-” (Name) swallowed. “Who do you want to fuck?”
Adam rolled his eyes, caging her in with his arms on either side of her head. “You, bitch.”
(Name) floundered for words and Adam suddenly looked slightly unsure of himself. “If you want, I mean.”
Of course (Name) wanted it, she’d wanted this for months. Boldly, she reached up and grabbed his collar, dragging him down to her level. She pressed her lips to his. She could feel Adam smile against her mouth, pleased.
His hands traveled down her sides to her ass, which he lightly tapped to indicate what he wanted. (Name) got the signal and jumped, Adam picking her up, and (Name) locking her legs around his waist.
They made out passionately, (Name) holding onto his horns. When they pulled apart for air, (Name) dared to ask, “Can I see you without your mask?” The question threw Adam off.
“How about we go back to my penthouse?” he finally asked.
That was a big step, (Name) hadn’t been expecting, but they were taking a lot of big steps tonight. Adam set her down and offered her his hand, and together they flew off to Adam’s apartment building. They didn’t bother with the elevator, flying straight to Adam’s balcony.
As soon as they landed, Adam was on her, pushing her onto a couch, not even bothering to go inside. He nudged her legs apart with his knee and settled between her thighs, pressing his erection against her crotch.
They fervently reconnected their lips, teeth clashing and tongues rubbing against one another. When they separated for air again, (Name) reiterated her question. “Your mask?”
Adam hesitated.
“You’re about to be inside me,” (Name) pointed out. “I think that’s intimate enough for me to see your face.”
Adam hummed. “That’s a good point, sweetie.” He leaned back and grabbed the bottom of his mask, slowly pulling it up and off his face. (Name) stared at him starstruck. Adam looked unsure without his mask, so (Name) reached up to cup his face in her hands.
“You’re so handsome,” she whispered.
Adam smiled.
They kissed, and (Name) moaned at the sensation of his human lips. The noise spurred Adam on, who snuck his hand up her shirt to grope her breast. (Name) moaned again. Adam pulled back and ripped off her shirt. Shame, she had liked that shirt.
She didn’t have time to be annoyed about it though, as Adam was climbing off her and tugging down her pants. He pulled her up and (Name) went to question him before she was cut off by him bending her over the arm of the couch. He ripped her panties off too.
He knelt down next to the couch so he was looking at (Name)’s face as his hand massaged her ass before his fingers crept to where she wanted them most.
“You’re so wet~” Adam smirked, enjoying the expressions on (Name)’s face. He slid one finger inside of her, then two. When he was met with no resistance he added a third finger. He watched (Name)’s mouth fall open as she moaned again, burying her face in the couch.
“Ah ah,” Adam pulled his fingers out. (Name) whined at the loss. “Let me see your face.” (Name) turned her head, blushing. “Good girl~” Adam’s long fingers slid back into her and she sighed contentedly.
“Adam,” she whined. “What, baby?” Adam teased. “You want my cock? Can’t wait to get a taste of the original dick, huh?”
He thrust his fingers in and out, revelling in the facial expressions of pleasure (Name) made. “Please,” (Name) begged. “I want you.” Her words made Adam’s dick twitch, and he decided he’d had enough of teasing her.
He pulled his fingers out and stood, undoing his belt and pulling his pants and boxers down, kicking them off. He stood behind her and gripped her hips, fingers digging into her flesh. He lined himself up, and slowly pushed in.
(Name) let out an unabashed moan. “Adam~”
Adam couldn’t go slow for long, quickly bottoming out with a groan. “Fuck, (Name), you feel so fucking good.” (Name) clenched around him at his praise. After giving her a moment to adjust to his size, Adam began thrusting.
He started at a steady pace, but very quickly lost in, pounding into (Name) with no regards. Her ass jiggled as his pubic bone slammed against it everytime he thrust in deep. His grip on her hips was almost bruising.
(Name) was gripping the couch cushion for dear life as Adam fucked her. She realized, vaguely, that they were on his balcony, where anyone could possibly see them. The thought only made her more excited. Maybe she was a bit of a freak.
Adam reached a hand around her and down to her clit, circling it with one slender finger. (Name) cried out, the pleasure intensifying tenfold.
“I’m fucking close,” Adam grunted. His hips stuttered, his thrusts becoming sloppy. “(Name)!” he moaned her name as he came, bending over her to bite down on her shoulder as he unloaded his seed into her womb.
His fingers didn’t cease their minstrations, and (Name) came shortly after with a drawn out gasp.
They both panted, coming down from their highs. They were sticky with sweat, and (Name) was sticky with cum when Adam pulled out.
He slid an arm under her breasts and pulled her up, holding her steady by the waist.
She turned around in his hold and looked up at him, looking utterly fucked out. It was Adam’s new favorite sight.
“Let’s get inside,” he said, bending down to kiss her forehead. “I think we both need a shower.”
#hazbin adam#adam x reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin angel dust#hazbin charlie#hazbin husk#hazbin vaggie#hazbin vox#hazbin hotel#hazbin lute#x reader#smut
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Hazbin Hotel idea
- Fallen-Angel reader(Fem) x Alastor
The reader is doubting Heaven's actions and decides to take a trip to Hell to see for herself.
- Disagrees with the idea of senseless carnage but understands life is not so simple and split in two.
- Charlie, of course, takes her in, although she does not know the reader is an angel. The reader at first doubts the redemption idea but begins to see the vision.
- Reader is not a fan of Lucifer for many reasons, but mainly because he "betrayed" Heaven, and his relationship with Lilith/Charlie is strained.
- Imagine Hell's greatest Dad, but instead of y'know the whole dad part, Lucifer and Alastor are trying to make you pick a side.
- Alastor, chaotic as usual, tries to get the reader to accept being fallen and doesn't want her to go back. She tells him about her 'predicament' before anyone else, and you better believe he wants to fight the angels for you. He tells Charlie and the others about everything because he knows you won't do it yourself. You obviously get mad. Like big mad.
- In your spiral, he sees your wings at their total capacity, and your shaken demeanor has them changing from white to black at a high rate.
- Vox and Valentino get the terrible idea to hold you for ransom against Alastor and Angel Dust, and they do not go unpunished. Vox makes several derogatory comments about your "holier than thou image," Alastor won't let him get away with it. When it comes to you, he has no problem with your lineage, and honestly, he finds it charming that an angel of all creatures would fall for him.
One of your wings gets injured, and unsurprisingly, it happens to be one of the only angelic wings left. (Say the top and bottom wings on each side are black while the middle two are white?) You used to dye your wings to hide your angelic nature, but with an injury present, it is the least of your concerns. Alastor refuses to let you fly while in recovery, and he has to deal with your pouting. When you do heal, he's still weary, always accompanying you in case you need a helping hand.
"Al, I can fly on my own! Look, my wing is healed!"
"No."
"C'mon, just one lap around the hotel!"
"No."
- Husk thinks you're pretty chill company and likes to vent when you have nothing to do. Sure, he can't say much about Alastor without fearing for his soul, but when he can, the conversations are never dull. If you make him laugh, you'll never let him forget it.
- Angel and Nifty constantly tease you about your infatuation with a particular radio demon. Don't expect any worthwhile advice, even if it means no harm. Charlie really wants to see you and Al together, but she might need to be reminded about boundaries.
- Angel Dust once tried to hit on you to see what would happen and nearly got thrown into next week.
- When he says "Good Girl" to Charlie, you can't help but blush and be a little jealous. He isn't afraid to use the phrase to fluster you on purpose, although you would prefer he not.
- If you wear makeup/do your nails, he will be fascinated. He doesn't say anything because once, he spooked you and made you jump, ruining it. The next hour was spent with him memorizing every detail of your designs in case of another mistake. If he scares you again, it's his job to redo everything. Except for mascara. Never mascara.
- Chess and poker games when the staff has downtime. He will use his shadows to help you cheat, but only if he's not playing with you. Husk knows but says nothing.
- If you're listening to music with earbuds, he will occasionally slow the signal so he can bother you. At first, you were annoyed, but realized it was his odd way of communication. Plus, he still hates technology. (You will purposely play "Video Killed The Radio Star" to get him back.)
"Would you kindly stop playing that infernal song, my dear?"
"Not until you stop interrupting my music."
- The Egg Bois love you, that's no surprise. They always ask about you when being watched by Alastor. The radio demon has come to accept the many questions by now, but the first time, he wanted to spit out his coffee. You think fondly of the memory, occasionally bringing it up to lighten the mood.
"Are you and Mom fighting?"
- When you get into disagreements, expect a few dozen bouquets of white roses in your room. He's terrible at expressing emotions other than murderous intent, and Charlie does what she can to help. You're both stubborn, but it gets too exhausting to keep up the act, and eventually, someone has to cave. (Charlie isn't afraid to wear her horns when confronting him, and if he tries to avoid apologizing, Lucifer will make a daily phone call to annoy him.)
"Hey asshole, talk to your girlfriend, it's upsetting my daughter. Also, you suck."
- Regarding the Extermination day, you try your best to fight the Angelic invasion but struggle. Alastor is stuck between keeping you and the Hotel safe. When Adam nearly beats him, you don't know he's alive, but his reappearance at the new and improved hotel is a welcome sight. He's a little rattled that he almost died, but seeing you safe is enough to keep him going. He might be a tad crazier, but you love him to pieces anyway as you run up and hug him. Typically, he despises physical contact, but coming from you, he doesn't mind, even going so far as to hug you back.
"I assure you that I'm alright, mon cher."
"Are you sure, Al, because that was a difficult fight. Wait—your voice!"
The radio demon takes a moment to realize that without his staff, his voice is clearer than before.
"Oh, you must mean the radio feedback is gone. Yes, I suppose you've never heard my regular voice. I had forgotten what it sounded like. How is it?
"It sounds lovely. I couldn't imagine a better fit."
"I should return the compliment; that is what a proper gentleman does. Your wings look lovely as ever, (Y/N)."
You look over your shoulder to see the feathers no longer entirely black, but back to their ivory shade. A few straggled feathers remain, but you don't mind, overjoyed.
In the middle of your undeniably cute interaction, the rest of the staff is watching. It isn't until Husk interrupts with "get a room" that you two get the hint.
Bonus:
Ruffle this tall disaster's hair. He might complain, but he loves it.
Are you feeling extra crazy? Boop him. Just boop the nose. He will do the same to you.
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annoying things they do
𝑜𝑛𝑦
- doesn’t let you sleep in unless he’s sleeping in too. like this nigga would literally wake you up at eight am. durag, plaid pajama pants, and hoodie on. with his keys jingling in his hands on some, “ma get up we going to the store.”
- goes through a bottle of juice in less than two days. you literally have to buy him his own minute made and orange juice because if the two of you share it’ll be gone so quick.
- steals a lot of words and phrases from you, and they’re either used so wrong that you laugh or so right that you’d have no choice but to stand in shock. like he’d come home from the barbershop and go up to you like, “like my cut ma? it’s eating rightttt?” and you’d just be standing there like how do you know how to use that?
- this man is greedy. like all of them are greedy, but ony is a different type of greedy. he would never eat your food without permission, but let you open up a bag of chips around him. the next thing you gon see is his big ass hand in your face on some, “lemme get one” or if you eating a burger or a slice of pizza and he see you enjoying it. he’s in your face immediately. “lemme get a bite ma. shit look mad good.”
- smacks your ass so damn hard. like when y’all are having sex it’s not really an issue, but why is he sending you flying at eleven in the morning while you’re making eggs.
𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤
- says the dirtiest shit in your ear and just walks away after. he doesn’t care where y’all are either. you could be walking through the baby section of walmart just because it’s the fastest route to where you needed to go and he’d come up behind you, making you stop in your tracks as he put his hand on top of where yours were gripping the cart, dick print all on your ass while he whispers in your ear. “keep screaming ‘nut in me daddy’ while i’m fucking you and soon you gon be buying shit from here”. you didn’t even get to reply because once you moved to turn around he backed up from you and kept walking.
- always wants to finger you while he’s driving. especially if you have a sundress onnnn. he don’t care how long or short the drive is, you’re going to cum before y’all get to the destination. and it be so random because he asks so plainly like “ma pull your dress up. wanna play wit her”. not even looking away from the road. you’d try to talk him out of if, but ony doesn’t care. “ion care if we five minutes away. i could make you cum in two.”
- will fuck you literally anywhere. if you tease him you have about ten minutes to fix it or he’s going to fix it himself. which means taking you literally anywhere so he can get what he wants. sometimes you don’t even have to tease him. all it really takes is a pretty outfit and some nice perfume and he’s on you. he’s fucked you in fitting rooms, club bathrooms, party bathrooms, his old bedroom at his moms house, and the list goes onnn. if you looking good he’s on that ass.
𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑒
- heavy sleeper like it’s ridiculous. the first few minutes of him sleeping he’ll probably wake up if he hears something, but once he’s been sleep past an hour there is no waking that man up.
- literally bites you. if you point in his face he’s going to try to bite your finger. if y’all are play fighting and he gets on top of you he’s going to try to bite your neck. when y’all are chilling and he’s laying on your ass he’s going to eventually bite it. he has a serious problem.
- mocks your moans or plays your tapes out loud around the house if he feels that you’re “playing” with him. so if y’all are going back and forth don’t even bring up anything about his dick because he will use your moans against you.
“that’s not what you was saying last night. what happened to, ‘oh my god papi your dick so biggg’ and ‘please daddy i wanna have your baby’?”
or if y’all just got done arguing and you decide to just walk away and start cleaning (i clean when i’m mad). you’d be washing the dishes and out of nowhere just start hearing pornographic slaps and moans being played on the house speaker.
“daddy pleasee m’so sorryyy.*slap slap slap slap* you sorry ma? *slap slap slap* y-e-sssss fuckkkk.”
you’d sprint from the kitchen to the living room where connie was sitting, just sitting there rolling up like the whole house doesn’t sound like a scene off of pornhub. you’d try to snatch the phone from him, but he’d move his hand and get up. putting the phone high in the air so you can’t reach. “connie you bet-”
“say you sorry and i’ll turn it off”
- sometimes he’ll purposely not kiss you back when you kiss him. just letting you move your lips on his while he keeps his in a straight line to piss you off.
- just starts randomly acting like you. like you could be getting something from the fridge and he’ll walk up to you, chest full of tattoos, sweats sagging on his waist, holding up his phone. “girllll you really ate the girls up wit your new ig post. the fit is giving rich gyalll.”
𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤
- eats you out for sooooo long. like he doesn’t care if you are screaming crying or passed the hell out. only when he feels like he’s done will he stop. if you try to stop him he’ll just say “it’s not about you mami. this for me” and then continue to remove your soul from your body.
- will purposely hit the wrong spots inside you when you piss him off. they aren’t particularly bad spots, but he knows you’ll never cum from him hitting them. of course you’ll complain about it because you know he’s doing it on purpose. “con s-stop ittt!” but of course he just has something smart to say back to you. “stop playin in my face and maybe i’ll hit it right.”
- another one that’ll fuck you anywhere, but he’s worse with it. he’s fucked you on the side of the road one night. passenger door open with you bent over the seat while he fucked you from outside of the car. he gives no fucks.
- is always breaking something. you tried to cuff him one time while you gave him head. he broke the cuffs…and it didn’t stop there. he’s broken two headboards, one of your nails, your glasses, and almost all of your waist beads while fucking you.
𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛
- if you piss him off before going to bed he’s going to take your bonnet right tf off while you asleep. then will proceed to laugh at you in the morning while your yelling cursing about your hair being fucked up.
- randomly starts yelling song lyrics. like y’all could be sitting on the couch and your bones would literally shake in your body cause he thought it would be okay to yell pop smoke lyrics out of nowhere.
-bends you over and starts acting like he’s fucking you. like if you’re making a tiktok while he walks in the room he will literally push you down by the back of your neck and start “drilling” your shit in the camera.
- wakes you up just to make you do stupid shit. you would be sleeping like a baby just to be shook up by his big ass hands on your shoulders. you’d wake up in a panic and he’d go “mama. mama look! the obama’s need our help we gotta get the men in black and shoot the aliens cmon!” and of course your confused ass is gon get up, taking the broom he handed to you and going into the living room to “fight”. when you realize what he said and turned towards him, he was already well into laughter. watching you mumble curses under your breath before walking back to your room.
𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤
- if you’re the one coming to him for sex he’s going to make you work for it. he loves when you take the initiative, getting on top of him and taking what you need. it was the sexiest thing in the world so now if you want it you have to come get it. if you try to whine about it he’ll just tell you, “s’your dick mama. if you really wanted it you would take what you need instead of just having daddy fuck you silly all the time.”
- teases you soooo much. whether it be standing real close behind you, staring at you with that sexy look on his face or just straight up choking you, tonguing you down, then walking tf away. aran lovessss to tease you.
- if he sees you getting a little too “friendly” with a guy he will make you call them while he’s fucking you. purposely hitting all of your favorite spots so a moan or two can slip just so they can know that you will always be his. he’ll also make it very known that he’s the one fucking you.
“uhh huh. ask em how his day was mama” he’d say in a breathless tone. loving the way your ass bounced off his lower stomach. “h-how was your day?” your friend wouldn’t know whether to be horrified or turned on at the situation. clearly the latter since he began to palm himself through his pants on the other end of the phone.
if they choose to stay friends with you that’s fine because aran knows that every time they see you they’ll think of him.
- sometimes will make you watch him eat you out, knowing that it always made you cum faster when you’d watch him slowly let his spit drip from his mouth to your clit.
𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑘𝑎
- sucks a massaging feet. one minute he’s rubbing and squeezing the tension from them, then the next minute he’s trying to put them in his mouth or he’s putting them in the chokehold while tickling the fuck out of them.
- do not let this man buy you a pair of sneakers. he will watch you like a hawk, just itching for you to do something wrong so he can cay something.
“mama don’t walk like thatttt. you gon crease themmm”
“baby pay attention where you walkin. could’ve been stepping in shit like five times and you wouldn’t know a thing.”
tanaka has so many different sneakers and treats them like babies so when he buys you a pair you need to treat them that way as well or it physically pains him.
- bumps his head all the timeeee. you have to watch this man around the house or the next thing you know you gon be hearing “OWW…shit that hurt!” cause he bumped his head on the corner of the kitchen island while picking something up.
𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤
- always eats you out before and after sex. doesn’t care if you shaking and pushing his head away because your “too sensitive”, after he gets done fucking you he’s going to eat you out. whether he nut in you or not
- purposely fucks you harder when he knows people can hear. loves the embarrassed/shy face you make while getting dressed after he’s finished knocking the mario coins out of your pussy in your grandmas bathroom at your family barbecue.
- if y’all fuck after arguing he makes you repeat everything you said while you were mad while he’s pounding you into the mattress.
“say it ma. repeat what you said t’me”
“y-you not the o-only n-nigga i need shittt”
“now is that true?”
“nuh uhhhh. s’not true daddy”
“then if i hear it again ima fuck you even harder cause not only are you being disrespectful, but you lying too”
- will fuck you like the meanest nigga on earth. i’m talking slapping your ass so hard you actually seen hints of red in your skin, spitting all in your mouth, choking you while giving you light slaps on the face to keep you from passing out, then will have the audacity to go hop on the game all giddy and happy like you weren’t still on the bed trying to remember your name and who you were.
#aot x black reader#onyankopon x black reader#onyankopon x reader#onyankopon x black!reader#aot smut#connie springer x black!reader#connie x black!reader#connie springer smut#connie x y/n#connie x black reader#connie springer x black reader#connie smut#aran ojiro x black reader#aran ojiro smut#aran ojiro x black y/n#aran x black!reader#aran ojiro x black!reader#aran x black reader#tanaka x black reader#tanaka smut#tanaka x black!reader#tanaka x black y/n
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anal / rimming with coryo? skip if you don’t feel comfortable!
♡ Content Warning . 18+ mdni !! Switch but mainly sub coryo <3
— Coryo’s got his hands plastered at his sides, blonde curls sticking to his forehead in sticky strands. He’s so whiny, regardless of the dominance over you, as he watches you take the tip of his cock into your mouth. Your tongue laves over the underside of his cock, tasting the stringy precum soaking his aching cockhead. He breathes out a heavy sigh, his head tilted back against the headboard.
“Feels so good,” he murmurs, licking his lips sweetly. “Feels so, so good, baby. Keep doing it juuust like that.”
You hum, and teasingly you pull your tongue away. He lets out a gasp of breath, his hand threading in your hair as he tries to shove you back down onto him. You grab his hand, quick to shove it down beside his lean hips. He chuckles, something low and dark, and heat creeps up your neck.
“What? You wanna try and be the one in charge this time? Go ahead, sweetheart, you won’t last a second.”
Your jaw clenches. Coryo knows you’ll throw him into subspace as quick as lightening. His challenge doesn’t go unnoticed to you, and you reach down to grasp his balls in your hand. His lashes flutter, a surprised gasp escaping him, as you move your mouth over them, too. You nuzzle your face into him, breathe in his scent with a deep sigh.
“You think I won’t make you beg, Coryo?” You murmur softly to him. “Cmon, beg.”
“N-Not that easy,” he huffs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Try harder.”
“Hm.”
You bite your lip, leaving soft kisses on his inner thighs and his heavy sack. Your tongue moves lower, past the space behind his balls. Your hands grab his legs and pull him up, just a bit, to spread him out more. Your tongue presses in between his cheeks.
The boy suddenly whines, sweet and sultry, his mouth open into an o and his pale skin turning dusty pink.
“W-Wait—“ he stutters out, but you just grin. If he didn’t want this, he’d use the safe word. And as of right now, he isn’t.
“No, no. Have to try harder, right?”
“You’re so mean.” He says, pouting. His dominance has faded, as it always does. All it takes is one little swipe of your tongue against his hole to make him a whimpering, bratty mess.
“Oh? I am?”
You make a faux gesture of pulling away, but Coryo lets out a pathetic cry.
“No! No, please come back, mommy, ‘m sorry…”
And just like that, that name spilling past his lips, you know you’ve got him in your clutches.
You smile, your index finger trailing up in between his legs to touch that special place he’s reserved just for you. You tease his hole with your fingertip, not quite slipping it in yet because it isn’t wet enough— but you still have fun watching the boy squirm.
“Please, mommy,” he pleads. “Stick your fingers in me, please.”
Your fingers lave over his lips.
“Get them wet for me, sweet boy.”
He suckles the digit onto his pretty tongue, drooling all over them with ferocity and impatience. You pull them out and tease one over his hole again. You push in slowly, as to not hurt him, and you crook your finger just how he likes it. Watching his hole swallow your finger so greedily makes slick drip down your thighs.
“Oh,” he whines out, when you add another finger. “Baby. Baby baby baby…”
It’s all he can say, as you fingerfuck his tight little asshole with your mouth, whispering vulgar phrases against his ear. He groans when your head travels back down.
You pull out your fingers, much to his dismay, but not before you’re using your thumbs to pull his cheeks apart and expose his clenching hole. Your tongue lolls out, licking a long stripe up the skin there, and his legs shake.
“Mommy..” he cries, his hands burying themselves in your hair once again. You begin to prod at his hole with the warm, wet muscle, sliding in one finger beside your tongue so you can hit that special spot inside him that has him keening. Rubbing up against his rim, pushing your tongue back in— in and out, in and out. Coryo’s thighs practically wrap around your head like a girl, and you wonder how a powerful, usually dominant man can be reduced to such a whiny, needy slut.
His cock isn’t being touched, but it’s twitching against his stomach, red and flushed. He watches with fluttering lashes as pleasure courses through him and he cums, squirting weak ropes of spend all over his tummy.
And he’s so cute like that, cumming all over himself from just your tongue on his tight little hole <3 he just loses it whenever you touch him there.
#Coriolanus snow#bratty lxndry444#Coriolanus snow x reader#Coriolanus x fem! reader#Coriolanus snow smut#sub! Coriolanus snow#bunny writes ͟͟͞☆#tbosas#the ballad of songs and snakes#the ballad of songs and snakes fanfic#thg#thg fanfic#the hunger games#hunger games#Tom blyth
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PLEASE DO BLUE LOCK ICKS IM BEGGING🙏😭🌹
😏 coming right up anon. gonna channel my inner critic and not hold back on any of these.
RIN
brother complex. not much else to say except that he needs to get a life. not everything is about metaphorically crushing your older brother's dreams and brooding in the dark hate of retribution.
competitive but only because he is a desperate whore for external validation. ignores everyone but craves the attention of a sole person named sae itoshi. was defeated by isagi once and has never let go of it since. has a one-track mind that is impossible to derail. stubborn when he wants to be.
probably a virgin and will continue to be one until his late 30s.
has not known a single day of peace ever since sae ditched him for the popular girlies. as a result, he has developed a very concerning case of social awkwardness. his idea of a conversation involves a brick wall and thirty minutes of you staring at his resting bitch face. constantly looks like that one grumpy cat meme. judges you for your poor decisions but then gets aggressively defensive when you point out his own mistakes.
reeks of so much teen angst that even metallica can't save him. the problem is that he has nothing to back up his emo persona. his insults lack creativity and, unfortunately for him, phrases like "lukewarm" and "half-baked" and "hell" do not make his words carry more weight. uses the f-word but in the most embarrassing context that it makes you facepalm and internally cringe.
SAE
zero social awareness. this boy's head is empty. the lights are not on up there. there are no picture frames or furniture. the curtains are drawn, and there is not a sliver of clouds or sunshine. cannot read body language and does not know what a filter is.
the source of all of rin's stress. he is the original trauma projector, creator of generational cycles. not even subtle about it. "turns out i was wrong. i thought japan was incapable of ever giving birth to decent forwards." sir....with the way you worded that, you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave rin false hope.
swears but it's even worse than his brother. literally called his elders a "fatso and bob cut duo" and "insect turd." i mean....there is a line between what is considered a legitimate burn and what is a first grader making up insults in his coloring book.
has a horrible haircut and no fashion taste. i already talked about this previously, but it was so bad it deserved a second mention.
a freak but tries to justify it rationally. like what do you mean you can tell a person's athletic ability from their buttock size? just admit you have a kinky fetish already.
somewhat of a coward but i'm gonna give him some leniency due to his tragic child genius backstory. tbh he's just an eighteen-year-old boy who needs a goddamn break.
KAISER
alexa please play clown music. this man sets himself for failure and then wallows in self-pity when he actually fails. like what did you expect? you knew what was going to happen the moment you challenged isagi like that. it was most definitely your fault you got violently humbled.
has a borderline god complex (currently calls himself an emperor but has not evolved into a deity yet.) unfortunately, he does not stand on business. cue the dramatic meltdowns when he realizes there is an actual gap between his ability and his reputation. if you're going to lie, at least make it believable.
insecure and mentally unstable. he probably cuts and re-dyes his hair every single time shit happens. no wonder his locks get shorter every time.
lazy when it comes to anything that is not football and expects others to do it for him. demands princess treatment wherever he goes. unfortunately, not all of us have servants with no self-respect like ness.
"it is not enough that i should succeed, others should fail" type of person.
does not wear shoes and even if he does, it's sandals. put them grippers away.
NAGI
a literal sloth who has so much potential but uses none of it. has no intrinsic motivation of his own, so if he's going to do anything, it has to be you behind the wheel, making sure he gets put to work.
does not have a close relationship with his parents, and so he has no sense of community, holidays, or traditions. no fun at all if you want him to do things like christmas shopping or birthday celebrations.
rots in bed all day and then has to nerve to ask you to carry him around. your back better be strong because his 190 cm body is not going to be light.
not loyal (need i say more.)
REO
second male lead syndrome. also known as that one popular guy who's always picked last.
acts like a victim but then when you realistically tell him to how to change his situation he refuses to do so. you cannot ask for advice and then take none of it to heart. no wonder you're still not over your ex.
"i can fix him" mentality. no, you can't. you are a seventeen-year-old child, not a licensed therapist and nagi isn't even all that.
NESS
touch-starved to the point he will stay in a toxic and abusive relationship in order to gain some scrap of affection. just because you were the black sheep of your family does not mean you can lose all sense of personal dignity.
probably stalks all the people he hates. has a burn book like regina george from mean girls. cuts out and glues little pictures of kaiser all over his bedroom. doodles hearts all over it with glittery gel pen. isagi's face and name are scratched out of every team photo.
delusional and prone to mood swings. medicated but at this point, he is beyond saving.
ISAGI
a home wrecker. has ruined more relationships than he can count on ten fingers yet still manages to smile like he's some angelic saint.
solves jigsaw puzzles for a living (not very cool if you ask me.)
has some unresolved anger management issues. probably repressed all his negative feelings when he was younger, so it all comes out when he's on the field. unfortunately, his twilight-sparkle-friendship-is-magic agenda is not going to work if he keeps cussing out his teammates like that. but then again, he is the main character, so i guess his plot armor makes up for his pitfalls.
says that he's a good guy but then holds personal vendettas against rivals he doesn't like. boy was so ready to throw hands when #kaisagi was trending on the internet. but when you actually think about, he's similar to kaiser in more ways than he'd like to admit.
BAROU
has the worst case of high and mighty "holier-than-thou" attitude. isagi put his ego in check, but it still peeks out from time to time.
he was the ugliest baby when he was born. i am not going to hold back on the child barou slander because it is true. no, he was not a cute and lovable bundle of joy. he looked like a demonic gremlin.
he needs to take more risks in life and try cross-dressing. simply imagining him in a maid uniform will not suffice. it needs to be made into a reality.
with how nit-picky he is, i doubt people can realistically stay within a 1-meter radius around him. unless you are a clean freak yourself, his constant complaints will start to get annoying after a time. even if he does have good intentions, he needs to let people have a little breathing room sometimes. a messy room is not going to kill you.
BACHIRA
this boy's brain is smooth. no folds. no gray matter. no intelligence either. his pencil and eraser have been left untouched since day one. if he wasn't crazily good at football, he would be unemployed and homeless in the future. not even a mcdonald's wants him.
one of those people who will do the literal opposite of whatever you say. you want him to stop talking? well, now he's never going to shut up. you tell him not to step on a pile of dog shit? well, now he's going to walk right into it. you want him to quit running around and act normal? well, now it's his life's mission to make you as annoyed as possible. please pray for your hair follicles because at the end of the day, you're not going to have many left with how much he makes you want to tear your hair out.
has the cerebral capacity of a toddler. if he thinks monsters are real, he's going to think anything is real. super gullible when it comes to any form of scam, ploy, or trickery. the only way he would not be fooled is if he's also played the same prank before.
SHIDOU
a brazen pervert. says the most out-of-pocket things and refuses to apologize for them. sometimes it comes out a little too sleazy for your liking.
"to me a goal is fertilization! a shot is the seed and the goal is the egg!! and the birth of that joy i call an explosion!! my genes are gonna knock you up!" let us give ourselves a moment of silence to digest this quote. only shidou ryusei would come up with a sperm and egg metaphor to describe football. (i guess protection means nothing to him.)
has no empathy. if you dislike him or cannot keep up with him, you're a literal nobody in his books. no sportsmanship. no compassion. no self-awareness.
you cannot say "balls" to him in a serious tone without him misinterpreting it as something dirty. that alone should tell you enough. stay the hell away from him.
where do men get the audacity? right here. from this little bastard. he invented the term "shameless slut." boy was getting off during the u-20 arc and on live TV too. no wonder sae said he was disgusting.
and finally, he comes from a long line of cockroaches. he's even got the antennae to prove it.
i think this might have been a little excessive, but i have no regrets about it. you're welcome anon ♡
#asks#blue lock headcanons#icks#blue lock x y/n#blue lock x reader#blue lock x you#rin itoshi#rin itoshi x y/n#rin itoshi x reader#rin itoshi x you#sae itoshi#sae itoshi x reader#sae itoshi x you#sae itoshi x y/n#michael kaiser#kaiser x y/n#kaiser x reader#kaiser x you#michael kaiser x reader#michael kaiser x you#michael kaiser x y/n#nagi seishiro#nagi x reader#nagi x you#nagi x y/n#reo mikage#reo x reader#reo x you#reo x y/n#alexis ness
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Montresor is the Bad Ending of White Raven
So Montresor has a religious trauma. And from what little we know of the flashback to his death, the man was apparently a corrupt preacher.
What that tells me about his life made me crack my knuckles, because holy shit, this guy is an even better villain than I expected. And not for the reasons I thought at first.
Montresor's possible backstory
A fun fact: "unholy men" used to be called "sons of Belial". Same as Monty's Spectre type, so there's the initial connection, but with what we saw in chapter 87, this phrase from his mother resonates quite a bit:
Montresor was most likely a bastard (literally), and if he was raised in a religious community, that immediately made him and his mother outcasts. Possibly his mother hated him for "ruining her life". Whether this is true or not, the implication is that he grew up a victim of a system that decided he was sucked by the devil from birth.
In this light, Montresor's attitude towards the world is actually a logical consequence: he has decided that abuse is the only way to relate, and you can either be the victim or the victimizer. Of course, he is now the victimizer.
But he decided that because life taught him two lessons that were important enough to make him the person he is now.
"I know this game better than anybody"
We know from the clothes and hat in his flashback, and the cross around his neck, that Montresor was a preacher. And I would venture to say an excellent one: he has heard all his life that he is a demon, he knows better than anyone what terror hell produces in people, so he knows exactly what to say (or not say) to manipulate others through that fear.
Montresor, like Annabel, is someone who exploits his own traumas.
Annabel has been almost conditioned to behave like the perfect high-society lady, and that includes going to impressive extremes if it means getting something in return. She has engineered her way through life by identifying the currency of the people around her and knowing exactly what to give them so that they will, in her words "kissing her rings".
Loyalty gained through fear vs. loyalty gained through pretended sympathy.
Same goal.
If the world has made them that way, both Annabel and Montresor will use every last footnote of knowledge gained through trauma to get what they want.
But then there's something else they have in common: this deep knowledge of the rules of the game has also made them both know that the odds are too stacked against them to ever win. In the past, we've seen Annabel throw in the towel on her arranged marriage, but Montresor took a different path, much more along the lines of…
"So I'm not afraid to cheat."
Montresor decided that if people wanted a demon. He would give them one. The worst demon of all, because this one knows the rules: he knows how to play the game, he knows how to cheat and get away with it. We don't know the extent of his atrocities, but given what happened in the flashback and the fact that his idea of a sleepover is stuffing someone behind a wall to slowly suffocate, this guy must have a long rap sheet.
So long, in fact, that he was tied to the tracks of a train to be torn to shreds without even a trial.
Because if the rules are just there to screw you, then screw them: the only option left is to cheat.
Which is exactly what Lenore did when she burned down her house and pretended to be a man to go after Annabel. Lenore jeopardized everything Annabel said was important to her.
And she got away with it. At least until they were both killed (or, if those of us with our chips on Annabel's childhood friend, they may have both died without anyone knowing).
Now, in Nevermore, Lenore is still doing that, as we can see in her reluctance to kill or destroy Montresor: she refuses to play the game, refuses to follow the rules.
She will look for ways to cheat here, as she did before (something Annabel actually expects her to do). The woman is too stubborn to bend, and so far she seems to have the wind at her back (the question is, for how long?).
The bad ending
These elements make Montresor a complete exhibition of the ultimate consequences of taking Annabel and Lenore's attitudes to the extreme: a person who instrumentalizes her own traumas to unravel and try to inflict them on others, and who is not afraid to cheat for her own benefit if it means getting what she wants.
The only thing that separates Annabel and Lenore from Montresor is that they both still use these attitudes in the name of other people: Annabel for Lenore herself, and Lenore for the people she cares about. That both of them (still) seem to have their hearts in the right place.
But if Annabel continues to use her vast knowledge of this twisted game to work her way through people without caring, and Lenore still believes she's above all rules, here's Montresor to show them (and us) what's waiting for them at the end of the road.
#nevermore webtoon#annabel lee nevermore#lenore nevermore#lenore vandernacht#annabel lee whitlock#montresor nevermore#By the way#I don't want this to be read as me defending Montresor#Just because I believe that his attitudes follow a logic does not make them good or excusable#But that's how good antagonists are written#as a reflection of protagonists#And perhaps we should take whatever happens to him as a dark omen for Annabel and Lenore#And speaking of antagonizing Morella where the fuck are you? Your spectre is the opposite of this guy's
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𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.
what does your future spouse love the most about you?
pile 1 → pile 2 → pile 3
Pick the photo you feel the most drawn to and please remember that this is just a general reading so you might not relate to everything that is written, take what resonates.
listen to: die for you by The Weeknd
𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏:
"it's hard for me to communicate the thoughts that i hold, but tonight, i'm gon' let you know, let me tell the truth, baby, let me tell the truth, yeah"
They love how you are the 'lightness' to their 'darkness'. They like how you guide them through the dark paths of life. They love how you can touch their heart so easily because others found it difficult. With you, they feel like fixing everything in their life because they want to be better for you and with you. They may struggle with being emotional but for you? they're ready to provide you with emotional security. The crescent moon phase might be important for some of you (you/they could have been born on a crescent moon night or yall have your first meet/date under that moon) They love how you got them out of their comfort zone and made them let go of their fear of the unknown (it's giving sunshine x grumpy vibes but yall are both) They love you through all of your transformations and are proud of you for always trying to be your best self, it is inspiring to them. They also love how you show yourself to them, little by little and give them time to appreciate every version of you. They love how you are the answer to their manifestations. Due to this, they might even call you an 'angel' because the divine sent you to them.
𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐:
"i don't want this feelin', i can't afford love. i try to find a reason to pull us apart, it ain't workin', 'cause you're perfect, and i know that you're worth it, i can't walk away, oh"
They love how you always stand tall, no matter how many times you fall down. They love the way you talk, and the way you phrase your sentences and say the right things at the right time. They love how you don't try hard or change yourself to fit into the standards of the society and instead focus on yourself for yourself. It felt like such a foreign concept to them and I can hear them tell me, "What do you mean they don't care about what others think about them? there are people like this? Where can I meet them? because I want to be like them" They might look up to you because they find it so fascinating that you are so courageous to not care about the stares and the comments and continue to be yourself (your FS might be a people pleaser). Some of you may know a lot of people and talk to them but still manage to keep your personal life ~mysterious~ and they love how reserved you are and only tell people what you want them to know (i feel like along with people pleaser they are an oversharer) They love how strong you are with your principles and boundaries and how you do not let people walk over you. They also love how you can find a balance and know when to set your emotions aside to make a decision.
𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑:
"the distance and the time between us, it'll never change my mind 'cause baby, i would die for you, baby, i would die for you, yeah"
They love your thighs like it is not something 18 plus (i mean it is a little bit but it is more domestic!!!) They love laying their head down in between your thighs, listening to Cigarettes After Sex (or even The Weeknd) and when you start playing with their hair, they look up to you and you are already looking at them with such pretty eyes, they are a goner because they feel so loved and wanted, they feel like you complete them. When i was meditating they told me that they think that stars shine in your eyes and they shine only for them and how they secretly love it when you call them 'a simp'. For some of you, you could be a foreigner, or for some, you could be childhood friends but one of you moved to a different place and you both might have been in a long-distance relationship for some time but still, they love how you both stayed together despite all the problems, especially when people around you told you that it might not work out and you should just give up. They love how you trusted your 'red string of fate' bond with them and not the background noise.
Thank you so much for reading!
#free tarot reading#future spouse tarot#future spouse tarot reading#pac tarot#pac reading#general tarot reading#love tarot reading#tarot reading#fs tarot#pick a card reading#fs pac#future spouse#tarot#love tarot#free tarot
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^ Macron did not enjoy us symbolically shutting him up by banging pans on Monday, and today for his official visit to a small town in the South of France, the Police Prefecture banned pots and pans from city streets. They might have realised it sounded insane, because they artfully phrased it as “passersby are banned from carrying portable sonorous devices” (‘dispositif sonore portatif’—here’s the prefectural decree:)
I won’t blame you if you think that’s too dumb to believe, but TV news today really showed us cops in that town explaining to people that saucepans shall not pass, and old ladies grumbling as they relinquished the old pans they had planned on using for protesting. (My mum lives nearby and was devastated that she didn’t go. “I could have been fined for illegal possession of saucepan... a once-in-a-lifetime crime...”)
(The caption says pans are being confiscated.) The lady on the left went through all five stages of grief at the thought of leaving her pan in police custody, from denial (“seriously?”) to bargaining (“can I keep my tin can?”) and anger (telling a cop “oh, go fuck yourself” on national television in a beautiful Southern accent) then finally, sadly walking away to leave her pan and can atop a pile of other confiscated kitchenware.
People trolled them so hard with the “portable sonorous device” thing that the police prefecture eventually responded that this never meant pans at all, and if police officers banned saucepans it’s because they didn’t understand the prefectural decree. (That meme of someone sweating in front of two buttons and it’s “we admit we issued a laughable (and illegal) decree” vs. “we imply cops have the reading comprehension of an oyster”...) (I tried to find a link for the prefecture spokesperson’s defensive statement but couldn’t find it again :( But I found another article from today saying protesters threw potatoes and eggs at gendarmes so it was a worthwhile google search.)
Here’s a tweet with a video:
For a visit to a village of 4000 people, 600 cops were deployed to ensure Macron’s safety (from seditious kitchen utensils) (okay, and potatoes). Now we’ve got MPs raising philosophical questions like “Can you solve a democratic crisis by banning saucepans...?” and the Association for the Protection of Constitutional Freedoms saying the prefectural decree was illegal as it “seems to associate the act of participating in a saucepan concert with a terrorist threat.” I mean it’s outrageous but also you’ve got to laugh at the absurdist play we find ourselves in.
One last thing:
^ The last sentence of Le Monde’s article summing up today’s presidential visit was: “Macron interacted at length with teachers, sitting in a circle around him on chairs hastily set up outside in the school’s playground”—because trade unionists shut off the power in the building Macron was visiting, for the second time this week, which is always funny.
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Reader // Seeds of Doubt // Husk
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A few words from author: Hello there everyone, I'm back again! ^^
This time I'm feeling a bit better, and I'm presenting you a new fanfic format I'm trying out: Scenarios!
It's a bit different from what and how I usually write but I hope you'll still like it. ^^"
_
Type: Scenario
Scenario summary: You are Alastor's s/o, but he can sometimes make insensitive comments, so his dearest friend Husker reassures you about Alastor's feelings towards you,
Settings: Fully platonic
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
!TRIGGER WARNING!: Swear words used, light mention of alcohol consumption, typical things one can expect with Husk and Alastor, Reader doubts Alastor's love for them, Husk talks shit about Alastor for a bit but he still comforts reader, Alastor is a little shit and plants doubt into Reader's head for his own amusement, that should be all!
Sidenote: I included reader having doubts because of Alastor being aroace because it made sense in the scenario but I truly hope it didn't offend anyone - I'm ace and possibly on the aro spectrum too, so I really didn't mean to misrepresent the spectrums or anything!! I meant well I swear >-<,
Sidenote: Reader is written as gender neutral, but if the reader description leans more towards feminine sense it's purely unintentional and I apologize!
Sidenote: The editing on phone will be the end of me one day,
_
That should be all,
Hope you'll enjoy, <3
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Slouched at the bar, a drink is in your hand,
You're lost in thought,
It's not often you're found like this,
On the contrary, actually,
It's rare for you to sit down and hope to get lost in your drink to avoid your thoughts,
But sometimes Alastor can be rather insensitive,
He can say and do things that hurt and that plant little seeds of doubt in your head,
And whether that'd be deliberately or accidentally is up for a debate,
This time it was about him being aromantic asexual,
He made a comment that suggested him being with you just for pure entertainment, not for affection or anything else because he, as he phrased it: "doesn't feel the need for it after all",
And that didn't feel nice,
Not at all,
Again, he could be just messing with you,
Or maybe he didn't mean for his words to come off that way,
But still,
You worried there might be some truth to his words,
And again, Alastor being on the aroace spectrum didn't mean he felt nothing towards you,
It didn't mean he couldn't feel affection for you or anything similar,
And it definitely didn't mean you two couldn't be in a relationship!
That's why you tried to drink your worries away,
Because you knew they were just that, just worries,
Just thoughts you should pay no attention to,
However, you'd be lying if you said his orientation didn't play into your doubts after his playful but not so kind words,
And maybe that was his goal,
To have you all tense and on your feet, thoughts running wild,
But it still didn't make you feel any better,
And so, you just downed your drink, trying to ease up,
"One more... please," you told Husk who was behind the bar, watching your anxiety eat away at you,
"Geez, the fuck's wrong with you? You never order more than one," Husk commented, though he didn't sound like he actually cared to hear you out,
However, it was obvious he wasn't too indifferent towards you,
He remembered you weren't really a drinker, after all, which was nice to know,
"Nothing much..." you told him with a sigh, "Just overthinking...",
"Yeah, you look the part, you look like a fucking mess" Husk replied, borderline on insulting,
But you've learnt to not take it to heart,
This was just the Husk fashion of talking to people,
Silence then enveloped the two of you, and Husk poured you another glass,
Neither of you spoke until your thoughts got way too bad to ignore,
And you asked Husk a question, desperate to ease your worries,
Even if you knew that Husk was the least person you should go to with such question,
"Do you think Alastor keeps me around just for amusement...?" you asked softly,
And Husk looked a little surprised, before a scowl found its way onto his face again,
"You're seriously asking that just now after dating that piece of shit for months?" he scoffed,
And you looked down,
Husk frowned then, and gave a long sigh,
"Damn, you really are a case..." he muttered before sighing more and rubbing his face,
"What'd that asshole do now?" he questioned, an eyebrow raised,
And while he didn't sound all that much like he cared, you still took the chance to get things off your chest,
"He just... hinted I might be nothing more than just a source of amusement for him," you explain, gaze fixated on your drink,
And once again, Husk sighed, muttering: "Of course that piece of shit would do that, even to his own partner,",
Husk then exhaled through his nose before pinching the bridge of it and speaking again,
"Alright, listen, I hate that son of a bitch more than anything," he started,
"and it's not my fucking job to save his ass and relationship," he paused,
"but I'm gonna do him a favour and cut him some slack,",
Then he sighed and continued: "He does care for you... I mean, I can't say I'm 100% sure, after all that guy's all about messing with people and their emotions,",
"but... from what I can tell, you mean a lot to him..." Husk told you, looking you in the eyes, looking sincere,
"And while I don't think that asshole has anything close to a heart," he sighed lowly, "I guess he wouldn't go as far as to pretend to love someone just for a few laughs...",
"especially not to someone who's proven to be a nice person and a good friend," he told you, shaking his head a little before grabbing the first glass you emptied and beginning washing it,
And doing so, he continued speaking: "He's got some decency... at least I guess he does,",
"But honestly, you should talk to him about this," Husk advised, looking at you seriously, "that's a part of relationships, talking bout feelings, setting boundaries and shit...",
"He's a fucked up, messed up in the head sadist, but I'm sure if you'll be honest with him and tell him how his comments affect you, he'll change his ways..." Husk told you before pausing and thinking,
Then he thought out loud: "Yeah, he'll probably find another way of fucking with ya head, but it'll definitely be less harmful and damaging than what's he's doing now,",
"Of course, I can be wrong about him and this whole thing, I wouldn't be surprised," Husk stated, lifting his hands in surrender as if wanting to decline any responsibility from his advices,
"but... judging by how he acts n all, he does like you in some way... even if just in his own twisted way," he eventually told you then shrugged and again focused on the glass in his hand,
And you were left with lips slightly parted because you've not expected Husk to say anything of what he's just told you,
You were actually prepared for a rant about how much he hates Alastor and how much stupid you are for dating him,
But not this,
You were not prepared for this,
And you were quite pleasantly surprised,
Because hearing reassurance coming from Husk's mouth was a nearly nonexistent occurrence,
And that alone assured you that his words were genuine and meant something,
Even if everything was said in typical Husk fashion,
And, for the first time since sitting down at the bar, you smiled,
You smiled and gazed at Husk with appreciation,
"Thanks, Husk, I needed that," you told him lowly, making him scoff,
"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome or whatever, just don't pull any hugging shit on me or some other mushy bullshit," he scoffed, rolling his eyes,
Then he sighed,
"Now get your ass off that barstool and go talk to that fucken asshole," he ushered you, making a shoo motion with his clawed hand,
And you smiled again, knowing that Husk meant well despite acting rather rude and aloof,
But deciding to heed Husker's words, you nodded and got up from your seat,
"Yeah, yeah, you're right, I should go talk to him," you nodded with a playful smile at Husk's attitude,
"I'll be going now, and you can pour the rest of my drink down the drain," you told him before heading out of the room,
"And thanks again!" you called before rounding the corner and disappearing from sight,
And Husk rolled his eyes again,
But deep down he was glad he managed to comfort you,
Despite you not knowing it, you were quite a good influence on Alastor,
And Husker truly hoped you would continue to cling to the Radio demon's arm even if Lucifer himself put obstacles in the way,
Or well... even if Alastor was the one putting obstacles in the way...
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#frenklinesamuelsworks#hazbin hotel husk x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel husker imagines#hazbin hotel husker x reader#platonic husker x reader#platonic hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel scenario#hazbin hotel scenarios#husker x reader#Alastor x reader#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#hazbin hotel husk x reader platonic#x platonic!reader#hurt/comfort#and just so you know husk downed the drink you didnt finish instead of pouring it down the drain#im not samantha im samanta works
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My thoughts on Maomao and her parents
Spoilers for Maomao's backstory and maybe for some future instances in the LNs. Also this is not a proper analysis, do not expect much structure, lol
One of the saddest things to me in this story is that Maomao probably craved Fengxian's love until the very end, regardless of what she is saying. After all, who wouldn't want to feel their own mother's love, right? Maomao keeps saying that she doesn't know how to love, however I believe this is simply a coping mechanism for her. We know that she loves Luomen, her sisters, the Granny, even Xiaolan and Loulan (yes, I do think she loved them). Hell, she also has "certain affections" for our beloved red flag, as she herself states in her mind. Yet she doesn't classify any of that as love proper. Instead, she comes back to the cut tip of her pinky and repeats her favorite phrase about how she left that feeling somewhere in the past. There where she also left her mother, who is now just the woman who gave birth to her. Still, she administered Fengxian's medicine time and time again. Still she set up the perfect opportunity for Lakan to find her. Still she danced for her under the night sky with a heavily injured leg. Still she bowed to her remains and played her last game of go for her. I don't think she had it in herself to love the woman who pushed her away, but part of Maomao wanted to love her, I believe. And to be loved back. Granted, Luomen and the women at Verdigris house did their best to raise Maomao, but it wasn't enough to replace what could have been.
If anything, our dear apothecary is probably more frustrated than anything. She doesn't hate her parents, no. I would go as far as to say that she actually feels bad for them ( I mean, who wouldn't). Of course, she would never admit that, which leads to her other coping mechanism, namely her extremely abrasive language when referring to Fengxian and Lakan (come on now, breeding mare and stallion? Girl, chill). She would rather feign indifference, lest she has to confront her feelings, which is her least favorite thing to do, as we know. After all, it's these two people's feelings that got them all to that state. If even such intelligent people could make such a blunder because of feelings, why would she want to feel love or be loved? This is also reflected in the scene where she is telling Jinshi that she wants to be executed with poison. Jinshi answers that he would never execute her. Maomao's answer? It doesn't matter what he wants to do, it only matters if he CAN do it. To me, this is a direct reference to her parents' story. Lakan wanted to be with Fengxian, but couldn't. Fengxian wanted to reach out to him, but couldn't. It all ended in ruin because of that damn feeling called love. Of course, this is also why Maomao just refuses to even consider that she can love (btw, I don't mean strictly one type of love, this is a very vast and complicated feeling with many facets, and I mean all of them here). So she simply claims that she doesn't, yet her actions tell a different story.
Now, I have never been in a similar situation, so I do not claim to know what a person like Maomao would truly think and feel of this. But I think that deep down she wonders what it would have been like to have been loved without being hurt. For her cries to have been met with warmth and not with silence. For her mother to have hugged her instead of having chased her away. And maybe Fengxian wanted the same, but knew that it was not possible. Maybe she was ashamed and disappointed in herself. What good would it be for that child to love her? The child, whose destiny might turn out not too different from her own. Indeed, in the end, no matter what anyone wanted, Fengxian could only become the woman who gave birth to Maomao. And Maomao could only learn to accept that.
#the apothecary diaries#kusuriya no hitorigoto#maomao#fengxian#lakan#sorry for the long read#did not expect to write that much tbh#but I think about that a lot#that whole family deserved better
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𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝘃𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲 | tom (make up) x reader
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | you and tom have been two peas in a pod for your entire lives: tommy and birdie, partners in crime. you only fell in love with him a few years ago, though. maybe he'll notice sometime before you die of old age... but probably not.
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 15.8k (oops)
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only, dry humping, handjob, unprotected sex/loss of virginity, fingering, oral f receiving), alcohol consumption and tobacco use, best friends to lovers, angst, pining, fluff, tom and reader lacking braincells, extreme cornish, protectiveness/jealousy, There Was Only One Bed, I can't stress enough how fucking stupid these two are, truly no braincells detected in this entire fic
(title's after the song by the greeting committee <3 will always be the song that makes me think of tom the most)
YOU DON'T NEED TO SEE THE MOVIE TO READ THIS! plot of the film is totally discarded lmaooo
author's note part 2: there's a moment where the reader mentions that sometimes people think her and tom are siblings, she does not necessarily mean that they look alike! she means that they ACT like siblings and could be related through adoption or marriage-- her appearance isn't described and it's left open-ended for anyone to insert themselves ❤️
before we get started, I'm including a convenient cornish dictionary for you all to use if you're not already familiar with the dialect! other terms might pop up but they'll be explained in the text
teazy - acting grumpy or throwing a tantrum; something you might say to a kid having a fit or an adult who is being childishly negative
tuss - insult referencing male genitals; similar to 'knob' or 'dick' in UK and US english
my 'ansum - common, platonic greeting for men ("my handsome")
my bird - common, platonic greeting for women
rich - lovely, endearing, or beautiful
diddy? - a phrase used to mean 'is that true?' or 'really?'; diddah? and issuh? mean the same thing
wasson? - a greeting; short for "what's going on?"
jumping - very angry
hanging - terrible, gross
scat - (NOT WHAT YOU'RE THINKING lol) to push or fight someone
geek - a quick look; you can 'take a geek' at something
“Leave off, m'fine." Tom crinkled up his nose as he tried to brush your hands away, but you fought to keep dabbing the cuts on his face with the washcloth.
"Fine? You look like you lost a fight," you frowned.
"Well, we won the match, so," he smiled, but winced when you went back to the cut just above his eyebrow. “Fuck off, that hurts!”
“Couldn’t hurt as much as it did when you got it,” you insisted. “C’mon, it’ll scar if you don’t let me clean it up right.”
“So? I thought the lasses liked scars,” he grinned. “Makes me look tough.”
“Makes you look like you got your arse handed to you.”
Tom really wasn’t built for rugby. Though he certainly wasn’t in bad shape, he was the slimmest of all the guys he played with; he was fast, he had that going for him, but the poor kid got pummelled every time he played.
“Wish you wouldn’t go out there,” you mumbled, one of those rare times that you admitted how much you hated seeing him get hurt.
“Wish you wouldn’t worry about me when I can take care’a meself,” he replied.
And that was how it had always been— Tom was just reckless like that, and you had to try to reign him in as best you could. You could remember so many nights spent this way, you trying to scold him enough that he might be a little more careful; but considering you’d been doing this since you were just little kids, you eventually gave up on trying to stop him and just decided to be there when he needed a little comfort.
You might’ve always been Tom’s greatest comfort. So many things in life are uncertain, temporary, fleeting. Not you; you’d always been there, as long as he could remember— even longer, really. And not just because he had a shit memory from all those rugby concussions.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll look beat up in all our holiday photos?” you asked him, speaking quietly since you were so close to his face to treat his injuries.
“Why’d that bother me?” he shrugged. “You think I’m gonna be lookin’ at me own stupid mug in photos?”
“Don’t say that,” you shoved him on the shoulders as he laughed, leaning back into the couch. “You’ve got a nice mug, if you didn’t get it all mucked up.”
“You think m’pretty then?” he cooed sarcastically, putting his hand under his chin and batting his eyelashes; you giggled and shoved him harder, this time knocking you both back until he was laying on the couch and you were on top of him.
“Yeah, pretty daft,” you replied, and he snorted.
“Fuck off,” he rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around your back.
“Lemme go, need to get a bandage for your face,” you explained as you squirmed.
“Nuh uh,” he denied your request, “not letting you up— sorry, birdie.”
“Tommy!” you whined through a laugh, struggling harder against him, but he just held you tighter and grinned down at you. Giving up, you made a pouty face and rested your chin on his chest. He mimicked your expression, mocking you until you frowned for real and gave up, turning your face again to lay your cheek down on his shirt.
He gave you a kiss on top of your head, and you let your eyes fall shut.
“Maybe just a little rest,” you decided, your voice already slurring— you were more tired than you thought.
“Mhm,” he agreed, brushing his fingers over your hair. “Just a little, huh?”
You nodded groggily.
“Alright— sleep tight, birdie…”
You were only tired because you’d been up way too late, packing for your trip to St. Ives with your and Tom’s families. Joint vacations were nothing new to the two of you— actually, his parents and yours had been taking trips together since before the two of you were born. There were pictures of you and Tommy, chubby little babies in your mums’ arms, riding on the London Eye; you’d watched a home video a few times where you were playing in the sand together at a beach in Valencia. You weren’t sure why they felt the need to fly all the way to Spain for beaches when there were plenty here in Cornwall… but, case in point, this trip was going to be a much more relaxed (and budget-conscious) one: a roadtrip across the county, a couple rooms at a beach-side inn, and some much needed time in the sun for the next week. Tom promised to teach you how to surf, though you weren’t sure you’d be able to figure it out anyways— but you looked forward to trying. Really, you looked forward to Tom’s hands on your waist as he tried to help you find your balance.
Truth be told, despite being secretly in love with him since you were fourteen, you never really expected anything to happen with Tommy. You were like brother and sister— even his parents treated you like a daughter, and vice versa— and you’d always been so close. There’s always that fear of confessing to someone you’re close with and ruining the friendship, but this was even worse than that. If you lost Tom, you’d lose everything.
So, it wasn’t sad— there wasn’t a lot of pining anymore, not many nights spent gushing into your diary about it and then crying yourself to sleep because he got a new girlfriend or something. It was peaceful now, the one-sidedness of it. You loved him, he didn’t notice, everything went on as usual and that was it. You kept dating other guys, though Tom never liked any of them, and he dated other girls that you pretended to get along with until they split after a couple weeks.
In fact, dating was the topic of the hour as you and Tom sat in the back of his dad’s suburban, trying to entertain yourselves on the long drive to the beach resort you’d be staying at.
“That girl Dani,” you remembered, focusing most of your attention on a sudoku from the book you’d brought for the trip. “She was fit— why’d you break up again?”
“Too clingy,” Tommy shrugged, not looking back at you; he was toying with the friendship bracelet around his wrist, the one you’d made for him at summer camp when you were eleven with blue and yellow and black chevrons. Since you gave it to him, you’d never seen him without it, which is why the colours were all faded and dirty now, and why you were glad you made it adjustable all those years ago… he certainly outgrew the original size by now.
“I thought that was Claire,” you recalled.
“Oh, her too,” he nodded.
“This seems to be a problem for you,” you noticed, “clingy girls. What does that even mean?”
“Means they get, like, possessive,” he clarified, holding his hands up almost like a motion of choking someone. “Wanna know what you’re doing all the time, want a text every half hour— it’s too much.”
“That just means they like you, Tommy,” you rolled your eyes. “You shouldn’t dump girls over that.”
“They usually dump me,” he corrected.
“What?!” you squeaked, before you cleared your throat when you noticed what your utter disbelief might imply.
“Guess they just get, I dunno, jealous?” he explained, crinkling his nose as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.
“Jealous?” you repeated, looking away from the page in front of you for the first time. The way he was looking at you— head tilted to the side, one eyebrow raised and mouth in a small frown— you realised what he meant. “Of me?”
“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, “I mean, we spend so much time together.”
“But we’re just friends,” you noticed.
“That’s what I try to tell them!” he insisted. “I mean, I say that you’re my best mate and all but I don’t even think of you like that— c’mon, I’d never…”
You looked back at the half-solved sudoku, letting out a sigh that you hoped you could pull off as frustration with the number grid before you.
“Guess they don’t believe me,” he concluded, “or they don’t care.”
“They must think it’s bound to happen one day,” you posited. “That we’ll get together, I mean.”
“Yeah— but don’t you think if it was gonna happen, it would’ve happened already?” he pointed out.
You bit your lip. “Yeah,” you agreed curtly.
"Hey— whatever happened to that lad with the crooked teeth you liked so much?" Tommy asked.
"You'll have to be more specific," you huffed, keeping your eyes trained on your puzzle.
"He had specs and a freckle right on the end of his nose," Tommy continued.
"Oh yeah! Frank," you reminded him of the boy's name. "What, did you actually approve of him or something?"
"Course not," Tommy scoffed. "Jus' wondering, 'cause you used to go on about him all the time— 'bout how he was so wonderful and all." Tommy rolled his eyes, just to make sure it was perfectly clear that he didn't approve.
"Erm, well," you stalled, "yeah, haven't talked to him in a while."
Tommy wouldn't buy an excuse like that from you, he knew you far too well. Leaning in, he titled his head to try to get a view of your face. "Did something happen with him?" he pressed, and you swallowed.
"Yeah, I mean— nothing really," you shrugged, "he just got upset that I didn't wanna take things too fast, I guess. Called me a slag and threw my phone— didn't crack, though, got lucky there—"
"Diddy?" Tommy spat, his anger obvious on his face. He sat back up when you nodded, taking in a deep breath through his nose. "Shoulda told me, would've scat 'im down and beat his face in. Can't be talking to my birdie like that."
Your heart skipped a beat. His birdie.
"And throwin' your phone, too? Bleddy tuss," Tommy sneered, shaking his head as he looked out the window, like he was trying to calm himself down.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you get especially Cornish when you're angry?" you giggled.
"Only twice a day, birdie," Tom laughed.
Did anyone ever tell you that it turns me on?
“We’re here!” your mum announced, and you looked up to see that the car was turning in to a roundabout driveway. Tom excitedly leaned against his window, looking up at the hotel. “Wow,” he breathed. “Look!”
He guided you to lean in right up against him, pressing your cheek to the glass so you could see the tall building. It wasn’t a skyscraper or anything— this wasn’t that kind of place— but it was at least ten stories, with white bricks on the outside and seafoam-green shutters on each window.
With the car parked, Tom and the dads were going through the boot while his mom ran to use the loo and you and your mom checked in.
You weren’t really paying attention, honestly, while your mom gave the woman at the front desk a credit card for incidentals and all that. The interaction only piqued your interest when you heard her confirm— “three rooms, then?”
“Yep,” your mum agreed.
“Three?” you repeated, looking up at her.
“Yeah— your dad and I, Gary and Marie, and then another room for you and Tom.”
You cleared your room. “Tom and I get our own room?”
“You think us old geezers wanna be kept up all night by your giggling?” she snorted. “Figured you two could entertain yourselves just fine, give the grown-ups some space.”
Before you could decide how to react to that, the opening of the front doors got everyone’s attention. Tom looked ridiculous trying to carry as many bags as he could— all of yours, plus his and his mom’s— and you snorted as you watched him waddle into the lobby with all of them.
“What floor are we on?” he asked, the strain in his voice apparent and hilarious.
“Ten,” you informed him, and he groaned.
“Kidding! Three,” you chuckled, “and there’s a lift.”
“Aw, Jesus,” Tom grumbled as he walked past you, struggling under the weight of the bags. “You’re tryin’ to kill me, birdie.”
“I didn’t tell you to carry all those,” you rolled your eyes, looking at the concierge again as Tom turned the corner to find the lift.
“Is that your boyfriend?” she asked, continuing before you could answer. “You two are adorable.”
“O-oh, er— no, actually,” you stammered, “just a friend.”
“Oh!” she mumbled. “I see, my apologies.”
You looked down at your phone for just a second, only to hear your mom make a strange noise— a little giggle, and you saw her and the woman at the desk looking at each other. “What?” you asked your mum.
“Nothing, dear,” she dismissed.
“What?!” you hissed, groaning when she hid a cheeky smile but said nothing. “You’re so weird sometimes, mum…”
“Anyhoo,” the concierge mumbled, “you’re all ready to go! Three king bed rooms, third floor, ocean view—”
“Wait, wait,” you interrupted, “all the rooms have a king bed?” She nodded. “Just a king bed?”
“Well… there’s a couch,” she offered.
You deflated slightly. “That might be a little strange.”
“Oh,” she hummed, “well, I could change your room if you’d like. But they won’t be connected anymore…”
“That’s fine,” you shook your head.
“Okay, there’s a room with two twins across the hall,” she explained, reading from her computer screen.
Ugh, a twin was gonna be uncomfortable, but so would just one bed. “That’s fine, thank you.”
She clicked around on her keyboard for a bit, and right as she looked up at you again, Tom appeared from around the corner again. “All done,” she announced, “I’ve changed your room for you!”
“You what?” Tom choked.
“She’s just changed our room for us,” you explained to him.
“Ah god,” he panted, laying his head against the wall while he caught his breath. “Birdie, I just put all the bags away…”
You sighed, and the woman piped up again. “I could still change it back for you, if the bags are too much trouble.”
“Please,” Tom breathed, and she nodded and started up with the keyboard again. Rolling your eyes, you brushed past Tom flippantly.
“I’m gonna change,” you announced.
“Goin’ up to the room?” he asked.
“No, I was going to strip in the hallway and hope nobody walked through,” you replied snarkily.
“I was just gonna give you the key, birdie,” he smirked, pulling the plastic card out of his pocket. You chewed your lip, regretting being so rude.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking it from him and moving along to the lift.
~
You’d only brought one swimsuit, the new one you’d bought just for this. Maybe you’d had this crazy idea somewhere in the back of your mind that if you wore a tight little bikini, you’d finally get Tom’s attention and he’d stop seeing you just as the little girl he’d grown up with. If you’d been a little less emotional and a touch more logical, you would’ve checked the weather first.
Yes, it was a beach, but it was still an English beach… the sky was grey and cloudy, and without sunlight, the ocean breeze was less refreshing and more chilly. Very chilly, in fact, when you had hardly anything on like this. You were trying so hard to act natural, to lay there on that chair on the beach and look as gorgeous as possible for whenever Tom came out, but it was so cold… every few seconds you were tensing up your jaw to try to fight off a shiver.
He came down a couple minutes later, wearing his swim trunks, but since he was apparently smarter than you, he was also wearing a half-zip jumper and a t-shirt underneath. You pretended not to see him coming and laid still, only reacting to his presence with a polite wave when he was too close to ignore.
“Not gonna get much of a tan in this weather,” he noticed with a laugh as he sat next to you.
“I’m not tanning, I’m… relaxing,” you explained.
“Want me jumper, birdie?” he offered. “You look freezing.”
“I-I’m fine,” you insisted, but your teeth chattered. Next thing you knew, he was peeling it off over his head anyways— his shirt stuck to it and started to lift, too, exposing his stomach. He managed to get the jumper off, though, and pulled it down over your face as you laughed and resigned yourself to your fate. “Tommy, stop it,” you whined, batting his arms away so you could put the garment on yourself— he’d been trying to force it on you and accidentally trapped your face in one of the sleeves.
When you finally navigated your limbs through the borrowed sweater, popping your face out and breathing in a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck inside the cotton for a moment, you saw him looking at you… different. Just a little different, but different nonetheless. You wrinkled your eyebrows together at him, and he shook his head with a little laugh, and it was all back to normal again. “Should keep you warm,” he mumbled, turning back to the view of the ocean and bringing his feet up onto the chair.
“Thanks,” you nodded, watching him lift his hands up behind his head and sigh.
For a while, you two laid there in silence, the sound of the ocean waves and seabirds like a quiet, slow song. If you weren't thinking constantly about whether or not Tom was looking at you, you might've been able to relax enough to fall asleep. Apparently Tom wasn't all in his head because he dozed off within a couple minutes, and after that, you decided to get up and explore the beach a bit. There were little shops dotted here and there, a gelato stand, a cosy open-air pub playing music over their speakers.
You stopped to watch some boys playing volleyball on the beach, and one of them seemed to notice you staring— and he smiled at you, just before he served; you had to be careful not to make yourself look stupid by suddenly smiling down at the sand and toying with your hair, but you desperately wanted to. He was cute, and tall and, you know, shirtless. They all were, but he probably looked the best that way of any of them.
He ended the round with a spike right beside the net, and his side of the court cheered while the others groaned and complained to each other. You clapped for them, and the boy looked at you again; he said something to his friends, and with the ball still under his arm, he jogged over toward you.
"Hey," he greeted with a sideways, pearly-white smile.
"Hi," you returned.
"Did you like watching us play?" he asked, glancing back at the net for a second.
"Yeah, you're really good," you nodded. "Are you a real team or somethin'?"
"No, god no," he laughed, "we just play for fun. Not many sandy beaches to play at in London."
"Oh, you're visiting from London? What part?"
"Southeast," he replied.
You nodded. "Oh…"
There wasn't much you could say to that because you didn't know anything about London; he chuckled, apparently realising just that. "I guess you're from around here?"
"Sort of— an hour down the way but, yes, I'm from Cornwall," you agreed.
“You’ve got an interesting accent,” he noticed with a smirk. “It’s cute, actually.”
“Oh, y’think?” you smiled shyly. “Always heard growing up that a Cornish accent made me sound like a dumb farmer or somethin’.”
“It works on you, though,” he decided.
"Oi! Come back and serve!" one of the boys by the net called, and your new friend turned his head around.
"Go on without me," he told them, tossing the ball over. "I'm talking to, er…"
He looked back at you, and you stammered out your name; he repeated it back to you with a smile.
"I'm Devon," he told you.
"Well, hi, Devon," you smiled.
Aaaaand, just in time, you heard Tom’s voice calling after you: “Birdie!” he shouted from down the beach, and you turned and sighed as you waved back.
In a moment, Tom was beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders.
"Where'd you run off to, my lover?" Tommy asked with a tilted smile, but he didn't give you a chance to answer before he looked over at the other young man and back at you. "Who's the emmet?"
"My name's Devon, not Emmett," the Londoner corrected, and you hoped your polite laugh would break the tension.
"No, Devon, 'emmet' is Cornish," you explained. "It's what we call tourists."
Except, ‘incomer’ is what you call tourists. Emmet is what you call annoying tourists. And you knew Tom was annoyed by him because he was hitting on you.
"This your girl, then?" Devon asked Tom… a little straightforward, but that's just how Londoners are, maybe?
"What's it to you?" Tom wondered.
"Er—" you interjected immediately, "no, actually, Tom's just a friend," you coughed, knowing that even though it was a way to greet a good friend around here, Tom surely intended for it to be misinterpreted.
"Bloody hell. Can't tell what you people are saying," Devon grumbled, and you spoke up before Tom surely asked what 'you people' was supposed to mean.
"Anyways, point is— Tom and I are good friends, known each other since we were kids," you continued.
"Really?" Devon pressed.
“Yep," Tom replied with a beaming smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him, "she’s been me best mate since we were wee babes,” he beamed.
“A bird’s your best mate?” Devon scoffed. “Sure you’re not bent?”
“I’m bent? You’re the one spendin’ all your time with a bunch of blokes with no shirts on, mate,” Tom defended.
Devon stepped forward and you had to jut yourself in between them to keep it from getting too heated. “Okay, lads, let’s settle down, then—”
“Be careful,” Tom warned Devon, and you jabbed him with your elbow as punishment.
“I said to stop it, alright?” you hissed at Tom. “Doesn’t matter, Tommy.”
“Yeah, Tommy,” Devon snickered, and you literally had to lean all your weight onto Tommy to keep him from trying to dive right over you to pummell the bellend.
"Let's go," you informed Tommy as you scoffed at Devon. Wrapping a hand around Tom's waist, you guided him to walk with you back down the beach, away from the possibility of a fight.
Tommy could find a fight anywhere— even on the beach on holiday. It was a real talent of his.
"You're horrible!" you whined as you punched Tom on his side.
"What did I do now?" he groaned.
"You scared that boy off, he was cute and he was flirting with me."
"Exactly!" Tommy emphasised, and you rolled your eyes. "He turned out to be a wanker, anyhow, you heard him making fun of our accent, didn't you?"
"I think he was just making fun of your accent," you frowned.
"We've got the same one," Tom noticed.
"Well— just stop doing that! You always do that."
"Sorry, birdie,” he shrugged, not seeming especially sorry.
You sighed and decided to let it go, because it wasn’t worth the argument. “What’s next, then? Think I’ve had enough of the beach.”
“Pub?” he suggested, and you laughed.
“Hardly late enough for that, don’t you think?” you snorted.
“Okay, dinner first, then pub,” he offered instead.
“That’s better.”
~
There were a few pubs along your walk back from dinner, but only one that had the rugby match on; so, of course, that was the one Tom picked. It was almost entirely empty when you came inside, and since the match had gone to commercial break, Tom decided now was the best time to run to the loo.
“Order me something?” he requested. “Whatever you’re getting.”
You nodded and he dashed off down a hallway. Sitting at the bar, currently unattended with no other patrons but yourself, you looked up at the telly on the wall and caught a couple seconds of a car commercial.
“Can I get you anything?”
The voice made you turn your head away from the telly, and you were surprised to find a boy your age on the other side of the bar.
“Oh, erm,” you choked, “just something on tap? M’not picky.”
“There’s a stout we brew right here in the neighbourhood,” he suggested, “you might like it.”
“Sure,” you shrugged, “and one for my friend.”
“Great,” he smiled, bending down below the bar and reappearing with two pint glasses in hand. You watched him as he tilted the glasses and filled them from the tape, admiring his tan skin and longer hair— he had that surfer look about him, in a Cornwall sort of way.
“Aren’t you a little young to be tending bar?” you noticed.
He laughed, revealing some dimples in the process. “And you’re one to talk?” he shot back.
“I’m old enough to be served, aren’t I?” you challenged.
“Well actually, I was gonna ask for your ID,” he admitted, “but, you’re cute, so I decided to let it slide.”
You looked down as he set your drink on the bar for you. “Thanks,” you hummed. You tried it, giving him a nod of approval when the taste hit your tongue— it was pretty mild, and sort of grapefruit-y somehow.
“In town for holiday?” he assumed.
“Yeah,” you nodded, and he clicked his tongue.
“Too bad,” he shook his head. “When are you going back home?”
“Thursday.”
“And where’s home?” he asked. “You sound local.”
“Yeah, I am,” you agreed, “about an hour north.”
“Liskeard?” he guessed, and you shook your head. “Launceston?”
“Closer,” you smiled.
“Bradworthy?”
“Oh, too far…”
“Holsworthy,” he grinned.
“Got it,” you nodded.
“Seems like it’d be easier to just drive up to Westward Ho! wouldn’t it?” he tilted his head.
“I try not to go anywhere that has an exclamation mark in the name,” you explained, and he chuckled a little.
“I guess that’s fair,” he shrugged, “and it’s a good thing you came here anyways.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because now I get to look at you,” he cooed.
You took a sip of the beer to hide your warming face. When you brought the glass back down, he laughed at you softly.
“Got some foam on your nose, my bird,” he warned you, reaching forward to wipe it off with his thumb.
“Oh, th-thanks,” you stammered, watching him put his thumb to his mouth and suck that bit of foam off while he kept looking at you. What a flirt! Do it again.
Tom came back from the washroom and sat on the stool next to yours, thanking you for ordering his beer for him before he took a large drink of it.
"O-oh," the bartender choked, and you knew that look— the ‘shit, you've got a boyfriend’ look.
You sighed. "Hey, um— this is my friend, Tom," you explained.
"Wasson?" Tom greeted him, nodding his head quickly in acknowledgement.
"Not much, mate," he replied, "Cade.”
“Tom,” he answered back as if he didn’t already know that, not going so far as to shake hands since Tom was holding his glass and Cade was holding a rag to wipe down the bar.
“She was just telling me you're only here for a spell,” Cade recalled, “which is a proper shame.”
You smiled shyly. “Oh, yeah, well, I wish our holiday could be longer, too.”
“Always the prettiest maids just here on holiday,” Cade nodded, looking at Tom. “You know how it is, don’t you? You’re from a holiday town, too, I heard.”
Not quite as popular as your current location, but yes, vacationers would occasionally appear in town. You’d never noticed this ‘girls visiting from up-country are prettier’ principle, but your eyes turned to Tom expectantly. “Uh, yeah,” Tommy nodded. “Yeah, I know how it is. And half of them have boyfriends back home.”
It made your heart sink a bit— what you would give to have one of those. Or to have Tommy say no, the prettiest bird’s right here with me now. Or both.
“But that doesn’t stop all of them,” he added with a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.
“You’re awful, Tommy,” you shoved him lightly.
“Yeah,” he agreed, licking his bottom lip.
Cade gestured at Tom’s rugby union shirt— “You play?” he asked.
“Yeah, sometimes,” Tom nodded, “you?”
“I just watch,” he shrugged, pointing at the telly in the corner. “Cooped up in this pub all the time, anyway.”
“That’s no excuse,” Tom chided, “gotta get out there and get roughed up!”
“That’s what surfing’s for,” Cade smirked.
“Okay, now I’m definitely not going,” you shook your head. “I don’t wanna get roughed up by the ocean!”
“I said I would teach her,” Tom informed Cade, “now look what you’ve done.”
“Sorry,” Cade laughed, “you’ll be fine, and you’ve come at just the right time of year for it.”
“That’s what I said!” Tom agreed.
Oh god, were they actually getting on alright? Would Tom give his approval, finally?
You sipped your stout and let them go on about rugby and football teams for a while, letting yourself get your hopes up that Tom would actually like a guy who liked you— and sure, he was a barkeep in your holiday spot, not exactly the foundation for a serious relationship, but it would be nice to have a little fling without worrying that Tom would end up beating him up.
Tom was the one who made fun of you sometimes for being a virgin, anyway. He never meant it— actually, when he occasionally took the time to be serious, he assured you better than anyone else that it was perfectly normal and fine to still be one. But still, you weren’t exactly trying to hang onto it much longer. Tom told you to wait for the right person; but you’d been waiting for him for way too long.
Watching the match together, you and Tom put down a few pints and laughed at some stupid old inside jokes— Cade tended to stick around, chatting with you both, when there weren’t other customers to serve. You caught him glancing at you a few times, and you liked how you felt when he looked at you like that— desirable, maybe even grown up. You and Tom had been friends since you were little, after all, and since he treated you the exact same way he always had, sometimes you still felt little around him. But you weren’t. It was good to remember that.
The match ended— Cornwall won, thank god, or you’d be babying Tom all night after he drowned his sorrows in something stronger than the local stout. He still drank a little too much to celebrate, but less too much.
Enough that he had to go to the loo again, though, at which point Cade was suddenly right by you again. “Your friend’s funny,” he smiled.
“Yeah,” you agreed, “he’s not always that loud, but, yeah, he’s never been very subtle.”
“And he’s just a friend?”
You rolled your eyes. “Yes,” you insisted, and you focused your tone on your annoyance and not your disappointment.
“Just checking!” Cade returned defensively. “How long have you known him?”
“My whole life,” you sighed. “Can’t remember a time without him. He’s just… always been there.”
Cade nodded. “That’s nice, wish I had a friend like that. People come and go a lot in a place like this.”
“I bet,” you offered sympathetically. “And your girlfriend? Does she come and go, or stick around?”
“What? I don’t have a girlfriend,” he frowned.
“Just checking,” you winked.
“Why, you think I should get one?” he raised an eyebrow.
You shrugged. “If you can find one…”
His eyes dragged over you, his smile fading slightly; you pretended not to be totally overwhelmed by it all.
“Cade!” a voice shouted from the back, and an older woman poked her head out of the kitchen as Cade turned his head. “Come back here an’ clean up!”
“I will, mum!” he called back, before returning his attention to you. “Listen, I’d better get back to work— but you could come by tomorrow? If you wanted.”
“Yeah,” you nodded, “I think I’ll find the time.”
“Tom can come too, of course,” he added, leaning closer to you on the bar, “but… I’d rather have some time alone with you, if that’s alright.”
Reaching up to scratch your shoulder, you bit your lip to hide a smile. “Okay, yeah—” you set your hands back down on the bar when you saw the way he was looking at you, “yeah, I’d like that, too. I’m sure Tommy can find some way to entertain himself for an hour.”
Cade’s hand landed on yours suddenly, giving it a quick squeeze while he winked at you. And then he threw the rag over his shoulder and disappeared into the back. You pursed your lips and exhaled through them; it had been a while since you had butterflies like that.
Tom came back around the corner, leaning beside you on the wooden bar, and you giggled when you saw how red his nose had gotten from the booze. “Tommy, you look like you’ve stuck your face in blusher,” you noticed.
“Aw, really?” he scrunched up his nose, wiping it with his hand.
“You can’t wipe it off!” you laughed harder. “Cade’s gone to the back to work— wanna go on a walk, take a geek at the rest of the neighbourhood?”
“Sure,” he agreed, letting you take his hand and pull him along with you out the door and around the pavement. You walked in silence for a few moments, glancing at him once, before you just had to bring it up.
“So, Cade was nice…” you trailed off. You looked at Tom expectantly, wearing a hopeful smile, but you hadn't even said anything yet before he expressed his dissent.
“No, no way,” he shook his head, ignoring your protests, “not good enough for you.”
“What? Tommy, what’s wrong with him?”
“What’s wrong with him?” Tom repeated. “Birdie, what’s right with him?”
“I thought you liked him!” you whined. “He was so nice to you, and you talked rugby for ages!”
“Was looking at you funny,” he shuddered.
“Well, I’d hope so,” you rolled your eyes, “doesn’t that mean he’s interested?”
“That’s what you want, creepy guys drooling all over you?” Tom snorted. “Come on, let’s go— I don’t want you seeing that sod again.”
You groaned, but let him drape his arm over your shoulders and guide you away. “You shouldn’t be so protective, Tom… this is why everyone thinks you’re either my brother or my boyfriend.”
“If it keeps the boys away from you, I don’t care what they think,” he decided. You rolled your eyes as he pulled your head down with his arm, enough that he could plant a kiss on top of your head. “There, now they’ll think I’m your boyfriend, how about that?”
“You kiss me all the time,” you laughed.
“Eh?”
“On the head,” you clarified. “You give me kisses on the head, doesn’t make you my boyfriend.”
“Guess not,” he agreed.
Halfway along your walk, you passed a park which Tom decided would be the perfect place to share a cigarette— actually, he was just going to smoke it himself, but you made him share.
“Remember your sixth birthday party?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere, after a drag. “You tripped and sprained your ankle running in the backyard that day, but you stopped crying when we gave you your presents.”
You laughed at the memory. “God, I barely remember— but yeah.”
He handed the cigarette to you and you rested it between your lips. “Do you remember what I got you?” he continued.
“A Barbie,” you recalled, “wasn’t it? She was some little princess or something, can’t remember now.”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Well, I want you to know that before I gave her to you, I took her out of the box and took her clothes off.”
“What?!” you snorted, making a cloud of smoke
“I had to know!” he laughed. “I put them back on and put her back in the box and everything first before I gave her to you.”
“Yeah, I think I would remember getting a naked Barbie, Tom,” you scoffed, and he carefully plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took it back.
“Right, well—” he stopped to inhale, and then let it out as he continued— “she had plastic panties on anyway. Wasn’t worth it,” he shook his head.
You dropped your forehead into your palm. “The fuck are you talking about?” you giggled.
“Just that time of night where you feel like confessing things, I guess,” he shrugged.
“Any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?” you pressed. “Any other childhood toys of mine that you violated?”
“Took a geek up the skirt of a Cabbage Patch Kid or two,” he added, “but that’s about it.”
“Well, we all did that,” you rolled your eyes, and he grinned at you.
“Oh, I knew it,” he purred, “I think you were just as much of a pervert as I was.”
“Yeah? But you’re still a pervert,” you accused.
“Maybe,” he relented, “but at least I’m not a prude.”
You looked away quickly. “M’not a prude, Tommy…”
“I know, I know,” he soothed, handing you the last quarter of the cigarette, “you’re just picky. And you should be.”
He suddenly laid his head down on your lap, making you tense up a little bit and wonder where you were supposed to put your hands.
“Nobody deserves you anyway,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he adjusted himself to get comfortable on the bench.
“Well, that doesn’t really solve my problem, does it?” you said, speaking a little quieter.
“What’s the problem?” he wondered sleepily.
You sighed, holding the cigarette in your mouth as you reached down and carded your fingers through his hair. He hummed and smiled a little. “Nothing,” you dismissed, and he started to breathe slower and slower.
You finished the cigarette over the course of the next however-long-it-had-been, absent-mindedly touching his head and playing with his hair, and only noticed that Tom had dozed off when you felt a wet patch under his mouth on your legs.
“Eww, Tommy!” you whined, shoving him off of you as he tried to wake up. “When I said I wanted guys to drool over me, this is not what I meant.”
“Sorry, love,” he laughed, wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. “Think that’s our cue to go back to the room and go to bed, eh?”
~
He didn’t say anything before he got in the shower, so you didn’t know what to expect when he got out: was he going to suddenly realise there was only one bed? Had he already and just didn’t care? Were you supposed to protest, or act like it was no big deal, or what?
When he emerged from the steamy bathroom in his pyjamas— aka, just his fuzzy plaid trousers, the ever-present friendship bracelet, and the chain on his neck— he found you standing in the middle of the room, staring at the singular bed, and gave you a confused look.
“I guess you saw when you brought our bags up,” you mumbled nervously.
“Eh?”
“The bed.” You motioned towards it, and he wrinkled his eyebrows together.
“What about it?” he shrugged.
“There’s only one of it!”
“Oh,” he nodded, “yeah, guess so.”
“So, we’ll have to share,” you helped him reach the obvious conclusion.
“Oh,” he said again, “you think it’ll be weird?”
“I mean, I figure,” you shrugged.
“I’ll take the couch,” he insisted.
“No, Tommy, let me,” you pleaded.
“You jokin’? I’m supposed to let a maid sleep on the couch?”
“Didn’t realise you were such a gentleman,” you frowned, crossing your arms.
“Aren’t I?” he smirked.
You felt bad about it, but he was already putting a spare sheet down on the sofa while you were getting through your nighttime routine. Leaning out of the bathroom, toothbrush sticking out of your mouth, you caught a glimpse of him laying there on the couch with one arm up behind his head and the other holding the book he’d been reading as of late— one of those fantasy novels that were much too violent for you. He looked past the top of it to smile at you, and you popped back in to wrap up.
You were just wearing a baggy old t-shirt that was just long enough on you to cover your red panties, which you felt mostly not-weird about wearing around Tom, though walking past him to get to bed made you shiver a little bit.
“G’night,” he offered.
“You too,” you replied quietly, and he reached up above his head to switch off the lamp.
Sure, it was you who had worried about the whole bed-sharing thing in the first place, but that was only because you were pre-emptively worrying that he would worry about it. It was sort of a lose-lose: if he was against it, then you’d feel dejected, but if he was fine with it, it was another way for him to rub it in that you could hold him but never have him.
Still, now that you were alone in this big old bed, you couldn’t help but think that at least it was nice you could hold him… but he was all the way over there.
You chewed your lip, trying to stay quiet. You made it about thirty seconds. “Tommy?”
“Yeah?”
“Think you’ll fall asleep alright on that?” you wondered.
“Should be asleep in a couple minutes, once you’re quiet,” he replied.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled. You made it a whole minute before you spoke again. “Tommyyyyy,” you whined.
“What!” he snapped.
“I can’t sleep, I feel too bad!” you pouted. “Just get in the bed? We fall asleep together all the time! What’s the difference?”
“Difference is it’s all night,” he explained, “haven’t done that since we were eight— and you kicked me in your sleep!”
“Are you seriously going to sleep on that musty old sofa, and leave me alone here in the king bed, just because you’re still mad at me for kicking you?”
“Not just that,” he mumbled, “you snore, too.”
“Shut up,” you groaned, “just come over, won’t you? I’m cold anyways…”
He paused as he considered it. “There’s room for me?”
“Tons,” you promised.
You heard him throw the blanket off of himself, and you smiled instantly. In a moment, he was diving into the bed, and you laughed as the mattress creaked; he laid next to you on his back, and you reached an arm around his torso while setting your head on his shoulder.
He smelled so good after his shower, clean and woodsy from his deodorant, and his curls held their shape despite being wet still.
“Should’ve known you’d be like a barnacle soon as I got in here,” he chuckled.
“I said I was cold,” you reminded him, hugging his waist tighter.
“Night, birdie,” he whispered after he kissed the top of your head. With him holding you, you were asleep in an instant.
It was one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly, like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes. You would’ve thought it was still the middle of the night when you woke up, if it weren’t for the sun coming in through the open window.
Specifically, you woke up because of a long sigh right by your ear, making you blink your eyes open quickly and start to stretch your legs out under the sheet and blanket. You were on your side, and Tommy was pressed right up on your back, his arm draped around your torso.
He sighed again, and you felt him shift around against you. Most importantly, you felt something hard and hot on your lower back. Eyes going wide, you jolted as you felt him rock his hips against you again.
"Tommy," you whispered, hoping to wake him up.
"Mm," he hummed, smiling against your neck, and you shuddered.
"Tommy!" you hissed, and he snorted as he woke up suddenly.
He pulled back and all but jumped away from you. “Shit, I—” he mumbled, sitting up as the bed creaked; god, his face was so red, he looked adorably flustered and a bit terrified. “I’m sorry, birdie, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”
“It’s okay, Tommy,” you insisted, sitting up with him, “it’s not a big deal.”
“What’d you say? It’s not big?” he choked.
“No! Tommy, it’s—” you stopped yourself from saying what you wanted to say then. “I know that happens to guys in the mornings…”
“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously, “happens when we’re in bed with pretty girls, too…”
Before you could wonder if there was something to read into there, he spoke again.
“I’m fucked,” he groaned, running his hand down over his face, “what’s the time?”
“Ten ‘til 9,” you informed him following a glance at the clock on the nightstand.
“We’ve got that breakfast soon, we’re supposed to meet downstairs in five minutes,” he recalled. “And I can’t get dressed ‘til he’s gone away.”
“How do you normally get rid of it?” you wondered, watching him look at you for a second before looking away again.
“Well…” he trailed off, clearing his throat.
“Well?” you pressed.
“Y-y’know,” he stammered, “it’s— er— fuckin’ hell, birdie, can’t say it with you lookin’ at me like that…”
“C’mon, Tommy, I know you wank off,” you rolled your eyes, “you and every other bloke on the planet.”
“But I can’t do it with you here!” he yelped, and a pang of self-consciousness hit your chest. Were you that horrible of a sight that he wouldn’t be able to finish with you nearby?
“I-I’ll leave then, give you some space,” you offered.
“Birdie, I’ll know you’re just outside the door, that’s not gonna help,” he frowned.
“Well shit, Tommy, where’dya want me to go? Fuckin’ Launceston?”
“No, shit, that’s not what I meant,” he groaned, reaching up and covering his face as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “You’ve just got me all messed up— s’not your fault, I mean! I just don’t know what m’gonna do now…”
You bit your lip, glancing over at the flowery wallpaper on the opposite side of the room, then to the window and its view out over the beach. “I mean, maybe… maybe if it would help, I could…”
“Jesus, birdie, don’t say you’re gonna wank me off or somethin’,” he pleaded with a concerned tilt of his head, and you stammered as you tried to remember what you were going to say.
“No, I— I was gonna say you could…” you began again, “er— I mean, before, while you were asleep, you were… it was…”
“What?” he pressed, leaning a little closer to you, and you chickened out.
“Nevermind, sorry,” you shook your head, “you should just get dressed— nobody’ll notice it.”
That was a lie: if it looked as big as it felt, a family of four could go camping under the tent in his shorts at this point. “No, c’mon,” he pleaded, scooting a little closer to you, “won’t make fun of you or nothin’, just wanna know what you were gonna say. You know I can’t run down to breakfast with my willy tryin’ to jump out, yeah? Like, ‘hey mum an’ dads, pass me the eggs, then— don’t mind my fuckin’ blood sausage under the table—’”
You laughed, pushing him on the chest— but he just moved closer, again, looking right at your face. You felt oddly exposed to him, even though he should’ve been the one feeling like that considering the circumstances. “Fine,” you relented, “I was just… thought maybe you could— well, it could help you if you, um… just… pressed up against me, again? Like you were before? And you could, er…”
Dropping your voice to a mumble just above a whisper, you watched your hands clutch the spotted quilt in lieu of meeting his invasive stare.
“You could… grind on me, a bit,” you finally completed, so quiet that you barely heard yourself. But he was a few inches away— he must’ve heard you. Literally, he must have, because you couldn’t say it again.
“Eh?” he grunted, and you rolled your eyes.
“C’mon, Tommy, you’re not deaf, are you?”
“No, m’just… you wan’ me to rub me stiffy on you?” he realised, tilting his chin down and raising an eyebrow. Leave it to Tommy to throw all the subtlety to the wind and just say it outright like that, ignorant to the way it made your cheeks burn and your throat catch.
“I-I mean, I don’t want you to,” you denied quickly, “I just thought it might go away if you did. Means to an end, right?”
“Yeah, means to an end,” he agreed, clearing his throat. “Just feel a little weird about it, birdie, I mean… it’s you. You know I love ya— don’t wanna be rude to you or, er, disrespectful—”
“It’s not,” you promised, “I’m offering— and it’ll be quick, right?”
“Er, yeah,” he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck again, “should be…”
“Okay, then, should we?” you asked, sheepishly raising your eyebrows as you looked at him.
“I mean, fuck, birdie,” he laughed nervously, “I think you know we shouldn’t.”
But you both already knew that you were going to, and the thrill of something so forbidden titillated you further.
“Lay down then, yeah?” he instructed you softly, and you turned back onto your side as you felt him press up to your back. His arm slipped around your front, the one with your bracelet on his wrist, and you could feel him breathing by the back of your neck as he brushed your hair out of the way. “This alright?”
You nodded, and he held you a little tighter; you felt it then, brushing up against your lower back. You were getting sweaty from how warm it was with him pressed up on you under the thick covers, yet you still shivered.
He hummed quietly, his hand moving down your hips so he could hold you steady. And he rocked into you again, more confidently, a shaky breath falling from his lips.
When his forehead rested against the back of your shoulder, you felt your back arch slightly; and then you could feel the ridge under the head of his cock, you could feel it when he moved in one, long stroke and you bit your lip, arching your back deeper.
“Shit,” he grunted quietly, and he started to move a little faster right after he said that.
After just a minute or less of that, you were beyond desperate to have him inside you, you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like— about how he would stretch you open, how he would moan for you as he filled you to the brim. If he wanted to, right now, he could just lift up your shirt a bit and pull your panties down without saying anything, slip inside you in one go; you were soaking wet, he’d slide in so easily…
“Fuck, birdie,” he breathed, “roll over.”
His verbal command was a bit moot, since his hand was already on your shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your back. He hovered above you for a moment, and you looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Spread your legs,” he whispered; you’d only been waiting years for him to say that to you. You did it unquestioningly, and he slotted himself between them with a low groan. When he pressed his cock up against your aching cunt— through so many frustrating layers of pyjamas— he shut his eyes and tossed his head back for a second. It was so perfect, his face in bliss like that, the morning sun peeking in through the curtains and making his curls shine golden-blonde. He looked fucking beautiful.
A little gasp jumped in your mouth as he started to thrust against you again, each stroke of his hips rubbing right over your clit and making his chain dangle over your face. You almost felt guilty, for a second, with the little engraving of Saint Thomas right there, like he was watching you do this. “Sh-shit, Tommy…” you hissed, catching yourself before you moaned aloud when he rocked his hip harder against you and your whole pussy clenched. If only he could feel that now— if only he could feel around his cock how desperately you needed him.
He descended down upon you, burying his face in your neck. His hair tickled your cheek, and you fisted at the sheets to stop yourself from reaching up and holding onto him— that would be too much, too needy, right? It was just supposed to be a means to an end, after all. “Can I kiss you here?” he asked under his breath.
“Er, why would you do that?” you wondered.
“Just— thought it might make it go faster,” he justified.
“Y-yeah, Tommy, s’fine,” you nodded. Do whatever you want to me.
He latched on right away, a mess of lips and tongue and teeth all over your neck; everything in you fought to keep your moans down, because you didn’t want him to know how much you loved this, how close you were to coming without even doing anything… without even taking your clothes off!
“Are you close?” you asked him softly, feeling him nod.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, and his heavy breathing cooled your skin where it was still wet with his spit. “Just a little longer?”
“You’re not gonna give me a hickey, are you?” you whispered.
“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replied.
“Just— make it quick, Tommy, we’ve gotta be downstairs soon,” you reminded him.
“Right, yeah, m’gonna come,” he promised, sending another chill over your body. One of his hands moved down, holding your thigh as he thrusted faster and faster— fuck, the headboard was about to hit the wall. Just as you looked up to see it slam once, you saw his free hand reach up and grab onto it tightly, blocking the impact with his knuckles.
“Tommy,” you breathed, an involuntary reaction to how deliberately sexy that was.
“Say it again,” he requested quietly.
“Tommy,” you repeated, and he grunted right against your ear— he didn’t stop moving entirely, just slowed down quite a bit as he rutted on you.
“Fuck,” he sighed, panting. You swallowed, feeling wonderfully strange knowing that must be it, that he just came— because of you. His weight sank down onto you, making you let out a little squeal from the air rushing out of your lungs, and he laughed quietly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting himself up and hovering above you again, “didn’t mean to crush you…”
“S’all fine, Tom,” you promised, closing your legs as soon as you had the chance— before he could see that you’d soaked through your panties.
“Oh, ‘Tom’, eh? Gettin’ formal, are we?” he grinned. “Now that you’ve got me to bust in me trousers, we’re not so friendly anymore?”
“Shut up,” you laughed as you pushed him aside, swinging your legs off the bed so you could get up. “Gonna use the loo and then I’ll get dressed.”
“What?!” he croaked. “You kidding? Of course I get to use the loo first!”
“Not if I get there before you,” you challenged, jumping up and trying to race him across the hotel room. He beat you, but only by playing dirty— he ran up behind you and grabbed you, spinning you around as you kicked and laughed and squirmed in his grasp.
two weeks later
Moonshine on the bay had become a tradition on nights like this, when the warmth of summer was creeping around the corner, ever since you were both fifteen and in desperate need of some rebellion. Now, without the illegality and all, it had lost some of that titillating appeal, but you still loved going out so late and meeting him at your secret spot. It had the perfect view of the water at night, not that it was a particularly scenic section of the sea since it was mostly cargo ships and docks and all that, but under the flickering old street lamp and the tall field elms, it was almost romantic.
Tommy was currently still standing while you leaned back on your hands, brandishing the liquor he’d secured for the evening. “For you,” he offered you the opened bottle with a smile, and you took it, but waited for him to take a sip of his first. He did, and you saw his lips curling as he drank.
“How is it?” you asked, and he stopped drinking to cough a bit.
“It’s hangin’!” he grimaced. “But it’ll do the job.”
You took a sip while he sat down next to you, and made a face of your own. “Ah fuck! That’s terrible! Where the fuck’d you get this?”
But you knew what he meant when he said it would do the job— one sip was already warming your chest, and the next, though just as disgusting as the last, made you feel tingly at the tips of your fingers.
With your bottles halfway finished, you two sat up in the grass and watched the lights of ships go by slowly in the night. “Had a date last night,” you blurted out suddenly, just to make conversation.
“Really? With who?”
“You remember Jack Meyer?”
“God, I wish I didn’t,” he sneered, “what a knob.”
“Could you stop insulting all the guys I go out with?” you frowned.
“Stop going out with knobs and I will,” he bargained.
“Anyways, he was nice,” you announced firmly. “Took me to the cinema and bought me a popcorn.”
“What size?” he asked.
“Medium.”
“Cheap bastard,” Tom grumbled.
“Shut up! I’m trying to tell you that it was a nice date!” you yelped, pushing him on the shoulder. “We actually, um… well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”
“What?” he wondered.
“I mean, I tell you everything— you tell me everything. You told me when Sharon Caldwell let you feel her tits in eighth grade, and you told me when you lost it to Annie— what was her name again?”
“Annie Shaw,” he finished for you.
“Right… so, point is, I figured I should tell you what happened with me and Jack, right?” you wondered. When you found the courage to look over at Tommy, his expression was… intense. Almost angry, a little terrified.
“Don’t tell me you gave it up to him,” he pleaded, leaning in a little closer.
“God no! I just wanked him a bit.”
"You did what to 'im?!" Tommy yelped.
"W-well, I dunno!" you backpedalled quickly.
“Aw, birdie, you can do so much better than him,” he groaned.
“Okay, maybe so, but he’s the one I wanted to go out with. And he was nice and he made me feel— I dunno, pretty?” you mumbled, afraid to sound too girlish.
“Come on, you can’t go rubbing off any guy who calls you pretty,” Tom scolded.
“This isn’t just any guy!”
“Yeah, it’s Jack Meyer. In fourth year he swallowed a penny and it never came out!”
“Believe it or not, Tommy, it's not fourth year anymore,” you frowned. “Things are different. We’re older. I’m not a little kid— and I’m tired of being treated like one!”
He sighed slowly, taking another swig of the booze. “I guess that’s fair,” he relented. “Still… can’t stand thinking about you doing that to some guy.”
"Why?"
He seemed confused by your question, and gave you a look.
"Why can't you stand thinking about it?" you interrogated.
"I… I don't know…" He coughed a bit, clearly wanting to change the subject, but you kept staring at him as you waited for an answer. “I guess it’s just that,” he began again, “I worry because it’s Jack, you know? He’s a little aggressive with girls— or, he was back when I knew him. He didn’t… pressure you into it, right?”
You thought back to the night before, and how it all happened. “Erm, no,” you decided, “not really.”
“Not really? What’s that mean?”
“Well, he didn’t make me do it,” you explained, “but he was… showing me how, ‘cause I didn’t know.”
“Sh-showing you?” Tom repeated.
“He, erm, he took my hand,” you remembered, feeling your heart start to race as you looked at Tom closely. “And he put it… he put it right here.”
It was the liquor that made you do it; you pressed your hand up to the front of his trousers, feeling him getting firmer under your touch already. He jumped a little but didn’t stop you.
"He told me to take it out for him…" you continued, voice wavering as your whole body was suddenly shivering from nervousness, and started to open his trousers yourself.
“Birdie,” Tom gasped, and you looked up to his face again.
“Do you want me to stop?” you asked him point blank. He didn’t say anything. “Can I keep going?”
His mouth was open slightly, and he was breathing heavily through it; he nodded. You unzipped his fly and reached in, navigating the opening of his boxers to get his cock out.
Of course, you’d felt it before, but you’d never seen it. It was as beautiful as a cock could be, you thought: tanner than the rest of him for some reason, flushed at the tip, still just starting to poke out from his foreskin with a teal vein running up under your palm. Biting your lip, you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around it. “H-he told me to stroke it, like this,” you stammered, moving your hand gently and slowly from the base to the tip and back— then again, and again.
Daring to glance up at Tom’s face again, you saw him watching your hand with a dumbstruck expression. You twisted your hand slightly as you reached the tip and he groaned. "Birdie…" he sighed— his voice wore some impossible mixture of arousal, confusion, scolding, disappointment, and desperation. It made your knees weak. Good thing you were still kneeling on the ground, so it didn’t make much difference. You were so sloshed that standing up would’ve been a bit of an effort, anyway.
“When I was doing it right,” you continued, “he’d tell me I was bein’ good for him… it made me feel weird when he said that, but good. You know?”
“Y-yeah…” he choked, hissing through his teeth.
It went on that way for a little while, just his panting and the crickets chirping; though there was clear fluid leaking from the tip of his cock, you thought it might not be enough, so you pursed your lips and let your spit dribble down onto him so you could spread it out with your hand.
“Christ,” he groaned, “Jack taught you that, too?”
You nodded, and he growled a little— the sound made your chest tighten up (as well as a few other places). His cock was starting to bob against your grip, and his breathing was faster and heavier with each stroke. "You're close?" you noticed, and he nodded, chest heaving as he stared down at what you were doing to him. "You can come, Tom. I want you to."
"Shit," he hissed. "Shit, jus' don't stop then."
And you didn't, in fact you moved your hand even faster, until it was just a blur and he was bucking up into your palm desperately.
"Ah, fuck!" he gasped, and come started to spurt from his pulsing cock, landing on his shirt and your hand. "Fuck…"
You watched his face as it tilted back, his eyebrows knitted together, his mouth parted in a little moan. Your hand was still moving, and his jumped up to grab your wrist and stop you. Then it was still, and silent, except for him breathing like he'd just run a marathon.
After a moment, he tilted his head down again and came back to reality; he instantly looked mortified. "God, birdie," he choked, "I made a mess on you— m'so sorry, let me get it…"
He tried to wipe the come away with his shirt, frantically cleaning your hand up as best he could. "It's fine, Tommy," you giggled.
"No it isn't, I've got your pretty hand all dirty now…"
Examining his focused expression as he wiped up the smears of come, you bit your lip slightly. You did feel guilty for making up that whole story about a date with Jack Meyer that never did— and never would— happen, but it worked. You’d never lied to Tommy like that before, but you decided to blame it on the liquor and not your desperation.
In the two weeks since your holiday, nothing untoward whatsoever had happened between you and it was driving you crazy. You didn’t even talk about it! You, of course, thought about it every day— well, really every night, when you touched yourself and tried to remember exactly how his voice sounded in your ear. That was what drove you to this, to getting drunk and making shit up for a chance to touch him.
"Kiss me," you said suddenly. He looked up at your face, and you just stared at each other for a second.
His hand dropped yours— it was clean now, or clean enough at least— and moved up to hold your face. You sighed slightly; his thumb stroked your cheek and he smiled at you.
He gently tilted your head down and met you halfway, pressing his lips to your forehead. Your chest deflated and your eyes fell shut. So this is what heartbreak feels like. It's not as bad as I thought.
"That better?" he asked as he pulled back, moving his own face down so he could look up at you with a tender smile. You nodded, willing yourself not to cry in front of him now.
You were throwing yourself at him and he was throwing you away. "We'll always be friends, won't we?" you asked quietly.
"Aw, birdie— of course," he cooed, pulling you into a hug. You clutched at his shoulders, digging your nails into handfuls of his ratty old Nirvana t-shirt.
He rolled back onto the grass and pulled you down with him, making you laugh and try to get away— but he wouldn't let you go.
"We'll always be friends," he promised again, "'cause otherwise who'd keep all those awful boys away from you?"
"Shut up," you rolled your eyes.
"I will," he sighed, relaxing his grip on you slightly. "I'm gonna ease up on you, I think. Let you date somebody if you want— even if he's a tosser. 'Cause you're right, you're not a little kid anymore. And it's not fair to you."
You swallowed, laying your head on his chest. You'd never actually wanted him to let you date someone else… you just wanted him to finally love you back. But maybe this was the best you were going to get.
~
“Go, Tommy!” you cheered from the side of the pitch, though he surely couldn’t hear you through all that.. rugby-ing. Rugbing?
Whatever— point is, you clapped and hollered anyways as you watched him run all over the place, narrowly dodging being tackled a few times. You winced when he got taken down from the side by one of the biggest guys out there. Tommy had a high pain tolerance, but you’d rather not see him lose a tooth or something. What a waste of a perfect smile that would be.
For all their efforts, Tommy’s team lost by just a few points; it was just a scrimmage, hence why there was basically no one else here but you and the actual team members, so you hoped he wouldn’t be pouty the rest of the day after losing. He didn’t seem to be, from what you could tell this far away— he was shaking hands and bumping fists, sweaty and streaked with dirt and grass as he chugged from his water bottle. It really should not have been as attractive as it was…
Before you got caught ogling, someone caught your attention: “Hey,” one of the players jogged up to you, and you blinked up at him blankly, not sure who he was. You’d definitely seen him before, you remembered his dreads and… overall massiveness. But you weren’t sure what he was talking to you for. “You’re here with Tom, yeah?”
“Oh, yes,” you smiled.
“He said you’re an old mate of his,” the player went on.
“Mhm,” you nodded.
“Sweet of you to come cheer him on,” he laughed, “even though it didn’t seem to do him much good today.”
You shrugged. “He loses a lot, but he always gets back up.”
“I’m Rhys, by the way,” he offered. “I’d shake your hand or somethin’, but I’m pretty filthy at the moment.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you laughed. “Surprised you haven’t gone to the showers already, that’d be the first thing I’d be doing after getting that sweaty.”
“Well, I was gonna,” he explained, “but, well, I was afraid you’d be gone before I got back.”
You raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, and he continued on.
“Listen, I asked Tom, but I figured I should ask you… er…” he stalled as he smiled nervously. “Have you got a boyfriend or anythin’?”
“Er, no,” you answered.
“Issuh?” he laughed.
“Yes!” you insisted. “You think I’m lying or something?”
“I think it’s a little too good to be true, that’s all,” he explained. “Girl like you shouldn’t stay single too long.”
You kept waiting for Tommy to come ruin it— to come rescue you. You glanced over, and you saw him look back at you, but he just smiled and kept working on the laces of his cleats.
“So, I guess I should ask for your number before it’s too late, yeah?” Rhys continued. You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up at him and dropping your mouth open as you hoped for some words to come out.
“Oh! Erm,” you began, “well—”
“It’s okay if not,” he promised, “but, you know… I’d like it. So I can call you sometime or something— maybe I’ll have worked up the nerve to ask you out by then.”
Your cheeks were warm, but so were the backs of your eyes. You never thought you would miss it, Tom running up and putting his arm around you, shooting whatever guy you were talking to a glare that made everyone feel uncomfortable; you glanced over at him again, watching him chat and laugh with some of the other guys. He was just going to let this happen, wasn’t he? And so were you. “Yeah,” you finally blurted out, “sure— got your phone now? I’ll put it in for you.”
“Great,” he smiled, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to you. “Wow, that went surprisingly well.”
“Are you that surprised?” you laughed as you added yourself as a contact.
“These things don’t normally go right for me,” he explained.
“For you?” you glanced up at him incredulously.
“Now, don’t give me an ego,” he chuckled, and you laughed with him.
You quickly held his phone up to take a selfie with your tongue sticking out, adding it as your contact photo. “There you go,” you handed it back to him, and he looked at it with a wide smile on his face.
“Aw, that’s rich,” he said, and you bit your lip. “I really should hit the showers now, but, I’ll call you?”
“Okay,” you smiled, “I’ll answer. Probably.”
He waved at you as he left, looking down at your contact in his phone one more time with a shake of his head, before disappearing into the little tunnel through the stands.
You told Tom you would wait for him until he was all done, but god, he was taking forever getting cleaned up. In fact, everyone else had left when he finally came out in his change of clothes and found you leaning against the cement wall outside the practice facility. “Fuck took you so long?” you groaned as he appeared.
“You know how long it takes to wash off after a match like that?” he laughed. “You wouldn’t have walked home with me in the state I was in.”
“Okay, fair enough,” you sighed, “can we go now?”
“Well, um— actually, I have to get my bag from the locker room…”
“Oh my god,” you whined.
“Don’t get teazy, I just have to pack up all my gear,” he scolded.
“I’m coming with you,” you insisted, “and helping you carry it so we can get fuckin’ home already.”
“Fine, fine,” he laughed, starting back as you followed along with him. “Lucky for you, it’s empty.”
“Aw,” you faked a pout, “no sexy rugby boys to look at?”
“Just me,” he smiled— and fuck, he was joking, but it scared you for a second.
There was a little awkward pause while he guided you around the bend into the locker area, left surprisingly clean after the boys were finished; it was only Tom’s locker open, with his things all strewn about, and you sighed. “Look at the mess you made…” you breathed, starting to help him clean it up and get his things together.
“Rhys finally asked you out, then?” Tommy grinned, elbowing you lightly.
“O-oh, yeah,” you breathed, “erm, well— he just got my number, no date yet or anything.”
“Well, it’s a start. I didn’t want to give him your number for you, but he asked me for it— actually, he’s asked about you a couple times now.”
“You think he’s good enough for me?” you asked.
“I mean, I dunno,” Tommy shrugged, “I don’t know him that well. But he seems nice enough— figure you can decide the rest.”
You sighed, nodding a little.
“If he tries anything, though, you let me know and I’ll set him straight, alright?” he added, and you laughed.
“Alright, I will,” you agreed, kneeling down to get some of his clothes from off the floor and stuff them into the duffel. “Not sure how you’re gonna do that when he’s got a metre on you and maybe twenty pounds of muscle—”
“Shut up,” Tom scoffed. “You know I can take any guy down if it’s got to do with you.”
Your throat caught, and you stood up again. "Tommy, listen, I actually— I wanted to… talk to you."
He cleared his throat, looking nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah? You're all good, right? Everythin's okay?"
"Yeah, yeah," you nodded, leaning back against the lockers, "I just… I was thinking about you."
He stepped up closer to you, close enough that your heart started to race. "Oh… what about me?"
"Well, about us," you clarified, "you and me— I want… erm…"
"Hm?"
"I just— you know how we sometimes…?"
He leaned his head in a little closer, waiting with raised eyebrows for you to get to your point.
"That thing we do, sometimes?" you started again. "I wanna… do it again."
He nodded, like he understood, but then paused and moved his mouth over to the side. "You wanna go to the cinema?"
You laughed, more out of frustration than amusement, and tilted your head forward to rest on his chest. "God, Tommy…"
"What?" he laughed.
"I— I want—"
You couldn't look up at him as you said it. You took a deep breath and tried to compose your bravery.
"I want us to touch each other again," you finally rushed out. You waited for him to say something, or do something, but he didn't. “Like when we were on holiday,” you recalled, toying with the hem of his shirt. “And that night on the bay…”
“God, birdie, I— I dunno if I can do that again,” he breathed, and you felt your eyes start to burn a bit.
“Really, Tommy?” you sighed. “I’m that… repulsive? Or is it Rhys? ‘Cause all he’s done is get my number—”
“N-no,” he groaned, “shit, m’not makin’ any sense. I can’t do that again with you because it’s too hard, okay?”
You looked up at him, knitting your eyebrows together. “What’s too hard?”
“Touchin’ you like that,” he whispered— even now, the way he said made your spine tingle— glancing down from your eyes to your lips and back, “and havin’ to act normal again. Not bein’ your boyfriend.”
Of everything you thought he might say then, you never expected that. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, even when you bit your bottom lip. A laugh broke out through your grin, and you had to cover your mouth to try to hide it.
“Jesus, you’re laughin’ at me now!” he lamented. “I finally tell you and you laugh at me! You’re heartless, you know that?”
“No, Tommy, v’got a heart— and it’s all yours,” you promised, standing up on your toes to peck him on the cheek. He gave you a confused look, and you laughed again. “You don’t get it do you, still? I’ve fancied you for ages— proper in love with you, really. Kept askin’ you to do all that stuff ‘cause, well, you’re all I think about anyways. Thought you were just doing me favours.”
After a pause, he finally laughed with you. “Am I a fuckin’ idiot, then? You’ve had it goin’ for me all this time and I didn’t notice?”
“You’re a little stupid,” you mitigated. “I think I was being pretty obvious.”
“Yeah, and what about me?” he noticed. “I’ve been all over you forever— kissin’ and huggin’ you, cuddling all the time— you didn’t notice that I think you’re fit?”
You shrugged. "You've always been like that."
"Yeah!" he emphasised.
"Ohhhh," you nodded, "hm. Okay, we're both a little stupid."
“Birdie,” he smiled, and your heart melted, because he’d never said it quite like that before. He leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek.
“You can really kiss me, you know,” you told him, and he pulled away just enough to look at you with an impossible-to-read expression. “I-if you want,” you mitigated suddenly, and he smiled at you, then laughed.
“Aw, fuck, Tommy,” you turned your head to the side, “you’re awful…”
He put his hand on the side of your face, gently turning you to look at him. “Yeah,” he agreed. And then he moved in closer and kissed you— properly, finally. You shut your eyes, your chest emptying with a sigh; his other hand held your face then, too, and you reached up to hold his wrists. Your right hand felt the worn-out old bracelet that he still wore, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit against him. He smiled, too.
“Tommy,” you sighed, reaching out and grabbing him by his belt to pull him closer. He pressed his forehead on yours, looking down at your hands working on the buckle shakily.
“Birdie, c’mon,” he gasped, “not here—”
You pouted a little, and he laughed.
“We waited all this time and you can’t wait until we get home?”
“Yes!” you whined. “I need you…”
“Shit,” he groaned, kissing you again— but just for a few very passionate seconds before he pulled back once more. “We’ll go home and I’ll do this right, I swear.”
“Why can’t we just do it here?” you wondered.
“Because if you told me some guy had taken your virginity in a rugby practice field locker room, I would kill him,” Tom frowned.
You laughed. “Fine, fine… let’s go home.”
~
Thank god his parents weren’t home. You didn’t want to try to be quiet.
He had you in his bed the second the door was shut, kissing you voraciously as he helped you undress and tore his own shirt and trousers off. For a guy who was just preaching patience, he was pretty hasty all of a sudden.
When all you had on were your panties, he set his arms straight to hover over you and stare down at you, looking a little dumbstruck. You almost felt self-conscious enough to try to cover your chest, but he smiled at you and you felt a little better. “You’re so… fuck, birdie, you’re pretty.”
It was a simple compliment, but it felt incredibly powerful when he said it like that. He was in his boxers, and it wasn’t too much more skin than you’d already seen while swimming with him and such, but it was different with his massive hard-on making a visible imprint in the patterned cotton.
Gently, he spread your legs, and tightened his jaw at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear. “Oh, fuck,” he sighed.
“I always get like that,” you admitted quietly. “Should be easy for you to fuck me, right?”
“Yes, yeah,” he agreed, “but m’not gonna fuck you yet.”
You frowned a little, and he laughed as he kissed you again.
“I told you I’m doing this the right way,” he insisted, “it’s your first time. It’ll hurt if I just go for it.”
He leaned back and sat up, bringing his hands down to the waistband of your panties and gently dragging them down your legs; you felt gooseflesh spread all over your body.
“Oh, darling,” he whispered as he opened your legs again, looking right at you now. You squirmed a little, but his grip on your thighs was tight. “I need you to tell me now if you’ve changed your mind about this… ‘cause I can already tell I’m gonna have a hard time stopping once I start.”
Your heart skipped a beat, but you were sure, you were so sure. “I haven’t changed my mind,” you promised.
“I won’t get mad at you or anything,” he assured.
“I know— I’m sure,” you breathed. Wondering if you should return the sentiment, you asked, "You're sure you wanna do this? With me?"
"Birdie, I've wanted to do this with you since I knew what this was," he smiled.
"And you don't mind that I've never…"
"No, birdie, I don't mind," he laughed. "Think it's perfect actually. Couldn't let any other lad be your first. Couldn't let any other lad touch you like this."
You bit your lip. “You were gonna let me go out with Rhys,” you reminded him.
“I let you give him your number. We hadn’t even gotten to you going out with him,” Tom corrected. “And I was acting fine as best I could but I was really jumpin’, birdie, thinking about if something might happen with you two— something like this…”
You whined as you tugged on his shirt, hoping to hide your face in his neck, but he pulled his face back so he could look down at you with a smile. "Tommy, please," you whimpered.
"Please, what?" he encouraged.
"Jus' need you…"
He kissed your neck again, making your back arch and your hands grab onto his shoulders, and pressed his hips down against you. You whined at the feeling of his erection through clothes, but opened your eyes in confusion when he pulled back again just a moment later, hovering over you. "Say my name when I make you come, yeah?" he instructed, and you nodded. "Try it on for size just once, why don'tya," he encouraged with a smile.
"Tommy," you smiled back, and he kissed the tip of your nose.
"That's m'girl," he praised, before crawling back down, kissing a trail over your stomach, moving his hand up your thigh.
He just kept his face right up close to you, watching his finger swipe through your folds, then watching it gently circle your clit. You whimpered, and felt your insides flex on nothing. Apparently, that made him want to give you something to clench on— he gently slipped his pointer finger past your opening, and you let out a long sigh.
“So warm inside,” he observed. He pulled the finger back out a second later, putting it in his mouth and humming happily. He put his mouth on you at the same time that he put the finger back in, along with a second; that was a lot to take in, and your back arched up off the bed instantly. He mouthed at your clit, swirling his tongue around while his lips created this wonderful pressure; you had to grab onto his hair, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind.
Eventually, he did have to break away for a second. "Wondered how you'd taste," he admitted with a sigh.
"Well?" you prompted.
"Taste like 'eaven, birdie," he purred. "Sweet little pussy— an' it's all for me?"
"All yours," you nodded, and he growled a little as he dove back in.
The tip of his tongue slid right up from your opening to where your clit was swollen and throbbing— he pushed his tongue flat against it and you whimpered loudly. He started to really fuck you with his fingers then, rather than just letting the natural movement of your hips force you to ride them; they curled inside you, hitting a spot that made your own fingers curl into fists in his hair. You didn’t want to hurt him, but he didn’t mind getting his hair pulled, apparently, and just moaned lowly against you.
The pressure started weighing on your gut after a while, your pussy tensing up on him faster and faster until it was just bearing down on him unendingly. “Fuck, Tommy,” you gasped.
“C’mon, birdie,” he mumbled against you, “wan’ you to come. Go ahead and come for me, yeah?”
You called out his name one more time, and it all spilled over at once; he shut his eyes tight, letting you pull his face right up against you by his curls as your hips bucked and grinded on him. You sobbed weakly, and when it was suddenly too much, he broke away and pinned you down for a messy kiss.
It left you even more breathless than you already were. When he pulled back, his eyes were a little glazed over and his lips and chin were a lot glazed over; he gave you a crooked smile. “Taste how sweet you are?” he purred. You wouldn’t call it sweet, really, but it still turned you on like crazy to hear him say it.
“Please, Tom,” you gasped, grabbing his shoulders, “you’ll fuck me now, right?”
He nodded, and you let out a sigh of relief. “Sure you’re ready?” he asked, laughing when you groaned and punched him on the arm.
“Course I’m fuckin’ ready!” you snapped. “God, Tommy, you always give ‘em all this rigamarole first?”
He shook his head. “Just you, birdie… it was always just you.”
Kissing you again, his breath changed as he reached down to push his boxers out of the way and kick them off to the floor. The way it felt to have his bare skin against yours as he lowered himself down was… euphoric. Warm and soft and smooth, and when he wrapped you in his arms, it felt like he could just absorb you entirely. You wouldn’t mind it if he did.
He'd prepared you so well that there was only one quick sting of pain when he pushed inside you— though just that was still enough to make one tiny tear roll down your temple, which he kissed away softly.
"Are you alright?" he whispered. You nodded. "I need you to tell me, birdie."
"I'm okay," you promised through a sigh. "It hurts a little, b-but please don't stop."
"You're sure?"
"Please!"
He pushed his hips flush with yours and you gritted your teeth, though everything in you relaxed just a moment later; and all that was left was the fullness, the warmth of him, the way his eyes sparkled as he looked down at you. "You're so beautiful," he whispered to you, and you bit your lip.
"I love you, Tommy," you mumbled weakly, and he planted one soft kiss on your mouth.
"I love you too, darling."
He carefully began to move, needing to reach down with one hand to keep your hips steady. Your moans were shaky at first, but got louder and more even with each movement.
"You're… so deep," you breathed. "Tommy, I— I didn't know anything could be so deep in me."
"Well, I am," he grinned. "I'm right… here."
He pressed down on your stomach, right on the spot where the tip of his cock reached— and your eyes rolled back. "Ohh, god," you whined.
"You feel it, love?" he cooed.
"Yes, yes," you groaned. "Fuck, Tommy, why didn't you tell me you had a perfect cock?"
He laughed a little, leaning down to kiss you on the jaw. "Guess it never came up."
"Does it always… is it always like this?" you wondered. "It's so good, does it always feel this good?"
He shook his head, kissing your forehead and then trailing down your nose and cheek. "No, it's not always like this," he answered quietly. "Not for me, anyway. It's never been like this."
His lips met yours again, and you reached up to weave your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. He groaned a little, moving his hips faster, and you smiled. "Do you wanna fuck me harder?" you asked.
"Fuck," he mumbled, "I— I could. Do you want me to?"
"I can take it," you promised.
Picking up the pace slightly, he held you tighter; and you felt each impact a little harder, the sound of his skin on yours echoing around the room. “Like that?” he asked.
“Yes,” you answered— you meant it more neutral than it came out, it sounded proper pornographic the way you said it, and he smiled. “More, Tommy, please? Jus’ want more…”
He hissed but did as he was told, latching onto your neck with his lips as he let something a little more animalistic take over, making you cry out and hold onto him tighter. “Beautiful,” he grunted, “you’re so beautiful, birdie— you sound beautiful.”
“It’s just ‘cause you’re making me sound like this,” you sighed, clutching at his back, too overwhelmed by pleasure to worry about scratching him up.
“I’m giving you a hickey this time,” he informed you. “You want my mark on you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you admitted, “always, Tommy— fuck, always wanted it.”
“‘Cause you’re mine, yeah?”
“Always,” you whimpered.
“A-ah, shit— when it’s time, I'll pull out, okay?" he offered.
"No," you whined, wrapping your legs around his hips. "Tommy, please, want it inside…"
"Birdie," he breathed roughly, "if you say things like that, I-I'll come too fast."
“Don’t care,” you whimpered. “Promise you’re gonna come inside me.”
“F-fuck,” he groaned, “erm— yeah, m’gonna come in ya, okay?”
You choked out the shortest sob of joy. “Please, please— fuck, I’ll come again…”
“Yeah, fuck, c’mon then,” he praised, “just say my name, birdie— I wanna hear my name.”
“Tommy,” you cried, feeling him gasp against your neck as another wave of heat spread over your body; feeling him flex inside you right as you hit your own peak was so perfect. You could’ve never described your emotions in that moment with words, but they found their way out anyways: you started crying, instantly.
“Don’t cry, birdie, shh,” he soothed quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumb. “C’mon, darling, don’t cry—”
“N-no, Tommy,” you sniffled, “I’m just happy— I’m so happy, I swear…”
So he let you cry, and held you close to him; he didn’t leave until you fell asleep, even though he said he was just going to get you a washcloth and a cup of water and come right back. He played with your hair and kissed your face, and just talked about all the normal things you usually talked about— as in, everything. But this time, it was actually everything, no more hidden feelings.
You didn’t remember falling asleep, but after one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly— like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes— you woke up tangled with him and his sheets. Turning on your side as best you could, you looked at his sleeping face and smiled to yourself. He woke up just a bit later, cutting your staring short, and smiled back at you.
“Top of the morning, my ‘ansum,” you greeted as you pinched his cheek. He laughed and batted your hand away, hiding his face from the sun under his arm.
“You kicked me in your sleep,” he grumbled.
“So it’s all over, then? Final straw, you’re finally getting rid of me?” you joked.
“Mm, I thought about it,” he snorted, making you laugh. He popped his face up again and started to kiss your face all over.
“Tommy, stop,” you whined.
“You can’t make me stop now,” he pointed out, “it’s one thing to get your best friend to stop kissing you, but your boyfriend? Nah, m’not stopping.”
You laughed, his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him only making you feel more ticklish and squirm more. You only stilled when he grabbed your face and gave you a real kiss, and everything seemed to slow down quite a bit. You kissed him back, properly, reaching up to weave your fingers in his hair. “So, you’re my boyfriend, then?” you noticed when you broke away.
“No, I think we’re still just friends,” he nodded, and you laughed and shoved him on the chest.
“Might as well be, everything we did before sayin’ we were only friends,” you admitted.
“I’m whatever you want me to be, birdie,” he promised.
#tom (make up) x reader#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn smut#tom (make up) smut#make up (2019) fic#tom grant x reader#tom grant smut
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abby love theme
pairing. abby anderson x f!reader
synopsis. abby begs for forgiveness. then tries to make it up to you.
an. :) hey. do people read this bit? lemme know if you read this bit. also, did you know i’m a gamer girl now? -- looks like i’ve made writing for a dead fandom a thing so, might as well carry on. apologies if this isn’t your thing, but abby got me out of a month long writing slump so !
warnings. 18+. this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. female receiving oral, female receiving penetration (fingers), spit play, slightly mean! abby, hair pulling, and angst but mostly just graphic smut lol.
When Abby comes back, she’s apologetic.
She unlocks the door – as quietly as humanly possible – and gently pushes it back into the latch. Then, as always, bolts the top and bottom, an instinct, from doing it every night.
She’s always the first person up, and the last person in. Always the last one to get into bed – on your side, because you’re always asleep on her side – and the last one to say goodnight.
Now, though, she’s saying, “I’m sorry.”
Standing at the edge, and whispering it at the back of your head, the soft verbiage a thunderclap in the soundless cocoon of your room. If you heard her, you give her no inclination.
It looks as if you’re sound asleep, and usually, Abby would do her best not to disturb your peace, but right now, she’s seconds away from begging.
So, she does something similar.
Clambers onto your shared bed, knees digging into the springs, and shuffles up close. Plunges her hands under and around you, and pulls you against her, speaking before you can. Just, speaking into the back of your neck – lips wet and swollen from her nervous chewing.
“I’m sorry I yelled,” she starts, which, in her mind, is the crux of the whole ordeal. Shouldn’t have yelled, shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, and yelled and that’s exactly what she’s saying, saying, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions and got distant and annoying. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you out. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.
Hands tighten around your middle, and at some point, you grab onto them. “I thought – “she’s going again. “I thought you were pulling away, so I did the same. It was stupid and childish and I’m sorry, I won’t – “
She repeats it like she’s stuck in a loop.
“– I won’t do it again I promise.”
She kisses the back of your neck and nuzzles deeper like she’s trying to imprint it onto your spinal cord – forcing it to travel up into your brain. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I’ll stay, hear you out – won’t yell, I’m sorry.”
Her kisses travel across your jaw, all punctuated with the same apologetic phrase. You’re awake now – awake as soon as she clambered onto the bed, as graceful as a truck – and you twist to greet her mouth.
Kiss her, and shut her up, yet still – she manages to say it again.
“’ m’ sorry,” she mumbles into your mouth. You can taste how sorry she is. Feel it, the desperation, in her wandering hands – pulling you into her, palming your lower back and twisting your shirt into her fist.
She says it as she rolls on top of you. Her knees push against your hips, ass against your crotch, and she’s still got your top stretched between her fingers.
Abby tongues her way into your mouth and you gasp, lifting your head off of the pillows to follow her mouth. “’ m’ sorry,” she goes again, making out with you. Wet and wanting, the kind of kiss that could only happen at two in the morning.
The gasp you sounded before turns into a whimper. Her kiss is intoxicating and knocks you for six – makes you loose and easy to manoeuvre. Abby drags kisses over your cheek, scattering them under your jaw as she repeats her apology again and again.
The heat of her, the weight of her – consumes you. You’d forgiven her hours ago. Feels like you’d always forgive Abby, no matter what she did. Even if she was quick to anger. Read things wrong. She always came home with her tail between her legs.
“Don’t yell at me like that again, Abby.”
“I won’t — “she immediately goes, her voice strained. She lifts her head and watches you, inches away, her face clouded in darkness. “I promise. I promise, um’sorry.”
Abby is gorgeous. Always has been. But she’s never more gorgeous than when she’s inches away, mouth against yours, with her blue eyes big and wanting. When she dips to kiss your neck again, you sigh out into your shared bedroom.
“’s’ okay, baby,” you breathe – finally – eyes fluttering closed and fingers reaching to slide into her hair. You hum, the swell of her mouth and wet of her tongue opening you up. It forces your legs to hang open around her hips.
Makes you loose and liquid, but she switches, sucks at the hollow of your throat, and you tighten up, fingers, legs, and hips -- pushing up into hers.
“Fuck—” you moan, back arching, “’s’ okay, Abby.”
It’s like she can’t hear you.
Spurred on by an obscene need, she’s sucking bruises into your skin. Gripping at your clothing and pulling it into her fist – tight -- not daring to let go.
“Abby,” you whisper, trying to turn to her, but she refuses to budge. Just. Sits on your lap and marks you with her mouth. She’s still cladded in her pants, the ones with the pockets and buckles. Wearing her shirt with the cut-off sleeves, smelling faintly of the gym.
Had gone to work her frustration out, then came home to apologise. Again, and again and again and she says it, again. Grounds her hips into yours, and you don’t think she even knows she’s doing it. Don’t think she knows she’s pushing the buckle of her belt against your crotch, the bite of it grinding through your sleep shorts.
“Mm, Abby,” you sigh again, twisting – again. Still, she doesn’t move. You grip the back of her head and pull her hair, catching her lips in yours before she can complain. You kiss her as she kissed you before. Tongue in her mouth, desperation in your fingertips – Abby mumbles, sorry, between the spit and teeth.
“I know,” you whisper, jutting your hips against hers.
“I know, baby,” you repeat, dragging the words under her chin, followed by the mesh of your mouth, teeth scraping against her jaw. You kiss away the red, say, I know, and taste her again. Repeat the motion, and Abby loves it. Has always loved when you got a little rough with her.
Takes a lot for Abby Anderson to break. She hums your name, and whispers, “Fuck,” when you suck a mark under her jaw, then, suddenly, she’s pulling away.
Leans back on your lap, tall and overwhelming, and reaches down, dragging the hem of her shirt up and over her head. You gaze at her as she throws it behind her, followed by the tug of her bra, and before you get the chance to gaze at her chest, she’s back and kissing you.
“Lemme make it up to you,” she breathes into your mouth. She pushes her chest into yours, and you feel her – the lines of her muscles, the softness of her tits, and Abby clutches your vest again, so tight that you’re basically not wearing it – the fabric bunched up in the middle.
You whisper, “take my shirt off then,” and she takes your shorts off, too.
Strips you bare, and kisses where your clothes once touched. Tongue curling around a nipple, fingers tugging at the other – trailing spit down your belly, palm flat on your heart, hips stretching lower and lower, until you watch her drag her teeth under your belly button.
You choke a gasp, and Abby smiles. A small one, but it’s there, and it twists mischievously as she lowers her tongue and swirls it above your crotch. “Shit – Abs,” you whisper, pulling your knuckles into your mouth.
You’re so sensitive there, and Abby knows. Knows that the feeling always shoots down lower and pushes against your clit. Abby’s chest is barely brushing against it.
She swirls her tongue again, sucking a mark as her wide, strong palms pull your thighs up. She gets comfortable laying between your legs.
“Did I mention that I was sorry?” Abby asks, mouth exploring. Her teasing forces something warm and buttery to bloom in your chest. The feeling triples as her mouth dips, scattering wet, intricate kisses over your inner thighs. Her thick fingers jut into your skin, rubbing circles into your thighs, and pushing at your lower stomach. Your hips buck into her face.
“Mm, yeah – think so,” you quickly rush, words high pitch and desperate. Abby glances up at you, her blue eyes are bright and brilliant. You have to reach down between your thighs and cup her cheek.
Have to swipe your thumb at the spit she’s got smeared over her lips, and Abby’s tongue comes out, running over your skin before she sucks your finger into her mouth. Your face twists, lips parting.
Whispering, “might have to show me how sorry you are, though.”
“Yeah?” Abby immediately breathes, barely looking at you. Too busy swirling her tongue around your thumb. Your heart thumps a beating drum, clit throbs, and you clench, humming her name.
Say, “Abs,” and her eyes open -- pupils are blown wide. A conniving smirk on her pretty face, and she growls and bites – pretending to chomp on your finger. You pull your hand away, giggling, saying, “what the hell, Abby!” but she’s not listening. Too busy hitching your hips up.
Too busy dribbling spit onto your pussy, and your giggle twists to a loud gasp as she drags the flat of her tongue from your hole to your clit. Your body shatters. Her name is a strangled sob, and you have to muffle it with the back of your palm.
“Fuck,” you whimper, not having enough energy to cuss her out. Not that you want to, anyway. Even if she deserves it. Even if you still want to be angry at her, but what good would that do?
She’d literally crawled into bed with her metaphorical tail between her legs. The hot-headed Abby Anderson, who only ever wanted to be good. That is who you fell in love with.
She drags her tongue through your folds again. Relaxed, slow, and sensual. Again, and again Taking her time with you because she could. Because you’d let her – let her do anything, really.
Let her swirl her tongue around your clit, saliva drooling over your heat, and dripping between your legs.
A warm, welcome heat spreads across your thighs, pushing at your belly and spine, forcing you to squirm – or at least try and squirm away from it, but Abby keeps you locked where she wants you.
Sucks your clit into her mouth, and you moan, back trying to arch, but shit, she won’t let you.
“A-Abby,” you hiccup, arching as far as she’ll let. Your fingers search for something to grab onto — one finds the sheets, and the other finds her hair, where it pushes into her messy braid and tugs, both frustrated and turned on beyond relief.
You say her name again, a plead to stop, a plead to carry on, forever.
Abby chooses the latter, and it does feel like forever. Feels like a lifetime of her dragging her tongue through your folds. Her nose pushes into your heat, and the wet of you soaks her chin.
She sinks a finger inside, and you moan her God damn name.
She doesn’t slow down — why would she? but most of all, how could she? When you’re stretched out on the bed she shares with you, naked, and whispering her name.
Again and again, Abby, Abby, Abby.
The beating of a drum — one that matches the buzzing, fluttering, and flapping of her heart. How can she stop, when you’re clenching around her middle finger, moaning deep and long — a drawn-out sound that echoes around the room. You soak her finger, too. Soak both when she adds another. Abby curses.
“Maybe I should piss you off more often if this is my penance.”
It’s hard to speak, but still, you manage.
“Fuck—d-don’t get it twisted— “you tighten your grip on her hair, “--you’re still—still in the doghouse.”
Abby pouts, eyeing you, “but I’m being such a good boy.”
“Jesus Christ.”
You have to let go of the sheet to cover your face. Then, moan into your knuckle as you clench, her fingers stretching you out.
Abby hums a laugh, “you like that, huh?”
Your rebuttal is quiet, a whisper of a sound as you utter —
“No one likes a show-off.”
“But you do.”
“Yeah— “you sigh, clenching again, the feeling building behind your clit. “I do.”
Too much, sometimes. Feels like you’re so full of love for Abby Anderson that you’re fit to burst.
Her fingers speed up. Deep and long, but at the perfect tempo to have your legs shaking. Have you biting at the back of your hand, too, to stop you from screaming and waking up the entire floor.
She has her calloused hands holding your legs against the bed, and it’s all take and take and take. The obscene pressure makes you drift off, and you’re lightheaded and docile when she asks,
“I make you feel safe, right?”
“W-what?”
The question knocks you for a loop. You look down at her, eyes blown, forehead furrowed, and a smile drags onto her stubborn face. She rests her forehead on your lower stomach and speaks into your skin as she stretches you open with her fingers. You gasp, eyes rolling back.
“S’ what you said, earlier — that I make you feel safe.”
You don’t remember saying that. Did you say that? You must have. You try and think back to the argument. Think back to her getting insecure and angry about Mel saying that Abby hovers around you all the time.
I like having you around Abby, you make me feel safe.
When you don’t respond, she picks up the speed. Drags her fingers through your cunt -- makes you squirm and drench her fingers, a shocked gasp choking at your throat. The sound grabs her attention, and she snaps up, the heat of her stare a living, breathing thing.
“Right?” she repeats.
“Yes,” you gasp, hot all over, then, “Fuck — yes.”
“You like having me around, yes?”
“Yes Abby, yes yesyes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah — fuck, even if you, drive me fucking crazy— “
She sucks your clit into her mouth again, and you break.
“—oh holy shit, yes, please, Abby please keep doing that please keep doing that, please, please, please, please, please.”
You’re wired. The drag of her fingers. The warm, tight, suck of her mouth. Delirious. You moan her name as if it’s the only word you know. Right now, it is. The brain fog is seeping in, and you can’t remember why you were mad. What did she do again? You clench down on her fingers, so tight that it hurts.
“Abs — um’gonna come. Fuck, please, please let me come I want it want it so bad.”
Abby doesn’t speak, just grunts, and nods her head against your cunt. Nods, and nods, and loosens her grip on your legs, letting you – finally – rest your thighs against her shoulders as the harsh, hot feeling spills over you.
Your eyes roll back, fingers coil in her hair, and everything is clenched and tense and tight, until you release, wet and hot and intense.
“Oh my fucking God—Abby, Abby, Ohm’god, so fuck—” the words dribble out of your mouth like spit. Mindless, dredged up from somewhere dark and damp, saved for this moment only. Abby bathes in them, never stopping her fingers, never stopping her tongue as she soaks you up, your body shaking from under her grip.
At some point, she watches, and God – it’s a sight to behold. When the feeling fizzles out, and you’re gasping in air, your flustered face staring down at her, she stretches up.
Kisses you and spreads your musk over your lips as she tongues her way into your mouth, her wet fingers grabbing a hold of your cheek to keep you steady. She says some words of her own, but you barely hear them, still drunk and dizzy from how far she took you.
With shaky, weak hands, you reach down for the buckle of her jeans. “’ S’my turn,” you mumble against her mouth, and she laughs quietly. “My turn, you mean.”
“Mm,” you hum, kissing the taste of you off of her lips. Still fuzzy, you go dizzy when you shake your head at her.
“You okay sweetheart?” she laughs, and you roll your eyes.
“’ jus’ gimmie a minute, then it’ll be my turn.”
Abby always tries to keep quiet at first. You thought it was a pride thing, then briefly, a shame thing, but then you realised, it was just an Abby Thing. Another Abby Thing -- is that she likes to watch.
Props herself onto her elbows – with one hand in your hair – and gazes down at you between her thighs. It’s what she’s doing now. Her fingers are lax in your strands, and eyes are lazy as she regards you with curiosity.
Tongue in the corner of her mouth, a furrow in her brows, as you kiss at the inside of her muscular thighs.
You move with no real direction, and Abby gets lost in the bobbing of your head, the slow build before you’re dragging your tongue over the thin skin between her thigh and pussy, and she opens her mouth to make a sound. Still. She’s silent.
Achingly so.
You brush your mouth against her. Just an inch. Just a touch, and look up, catching her blue gaze. A small, teasing smile quirks at her lips, and she raises a brow, silently saying, well, go on then.
One thing that surprised you about Abby, was how nice she was.
Reserved, yes – but nice. Nice, until she got mean. Despicable. You love all sides of her, but it’s moments like this, where you particularly love the mean part of her.
The part that tightens her grip on your hair – tight and unforgiving – as you drool so much spit onto her pussy that it drips over your chin and soaks the mattress. The part that tuts when you start too fast, causing her to say, slow – slow down pretty, go slow for me.
The part that lifts your head when you don’t slow down, spitting, what the fuck did I just say?
But this moment? this moment isn’t like that at all. There’s no mean Abby. There’s only the thankful Abby. The one who whispers praises at you, eyes locked on the way you swipe your spit over her cunt, pushing it into her, and tasting how wet she got from making you come.
She says that’s it, so faintly, that you barely hear her.
But no matter, she’s saying it again.
Saying, that’s it, baby, as you build up the momentum, just barely touching her clit – like she taught you. You always were a good listener. It’s how you hear the hushed sound she sighs. How you hear her low grunt, followed by her high-pitched intake of breath as you nudge your nose against the swollen bundle of nerves.
She’s soaking.
Completely drenched and knowing that she got like this from eating you out fuels your desire. Forces you to abandon your slow movements, and instead, begin to consume her. Tongue flat, fingers tight on her hips, you work her over, drooling and moaning, and swirling your tongue over her clit until she has to make a sound.
“Shit,” she grunts, and you glance up at her. She’s chewing on her bottom lip. Jaw clenched, eyes blown and cheeks red – trying to keep herself contained. You have to smile.
Have to grin at her as you roll your tongue over her clit, watching her desperately try and cling to any sense of sanity. It’s no use though, because when you suck her clit into your mouth – sloppy with spit -- she has to look away.
She can’t hold herself up anymore, either, and she falls back to the pillows, back immediately arching, and she has to drag her bicep over her face, hiding her face from view as she moans a deep and guttural, “Fucccckkkkk,” into the bedroom.
Her fingers clutch your hair, and she uses her grip as leverage and grinds her cunt against your mouth and chin. You let go of her clit and flatten your tongue, letting her use you.
“Yes—” she gasps, mouth opening, and you would be seeing her face twist, if not for her thick bicep covering her face.
The veins in her arm are ticking, and you notice that her ab muscles are clenching, too, so you reach up slowly, sliding your palm over her sweaty chest, and running your thumb over her tense skin, hoping to soothe the tension.
“Abs,” you whisper, slowing your pace.
“Mmh?” she hums, and you slide your fingers further, dragging them over her tits.
“Relax,” you hush, and she laughs, the sound bursting from her throat before it breaks into a breathy moan as you switch up -- twist your tongue around her clit, rotating between swirling and sucking, swirling, and sucking until she lets go of your hair completely.
Has to fidget -- can’t lay still. She’s arching her back, clutching the duvet, then grabbing your hair again, sobbing your name, over and over, as you suck and swirl at her swollen clit. Watching her lose control is intoxicating. It’s forcing an ache to build between your thighs, but not as strong as Abby’s, who’s moaning and cursing.
“Keep doing that – keep doing that baby, ‘s’ fucking good. Please, please don’t fucking stop, shit.”
God, it’s so hot – stopping has never crossed your mind.
“’um ‘gonna come,” she whispers, so quiet that you have to strain to hear it. But then, she’s shaking her head, changing her mind.
“Don’t wanna – don’t wanna come, 'cause I don’t want it to stop.”
“You can come—” you grant, sucking her wetness into your mouth and spitting it back into her cunt. Abby whimpers, not daring to look. Though, she does when you declare, “—um’ not gonna stop.”
Cranes her neck up, then immediately regrets it. You’ve got one hand on her hip, and the other is between your thighs, where you’re steadily grinding against it.
She’s speechless for a second, just, watching you grind your cunt into your knuckles, and then she’s asking, “Are you touching yourself?”
Heat floods your body for a fleeting beat, but then you’re moaning into her pussy, nodding, saying, “you’re so fucking hot, Abs. Mm’ sorry.”
Mean Abby would have chastised you, but this is the thankful Abby, this is the Abby who shakes her head, laughs, and says, “Shit, and you wonder why I don’t leave you alone.”
“Don’t,” you immediately respond.
You can sense her confusion, so you decide to be honest.
“Don’t leave me alone. I like – like having you around, like people seeing us together,” you admit. Like it when she’s in earshot. When she buys you drinks and helps you out. When she refuses to let you go on runs without her, not because you can’t do it, but because why should you? When she can do it with you.
Like it when she hands you the big gun, kisses your forehead and says, be safe. When she picks you over all the grown, muscular men in the team, not out of loyalty, but because she trusts you, more than anyone she’s ever met before.
You’re fueled with passion – a desire for her, and it forces you to drag your fingers from her hip and under your chin, palm up, before pushing your middle finger into her cunt.
Abby groans, loud — the bellow of it echoing against the walls, and she moans as she gushes over your lips. You taste her; suck her into your mouth before you say, I like belonging to you, Abby, and Abby fucking sobs.
Whimpers like a wounded animal, whimpers like it hurts, says, say that again, please say that again. And so, you do. Moan it into the wet heat of her, your lips swollen, and your chin soaked. Try to imprint the words onto her skin, so she’ll never doubt herself again.
“It’s gonna be big –” she sobs, hiccuping the words, “--can feel it in my fucking chest.”
She drags her arms up, hands clutched together above her head so her elbows rest on her forehead, and you watch her mouth twist, jaw clench, then she’s cursing, gasping, saying, “shit – um’ gonna--” and she does.
Comes all over your mouth and chin, wet and hot, and loud. You lap her up, tasting the salt and spit and hearing her sob your name with a complete lack of self-awareness. It rings in your ears, makes you laugh – prideful – and Abby gasps one, too, but the sound morphs into a whine as you drag out the sensitivity, overstimulating her with your mouth and fingers.
When it gets too much for her, she grunts a curse, her hand coming down to grab your head and she uses a fist full of your hair to pull you away. You look up at her, cheeks glistening, and grin.
#abby anderson#abby anderson x reader#abby anderon smut#abby anderson x reader smut#abby anderson x female reader#abby anderson tlou2#the last of us part 2#the last of us#tlou2#tlou#the last of us 2#abby anderson imagine#abby anderson fan fic#tlou2 fanfic#tlou2 abby anderson#abby anderson the last of us#abby anderson the last of us 2#abby anderson tlou
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TOO ATTRACTED | kita shinsuke
sypnosis: in which kita is crushing over you, his wife, all over again.
content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, kita admits his "troubles" to the reader, he's so romantically dense it's cute, round-cheeks-kita headcanon, aran is mentioned, sorta sucky writing and a reuse of certain phrases and actions from my older posts, timeskip, inspired by that one guy on reddit.
⚠ warning/s: none.
kita shinsuke is starting to feel like he did during his high school years again.
he doesn't know when or how it came to this, where he can't take his eyes off of you, or how everytime you touch him it feels like electricity, but he's starting to think that he's fallen ill.
his face gets warmer, both figuratively and literally, at the mere sight of you. have you always had this effect on him?
kita can't help but sweat when you're close. the way you snuggle into his side to steal all of his warmth almost made him flinch, as if this wasn't already a daily routine for you two.
every time you surprise him with a long kiss, he feels the need to hold you for support. by the waist, he prefers.
and whenever kita sees you playing with your wedding ring (a habit you developed), his heart swells. it's like a little reminder that he's married to you.
kita is lost in thought, and you just so happened to notice. "shin?" you call from the kitchen. kita faces you and sees you slicing some fruit, "are you okay?" you ask.
kita doesn't nod. maybe he can ask you why he's feeling this way. "can we talk?" kita asks, and you nod, making your way over to the couch, placing the bowl of fruit on the table in front of you. "what's on your mind, love?" you ask.
"love.." the nickname you called him every day, and every other day. he can feel your effect on him taking place already; with the way his heart was beating erratically against his ribcage, and the fact that he tries not to fidget with his own fingers.
"i— uhm.." did he just stutter? "..did you do something with yourself lately?" kita asked. you tilt your head before shaking it, "no, not that i can remember. why do you ask?" you respond.
"then i think i'm coming down with a flu." kita says. you widen your eyes that are filled with nothing but care, "really?" you lean over and gently place your hand under kita's bangs and on his forehead. somehow, the effect you had on him doubled.
his breath hitches from the proximity that he should be used to by now. he patiently waits for you to pull away and give him his diagnosis, but you only shrug. "i don't feel anything out of the ordinary.."
kita sighs, maybe it's best if he just tells you what's on his mind. "i just— i feel like how i did when we still attended high school." he says. you quirk a brow, not properly understanding his point of view, "what do you mean by that, shin?"
"whenever you walk into a room, aran would tell me how red my face got. i feel the need to protect you a lot more lately. not because i think you're incapable of defending yourself, but because i just want to. and when you kiss me.. i feel stiffer than usual." kita rants. "my eyes linger on you a little longer than it should, but i can't help it. you're just.." he pauses, seeing the soft smile on your face as you listened.
"so beautiful." he says, breathless.
you caress his round cheek that happened to be painted with a red hue. "now i'm no psychologist, but i think you're in love with me, shin." you said.
kita blinks at you. "but i've always loved you. why did i start feeling this way again only until recently?"
"how you felt when you were younger was probably just a crush, whereas it all felt new to you. being bashful over the person you like is normal." you explained, "like irina firstein said, "feelings don't dissipate over time, but only get stronger and deeper." so you might've just had a shift in the way you feel love now."
"but, alas, love is pretty weird, no?" you giggle.
kita nods, a small smile making its way on his handsome face.
© lowercase intended | loveephia
#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu!!#hq x reader#hq x y/n#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu x y/n#hq hcs#tooth rotting fluff#hq#hq kita#shinsuke kita x reader#shinsuke kita#kita shinsuke#kita x reader#kita x y/n#kita x you#haikyuu kita#hq aran#aran ojiro
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↪ ᵀᴴᴱ 𝑀𝐼𝐶𝐾 . ( a series of sentence starters from season 1 of fox's sitcom , “ the mick ” . adjust phrasing as necessary . will be updated ! )
oh my god , why do you have gasoline ?!
we're fine , not that it's any of your concern .
stay out of trouble .
no , you're not coming in with me .
you're embarrassing . you embarrass me . i'm embarrassed of you .
can i bum a smoke , please ?
it's okay , i already have a dollar .
i get the sense that you're in need a lot .
i don't have a problem . you do , otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation .
what do you mean ? you invited me .
i got into yale , that doesn't mean i'm going .
the scales of justice tip in favor of the wealthy .
if we throw enough money at this thing , i'm sure it'll go away .
let's catch up in ten years when you need another loan .
i feel like we got off on the wrong foot .
i want you to come to me with boy problems . or girl problems , i don't assume .
i know you think you're pretty clever with this plan to drink me under the table , but there's two problems ... you're not , .. & you can't .
she's not dead , i can see her breathing .
i cannot count the number of times i've been ripped off a barstool & thrown in a cage .
i should probably get out of the house , yesterday kinda got away from me .
i don't like these people . but i like you .
why are we at a poor person's restaurant ?
don't touch my stuff , psycho .
no , i don't believe you . you're lying .
uh , i don't know , maybe because you're a lying bitch .
okay , look , i understand this stuff is really hard to hear .
let's just keep our voices down , okay ?
you think i care about these idiots ?
what is wrong with you ? you're making a scene .
how's that for a scene ?! dinner & a show !
i know what you're up to , & you're not gonna get away with it .
i'm sorry , you think you're in charge ?
once all this is gone , all that's left is this . & nobody wants just this .
wait , wait , wait ! i'm coming with you !
i will only go if i have your blessing .
if you need anything at all , do not hesitate to call 911 .
[ name ] , my beautiful angel !
i heard about that little accident you had .
so , this is it ! home sweet home .
holy crap , you're alive ...
what are you doing here ? are you living at my place ?
okay , i'm sensing some major hostility here .
i thought you were dead !
don't pay attention to him , he's no one .
— i'm just kidding ! oh , i'm so sorry , your face ...
no ... you're joking — this is a joke , right ?
i'm gonna go freshen up , this'll be fun !
my legs are heavy , but my mind is light ...
wait , why is my window open ?
do i look like i'm playing games ?
we both burnt that bridge , it doesn't matter who lit the match .
i need you to do me a favor , i did you a favor .
oh , thank god you're here . you've gotta help us .
oh , i'm not going anywhere .
what do you want me to do about it ?
knock - knock ... can i come in ?
oh ... i get it . you're jealous .
enough with the guessing games , i'm freaking out over here .
fine . i'll fix this myself .
i thought we agreed i'm the boss ?!
if you saw my silence as agreeing with you , that's on you .
don't take it personally , his heart just isn't for sale .
not now , [ name ] , i'm gloating .
[ name ] ?! since when do you smoke ?
HEY .. !! [ name ] . just the person i wanted to see .
i haven't gone this long without a smoke in years .
either be part of the solution or get the hell out .
well , now i feel like you're lying .
regardless of how we got here , i'm having a really good time .
is it ? is it creepy to be ahead of everybody at all times ?
i want to squeeze you around your neck until you can't breathe .
i said that forever ago when i was young and dumb .
if i were you , i would take this opportunity to lay low .
that's the opposite of what i just suggested .
[ name ] , you've been overruled .
i don't mean to offend you , you don't fit the [ surname ] brand .
it's already happening , we're becoming socially radioactive .
i'm sorry , that night is a blur of bad pinot and intolerable conversation .
oh , so you're a liar too ?
i was sitting at home , and then i remembered you're not my boss .
what's the matter ? little plan didn't work ?
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