#packet service

[blackjackkent]

Me> Yeah, no, the leadup to the move has actually been pretty stress free and I'm pretty pleased that I haven't had to deal with--

The Move, today all of a sudden for no reason>

[ayakashibackstreet]

When elderly ladiest want to ask me for help but they can't tell whether I'm a 'mister' or 'miss'... so they just resort to calling me 'darling' or 'sweetie' or 'angel'... that, too, can bring gender euphoria.

[shoshiwrites]

Photocopied news clippings all day brain scrambled

[srnofficial-thesequel]

It has been confirmed

3 out of 4 serving on the executive board for our group is mainly powered by chaos and caffeine

[obstinatecondolement]

Did some fucking masterful salesmanship towards the end of my shift that netted the company a big ten-ish quid. All in a day's work.

[track2hack]

god I love being nice to the people in the mcdonalds drive thru

[digitalcalendar]

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[fatehbaz]

Today, as you read this [...], there are almost 2 million people locked away in one of the more than 5,000 prisons or jails that dot the American landscape. While they are behind bars, these incarcerated people can be found standing in line at their prison’s commissary waiting to buy some extra food or cleaning supplies that are often marked up to prices higher than what one would pay outside of those prison walls. [...] If they want to call a friend or family member, they need to pay for that as well. And almost everyone who works at a job while incarcerated, often for less than a dollar an hour, will find that the prison has taken a portion of their salary to pay for their cost of incarceration. [...] These policymakers and government officials also know that this captive population has no choice but to foot the bill [...] and that if they can’t be made to pay, their families can. In fact, a 2015 report led by the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights, Forward Together, and Research Action Design found that in 63 percent of cases, family members on the outside were primarily responsible for court-related costs [...].

Rutgers sociology professor Brittany Friedman has written extensively on what is called “pay-to-stay” fees in American correctional institutions. In her 2020 article titled, “Unveiling the Necrocapitalist Dimensions of the Shadow Carceral State: On Pay-to-Stay to Recoup the Cost of Incarceration,” Friedman divides these fees into two categories: (1) room and board and (2) service-specific costs. Fees for room and board -- yes, literally for a thin mattress or even a plastic “boat” bed in a hallway, a toilet that may not flush, and scant, awful tasting food -- are typically charged at a “per diem rate for the length of incarceration.” It is not uncommon for these fees to reach $20 to $80 a day for the entire period of incarceration. The second category, what Friedman refers to as “service-specific costs,” includes fees for basic charges such as copays or other costs for seeing a doctor or nurse, programming fees, email and telephone calls, and commissary items. 

In 2014, the Brennan Center for Justice documented that at least 43 states authorize charging incarcerated people for the cost of their own imprisonment, and at least 35 states authorize charging them for some medical expenses. More recent research from the Prison Policy Institute found that 40 states and the federal prison system charge incarcerated people medical copays. 

It’s also critical to understand how little incarcerated people are paid for their labor in addition to the significant cut of their paltry hourly wages that corrections agencies take from their earnings. Nearly two-thirds (65 percent) of incarcerated people work behind bars. According to the Prison Policy Initiative, those who work regular jobs in prisons such as maintaining the grounds, working in the kitchen, and painting the walls of the facilities earn on average between $0.14 and $0.63 an hour. [...] Arkansas and Texas don’t pay incarcerated workers at all, while Alabama only pays incarcerated workers employed by the state’s correctional industry. [...]

For example, if someone sends an incarcerated person in Florida $20 online, they will end up paying $24.95. [...]

Dallas County charges incarcerated people a $10 medical care fee for each medical request they submit. In Texas prisons, those behind bars pay $13.55 per medical visit, despite the fact that Texas doesn’t pay incarcerated workers anything. Texas is one of a handful of states that doesn’t pay incarcerated people for their labor. 

In Kentucky’s McCracken County Jail in Paducah, it costs $0.40 a minute for a video call; this translates into $8.00 for each 20-minute video call. [...] For those who need to use email, JPay charges $2.35 for five emails for people in the Texas prison system ($0.47 an email). [...]

People in Florida prisons pay $1.70 for a packet of four extra-strength Tylenol and $4.02 for four tampons. And with inflation, commissary items are priced higher than ever. For example, according to the Kentucky Center for Investigative Reporting, incarcerated people in Kentucky experienced a 7.2 percent rise in already-high commissary prices in July 2022. Researchers noted that a 4.6-ounce tube of Crest toothpaste, which costs $1.38 at the local Walmart, is $3.77 at the prison commissary. [...]

In Gaston County, North Carolina, incarcerated individuals who participate in state work release may make more than the state’s $0.38 an hour maximum pay, but they pay the jail a daily rate based on their yearly income of at least $18 per day and up to $36 per day. In fact, Brennan Center research indicates that almost every state takes a portion of the salary that incarcerated workers earn to compensate the corrections agency [...].

These room and board fees are found throughout the nation’s jails and prisons. Michigan laws allow any county to seek reimbursement for expenses incurred in relation to a charge for which a person was sentenced to county jail time -- up to $60 a day. Winnebago County, Wisconsin, charges $26 a day to those staying in its county jail.

---

Text by: Lauren-Brooke Eisen. “America’s Dystopian Incarceration System of Pay to Stay Behind Bars.” Brennan Center for Justice. 19 April 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[luveline]

I LOVE YOUR WRITING IT'S SO ASDFJKFTICDHBDIGDGXSJOHCBCFG

so I wanted to request Sirius x reader where the reader is on veritaserum and has a banter/ tongue in cheek sorta relationship with Sirius. And then when she's on the truth serum she has to hold back witty comebacks because when she opens her mouth all she keeps saying is how disgustingly cute Sirius looks when he smiles, and how she just wants to snog his face off PLEASE IF YOU CAN 👉👈 🥺

REMINDER: YOU'RE AMAZING AND I'M HAPPY AND PROUD OF YOUR SERVICE TO THE FANFIC COMMUNITY

thank you ♡ —you can't hide the truth from sirius, and he doesn't want to try. 1.3k

cw spiked drink

"Why would someone put veritaserum in the pimms?" you ask James meekly. 

"Shortcake, I'm really not sure. Don't get upset about it, alright? Remus is going to tear them all a new one." He squeezes you by the shoulders. "Don't worry, Jamie's here." 

"You're very handsome, but I don't fancy you. Much." 

James smiles. "Good to know, lovely. I don't fancy you much either. I'll assume you're saving yourself for our mutual dark-haired friend and I shan't be offended." 

You slap a hand over your mouth and shake your head, but the truth comes out muffled into your palm anyways. "I really like him," you say, eyes wide with terror, "I don't want anyone else. Oh, James! You're such a dick!" 

"Do you mean that, or are you just angry with me?" James asks, helping you out into the garden away from the party and your peers, who can't be trusted to leave you alone when you're set to tell them any secret they want. 

"Both!" 

"What's wrong?" Sirius asks. 

Your neck almost snaps as you look up. James swears, trying to save it as your body instinctively answers. "Someone's spiked our girl," James says extremely loudly to mask your more honest confession, "I'm worried I'm going to tell you I like you," you say. 

Sirius, sitting on a low garden wall with a packet of cigarettes in his hand, is puzzled. "What?" 

"Someone's put veritaserum in her drink. Maybe in the pitcher. I've brought her outside so she doesn't accidentally tell everyone she's in love with me."

Sirius grins. "Don't be daft, Prongs, she's clearly team Black. Aren't you, sweetheart?" 

"You're the prettiest of your trio," you say, sincerity like a blade at the back of your throat, aching, "I'm definitely on your team." 

James squeezes your shoulder and helps you into a garden chair, the metal cool against your back. "I'll forgive you because I know you can't help it, and because I know you're dying of embarrassment," he murmurs. 

"Thank you. I love you." 

"I love you too, shortcake," James says easily, kicking out a chair for Sirius and flopping into his beside you. "Aren't feeling ill, are you?" 

"Just terrified I'll say something too honest," you say, holding your breath between words. 

Sirius sits in the chair that's been kicked out for him with a cigarette held between his lips, unlit. He lift a his hips to pull a lighter from his back pocket and you flush with heat at the motion, wondering if you're a pervert for looking, for thinking, but lately your flirty banter has your heart doing front flips, and every time you see him you're zoning in on his hands, his arms, the slip of skin at his navel when he stretches, the low sound he makes when something pops. 

"Stop ogling me," he says without looking from his cigarette, the end glowing orange in the flame of his clipper. 

"I don't mean to," you say. 

James shifts uncomfortably. Everyone knows you like Sirius, maybe even Sirius, but he hasn't said a thing about it and you've stopped yourself (so far) from telling him. Any truth has been said under the guise of a joke. 

Sirius takes a short drag and holds the cigarette out and away from you, smoke curling in the cold autumnal night. "Shall I go help defend your honour? I assume that's where Remus is. Being spiked isn't funny." 

"I'd like it if you stayed here," you say. 

James laughs. Sirius leans forward a touch. "Then I'll stay here. Do you need something to drink?"

"My mouth is really dry," you say. 

Sirius sends a saccharine smile James' way. It's the look of an older brother used to getting his way, to which James sighs and grumbles, standing from his chair, "Don't ask her anything cruel," he says severely, kissing the top of your head quickly. "I'm serious." 

"I won't. I quite like her, in case you forgot. I've no interest in torturing her." 

You believe him. James departs with a pat, leaving you and Sirius alone at the garden table, still but for the little motion he does every now and then to fleck ash onto the floor. 

"You sure you're okay?" Sirius asks.

"I feel fine. Warm, but that's probably because you're smiling at me." 

He raises his eyebrows. "Maybe we should talk about something else. I really don't want to ask you anything too personal while you can't keep a secret. James gave me veritaserum once, when we were kids." 

"He did?" you ask. 

"Too much of it. I was sick, and I couldn't stop telling him how much I wished we were real brothers. Which he knows now, but at the time it was, you know, very sincere." 

"You and James are real brothers," you say. 

"I'm glad you can say that. It must be true," he says. "I'm lucky, even if he has tried to poison me." 

"James is lucky too. We all are." 

"Yeah?" he asks. He's about to continue, but your mouth does the choosing for you, and you cut him off. 

"I love knowing you, Sirius, I feel lucky to be your friend, and I–" You bite your tongue hard enough for tears to catch in your eyes immediately. 

Sirius' blasé fades, falls away slowly, like a moving cloud unveiling a slice of light, "Don't hurt yourself," he says, alarmed at your wincing. He drops his cigarette and smashes it with his heel, shuffling his chair closer to yours. 

"I just don't want to tell you something," you say, shaking your head. 

Sirius touches your hand. "Okay, I won't ask you any more questions. I'm sorry. Everyone's allowed their secrets, lovely, I didn't mean to make you answer me. I thought it would be easier to skirt around the issue." 

But it's a big feeling, and it's in everything you do. You really, really like him. If you can't be honest about that, maybe you can be honest about something else..

There's no shame in finding a handsome man handsome. And maybe you can convince him that that's all it is. "I just want to kiss you stupid, Black," you say, "like, kiss you until I can't feel my mouth anymore. You look like you know how to really kiss someone." 

Sirius laughs suddenly, startled. "I want to kiss you stupid, doll. You're a fucking dime piece," he says through laughter, "and that's the truth."

"You look really nice when you laugh," you further, wondering if this is the wrong thing to do. 

"You look beautiful when you laugh," he says. 

"Joking with you about stuff is the best part of my week." 

"It's the best part of mine. I wish we saw each other more often," he says. 

"Did you drink the pimms, too?" you ask. 

"No. I'm stone cold sober, sweetheart." Sirius looks behind you and you follow his gaze to the patio doors, where James and Remus are arguing good-naturedly, a tall pint glass filled literally to the rim with water in James' hand.

"Has he left you alone?" Remus asks, quick down the short step to defend you. "I love you, Sirius, but I don't trust you to not ask her embarrassing questions." 

"I'm starting to get offended. No, she hasn't told me anything embarrassing. Only that she wants to snog my lips off, but I knew that already." Sirius smiles at you dopily while his friends seize up. "And that's hardly embarrassing, because I want to do it to her first." 

[so-i-did-this-thing]

FLORIDA TRANS PALS, IT IS TIME TO PLAN

Especially if you are on HRT!

HB1421 is a bill that severely affects access to gender affirming care, including for adults. It outlines goals to:

1) Prohibit changing gender markers on birth certificates

2) Require that gender affirming care only come from physicians (not nurse practioners) who take on liability insurance for 30 YEARS after they provide care to a patient

3) Require informed consent forms at every single appointment, including distributing literature to dissuade patients

4) Ban transition care completely for minors

5) Make it so providers who accept state funds cannot provide gender affirming services (this is the big one that stands to affect anyone who takes medicare/aid, is a university, etc.).

6) Make it so providers who accept state funds cannot reimburse for gender affirming services.

We are facing a return to the Harry Benjamin days, or worse, an effective ban unless you are fortunate/wealthy enough to find a willing provider.

If it passes, this bill would take effect July 1, 2023. That is not a lot of time.

I would not count on any Rx or refill request to be honored after this date if the prescribing and dispensing sources no longer are allowed to grant care or decide to drop care because of the penalties.

July 1, 2023. Unless we hear otherwise, that is your clock.

This sucks, but there is comfort in seeing a clear date to plan around and the worst case is no longer completely unknown. It begins July 1.

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

YOUR HOMEWORK, DUE ASAP:

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

1) Get any and all your HRT appointments in now, including picking up your meds and doing bloodwork promptly.

2) If you think you will be living in FL come July, start looking now for providers where physicians - not NPs - provide the care. Get an appointment on the books for July. Be prepared to go in person for everything after July 1, because I believe telemed will also be shit-canned. Here is a map of informed consent providers.

3) If you are an old like me, also dig up your HRT permission slip from your therapist. Fuck, make a packet of all your transition documents, including Rx history.

4) If you are on private insurance, start budgeting now to prepare to pay out of pocket.

5) Create a simple spreadsheet of all your HRT dates (pls forgive, my experience is with shots on a 2 week cycle, so this is pretty easy for me to do) and plan out how long your current supply will last. Then, forecast how long all your upcoming refills before July 1 will last. Update it every time you pick up and take your meds. Refer to it for decisions like moving or finding backup providers.

6) Subscribe to the bill to get notified of changes asap

7) Follow this site to keep tabs on other very scary bills happening in Florida, including a bathroom ban and a child custody bill that is effectively kidnapping

8) If you need to change your birth certificate, do it now, pay the rush fees and write RUSH on the envelope. The Department of Health has the most up-to-date forms. Processing time for rush I last saw was around 18 business days.

9) Now that your own oxygen mask is on, so they say, boost mutual aid and recruit allies to assist in any way possible.

-----

Do try to continue seeing your current provider as long as possible, as they likely will need your support. Talk to them frankly about their plans if the bill passes.

Now. I am just a little guy and not a legal expert, but the aggressive enactment date on this bill makes me feel like everyone should plan now instead of waiting to see if it passes.

Be safe, plan, and then get a little rest. Do not lose hope - this bill could still fail.

[blackwidownat2814]

Steal My Thunder (T.Owens)

Pairing: Tyler Owens x female reader, Tyler Owens x shy!reader, Tyler Owens x insecure!reader

Word Count: 462

A/N: Welcome to my first Tyler Owens fic! I was throwing fic ideas around before I even saw the movie. I watched several interviews and other stuff on YouTube and took notes even. Then after seeing it the third time, I started working on this story. I don't anticipate this being a real long story, but I also will be a little slow to update because of work or writer's block or working on a crochet project I really need to finish. What I'm really saying is please be patient with me. Secondly, like in my other works, I'd planned to make this with a plus size!reader in mind, but I decided to go with insecure because I want to try and be a little more inclusive. Also, unless otherwise stated, my readers are always female readers. Lastly, I'm already working on Chapter 1, so keep an eye out for that. However, if you really like this, please let me know and I can tag you in future updates. And as always, I will be crossposting this to AO3. If you see this story anywhere besides AO3 or Tumblr, it's stolen Kthxbye! PS: Thanks to KJ & Jordyn for their help in beta-ing and title/chapter ideas! Love y'all!

Prologue

You were a Lead Meteorologist for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.  You should not be handling school age tour groups.  You were just about DONE with being treated like a secretary.  The rest of them thought that just because Kate was gone that they could go back to treating you like they did before her.

You were quiet, shy, and someone whose love language was acts of service, so you loved to help people out.  The problem was that your co-workers abused that part of you.  They asked to lead the school groups, bring everyone coffee, put together packets for meetings, etc.  Complete nonsense…and you were done.

It was then, as you mentally typed up your resignation, that you received a serendipitous call from Kate herself.

“I believe the sayin’ is ‘No man left behind’.”

“You’re not an US Army Ranger, B.”

“Yeah, well…”  You trailed off, not wanting to burden your friend with your issues.  Kate always told you that it was okay to talk to her when you needed someone, but you were stubborn.  You were very much of the ‘friends aren’t therapists’ mindset.

“Talk to me B.”

“I’m happy for you, ya know?  You’re back to doing’ something I know you loved.  I can see it in your eyes with each video or stream I watch.”

“Okay, keep your secrets…and thank you.  I am happy.”

“So��what can I do for ya?  Why are you botherin’ me on my lunch hour?”

“Damn!  Sorry about that B.”

“You know I don’t actually care.  Tell me what’s up.”

“I’m callin’ with a job off-”

“I’ll take it.”

“Woah, I haven’t even said what it-”

“I don’t care.  Ever since you left, and because I’m a huge push over, everyone’s been walking all over me.  You know I had to do three tours today?”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“I know Kate.  Just…what’s the job anyway?”  Your friend was silent for a moment, before you heard her exhale.

“It’s storm data analysis really.”

“Elaborate.”

“We’re trying to really get down to the nitty gritty with the data from the EF-5 we got to dissipate last season and see where to improve, how to catalog it in our info database, etc.”

“I’m in”, you said.  “Y’all won’t treat me like some secretary, I’ll be close to home again, and I’ll get to spend all my time with you.”

“We most definitely will not treat you like some secretary.  We’re equal opportunity storm chasers out here.”

You tossed your empty sandwich bag into the trash and pulled up Word to start drafting your resignation letter.

“Say, what are the benefits as a Tornado Wrangler?”  Before Kate could reply, you heard Boonie baby! Woo! in the background.

With that enthusiasm, what could possibly go wrong?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging: @buckysdollforlife @13braincellsonly

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Shipping Out

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Drinking, smoking, public sex, smut. Word count: ~1.5k

Summary: Just trust me on this one, and read all the way to the end.

Author's note: A little birthday treat for @bottlesandbarricades. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

The pub is crowded and noisy, the humidity of the air making her carefully coiffed curls cling to the back of her neck with perspiration. It’s not often that she frequents this side of Manchester, but the change of scenery is a refreshing switch of pace to the monotony of everyday life. Laughter, music and the clinking of glasses is preferable to the whir of the factory sewing machines.

She taps her red lacquered nails against the wood of the bar, wrinkling her nose at the stickiness of the wooden surface beneath her palm. If the frequency with which it’s wiped down is any indication of the attentiveness of the barkeep then she’s in for a long wait for a drink.

Sighing, she fishes her cigarette case from her handbag, flipping it open and plucking one out. No sooner has she placed it between her lips than a hand is clicking a flame to life before the end of it, turning it a glowing cherry red. She casts her gaze upwards through the steady plume of smoke, met by twinkling blue eyes and a cocky smirk, as the chivalrous stranger deposits his lighter back into his trouser pocket and regards her with a tip of his head.

“Thanks,” she says with an easy smile, taking the smoke between her fingers and exhaling a tight line of vapour up towards the ceiling.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies with a wink. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this then?”

God, that’s a terrible line.

She bites back a laugh, and decides to humour him. “Trying to get a drink, service in here is awful though.”

He purses his lips, eyes raking over her from head to toe, before nodding. “Can’t be having that.” Slapping a hand against the bartop, he calls out, “Oi! My lady friend and I are dying of thirst over here! Anyone serving?”

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, but doesn’t have to wait long until a middle aged, irritated looking woman makes her way around the corner to the pair of them and grumpily takes their order. She’s long since finished her cigarette by the time the glasses are placed heavily down in front of them.

He doesn’t even ask what she wants to drink; she ends up with a gin and tonic, while he has a pint. It’s what she would have ordered anyway, but the bold presumption unsettles her regardless.

Sipping her drink, she relishes in the way the fizzy bitterness envelopes her tongue as she takes in what he’s wearing; navy blue slacks and a matching long sleeved smock, with a white striped collar.

“Shouldn’t you be on a boat somewhere, sailor?”

He grins, setting his glass down on a dog eared beer mat. “Just so happens I’ve been given a night of shore leave. I ship out again tomorrow.”

“Lucky me,” she says with a coy smile.

“If you play your cards right you might be.”

There’s that smirk again. She watches as he takes out a packet of Lucky Strike, perching one between his lips before offering one to her. She gratefully accepts, and he’s quick to light it for her, before doing the same to his own.

Every table is full, but she doesn’t mind, she’s content just to prop up the bar with him, ignoring the ache of her feet as they lapse into effortless conversation. He’s handsome, if a little overeager and she pays rapt attention as he entertains her with stories of his time aboard the HMS Exeter.

She’s on her third gin and tonic of the evening when he leans in to whisper to her.

“So, I might not see another woman for months after tonight. You gonna help me make it one to remember?”

Feeling her cheeks heat up, she giggles softly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll find a way for you to thank me for my loyal service to our country,” he tells her, taking her hand and leading her out of the pub.

Allowing the gin to fuel her confidence, before she can change her mind, she lets him guide her outside. Even met with the sobering chill of the night air, she offers up no protest when he pulls her into the ginnel, the brickwork biting into her back as he pushes her up against the wall and captures her lips with her.

It’s a messy kiss, moist and desperate with need. He tastes of beer and tobacco as she welcomes his tongue against her own with parted lips, her fingertips sliding over the breadth of his shoulders and up into the cropped softness of his sandy coloured hair.

Pressing tighter against her, he groans appreciatively, mouth moving from hers to travel a path across her jaw and down her neck, as his hands find their way up her skirt. One teases the top of her stocking while the other presses against her clothed core, making her gasp.

His touch is hurried, not as thorough as she’d like, yet she feels a growing stickiness between her thighs regardless. The warmth of his fingers and lips against her makes her feel desired, and she is lightheaded, almost giddy, to see the effect she’s having on him.

Instinctively, she parts her legs wider as he dips beneath her knicker elastic, stroking eagerly through her folds.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, “bet you’d let me fuck you right here, if I wanted, wouldn’t you?”

She bites her bottom lip, stifling her quiet whimper as his strokes against her cause her to throb. “Please…”

“Since you asked nicely…” He pulls back, blue eyes dark with intent as he makes quick work of unbuckling his belt, lowering his trousers and briefs just enough to free his erection.

Even in the darkness of the alleyway she can see that he’s thick and heavy, and he pumps lazily at himself, while his free hand reaches into his pocket.

“Leave that,” she tells him, as she spots the foil of the sheath wrapper.

He raises an eyebrow, pursing his lips as he stares at her. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

That’s all the confirmation he needs, slipping the packet away and surging forward. He pulls her underwear to the side, grasping the base of himself and pushes forcefully into her in one motion.

The movement knocks all the air from her lungs. Though she is wet, the public nature of their tryst leaves little time for him to prepare her fully, the luxury of time is not on their side, but in their desperation neither one of them cares. It stings, the fullness of him pushing against her, but it’s a pleasurable hurt.

Her breaths leave her mouth in shallow pants as he pistons his hips into her, lifting one of her legs to hook her thigh around his hip. She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he rocks into her, his forehead pushed up against hers.

“Filthy slut,” he grits out, “bet you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yeah…” she whines, feeling his fingers press tighter into the meat of her thigh.

His brow furrows, and he grunts, his pace becoming sloppy and erratic. While the ache builds steadily inside of her, she worries he’ll finish before she does. The thought is fleeting, and as though he’s read her mind, the hand not gripping her thigh slips between them, fingers rubbing tight circles against her bud. She clenches around him, the added stimulation serving to intensify the tightening in her lower belly.

“That’s it,” he mutters, “come on.”

He pulsates inside of her, knocking against a spot that makes her tip over the edge suddenly, and she lets out a choked cry, a rolling wave of weightlessness travelling from her head to her toes. Her walls spasm around him and he pushes himself in to the hilt, a groan of relief escaping him as he spills himself inside of her.

They stay like that for a few moments, both catching their breath as their bodies relax. He grins as he pulls back slightly, before leaning in to pepper her face with soft, playful kisses.

“Tommy!” She huffs a laugh, swatting at his shoulder.

He slips out of her, stepping back to tuck himself away and fasten his belt. “Thought we weren’t supposed to be using our names? Part of the fun was pretending we don’t know each other.”

She scoffs, putting her gusset back into place as she feels his spend start to drip out of her, and smooths her skirt back down. “Think you ruined that when you ordered my drink without asking what I wanted. A stranger wouldn’t know I like gin and tonic!”

Tom rolls his eyes and chuckles, offering his arm for her to take. “Right, right. Well, I’ll remember for next time. Whatever you need for me to fulfill your fantasies.”

“Right now, my only fantasy is being at home in bed. That pub is horrible,” she tells him as they begin to walk down the street arm in arm.

“You wanted the uniform. I wasn’t gonna take us somewhere someone we know would see and take the piss.”

She laughs, gripping his arm tighter as she looks up at him. “Was fun though, wasn’t it?”

He gazes down at her with hooded eyes as they continue to walk. “I’ve had worse nights.”

[humanpurposes]

So thrilled you’re taking requests! I love winter themed fics this time of year. I’m requesting modern Aemond (if not allowed then Michael Gavey) + stuck in this cabin until the storm passes/come sit by the fireplace. As much smut as you’d like with maybe a teeny bit of angst?

Thank you for taking requests, I know they will all be lovely

A/n: Took the liberty of making this a Michael Gavey request 😈 Also this gif is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!! Shoutout @barbieaemond and all the other amazing gif makers on here. These guys are such an integral part of fandom and they deserve all our love, appreciation and credit ❤️✨

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+, slight angst, handjob, thigh riding (ish), Michael Gavey being awkard, but not quite a virgin

Main Masterlist

“Fucking skiing holiday. Should have fucking known this would be a fucking disaster.” 

Michael’s foul mouth hardly phases you anymore. When you first met him you thought he’d be a shy type of guy, with his baby blue shirts, cargos and wire frame glasses he kept pushing up with his middle finger.

You’d quickly found that he wasn’t at all like you expected. He can be abrasive, often judgemental and vulgar, not so unlike your other friends but with Michael it seems to come from a place of unashamed honesty. You sort of admire him for it.

He’s pacing the small living room and kitchen of the cabin, furiously fiddling with his mobile. You’re kneeling by the wood burning stove, hovering a lighter by the kindling in the hopes that you can light a proper fire.

You’re surprised he agreed to go on this trip at all. 

You have a few friends who do Maths, and at the start of second year they started inviting Michael to the pub on the weekends. You recognised him from your trips to the library, where he’d usually sit alone after his friend ditched him for Felix Catton.

They’d been all talking about a skiing trip between Christmas and New Year, to this little Italian village in the Alps. You didn’t— and still don’t— actually know how to ski, but spending a few nights in a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by snow sounded like a dream. Michael had been sceptical at first but you’d managed to convince him to come when you said you’d need someone to keep you company when the others were on the slopes.

The others had all gone out as soon as you arrived, leaving Michael to get settled in the cabin.

But it’s turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. It’s too dark to actually see the snow storm but you can hear it, shrieking and howling against the walls and windows of the cabin. You have no service, no central heating, just the small assortment of snacks you had brought with you, a packet of paprika crisps, a bar of chocolate and a prosciutto sandwich you’d bought back at the main resort, back down the mountain, back in civilisation.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

“What now?” You ask, still focused on the fire.

“Mobile’s fucking dead. Shit! I have a charger in my bag but the bloody electricity isn’t fucking working so I can’t fucking charge it!”

You smile to yourself as the kindling catches alight and the flames start to lick at the larger logs.

You glance over your shoulder as Michael tosses his phone on the sofa, runs his hands through his hair and catches his lower lip with his teeth.

“I have plenty of charge on mine,” you say, “I’ll turn it off to save the battery and we can see if the service is working in the morning?”

Michael stares at you for a lingering moment. He can be so intense sometimes, almost unsettlingly so. “You want us to stay here all night?” he says softly.

“People know we’re here. I’m sure someone from the resort will come up when they can. Until then, we just have to wait out the storm.”

He tuts, but he knows you don’t have any other options.

You sit together with your backs against the sofa so that you can be as close to the fire as possible. The heat pleasantly burns your face and skin through your jeans and jumper. Even then, where your arm presses against Michael’s, you feel the warmth of his body beside you. 

You grab the crisps and the sandwich out of your bag, offering them both to Michael. He only takes a handfuls of crisps and when you split the sandwich in two he takes the smaller half. You offer him more of the chocolate bar but he insists he’s not hungry. You frown at that. It might not be a Crunchie, but Michael never turns down chocolate. 

“How was your Christmas?” You ask, popping a square of chocolate on your tongue.

“Fine,” he says, looking down at his hands, “had dinner with my dad and my nan, went to see my mum on Boxing Day.”

Guilt twinges in your chest. “Are your parents not together?”

“Oh no, they split up a long time ago,” he says, like it should have been obvious.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns to face you, staring intensely. “Why would you be sorry?” 

“Because I didn’t realise.”

He smiles. You think it’s because he knows you’re nervous. “I’ve been splitting Christmases between my parents every year since I was twelve, I’m well used to it now.”

The topic doesn’t seem to phase him. He takes another crisp from the packet and looks into the fire as he crunches it between his teeth.

The low light reminds you of the nights you’ve sat opposite him in the King’s Arms in Oxford, all the times you’ve been tipsy off wine spritzers and found yourself trying not to make it obvious that you’re staring at him. He’s handsome, especially up close when you can see the details of his face, his lips, his surprisingly pretty eyelashes, the little cleft on the tip of his nose.

When his eyes turn towards you, you think your heart might leap out of your chest.

You take a quick breath, eyes darting around the room, at the fire, the pile of logs beside the stove, the sprinkling of ashes on the floor, but it seems inevitable that you’ll find your way back to him.

“Why did they split up?”

Michael raises his eyebrows but keeps his face solemn. “She left him for someone else.”

“Oh,” is all you can think of to say. 

“It happens,” he says. “People always want to find something better. My dad was never the most exciting guy to be around.”

“But what about you?”

He huffs a laugh to himself. “I’m not exactly enticing company either.”

You can’t tell if you just want the conversation to end or if you should say something else.

“It’s not something I can fix,” Michael says. One of his hands rests on his thigh and he slowly flexes it so the tendons shift beneath his skin. “And it’s not something that needs to be fixed. People come in and out of your life, but you move on. That’s just the way it is.”

He’s almost hunched over himself, with his chin tilted down and his glasses sliding down towards the end of his nose. 

You’d seen him in the pub once, back in first year, with that friend of his, Oliver Quick. Oliver had gone up to the bar and ended up sitting with Felix Catton and his band of admirers. You’d watched Michael leave the pub and remember your heart shattering for him, for this boy you didn’t even know.

Now, stuck in this cabin, snow swirling past the windows, the sound of the fire crackling a few feet in front of you, and Michael’s side pressed against yours, your heart shatters all over again.

You place your hand over his, and he instantly stops moving. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.”

Michael tries not to smile. “You don’t need to flatter me,” he says.

You curl your fingers over his hand and tighten your grip. His eyes meet yours and you feel yourself frowning, because he doesn’t understand, because he doesn’t see himself the same way you see him. 

“I mean it. You’re funny, even when you don’t even mean to be, and honest, and straightforward…”

You glance down at his lips, slightly parted as he listens to you. It crosses your mind to lean in closer, but something stops you.

“I really love that we’re friends,” you say.

Michael looks down at your hands. His lips are pressed together.

He doesn’t want this, you think. He doesn’t want me.

So you pull away, with a little smile to keep it friendly.

He blinks a few times as he looks back at your face. “Thanks,” he says, softly. 

He stands, and you don’t think you can bear to look at him as he moves towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

You turn your attention to the fire, add another log for good measure and poke at the glowing embers in its heart.

You hear movement behind you, footsteps and fabric.

When you look back you see Michael has his arms full with pillows and blankets. He layers some of the blankets on the rug, and soon he has two makeshift beds, one on the sofa and one on the floor.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“We’ll freeze in the bedrooms without the heating, we might as well make use of the fire.”

It’s a good call, and now that you have somewhere to sleep you start to realise how tired you are. 

You rummage through your suitcase and pull out a pair of pyjamas you got for Christmas. Michael changes in one of the bedrooms and comes back in one of his maths pun t-shirts and a pair of red and black bottoms. 

You go to lie in the bed on the floor but Michael puts his hand on your shoulder and insists you sleep on the sofa.

Even with the heat of the fire on your face and the blanket pulled up to your chin, you can’t stop shaking. Your limbs are frozen and your skin is tight, but it feels deeper set than that. You feel the cold in your chest like a fever.

It feels like hours have passed and you still can’t sleep.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” Michael’s voice grumbles below you. You peer down over the edge of the sofa. He’s turned away from you, towards the fire. You hadn’t even realised he was still awake.

“It’s fucking cold,” you say, wincing at the quiver in your voice.

Michael shifts to his other side so he’s facing you. You’ve never really seen him without his glasses, and he looks completely different, somehow softer, not as harsh.

“We’ll be warmer if we, if we share,” he says quietly.

His suggestion weighs heavy in the space between you, unless it’s just in your head. You can already imagine yourself pressed against him, feeling the warmth from his body and letting it sink into yours.

You don’t trust yourself not to try something stupid either.

You take the blanket with you. The floorboards are piercing against your bare soles so you step on the balls of your feet, quickly slotting yourself by Michael’s side, on the layers of blankets. 

He’s facing you now, your noses must only be inches apart and you feel his breath running over your cheek.

You try to steady your own breathing, but it only makes your heart beat faster.

You see his neck move as he swallows. “Come here,” he mutters, and brings his arm around you, pressing his palm to your back to pull you closer into his chest.

You let your arm drape over his side and your legs intertwine with his. You need the heat, tucking your head in under his chin and resting the side of your face against him.

You move with the rise and fall of his chest, breathe in the scent of him with every breath, hear his heartbeat against your ear.

If you shifted your head slightly, your lips would meet the base of his throat.

Want tightens and lingers in your stomach, but curled up under Michael’s arm, you let its dull ache soothe you to sleep.

You wake slowly, opening your eyes to cold sunlight glaring through the windows. In your haste to get warm last night, you had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains. All you see on the other side is white, the snow now settled and piled high.

The fire has long since died and the air is colder than it was when you fell asleep, sharp as you take a breath through your nose.

It’s still warm where your cheek meets Michael’s chest, where his hand rests against your back and your bodies are pressed together.

It feels good to be so close to him. He’s still asleep, as far as you can tell. You hear the heavy sound of his breathing, air fluttering in his throat and passing through his pouted lips.

As you start to become more aware, more awake, a warm wanting stirs in your gut and between your legs.

It’s a stupid little crush, one you’ve not been able to distract yourself from these last few months.

You start to trace your fingertips over his chest, feeling where his chest is hard, then soft, and remember everything you said to him the night before, and what you perhaps should have said.

You nuzzle your face in closer to him, to the clean scent of his t-shirt and something else that is so uniquely him.

You try to stay like this for as long as possible, even if it’s torture not to want more.

“You’re moving a lot,” he mutters. You feel his voice rumbling in his chest and humming against your head like it’s a part of you.

Only when you freeze do you realise you’ve been rocking your hips, every hint of friction you get against the fabric of your pyjamas only fueling your hunger. But you’ve stopped now, resting your palm against his stomach.

“I’m cold,” you say.

“Hmm,” he says, resting his lips and his chin against your head, over your hair, “I don’t feel cold.”

The low rasp of his voice only makes you want him more.

The lingering haze of sleep must be clouding your judgement, your sense.

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips over his throat like you’d imagined. You feel him shudder, and feel his stomach tighten under your touch.

He utters your name in a breathless whisper as he paws at your back and pushes his hips into yours. His arousal is evident, hard and pressing to your centre through two layers of fabric.

And then he pauses, and his hand slips away.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says.

You drag your hand down a little further, to slip under his t-shirt and feel the ridges of his surprisingly toned stomach, just above the waistband of his bottoms. “Why are you sorry, Michael?”

“I don’t know, I just…” he huffs in frustration as his hand returns to your body, gripping at your waist through your shirt.

You start to snag your fingers on the waistband, and realise he’s forgone wearing any boxers to bed. “Do you want me to help you?” You whisper, unable to hold back a grin.

“Yes, fuck, please,”

A whine sounds in his throat as you shift his bottoms down just enough to free his cock, and close your hand around it. He’s bigger than you expected, long and thick, heavy, hard and soft-skinned as you stroke, up, down, up, down.

You enjoy the feel of him, run your thumb over his weeping tip as he starts to pant and try to hold back his moans, leaning against you and ghosting his lips against your temple.

You only feel yourself becoming more and more desperate. You hook your leg over his, grinding your core against his thigh. Sparse sparks of pleasure course through your body, not enough for a release, but it still feels good.

You tilt your head again, eagerly pressing your lips to his. He seems taken by surprise at first, but meets you with clumsy enthusiasm. He kisses you like it might save him from something. Once or twice he seems to lose track, dragging his lips to the corner of your mouth only to pull you back into him.

The movements become more and more frantic, your hand pumping Michael’s cock, his hips bucking under your touch.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your lips, “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You rock particularly hard against his thigh, and he brings his hand to your rear, squeezing at your flesh and urging you on.

You tease your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling at the wanton noise he makes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Are you gonna cum for me Michael?” You whisper as you up the pace.

“Please,” he grunts, “please…” and suddenly he’s moaning against your skin, holding you tightly as you feel his cock pulse in your hand as he spills over your fingers and knuckles.

You quickly move your head back so you can look at him, eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack and tongue just peeking out from behind his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” you say quietly.

He blinks his eyes open, looking down at you with a dazed smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“So fucking pretty,” you say, with another drag against his thigh.

He hums, low and cryptic in his chest. “Do you need some help there?”

Before you can answer he’s slipped his hand underneath your pyjamas. He cups your bare, wet cunt, lightly circling over your clit with the tip of his finger.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he mutters, all but teasing your lips as he leans in to kiss you. “Got yourself all worked up, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “fuck, don’t tease me, please…”

“Now, sweetheart,” he coos as he presses more firmly against you, hastening his movements so your breath catches in your throat. “We might still have a few hours before anyone comes to get us, and I can think of more than a few ways to pass the time.”

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General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 9

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Underage drinking, partying,

Masterlist

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

____________

“I don’t know about this,” you said as you attempted to close the clasp on the brown tweed miniskirt Ava insisted on dressing you in. Ava was about a full size smaller than you, so you were rightfully skeptical when she suggested (demanded) you let her pick out an outfit from her wardrobe. 

“Why not?” She asked in her whiney sing-song voice. “It’ll look so good!” 

“Because I can barely breathe,” you grunted, finally getting the clasp to close after laying on her bed and sucking in your gut.  

Ava crossed her arms, regarding the full outfit for a moment and then squinted. “Tough. You look amazing.” 

You sat up, feeling the slight pudge of your belly folding uncomfortably over the waistband of the skirt. The material had little give to it, cutting into your sides in a way you weren’t overly enthusiastic about. 

“Don’t worry, you can wear this over it,” she said, tossing an oversized black shirt your way. You swapped the one you were currently wearing for it, noticing it had a logo and artwork for a band you’d never heard of. It was cut wide at the neck so that it fell over one shoulder and showcased your sternum, plus a tiny bit of cleavage. Definitely more than you were used to showing. 

“Tuck it in,” she said. 

You rolled your eyes. “I just got this thing buttoned.” 

She didn’t respond, and you knew she wasn’t going to budge, so you huffed a sigh and fell back onto the bed, wrestling once again with the clasp. 

Ava stood next to the mirror on the door of her wardrobe, applying lipgloss and studying her own features to determine whether she was happy with her makeup before her maybe-date with Hera. 

“Are you planning on drinking tonight?” she asked, not looking up at you. 

“I don’t know,” you said, stuffing the hem of the shirt into your waistband. “I hadn’t really considered it.” 

“Do you think you’d be open to it if Nick offered you a drink?” She turned from the mirror to face you. 

You sucked in a deep breath and pulled the clasp of the skirt together, effectively hooking it. Sitting up, you found that the shirt was oversized enough to hide any belly rolls that poked out over top of your waistband. 

“Part of me is thinking about it,” you confessed. It was true. Throughout your life, you’d been staunchly against the idea of underage drinking, but you were about to turn 21 at the end of the month, and didn’t see much of a point to waiting. “Nick said he’d be by my side all night, and I trust him to take care of me.” 

Ava smiled softly. “Good. He’s a good guy. You deserve some fun. Oh!” she exclaimed, setting down the tube of lip gloss on her desk and rifling through one of her drawers. “That reminds me. I wanted to give you these.” 

She took out a small handful of foil packets and slipped them your purse. 

“Are those…condoms?” you asked. 

“Yes,” she said, “and I don’t want to hear anything about it. You never know when something might happen. I trust Folio to not take advantage of you, but you still need to be prepared.” 

You sat for a moment, blinking stupidly at Ava. 

Twenty-four hours ago, you were singing in a church. Today, you were considering underage drinking and accepting condoms from your best friend. 

It seemed like your life was shifting from one extreme to the next rapidly—literally overnight. But then again, the changes had been happening inside of you for a long time now. Perhaps this was just the manifestation of those changes? 

“Okay,” you said, nodding once to Ava, who flashed a self-satisfied smile before going back to the mirror to once-again tweak her makeup. 

“When did you buy these?” you asked. 

“Before the semester started,” she said, adding another coat of mascara to her naturally long lashes. 

That long ago? You’d half-expected her to say that she purchased them after the Halloween party, when she lost her virginity. The fact that she’d done it before meant Ava, too, had been going through a sort of religious deconstruction for a while now, and you were only beginning to see the effects of it. 

For some reason, you were comforted by the fact. It let you know that she had been prepared to lose her virginity that night with Nick, and it wasn’t just an impulsive decision, but one she had been thinking about for a while. 

“You think you’ll do anything with Hera if she asks?” 

Ava flushed, offering one of the most timid smiles you’d ever seen from her. “Honestly? I’d let that woman run me over with a truck if she wanted.” 

“You’re down pretty bad, huh?” you asked, finding immense joy in how much your friend was crushing. If you couldn’t find success in your own love life, at least you could live vicariously through her. 

Ava said nothing, but clutched at her chest with both hands and stared dreamily out the window, face slackened by a rather love-drunk smile. 

It was hard to be upset by all the events in your life when things were going so right for Ava. She so deserved this happiness, and her joy was easily rubbing off on you. 

“Oh, crap! What time is it?” she asked, breaking out of her stupor. 

You looked at your phone. “Seven fifty-six.” 

“Okay,” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ears. “She said she’ll be here at eight fifteen. What time is Nick picking you up?” 

“Not sure yet,” you said, hopping off her bed and into the pair of black combat boots she was letting you borrow for the night. As if on cue, your phone vibrated. It was Nick. 

“He’s asking if he should come to my room.” 

“Tell him to just meet you here,” she said. “It’s closer.”  ________

It didn’t take Nick long before he arrived at Ava’s door. He greeted her with a warm hug and kiss on the cheek as if they were old friends. 

“Good to see you again,” he said, smiling. 

“Promise to take care of our girl?” she asked, teasing lilt coating her normal voice. 

Nick scoffed, hand splaying over his chest. “You should have more faith in me by now.” 

Ava chuckled, batting lightly at his shoulder. “She’s my best friend. I have to give you at least a little bit of shit, just to keep you on your toes.” 

He smiled, wrinkling his nose at her. “I guess I should be honored then, that you’re even allowing me to take this fine woman out on the town.” 

He gestured to you without looking away from Ava. You watched their interaction with amusement. They reminded you of an old married couple, or perhaps a father grilling his daughter’s new boyfriend before their first date—with Ava playing the role of the father. 

“You sure I can’t convince you to come out?” he asked, grabbing her hand and bringing it up to his lips to kiss. He was indeed charming, you’d give him that. 

Ava flicked her hand out of his grasp and patted him affectionately on the cheek. “You know I would, but I’ve got bigger and better things in store tonight.” 

Nick winced playfully, clutching his hands to his chest. “You’re breaking my heart, Ava.” She smiled at him affectionately. 

It was easy to see why things between the two of them had progressed so quickly. They were two sides of the same coin—both dramatic, whimsical, and charismatic. You also saw why you got along with both of them so well. 

A knock sounded at your door, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen. Ava immediately grew nervous, bouncing once on her heels before rushing over to the door to answer it. 

Nick finally turned his attention to you, eyebrows shooting up towards his forehead. That was all the time he had to react, however, before Ava pulled her date into the room to introduce her. 

Hera was one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen. She wore a cropped white shirt under a set of green cotton overalls. Her gold jewelry complemented the deep complexion of her skin, which was decorated by tattoos that ran like vines down her arms and around her fingers. 

She smiled wide, displaying a set of perfectly white teeth. Her thick, tightly-coiled hair was worn naturally, fanning out around her face in a large dome with a silk scarf around the base. 

“I’m Hera,” she said extending her hand out to yours and you grasped it firmly while you introduced yourself. 

She turned to introduce herself to Nick and you locked eyes with Ava. ‘Oh my God,’ you mouthed. 

‘I know, right?’ she mouthed back. 

Hera didn’t stay long. She and Ava were quick to leave, wanting to get to their event on time, but she looked genuinely sorry she couldn’t stay and get to know you better. 

“Well,” said Nick after the two of you had followed their lead and exited the building, “I’d say I’m jealous, but I’m mostly just impressed. Who knew Ava could pull a ten like that?” 

“Ava’s already a ten,” you said, “but yeah, I really hope it works out for her. She seems to really like her.” 

“Speaking of tens,” Nick said, taking you by the hand and twirling you around on the empty sidewalk. 

You chuckled. “Ava insisted on dressing me.” 

“She has good taste,” he said, letting his eyes drift down your body and back up. He held out his arm for you to grab and led you down the sidewalk. 

“I should have guessed. I didn’t take you for a Norma Jean fan,” he said. 

“Who?” 

He let out a laugh. “Your shirt. The band on it is Norma Jean. They’re metalcore.” 

“Oh,” you said, flushing. You probably should have asked Ava more about the band in case anyone recognized them. 

“The fishnets are a nice touch, I have to say,” he continued, looking down at your legs. 

“I was skeptical about them, but I really like how they look,” you admitted, following his gaze down.  You’d protested the fishnets at first, but once you saw the finished look in Ava’s full-length mirror, you were surprised by just how much you were into it. It was sexier than you’d ever dressed before, but in a welcome way (though you had insisted on wearing yoga shorts under the skirt just for safety). 

“I like the new look,” he said. “You should keep it.” 

“Yeah?” you said, flattered by his honesty. “I might.” 

“Good.” 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to arrive at Jolly’s house. Technically, his party didn’t start for another hour or so, but several people were already there helping set up. 

“I thought we could pre-game here,” Nick said, turning to face you and walking backwards as he led you across the front porch. He opened the screen door for you and gestured for you to make your way through. 

Several men crowded around a kitchen island. One—you recognized as Jolly—poured out several shot glasses’ worth of clear liquor. 

“Are you drinking?” Nick asked, guiding you towards the kitchen with a gentle hand on your back. The floor was just as sticky as last time, and you wondered if it had ever seen a mop, but tried not to focus on that because you’d rather not start the party off by being critical. 

“I was thinking about it,” you admitted meekly, looking up to him for guidance. You were already feeling shy and none of the other guests had even looked at you. 

“Have you drank before?” he asked. You shook your head no. “Okay, so my recommendation is to start off with something weak. One shot, watered down with a lot of mixer. Most people start with vodka. Is that something you’d like to try?” 

You said nothing but nodded to him. 

“Want me to make it for you?” he asked. 

“Yes please,” you said, moving closer to the table to observe how everyone else was behaving. Nick squeezed your shoulder before heading over to the fridge and pulling out a two-liter of cola. 

“Jolly, mind if I steal some mixers?” he called over his shoulder. 

“Take whatever you want,” said Jolly, passing out the shots he’d just poured to the guys around the table. “We’re doing shots. You in?” 

“Yeah if you’ve got one to spare.” 

Jolly smiled, pouring out one more shot and handing it over to Nick, who kicked the fridge door shut behind him and took the shot from Jolly. 

“Here’s to a good party!” Jolly said, and the rest of the men echoed the sentiment, raising their shot glasses to the ceiling before tapping them on the table and finally downing them. 

Nick winced only a little, recovering quickly and grabbing the bottle of Vodka from where it sat beside Jolly. He busied himself making you a drink and returned shortly after.

“Try that,” he said, handing you the red solo cup. You took a tentative sip, unsure of what to expect, but you were pleased to find it tasted mostly like regular cola, only with a hint of something sharper. 

“Will this get me drunk?” you asked after you’d swallowed the first mouthful. 

He smiled, chuckling at you and you got the sense that you’d asked a stupid question. 

“Not if you stick to just that. Maybe three of those would, but I’m not gonna let you get drunk at your first party.” 

“Thanks,” you said, trying to convey your gratitude without seeming overly needy or like you wanted your hand held—even though you did. 

You smiled while Nick introduced you to the other men at the table—two of which you already knew as Jolly and Ruffilo, but it was nice to meet them again. The other two, Matt and Bryan, looked very similar to the rest of them in style. Long hair, black oversized band shirts, and tattoos decorating their limbs. 

As other people began to arrive, you started to recognize this as a sort of uniform for the men. Each had their own version of the same style and you wondered whether it was a sort of status symbol—who could fit the most ink on their bodies and grow their hair out the longest. 

Most of the women also sported a number of tattoos, though usually not as many as the men. Many flaunted intricate sternum tattoos, displayed under cropped tank tops and bralettes and paired with high-waisted black shorts. 

Looking down at your own outfit, you acknowledged that Ava was right to dress you the way that she did. Her outfit helped you blend into the crowd much better than you would have if you’d gone with your normal clothes—despite the lack of ink. 

Nick nudged his elbow into your side. You looked to find him smiling down at you. “Wanna play beer pong?” 

“What is that?” you asked. His close-lipped smile morphed into a toothy grin and he grabbed your hand to lead you through the throng of people to the back deck, where a card table was set up and several red plastic cups were arranged in two triangles on either end. The crowd had not yet spilled out onto the deck, so the two of you were the only ones there, save for a few people smoking around the fire pit in the back yard. 

Briefly, you glanced over at the shed that housed Noah’s studio, wondering if he’d been in there at all lately. 

“Normally,” Nick began, brining your attention back to the table in front of you, “you’d play this in teams, but since we’re the only ones here, we’ll play against each other.” 

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “What do we do?” 

“See that ping pong ball over there?” he said, pointing to one of the cups, where an orange ball floated atop a small amount of water. “Your goal is to get that in one of my cups. We take turns. A lot of the time, people will fill the cups with beer, and say I get a ball in one of your cups, you’d have to drink the beer in it.” 

“Oh,” you said, starting to understand the rules. 

“But since it’s just water in these, the rule is you have to take a sip of your drink whenever I get it in the cup.” 

“It’s a good thing we aren’t playing with beer then,” you said. He laughed and agreed. 

“Want to go first?” he asked, smile still lighting up his face. 

“Sure,” you laughed. You’d never have described yourself as coordinated. Your high school hadn’t focused much on teaching physical fitness. They were more concerned with drilling Bible verses into your heads. On top of that, there weren’t enough students for any sort of competitive team sport. Still, you were willing to go out of your comfort zone tonight and actually participate. 

You tossed the ball towards his end. It bounced off the edge of the table, and Nick caught it in his hand. “Whoops!” you said. 

“No worries,” he replied, holding the ball up and aiming it for your end of the table. He tossed it and it sank easily into one of the center cups. “Now you gotta drink.” 

You smiled, already anticipating how the rest of this game was about to go, but sipped your drink nonetheless in preparation for your turn. 

Your intuition was correct after all. You’d managed to get exactly two of his cups before he’d hit all of yours, thus ending the game. By that point, you’d had enough of your drink to start feeling the effects. 

“What are you giggling about?” Nick asked from across the table, where he stood repositioning the cups back into their pyramid shape.

“Nothing,” you said, trying to suppress a smile. 

“You’re tipsy, aren’t you?” he said, and you tucked your lips between your teeth and nodded at him. He walked around to your side of the table and helped you reset the cups on your end. “How’s it feel?” 

“Nice,” you admitted. “I wasn’t sure what to think, but I can see why people like it.” 

Nick turned, clapping both your shoulders with his hands, regarding your state. Your giggles returned under his gaze and the bright lights of the porch began to grow softer. A pleasant warmth washed over you. 

“That’s the danger of it,” he said, thumbs rubbing soft circles into your skin. “People get too invested in that feeling and end up letting it take over. Promise me you’ll pace yourself?” 

You got the sense he’d seen it happen firsthand and that it hadn’t ended well, so you nodded, even though you didn’t feel like you were in danger of losing control. His concern was touching and it was probably a good idea to listen to his advice. 

“How about drinking a glass of water first before you have another drink?” he asked. “Alcohol dehydrates you.” 

“Thanks,” you said, and allowed him to lead you by the hand back into the house, towards the kitchen. His hand was warm and comforting, and necessary because the alcohol was affecting your balance in ways that were unfamiliar to you. You were overcome by your gratitude for him, recognizing that you’d be absolutely lost on how to enjoy the party if he weren’t there to guide you. Perhaps it was the alcohol affecting you, but you reckoned you’d still feel that way, even if you were completely sober. 

It wasn’t long before he was called over by a group of friends to play a game of flip cup. You’d never heard of it before, but he invited you to watch and explained the rules for you to understand, even though it was straightforward and you probably would have picked it up just by watching. 

He was third out of the four people that line his side of the table. It took him three tries to get his cup to land, and when it did, you cheered along with the rest of his team, who ended up losing by a few seconds. 

It quickly became clear that with all these drinking games, nobody actually cared who won or lost. The goal was just to bond, drink, and have something to do. That made you feel more at ease when someone at the table—Bryan you thought his name was—proposed a second game and asked if you wanted to play. 

Recognizing that this was an opportunity for you to be included, not just in the game but as a peripheral member of the friend group, you agreed. 

“Okay, so all you gotta do is wait for your turn, chug as fast as you can, set the cup facedown on the edge of the table and get it to land,” Nick whispered in your ear from where he stood behind you as Bryan began filling the cups for the next round. Your ear tingled where his breath fanned across it. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. You wanted to lean into it, and for once, rather than second guess yourself, you follow the urge. He reciprocated by placing his hands on your elbows. “Focus on chugging and getting it in position for the flip. The rest is up to you.” 

His chin rested on your shoulder as he spoke, and though you didn’t actually need his advice, his presence was more than welcome because you were still nervous. His fingertips braced either side of you, holding you in a starting position as if he were a coach, which he may as well have been. 

“Go!” Bryan shouted and the first person was up—a woman with black hair, several tattoos, and a septum ring. She easily downed her drink and got her cup to flip on the first try. Up next was Ruffilo, who was already a little tipsy and like Nick, took three tries for the cup to stick the landing. When it was your turn, Nick pushed you forward by the hips, chanting ‘go, go, go,’ as you attempted to chug the drink. 

You’d never tasted beer before, and you chugged it so fast you could barely register what it tasted like before it was gone and you had to focus on flipping it. You set it on the edge of the table and flipped it with the ends of your fingers, but miscalculated how much force you’d need and overshot it. 

The cup clattered across the table, but you didn’t have time to be embarrassed. You reset it on the edge, adjusting your approach and used less force this time. It landed. Nick cheered as you backed away from the table. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and hoisted you up into the air, celebrating the small success. You yelped, feeling quite accomplished and grateful for his enthusiasm, but also quite uncomfortable considering the beer you’d just chugged and the pressure he was putting on your swollen stomach. You let out a loud belch as soon as he let you down, and both laughed about it after. 

The person after you, Matt, chugged his and got it in two tries as well, and this time, your team won. Matt offered you a firm high-five, grasping your hand in triumph for a brief second, before turning to Bryan and asking him if he wanted to play another round. 

They invited you to play a second time, but you declined, thanking them for the offer. The aftertaste of the beer had finally caught up to you now that the adrenaline of competition wore off and you realized that it wasn’t your drink of choice. 

“You finish your water?” Nick said, leaning in towards you now that the party was in full swing and the music was too loud to talk casually over. 

“Yep,” you said, nodding proudly. 

He flashed a grin. “Good. Want another drink?” 

“Please,” you said and stepped aside to the counter where the liquor had been moved. 

“Want to try coconut rum?” he asked after perusing the available option, and you agreed because it sounded yummy. As he mixed the drink, you observed the rest of the party. The house was full of people by that point. Another game of flip cup had started in the kitchen, and the living room had been converted into a makeshift dance floor. 

A pungent aroma wafted up from the stairs leading to the basement, and if you had to guess, you’d say that’s where people went to smoke weed. 

“Here,” Nick said, and held out a cup for you. You took it gratefully and sipped.

“I like this one better than the last,” you admitted, savoring the taste of coconut. 

“What?” he shouted over the music. 

“I said I like this one better,” you shouted back. He smiled and shook his head, indicating he still couldn’t hear you. 

He yelled something that sounded like ‘come with me,’ and grabbed your had once again, this time leading you up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms. It was still loud, but more isolated from the rest of the party. 

He sat his drink down on a desk and strolled over to the window, shoving the bottom pane up so it was open to the night air before picking his drink back up and holding out his hand. 

“Care to join?” 

You stepped forward tentatively, peering out of the window to see that it opened up onto the roof of the front porch. 

You took his hand, allowing him to guide you through the open window first before he crawled through. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but once you were outside, the chill of the cold December night was welcome, considering how stuffy the house had become. 

It was a dry cold. There was no snow on the ground and only a light breeze, but already your legs began to feel the sting of chill. 

“So, how’s your first party experience?” he asked, sitting beside you on the asphalt shingles. 

“Technically, this is my second,” you reminded him. 

He chuckled, taking a sip from his drink and savoring it before replying. “That first one doesn’t count.” 

“Why not?” you asked, sipping from your own drink. 

“Because you didn’t actually get introduced to the party scene. I partly blame myself, because I was hanging out with Ava. But I also blame Noah.” 

This was the first time Noah’s name had been mentioned between the two of you since everything had gone down two weeks ago. It still stung, but the alcohol softened the pain. 

“Why’s that?” you asked, turning to face him more. 

“Because he should have helped you get your bearings,” he said, drunkenly gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “He knew you hadn’t been to a party before. And yeah, I know that he was busy getting ready for the show, but I still think he could have taken a little more time for you.” 

You hadn’t thought of it that way. Both Nick and Noah were to blame. Nick, because he’d invited you in the first place, but also Noah, because you’d been closer with him. At least Nick was taking steps to make up for it. 

Truthfully, nobody had ever helped you assimilate into a group of people the way Nick had that night. You’d always been left alone to fend for yourself and figure out your own way to fit in. 

Not that you’d ever truly fit in, except perhaps at church camp. But that was far behind you now. You’d already changed enough that you knew if you went back, you’d no longer fit in with the rest of them. Nor would you fit in at church anymore. 

And perhaps you’d struggled so much because you’d never had anyone to show you the ropes. 

You shook your head, ridding yourself of the negative thoughts. You didn’t want to dwell on the past. It was better to be grateful for what you had in front of you at the moment. 

You took another sip of your drink while Nick took another sip of his. 

“I don’t know how you can drink beer,” you commented. “It’s disgusting.” 

He smiled, swallowing his drink and then let out a soft chuckle. “You get used to it after a while,” he said. “I didn’t like it when I first tried it, but now I do.” 

“I guess it’s an acquired taste, then,” you commented. 

He nodded, taking another sip. “This isn’t beer though,” he said once he’d swallowed. 

“Oh?” you asked, looking away from him and onto the street below, where a couple of people stood near the sidewalk smoking cigarettes and chatting. “What is it?” 

“Jungle juice,” he answered. You looked back to him. 

“What’s that?” you asked. 

He held out his cup to you. “Want to taste?” 

You took it, cold fingers brushing over his warm ones as he passed the cup to you. You peered inside first to see a greenish liquid with bits of fruit floating in it. You sniffed, noting that it smelled like sprite, something fruity, and something else that stung at your nostrils. 

Tentatively, you sipped, taste buds immediately lighting up at the onslaught of flavor. 

“That’s delicious. What’s in that?” you asked. “And can I have some?” 

Nick laughed. Not just a chuckle but a big belly laugh. “No, I’m not giving you jungle juice for your first drink,” he said. 

You pouted. 

“Don’t give me that look. This is way stronger than it tastes. That cup alone probably has four shots of liquor in it. Jolly makes his extra strong.” 

“What all does he put in it?” you asked, taking another sip of your own drink. You were definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol and it made your skin tingle pleasantly while a warm feeling crept up your neck. 

“I think it’s sprite, Hawaiian punch, a bunch of different fruit juices, and then vodka, rum, and I think he does triple sec too.” 

You blinked at him, tempted to ask what triple sec was because you’d never heard of it, but thought better. You were tired of outing yourself as not knowing anything, so instead you took another gulp of your drink. 

“Slow down,” he cautioned. You pursed your lips and side-eyed him. “I’m not trying to be a buzz kill,” he said clinking his cup with yours and downing another gulp. “I just want to make sure it doesn’t hit you all at once.” 

“What happens then?” you asked, taking another small sip. Perhaps he was right, considering you’d downed two-thirds of your drink during your short conversation. 

“You probably won’t get the spins, since there still isn’t a ton of alcohol in your drink,” he said. “But pacing yourself is a good habit to get into anyway.” 

“Why’d you invite me tonight?” you asked, surprising yourself with the question. 

He didn’t answer right away, just pressed his lips together in a smile and looked down at his drink.  

“I don’t approve of Noah’s actions,” he admitted. “I mean, I’m no saint by any means. I’m probably worse than him, but I feel like you deserved better than what he gave you.” 

You didn’t expect him to be so forthcoming, and when the moment became unexpectedly heavy, you had to look away from him and back to the street below, noticing how the streetlights reflected off the cars lining the curb. Everything was a little hazy, tempered by the alcohol. 

“I thought he’d treat me differently, too,” you confessed. You didn’t want to say too much more than that, because you knew if you talked about your feelings, you’d end up crying, and that’s the last thing you wanted to do at the moment, especially with how much effort Ava had put into your makeup. 

“I wanted to give you a fun night. Introduce you to our crowd so you can get a better idea of what life is like outside of Sunday school. Show you that it’s not all hellfire and brimstone like you were taught.” 

“Thank you, Nick,” you said, nudging his elbow with yours. “That means a lot.” 

You wanted to say more, but knew that if you got too much deeper, it would ruin the party vibe the two of you had worked hard to build. 

“Noah will come around eventually,” he said, apparently not quite ready to let the subject go, even though you thought you were doing him a favor by giving him an easy out and cutting it short. 

Not having anything much else to say, you simply shrugged. “Even if he doesn’t, I’ll be okay.” 

Nick smiled. “That’s the spirit,” he said, holding out his cup to cheers. You tapped yours against it and he chugged the rest of his drink. You followed his lead, in direct contradiction to his previous advice and let out another burp as soon as you finished. He chuckled at that. 

“Want the fruit?” he asked, offering his cup to you. There was a small pile of strawberries, blueberries, and pineapple at the bottom. “It soaks up the alcohol and gets you drunker.” 

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna let me get drunk,” you said. 

He shrugged. “It’s your first party. I’ll make sure you sober up before the end of the night.” 

You thanked him, taking the glass and dumping the contents into your mouth. You could barely taste the alcohol in them as you chewed, but you hadn’t been tasting alcohol since partway through your last drink. 

Nick stood up, brushing dirt off the back of his pants, and held out a hand to you. You did the same, stumbling only slightly as you climbed back through the window and landed in the bedroom. Nick followed, shutting the window behind the two of you. 

“Wanna dance?” he asked.  ________

The alcohol fully hit while you were on the dance floor. It was a difficult sensation to describe, but it had you feeling alive. Sweat-soaked bodies pressed up against you from all sides, and you writhed to the music freely in the knowledge that nobody was paying attention to you. You weren’t an individual anymore, but part of a whole. One drop in a sea of moving bodies. 

Hands gripped your hips. You glanced over your shoulder and found Nick’s face hovering near yours. 

“This okay?” he whispered into your ear. “Yeah.” 

His fingers dug lightly into your side, pressing you into him. Briefly, you registered that this was the most physical contact you’d had with a man. 

His chest rested against your back, and with his hands, he guided your hips to sway to the music, moving his body to match yours. 

“Have you danced like this before?” he asked, lips nearly brushing your ear. You shook your head no, nerves sparking to life underneath your skin and ricocheting around your system. Your stomach twisted in a knot, but you chose not to focus on that and instead keep your mind trained on the steady bass pounding through the speakers. You wanted more, so you leaned into him. He reciprocated by clutching harder at your hips. 

Half of you was present in your body, registering his fingertips, his body pressed tightly against yours, the sweat dripping down your sternum. The other half of you existed in a separate plane above the dance floor, somewhere between the heavy house music and the flashing neon lights. 

Nick grabbed your waist, spinning you around to face him and slotted a thigh between yours. He wrapped his arm around your lower back and pressed you tightly into him and this was now the closest you’d ever been to a man. 

Feeling for the first time like you had finally tapped into your own sexual energy, you allowed and welcomed it to course through you uninhibited, swiveling your hips on your own accord against him and surrendering entirely to your body and however it wanted to move in the moment. 

A thread connected you and Nick. You were on the same wavelength, and whatever energy guided you also guided him. You moved as one, rolling against each other to the music, your sweat mixing with his. 

You threw your head back, closing your eyes and inhaling the sensations of the party. 

You’d lost yourself like this before, but it had always been in a religious setting, losing yourself in what you perceived as the divine energy of God, during a particularly moving prayer or worship song. Often in a group setting. 

Now, you were losing yourself in what you could the divine energy of the collective. The book of Romans, chapter 12 verse 2 stated to not conform to this world, and that verse was pounded into your head over and over again by the church. 

But what if the book of Romans got it wrong? What if this world was Holy too, and it was necessary to fully experience it? Why reject God’s creation? Why not rejoice in it? 

A hand on the back of your neck brought you back to reality. 

“We’re just friends, right?” said Nick, eyes blown wide as he looked at you. “You don’t have any feelings for me?” 

“Yeah,” you said, trying to adjust to how close his face was. “Just friends. Why?” 

He nodded. “Good. Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page for this.” 

And then his lips were on yours.  ________ Next chapter coming soon! Taglist: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @hoe-for-daddywise @concretejungle420 @sleep-worship @cncohshit @adenobabe @guacinyourarea @escapingourexistence @livingdeceasedgirl @chxrryxox @dem11 @starcrossedwasteland @alm0std3add @reyadawn @karenfranco @glam-cherry-bomb @simpingforniragi @koalakoala8 @themorticians-world @sleepytoken99 @magdalenaxbrenaxorestes. @fuck-me-muke @xmads-omensx @just-randomm-stuff @spookychaosstranger @gravitysembrace @somebodyels3 @klutzy-kay24 @sundamariis @noahsebastions @cyber-tiny @xxkittenkissesxx @treacheryinblue @flowerynerds @1toreyouapart @badomensls @rain-down-on-me @ilovemewwwww75 @poisongirl616 @adenobabe

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[n0tamused]

Can we have some fluff pining with Mortefi? Or just fluff in general pre relationship? Pls?

A/N: Hope you enjoy, anon! <3

-Ah, sweet old Mortefi, that grump is not the most open individual when it comes to his emotions. He doesn't even like bragging about his own genius inventions or ranting about the effort he had to put it, let alone be open about something as trivial as love

-Mortefi wasn't raised in an environment with the luxury of such emotional freedom, and for the biggest part of his childhood he only knew irritation and anger. Had he been younger, his approach to his current predicament would've been more aggressive, if nothing else

-But he is a man grown, and mature way past his years, and he knows the fragility and importance of these feelings he harbors so deep within himself

-So, when he began noticing tell-tale signs of love and longing forming and tying themselves around his heart all because of you, he began to wonder when these feelings began. 

-He softens towards this new wound in his heart that he couldn't complain about..he doesn't remember when he last felt this way and it was certainly new and worthy of his curiosity 

-Mortefi will not approach you for a long time in regards to these feelings, he'd much rather bury his nose in his works and overwork himself with endless projects 

-But ever so slowly you notice his lingering presence. It's not overwhelming, and you get rather comfortable with him around. He is always there if you run into any problems, how convenient.

-He still longs to be close to a person, to share company with someone dear to him, and he tries to make it as comfortable for you both as best as he can and as best as he knows how to. This would often be after work hours, inviting you over for deserts, be it at a restaurant or his own place where he makes dishes for you himself

-He isn’t a fan of the fast food industry so you won’t catch him buying anything of that kind, yet if he knows you like a certain fast food brand he may gift you a packet of your favorite snacks, or even better- he’d create something better than that brand. He has no lack of materials or knowledge on this, so in just a few days he’d present you with a box of your favorite flavors, just don’t press the issue too much, he may become a sassy or snappy

-A simple thanks will do.

-He expresses his care through these gifts and acts of service that aim to make your day better and easier and he is noticeably softer towards you, a bit kinder in his word choice. But he also never falters with guiding you through your problems with a firm but caring hand

-At times he may come to avoid too much eye contact with you, especially if he is too caught up thinking about these growing feelings he has

-It takes a long time until he comes to terms he will either have to fess up or learn to live with these feelings. The latter is more probable, as he doesn’t wish to make you uncomfortable by just admitting his feelings when you may not even return the sentiment

-But if you show the same interest back? And state it clearly without any mixed signals? Well, Mortefi couldn’t be more relieved and happy.

-He does go out of his way to make the confession sweet but not too flashy, he is not a man that likes that much attention in general and that hold up even stronger when it comes to his love life

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.