#which is crazy because i really thought i had hit rock bottom back then but no. it can always get worse apparently.

[watering-plastic-plants]

...

[val-made-a-mistake]

❝the garrison rat❞ CHP 14

THE FINAL CHAPTER

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summary: torn apart by an unexpected loss, you find yourself unable to leave birmingham. you’re aware that people notice you drinking in the garrison every other night, you’re aware they call you nicknames, but you don’t care about any of it— at least, not until you start speaking to john shelby. he’s looking for a wife and you vowed to never love again, which makes things a bit complicated.

warnings: smut, cocaine usage, infidelity, angst, brief mention of prostitution...if you’ve made it this far you’re probably not going to be surprised by anything in this chapter

word count: 5.6k

tag list: @datewithgianni @1950schick @clementinesjourney @cbouvier23@smailaway @cedricscoffin @buckysjuicyplums @belledawnidk @wandering-poetess @bobafett-tea​ @esposadomd​ 

a/n: holy shit, where do i even start??? it’s hard to believe that a one-shot turned fic series i only wrote as a distraction because i was mad that my movie date got cancelled got here today. thank you all for the support since september 2021, because the amount of people who have enjoyed this series and keysmashed over it and dmed me to say that they stayed up all night reading it is crazy, you guys blew me tf away. i’m kissing you all five times and doing the Hand Squeeze™ with everyone who has supported me over the past five hundred something days TGR has existed. i would gladly make plans to run away to paris with you. :)

//////

“Are you running away? Because it really looks like you’re running away.”

Your suitcase shut with a sharp SNAP. “It’s only temporary. And you keep your mouth shut about this, you hear me?”

Esme held up her hands like you were pointing a gun at her. “Okay, okay, I just really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s only temporary,” you muttered to yourself, preoccupied again as you shoved another cigarette into your mouth, your fifth of the evening. You were refusing to voice your thoughts aloud: you were already thinking about finding a new place to be from. “London’s not that far away from here, is it?”

“You have no family in London, and no friends,” Esme replied. “Y/N, just stop packing the goddamn suitcase.”

You snorted as you lit your cigarette. “It’s funny how no one around here gets that there’s a whole world outside of Small Heath.”

“Yeah, and there’s a whole world of rock bottoms outside of Small Heath,” Esme shot back, flat and unconvinced. “You gravitate towards shitholes, y’know. You’re only just gonna make life worse for yourself all over again.”

“I need to get out of here,” you repeated stubbornly, exhaling a thin plume of smoke. “For just a week.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, this is going to go terribly,” Esme muttered under her breath, absently pouring a miniscule amount of the powdery white substance she had in a tiny vial onto her knuckle. “How are you not thinkin’ of the kids? Fuckin’ four of them and John still doesn’t know how to take care of them.”

You barely heard her; you were staring at the vial of cocaine.

You almost hesitated, but pointed at the table. “Bring it over here.”

Esme gave you a weird look, and there was a tense beat that made you think she wasn’t going to do it, but she pressed her knuckle to her nostril and sniffed with barely a flinch, then poured out a jagged line for you on the table behind her.

“Y/N, I…”

“It’s fine.”

You were already searching your back pockets for a bill, or some kind of thin object that could be rolled into a cylinder.

It didn’t feel good to do it, but one last time couldn’t hurt, right? You were a changed woman now, and you could control yourself - no matter how badly you wanted just another line, like you already knew you would.

Your freshly lit cigarette still burning between your two fingers, you rolled up the bill into a tight cylinder with the precision of someone who had done it hundreds of times before, leaned over the desk, and sniffed up a thin line of cocaine.

Like always, it hit you all at once, like a bolt of lightning. Oh, God.

And then everything became clear.

If there was one think you knew, it was that you were getting out of Small Heath tonight.

“Barely hit,” you muttered, looking up at Esme with dilated eyes. “Can I see the vial, please?”

//////

John was deep in the forest again, his bare feet caked in mud and moss and leaves, and he was going out of his mind with want.

“I miss you,” Martha purred like some long-lost, ethereal creature, and her cold, dainty hand glided around his shoulder. She had been circling him for the past ten minutes and yet her footsteps made no noise - she was pure magic, that woman was, and she smelled something sweet, like pound cake. Dizzy in her presence, John blinked hard as something in the depths of his mind purred happily, something primal and hidden blossoming to life, making him feel everything.

She was in her dress that she had worn to her wedding, the brilliant purple-pink wildflowers were braided into her hair like not a day had gone by, and John forgot that those flowers were actually dried and pressed into some obsolete book in the betting shop in the Parlour.

“Do you miss me?” she whispered, her cold hand on his other shoulder now, and John felt the skin there erupt into gooseflesh.

Martha sidestepped quickly, mystically as ever, and suddenly she was in front of him again. She had asked him a question, and he hadn’t answered.

Her hazel eyes glowed so brilliantly and ethereally that he was sure she made his blue Shelby eyes look hazel too, and he had to pause for a moment to take in her glittering beauty, her fair and freckled skin, her thin lips that had somehow been an insecurity of hers when she’d been alive, like they somehow hadn’t fit perfectly on her face and John hadn’t wanted to kiss them whenever he stared at them for too long.

John knew that he had opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t quite sure what had happened: either the words had come out as though he was underwater, a distorted, gibberish mess, or he had simply opened his mouth and not said anything at all.

He was suddenly aware of his heart pounding harder in his chest, and he tried to say, I do, I do, I do, but for some reason, the words couldn’t force their way past his lips.

“Clearly not, since you’re with that rat bitch,” Martha snarled, and it suddenly dawned on him that this wasn’t reality at all, not a lovely dream but a nightmare, and he started breathing hard until he was nearly hyperventilating, something like a panic attack settling in.

“No,” John tried to say, but his throat had closed off and he felt like he was screaming underwater. No. No. No.

This wasn’t the first time he’d felt something like this because he suffered from the soldier’s disease, but just because it was the hundredth time he’d experienced it didn’t mean it got any less terrifying. There was a whirlwind in his brain, a headrush so powerful like everything was incoherent, unreal, and he couldn’t– fucking– breathe—

“Kitchen towels!” Polly shouted from somewhere afar, scaring him awake. “For fuck’s sake, John, where are the bloody kitchen towels?”

John launched himself out of his chair and looked around: Polly wasn’t in his office, where he’d been sleeping for the past several weeks, but she was still shouting loud enough to be heard in the betting shop, so he straightened his cap and smoothed his rumpled suit like he hadn’t been asleep at all and hurried out of the door.

It’s too bloody early for this, he thought angrily.

When John got to the kitchen with the roll of kitchen towels from the betting shop, the first thing he noticed wasn’t Polly hurrying around with a broom, clearly agitated, or a cup of tea overturned everywhere on the kitchen’s pristine tile, but Esme standing in the open doorway of the Parlour, breathing hard, looking pale and panicked. He checked his watch. 6 AM. It was the middle of February; the sun hadn’t even risen yet. What the hell was going on?

He took another look at Polly, the cup of tea shattered on the floor, and Esme, his head swiveling back and forth between them like he was watching a ping-pong match. “Fucking hell, you lot, what’s the matter?”

His voice was groggy and dehydrated, but he blinked hard and tried to ignore it.

You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.

“Y/N is fuckin’ missing, that’s the matter,” Polly snapped, venom seeping through her voice as she snatched the kitchen roll from his hands to clean up the mess of liquid and ceramic shards on the floor, “Esme here storms in at six o’clock in the bloody morning, tellin’ me all fuckin’ panicked that she woke up at the Lee house down the street and Y/N wasn’t there when she was spendin’ the night, and she was goin’ on about how she wanted to leave Small Heath before she fell asleep…”

A fresh round of cold, unsettling panic doused John, and seeing the darkening look on his face, Esme grimaced sympathetically at him. “A part of me thought she was joking, I tried to talk her out of it. I’m sorry, John.”

“Well, what’s done is done,” Polly snapped with the air that she was only becoming more pissed with every word Esme spoke, and straightening, she slammed the roll of towels on the counter and chucked the shards of ceramic into the garbage. “Gather Arthur and Tommy, we need to have the Blinders looking for her. The earlier we can find her, the better.”

He nodded.

“Arthur!” he bellowed down the hallway, without a care in the world for his kids or anyone else. “Get the fuck up!”

//////

Understandably, there were no trains running at three in the morning, the time you’d left a sleeping Esme at the Lee house on Watery Lane, so you simply shifted your bag higher on your shoulder and decided to find another place in Small Heath to camp out until the sunrise.

Still on your cocaine high, you refused to look at your reflection in the windows of the shopfronts you passed. You already felt disheveled and bloodshot, you didn’t need to see it.

Eventually, you settled on an alleyway some three blocks away from the station. You pressed your back against the wall and slid down it until you were sitting on the damp stretch of dirt, dead grass, and litter.

You moved your bag from your shoulder to your lap and inhaled sharply: if you were aware of your body for too long, the cocaine pain in your ribs made you feel like your entire body was on fire. You had a small bottle of vodka in your suitcase to ration, and you’d feel even better after a few burning gulps from the bottle, but you resolved not to start drinking at least until you got on the train.

The cocaine high would have to be enough for now, you decided.

You sighed as your head suddenly spun, and the hazy feeling of unreality settled deep into your chest, making your heart pound harder and harder until sweat was dampening the back of your neck. Your brain was throbbing hard, but euphoria pulsed through your entire body, and for that feeling alone, it was worth it.

God, cocaine was terrible, but simultaneously beautiful. You’d almost missed it.

Sure, you definitely hadn’t missed always feeling like you were on the verge of fainting, nor the aching and the itchiness and the cold liquid that seemed to bubble in your veins after you came down from your high, indicating that you were sober again, but whatever, it was three in the morning in a shitty corner of England, you were alone and staring up at the glinting stars in the sky, inhaling the ever-present scent of manure and cigarette smoke, and your cocaine-fucked brain promptly decided that nothing else mattered but this moment.

The year is 1920, you thought dumbly, in that same blearily existential way only someone who was extremely high could. Will people still appreciate the Earth’s beauty a hundred years from now?

You probably wouldn’t be around to see it, but you hoped they did, and you squinted up at the sky to scope out any possible constellations. You’d never had a chance to notice it before, but this was a Nevada kind of view, which made you think of a moment five years earlier where you were lying in the great expanse of desert beneath the stars, watching Sam’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept, swiping at the mosquitos whenever they got too close.

You weren’t all that aware of it, but your entire face stretched into a tired smile, making your cheeks ache. Goddamn, I love cocaine.

The next moments passed in a blink: suddenly the sun was rising, and you were at the station again, and you couldn’t remember how you’d gotten a ticket in your hands but you were already carrying your things onto the train, and vaguely acting sober, you stumbled into the first empty carriage you saw, all while your body didn’t feel like your own and you were simply a spectator to your own activities.

Which, honestly, you preferred. You had no fucking time to regret any of this.

//////

“Y/N?” John shouted, shining a flashlight down the long, empty hallway of the old Lee house. He’d stomped in there the minute the car had rolled into the field, so fast and panicked that he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights, meaning the house was shrouded in darkness. “Y/N!”

“Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see her at the train station?” he heard Esme snap at some Blinder waiting outside.

“Why would I lie for the fuckin’ Garrison rat?” John heard him reply before he stepped out of range, and scowling, he burst into the bedroom Esme had said you’d slept in days ago.

It was stripped bare, not even your scent had been left behind, like you’d never been inside the room in the first place, which only made the dread crawling down his back worse.

You’re a fucking knobhead, John scolded himself, pivoting on his heel to exit the room. A fucking knobhead, you know that? What kind of husband has their wife walk out on them?

Regretting his excessive drinking and smoking, sleeping in his office, booking his favourite whore at Zhang’s, and avoiding his wife like the plague, John ran back onto the field with his knuckles aching to kill something.

He took his cap off to smooth his hair back. “She’s not there.”

“‘Course she’s not,” Esme said resignedly.

“Where the fuck would she had gone?” John shouted at her, resisting the urge to grab her and violently shake her, purely to keep the peace between the families. “Esme, did she tell you any place that she was wanting to go?”

Esme opened her mouth and closed it.

“London,” she whispered back, her eyes wide. “She told me she wanted to go to London.”

“London!” he yelled in disbelief, whipping around. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“The trains start early in the morning,” she bit out, twisting her hands together. The Blinder beside her was staring at her, wide-eyed, as though trying to find a way to insert himself into the conversation, but both she and John ignored him. “John, if we can’t find her, that means she already went.”

Unadulterated rage swept through him, bitter and blinding, but John choked it down. “Fuck.”

Ducking out of the way so they wouldn’t see his glossy eyes, he started to stomp away. “Get back in the fucking car.”

//////

London was sprawling and gleaming when the train noisily rolled into the station, and in your threadbare, dirt-stained skirt and cardigan, you felt like you weren’t expensive-looking enough to fit in.

No matter, you told yourself, but the voice in your head was much too pleasant and lacking the predisposed anxiety and misery to truly sound like yourself. You can simply buy new clothes.

Plus, you already knew you weren’t planning on staying in London for long anyway.

You hummed a quiet but hopeful folk song you’d first heard at the Garrison to yourself as you retrieved your things from the compartment, your heart already pounding hard with excitement at the thought of leaving the train. As you hummed out what little lyrics you could remember, a pang of sadness hit your gut for the first time since you’d snorted cocaine: you’d miss Grace, but you were happy her beautiful voice had become engraved in your memory.

Her voice was yours to keep forever.

Smiling, you carried your bags through the narrow hallway and descended the train.

And sweet Jesus, the air of London smelled like the most refreshing summer breeze simply because of the absence of manure and furnace smoke. The station was still overcrowded with people, which normally would have alarmed you had you been sober, but this time you didn’t even care, it almost felt like you had snorted another few lines of cocaine as you waded through the onslaught of people, a dumb grin plastered on your face.

Girl, you are high as balls.

You caught sight of a husband waiting at the gate with a bouquet of flowers for his approaching wife, and quickly glanced away. You didn’t need anything like that to bother you right now.

“Airport?” you asked aimlessly to the people around you. “Does anyone know how to get to the airport from here?”

After a minute or two of wandering around and shouting among the onslaught of people, a man not much older than Tommy Shelby finally turned around.

“Airport?” he asked, squinting down at you. “You’ll need to go to Croydon.”

“Where is that?” you asked sweetly, layering on the Americana glitter in your charming Garrison rat voice, batting your eyelids at him. “It’s my first time in London, you see.”

The man smiled and extended his hand. “I can take you there, miss, for a fee. I’ll carry your things for you.”

“How much quid?” you asked absent-mindedly, peering down into your bag to find your change. “I can give you, uh, maybe twenty-”

“I’m not talking about money,” he cut in, and your head snapped up like a deer in headlights. How dare he, knowing that you had a very expensive wedding ring glistening on your fing–

You stopped yourself.

You weren’t wearing your wedding ring.

It was rolling around somewhere in the depths of your bag.

Time seemed to slow down and your heart pounded even faster, cocaine influence or not, but what shocked you the most was the odd sense of relief, making the ugly scar stretching across the length of your abdomen tingle.

Men still desired you.

With your head slightly spinning and the residue feeling of your body not being your own anymore, it was the most chilling reminder that you weren’t sober: you suspected that in any other state of mind, you would feel differently about this, but right now you didn’t care.

Wasn’t the whole point of coming to London that you didn’t want to feel chained by the Shelbys anymore?

“Take me there,” you heard yourself say after what felt like a century, and the man’s grin widened. “Of course, ma’am.”

Please protect me, God, a voice whispered in the depths of your mind, and accepting his outstretched hand, you let him guide you out of your train station.

//////

Tommy Shelby pushed the heavy mahogany doors of the Garrison open with a flourish, stepped into the pub, and promptly bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Everybody out!”

It had been bad enough losing his own love to a mind-boggingly similar situation two months ago, but Christ, how likely was it for John boy to go through the same goddamned thing? He wasn’t sure if he was impressed or annoyed. What had gotten into the women of today? Was this something he seriously had to be worried about?

The few number of patrons at 11 AM on a Wednesday morning quickly made themselves scarce with a frightened look on their faces, and for the first time that morning, Tommy had a chance to sigh before he approached the confused and frightened barmaids behind the bar.

After Grace, he felt a deep inner hatred more intensely than he had before her, and this morning was no exception.

“Have you seen Y/N Lee around these parts in the past few weeks, ladies? Y/N Shelby? The Garrison rat?”

The two barmaids looked at each other, puzzled, and one opened her mouth but promptly closed it.

“You,” Tommy said, pouncing on her. “Did you see the Garrison rat at all?”

“I…uh….” she stuttered, and Tommy cocked his head in anticipation for her words. Where was the easy grace that all of the barmaids seemed to have whenever a Blinder visited? “I…”

The barmaid gulped and stared at the floor. “She came in here once, lookin’ like a mess, and said she was getting out of here that night.”

“What kind of mess was she?” he pressed, leaning forward. “Drunk? Sniffing snow?”

“She - she was covered in blood,” the barmaid choked out, and he recognized the telltale signs of an anxiety attack as she started shaking. “Covered in blood. And vomit. And dirt. And twigs. And she had this…crazed look in her eyes. None of the drunks have it, so I knew she wasn’t drunk. She meant what she was saying with a burning passion. She wanted somebody dead.”

Tommy thought back to the night that pathetic boy was killed, the way he’d wailed and screamed and cried as John pummelled him. It had been a real mess when you’d ran off like that, and there was no signs that you’d even been bothered until before then.

He eyed the other barmaid, who was pale as a ghost.

“Go make a drink for your friend,” he told her. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”

“Edith,” the sniffling barmaid replied, staring at the floor.

“Edith,” Tommy repeated. “Well, Edith, thank you for your time, but I’m afraid that the Garrison rat has fulfilled her promise as of this morning.”

With a haunting sort of finality, he replaced his cap and turned on his heel to exit the Garrison.

//////

“Fuck!”

Before John could stop it, a long, frustrated, angry scream ripped out of his throat, and it was so loud within the confined space of his office that it made his own ears ring. He was the only one here now, and it had been that way for an hour: the rest of the family had gone out looking for his wife.

His vision suddenly blurry with tears, he punched his desk over and over again, screaming at the top of his lungs, his hands stinging, his heart pounding, everything spiralling out of control at once. All of his emotions had been pushed as far as they could possibly go ever since he woke up, and at 4 PM in the afternoon, this was the only opportunity he’d had to let them out.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

John felt blood trickling down his knuckles and he finally stopped, cursing, hating himself. Why did he have to be like this? He would feel nothing but indifference for weeks on end until it all came rushing out of him like an avalanche.

Well, some part of him knew this explosion was warranted. It was forever frustrating being back to square one: without a wife, without a stepmother to take care of his kids, without love and painfully aware that he was without Martha. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but it was the first time the feeling seared through his chest like a volcano erupting: he’d wished he’d never had kids.

“Why am I so stupid?” John shouted at himself in the thick silence. “Fucking hell, why am I so fucking stupid?”

Get it out, some type of comforting voice told him in the back of his head. Get it all fucking out.

His knuckles were pouring blood now, screaming for bandages, but John leapt from his chair and shoved everything off his desk in a giant sweep.

He picked up an empty vase behind him and threw it as hard as he could at the wall, where it exploded in a shower of glass.

He ripped open all the cabinets of his desk and yanked out all of the files, lobbing them at the wall, throwing them on the ground, tearing them in half, and when that wasn’t enough, he lifted his office chair and pounded it into the ground as violently as he could.

“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

He couldn’t even remember when he’d started screaming anymore, but his throat was raw as he lobbed the splintered, broken pieces of the chair at the wall.

His hands were covered in blood, and he had a sobering feeling that maybe he should stop now, but no matter how self-destructive he was being, the rage was addicting, and he was throwing various detritus from the wreckage as hard as he could at the wall. The rush of pain flooding to his knuckles was almost gratifying— thank God, he could still feel things. Even if he was feeling too much, he was feeling, and that was good.

Tears were streaming down his face, and when he tried to inhale through his nose, his nostrils were blocked with snot, but he couldn’t stop. His entire face was red from overexertion and his hands were bleeding and he couldn’t stop shaking and he couldntfuckingbreathe, like he was a little kid throwing a tantrum, and—

If his throat was raw when he’d had the energy to destroy things, it was nothing like how it felt now. “Fuck!”

Maybe this is how Y/N felt when she saw me kill that monarchist fucker, John thought dumbly, and he sank to his knees in his demolished mess of an office, a tide of regret crashing through him unlike anything before.

This feeling hit him like it was trying to kill him.

//////

The car was parked in the parking lot of the airport, and it hadn’t moved for the past ten minutes.

It was cramped, uncomfortable, and questionably damp, but the man who’d driven you there-- Billy, you’d since learned his name was--  wouldn’t buy the plane ticket for you until you gave him your payment, and you had nothing left to lose. With Paris being a hefty cheque away, a daring trip that you could just barely afford, you had weighed your options and promptly decided fuck it, just get it over with.

Without breaking eye contact with him, you licked a thick stripe up the underside of his length before pulling back to suck the tip, darting your tongue around it, producing the filthiest slurping sounds he’d ever heard as you bobbed around him. He wasn’t longer than John, but a little thicker, and it was an interesting change to feel how his cock felt in your mouth.

“Fuck,” Billy murmured, weaving a hand through your hair as you swiped his cock over your wet lips, teasing it over your warm mouth, smearing your red lipstick further down your chin. “Fuck, just like that - gonna - fuck-”

He came fast with barely a warning, warm droplets of come spilling onto your tongue. Knowing you were almost done, you wrapped a hand around his length to jerk him off, gulping him down as best you could while he kept his hand tight in your hair, ensuring that you swallowed every last bit.

Saltier, you noted. Well, that’s a bit disgusting.

//////

He had her on her back so he wouldn’t have to look at her, but it was still so hard to pretend that she was someone else: the dark curly hair spilling over her shoulders that looked nothing like her hair, the breathy little moans that fell from her lips that sounded nothing like hers, even the way her pussy squeezed his cock, they were all dead giveaways that she wasn’t who John desperately wanted her to be. And no matter how hard he tried, she wouldn’t be.

“Oh, God,” Esme moaned, grabbing the headboard to keep herself from falling over as John fucked into her just a little bit harder, and his hand was wrapped around her neck before he even registered it being there.

“Shut up.”

She wasn’t listening.

“Fuck, John, I’m gonna-” –With one hand on the headboard, she was furiously rubbing her clit now– “I think I’m gonna - oh fuck -”

She collapsed from underneath him as her orgasm rushed through her body, but in a split-second he’d yanked her upright by her hair, back to her original position, except her arms were pinned behind her back.

This was about control.

Fucking her even harder now, his voice was furious in her ear as he whispered:

“Next time you come, you’re gonna ask for my permission, yeah?”

//////

Paris was golden.

Golden and full of pickpockets, that was for sure. The one drawback of such a fashionable, progressive city, you had to keep a tight hold on your purse as you made your way to the closest bar, or the bar à cocktails, as you frequently heard the locals call it.

Three months into living in Paris, you fit right in with the people born and raised here: they tended to go all out in comparison to Birmingham, their wardrobes were fashionable, flashy, and fancy to the point where a floor-length dress, your most expensive pearl necklace, and a glittery headband had become your drinking attire. You couldn’t imagine the stares had you worn the Garrison rat’s usual outfit of trousers and a blouse anywhere in Paris. 

So, when it came down to it, you didn’t mind being bold, not at all. It was the années folles, after all, and life was good.

The same way British slang had slowly seeped into your vocabulary when you were an American trapped in Birmingham, your accent was starting to change the longer you stayed in Paris. Words like “quid” and “fucking hell” were slowly starting to disappear in your internal monologue, instead being replaced with “franc” and “merde”. Eventually, your American accent wrapped around the French words you spoke with a kind of ease, your thoughts came to you in French more than they did in English, and it dawned on you one day that you couldn’t have imitated the sweetness of the Garrison rat’s voice if you tried.

Honestly, you couldn’t care less. Maybe it was for the better.

You gently pushed open the glass door to the bar and, smoothing your dress, walked inside.

Lilting jazz, warm golden light, quiet conversation, respectful barmaids, a wide array of bottles at the bar, and best of all, sparsely populated. You loved coming to this place— you were already a couple of shots in, of course, but you enjoyed the French stuff.

You carefully sat down on your usual barstool to the left of the barmaid and calmly told her, “Comme d’habitude.”

She nodded without looking at you, emotionless. “Pas de problème.”

You settled back onto the stool, content to think about nothing for a moment as your drink was being made, but you sensed him approaching you before you saw him. Even though you had to tell yourself that you weren’t the Garrison rat anymore, that mysterious charm hadn’t been lost on the men of Paris, clearly.

The new man— dark hair, gray eyes, nothing remarkable — sat on the stool to your direct left, with the kind of forced confidence that immediately told you he had to practice it before coming over to sit with you, and you refused to look at him.

The barmaid slid a shot over to you, and the mysterious new man held up his hand, as though to intercept you from paying. “Je vais le payer.”

Looking anywhere but his face, you didn’t stop him as he handed over a fistful of coins to the barmaid.

Why should you? It was free drinks. That was welcomed in Las Vegas, New York City, Small Heath, and Paris.

As the barmaid walked away to attend to a new customer, his attention was on you now.

“Vous venez souvent dans ce bar.”

It was a statement, not a question. You looked at him, your face completely blank, and said nothing.

He smirked at you. “Vous aimez cette musique, oui? Le jazz est toujours beau. Bon pour danser.”

When you still said nothing, growing slightly frustrated now, he asked, “Quelle est votre histoire?”

You scoffed, and finally decided to speak.

“C’est une longue histoire. Une trop longue histoire. La seule chose que je sais, c’est que je ne tomberai plus jamais en amour, donc si vous pensez m’inviter à danser, n’essaie pas.”

The man looked at you for a long moment, before getting up from the stool and walking away— wordless, the kind of complicated look on his face that you didn’t understand. And it pissed you off, really, not understanding why he had the audacity to look hurt.

With the drunken blurriness of your vision, as the man retreated into the distance, his silhouette seemed to be absorbed by the gleaming, golden light, and you let out a low sigh of relief as you were left alone again. Alone with your thoughts.

You turned back to the bar and found yourself lost in the murky depths of your drink that he’d paid for. Through the haze, you blearily noticed that you’d started thinking in English again. Blunt and short sentences, but still: English.

I’m never going to love again.

//////

AUGUST 1920 - SMALL HEATH, BIRMINGHAM

I’m never going to love again, thought John as he stared moodily across the length of the merry Garrison. Grace may not have been there anymore, but the roaring folk songs every night had remained in her memory, and someone had clearly written a new one for the drunks to sing.

The only person there that wasn’t singing, John couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to act as though there weren’t any horribly-concealed glances in his direction every few minutes. Though, as time went on, they were becoming lesser and lesser, the Garrison rat was disappearing into a mythical woman that belonged to the folklore of Small Heath. Honestly, in the months without her, sometimes it was hard to believe that she had ever truly lived.

The song roared on.

“Oh, the Garrison rat, the Garrison rat, she left at twilight and we haven’t seen her since that…”

[imunbreakabledude]

Hey! While reading Rescue Mission I couldn't help but wonder, once again, how Maeve "hitting rock bottom" or her being "a mess" was taken by the public when she was making them believe that was the case. How do you think it happened?

Like, was it hidden by Vought enough that only her peers or other celebrities knew "how bad" she was doing all the time and maybe there were just rumours going around in general or do you think it was widely known and seen by the general public?

I mean, on the fic you have her throwing up on a reporter, probably on a live show? So that would be hard to hide from the general public but then again Maeve was usually presented as a role model and she was such a big celebrity and inspiration to young girls and women in general that I think something like that could damage her reputation beyond repair (and Vought's) so I'm surprised Vought would let that happen for such a long time, especially when they were still dealing with the repercussions regarding Stormfront and her relationship with HL.

And like, I was literally wondering how her fans or the mothers of her young fans would've reacted too. I can't think of a real life situation to compare it with because I don't know much about celebrities' scandals but I wonder if she lost some fans or public support or if there were people like defending her or coming up with theories on why she was such a mess.

It was probably linked to her breakup with Elena (which realistically would've damaged Elena too, especially regarding hate from fans, but you covered a bit of it in Saviour Complex) but yeah, I was just wondering about that and wanted to know how you think it went or if you had any thoughts about it.

i actually had to look back at my fic because I couldn't remember the context of that detail you're talking about and it sounded crazy like you said hahaha but, tho i admittedly didn't think much about that detail while writing it, I have an explanation... (which turned out quite long so putting behind a cut but I kind of love thinking about Vought and the public's responses to Maeve's real-or-fake drinking problem)

so that bit about her faking vomit on a report is in chapter 6... first off, I guess I didn't write it in the text, but I was envisioning this being some pre-taped interview, not live TV. so the whole world wouldn't see that, just the people on set, and Maeve would just get sent home and bitched out and it would never air... and the news crew would be cajoled/paid off by Vought into keeping quit, the only way the public would find out is if one of the crew members anonymously spread it to a rumor site or tabloid, which is way different than actually seeing that on tv.

and, in context of this story, it's the excuse she uses to get out of work so she can go swipe compound v. in other words, she knows that this is one of the last things she has to do before the fight and it means that she and annie will confront homelander within the next couple days, so it doesn't really matter even if people think she's worse off because it's about to all be over.

All that to say - for your broader question - i assume throughout her fake-drunk-act before and during Season 3, Maeve is very careful about how she acts and how public it is, finding the sweet spot where it will cause murmurs but not get her actually pulled from her job. bc she needs homelander (and the world, but mostly him) to not see her as a threat (and not wonder about where she's going off to in the evenings when she's meeting with butcher, or in my fic, annie) but also needs to remain close to him, obviously. and I think after years of dealing with that issue in the REAL sense Maeve would have a very good idea of what level of "drunkenness" it takes to get people working around her & maybe the tabloids to seize onto the "queen maeve is a mess right now" narrative without it becoming so mainstream that Vought has to "do something" about it.

I can't think of a good real life comparison bc I don't actually follow celebrity gossip closely - but there's a difference between a celeb being in a state where tabloids/gossip sites are posting stories like "[CELEB] SPOTTED PARTYING DRUNK, GETS IN FIGHT AT BAR" versus when celebs get so out of control or cross a specific line and get REGULAR NEWS OUTLETS talking about them - either how they got fired from a job, or got arrested, or are going to rehab or something. does that make sense? she would keep it to small incidents that would only be worth talking about to people who obsess over celebs but not bad enough the entire world would know.

in other words young fans/kids probably didn't get wind of any of it, i mean maybe some parents did and shook their heads and didn't want their kids playing with queen maeve dolls anymore but certainly it wouldn't be enough to fully tarnish her entire image.

This is a bit of an offshoot from what you asked but... to me this also comes into play with the difference that comes with ASHLEY being in charge versus Madelyn previously (when Maeve ACTUALLY had drinking issues). obviously they'd both share the same goal of keeping Maeve's alcohol issues under wraps for the sake of her brand and Vought's brand. but I think they had slightly different tactics/levels of success?

I imagine Madelyn being a lot stricter about it, partly due to her own personality and level of experience but also due to knowing Maeve better and having a longer, more established relationship... I think she worked very hard to get the press/others at Vought who might witness Maeve's slightly sloppier moments to keep quiet (with threats/payoffs) such that Maeve's alcoholism was nothing more than a rarely whispered rumor among the public for the first several years, not even showing up in the tabloids (bc Madelyn kept close watch on them). I think she also confronted Maeve about it very directly on a regular basis, and used all the emotional power she had to try to get Maeve to limit or stop drinking - a combination of kindness/support, tough love, and outright criticism and shame, ... a mix that she hones over the years because she KNOWS maeve well to know what is most effective in curbing it... a little. but obviously that is not a cure for alcoholism. so it maybe gets maeve to wake up and address her drinking or go to rehab a couple times, but it remains an ongoing issue that comes back over the years. it's just that Madelyn has a sort of SYSTEM for how to handle it, so it never becomes an issue that actually interferes too much with Maeve's place in the Seven, nor does it become a major issue known to the public. more like one of those things whispered by people in the industry who trade it around as a juicy 'open secret' between people who've worked around Maeve or other Supes.

When Ashley takes over, though... I mean, to be fair to Ashley she's got a LOT of problems to deal with from the jump, she didn't have a smooth transition what with Madelyn being murdered and all, didn't get proper training or introduction to the position of SVP, and Homelander's watching her every move, etc etc. but all that to say she is not as skilled as Madelyn at managing anything, including this particular issue. we don't see it in detail, but I envision Ashley's response to Maeve's backslide at the end of s2 (which, from her comments in s3 about being sober for 4 months, we can assume continued into roughly 8 months of heavy drinking, drugs, and depression, for REAL), as being... just desperate attempts to keep it from being obvious to the public, without having the capacity to worry about how to stop it.

like, if Madelyn was in charge at that point, I don't think she would "cure" Maeve's depression by a long shot, but she would probably be more proactive at stepping in and trying some combination of manipulation/distraction/support to get Maeve back on track after the Elena debacle, but I think Ashley just tries her hardest to ignore it so long as Maeve is still functional enough to show up to work - she's probably (rightfully) too scared to confront Maeve directly - she doesn't have that kind of relationship with her... so she just lets it happen for a bit, only stepping in with a last-minute payoff or threat if it seems like some really bad photo or video of drunk maeve might get out... not the same tight watch and lockdown Madelyn had, so minor stuff gets through more. It goes from "open secret among industry people" to "common fare for trashy tabloids to talk about". and it's probably in part in RESPONSE to seeing that happen and the way that others (incl homelander) look at her in that era, that Maeve realizes she can use it to her advantage... so even when she resolves to find a way to kill Homelander, and get sober to do so, she continues to ACT the same outwardly to maintain that pathetic image.

and obviously, when she's faking it, she's able to fine-tune exactly when and where and how she "acts" drunk, so she can be sure to keep it at an appropriate level that it's known but not causing undue attention.

however, both in the show and in my fic (since I kept that same story beat lol), this mostly-clever plan ends up backfiring on her in a way, because it makes it incredibly believable to the public that Maeve really HAS gone to rehab when Homelander has captured her. like, if annie didn't know for a fact that Maeve's act was a lie, she'd probably believe it too... (okay, no, she'd sense something was wrong but she might not have the conviction to set up a trap to try to get homelander to confess he's kidnapped her, yknow?) so it's a smart plan in a lot of ways, but it IS risky at the same time.

i haven't thought too much into the reasoning that intense Queen Maeve Stans (in-universe) would project onto her drunkenness but you're probably right... some would probably connect it to elena and blame her... others would probably just fiercely ignore/deny it and shun any other fans who talked about it at all... it's both funny and sad to think about

[captaintoddpstewartus]

When did you fuck @lisa-i-am ? How did your wife feel about it? Did she fuck Mr. C?

First time was at her meet the fans event she had I want to say in October 2021. Crazy night and what a resilient woman because she took cock after cock all night. She had different events set up which I thought was smart. It helped her not get a steady pounding of cock after cock. Fun night and I talked to a lot of guys there who agreed. It ran so smoothly. Like a professional operation. If you didn't know any better, you would've thought this wasn't the first time she had done this.

My wife Emz, knows that the only reason why I met her was because of @lisa-i-am. I met Lisa on Tumblr and had hit rock bottom from my previous wife's death. Lisa rescued me and gave me a will to live. Then she helped me find Emz. Emz knows the whole story and Emz also knows the antics Lisa gets into. Emz has always had an interest in it and was skeptical a good relationship could work like that. Emz would feel guilty at how much her pussy got wet. I told her I'm glad it made her as wet as I get hard. I've told Emz I don't really have a desire to fuck other women in general but if I had a shot at Lisa I would want to. At the same time, I told Emz I would never limit her on fucking men because it turned me on a lot and the reason why it turned me on a lot was because of Lisa. I knew it made Emz extremely wet whenever I talked about seeing another man's cock in her.

When Lisa planned her meet the fans event, I mentioned it to Emz. Emz asked me if I entered the drawing. I told her I had not and she asked why. I told her I didn't think she would be happy if I did that. Emz is the one who encouraged me to put my name in and she contacted Lisa to tell her she was okay with it. They had started to message back and forth a little when we got married building a friendship. I have a feeling that when they were messaging back and forth, is what helped get me selected.

Lisa and Mr. C wanted me and Emz to both come to Vegas to meet them. We had dinner with them a couple of nights before the event and met with them again the day after even though Lisa was wiped out from the fuckfest. We all hit it off as a group and Lisa made it clear we would all get together again and told Emz if she wanted Mr. C and I was okay with it, then she could. Next time we met in LA and Emz fucked Mr. C in our hotel bed and I fucked Lisa in their hotel bed. I'm not gonna lie, it's nice to fill another man's wife with cum and leave a wet spot to for him to come back to. He did the same for me.

We've met several times and this past two weeks they have been in Washington. We live in Seattle. They came for a funeral and then Mr. C's mom was rushed to the hospital and they've been dealing with that. Lisa reached out to me and told me Mr. C really needed her to get fucked and feel her pussy full of cum. I surprised her by bringing a friend and I surprised Mr. C by offering Emz to him. That was a couple of nights ago and man was that hot. We kind of did the same thing again tonight except I brought my friend again who brought another friend with a really nice big cock. I know Lisa doesn't like them too big, but I knew we would warm her up with our sizable cocks first. Let's just say it was a fun night and they were in better spirits with the good news on his mom. Emz was relentless with me and kept telling me how much better Mr. C was which fueled my desire for her even more. She took all four of our cocks tonight. She is growing into a mini Lisa and Joy. Can't say I'm complaining either.

[butternuggets-blog]

Night Driving

27. “I never thought driving around could be romantic” - @tetsunova Valentine's Day Prompt List

Fluff/Smut, M/M, Explicit Sexual Content: SAS Rogue Heroes, David/Mike

David had called Mike a dishy bastard and smiled flirtatiously at him because he did that with everyone.

It had been a pleasant surprise when he had purred "call me Mike" at him during their brief conversation in the middle of the New Zealand encampment raid. Made David's spine all tingly.

Now they were sneaking around Jalo like a couple of naughty school boys sneaking out of their dorm. Which, in a way, they were, except that David hadn't set foot in a classroom in years and Mike was scheduled to go on patrol anyway so only David wasn't really supposed to be here.

"I never thought driving around could be romantic" David leaned across to the driver's side as Mike brought the jeep out of base camp. He reached out and peeled up the bottom of Mike's shirt, lightly brushing his fingers across the exposed skin. Mike shivered involuntarily and said nothing, his eyes focused on the dark.

Once or twice a week, Mike liked to go out alone a little way from camp and wander around the dunes before coming back. It stopped him going stir crazy and helped keep his navigation skills sharp. In order to help prevent him from disappearing while on one of his excursions, David had insisted that he book them into the patrol schedule.

Eventually Mike found a place he liked and parked, cutting the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt. David was still leaning across, smiling at him, and he let Mike run his thumb along his jaw and gently cradle his chin.

The kiss that Mike pressed against David's lips was soft and warm. He opened his mouth wider; Mike tasted of peppermint toothpaste and whisky, and when he raked his hands through David's hair, locked them behind his head and pulled him in closer, David felt dizzy all the way down to his toes.

The night air was freezing so they weren't able to strip, although David did manage to slip his hands up and under Mike's shirt as he was pulled onto his lap.

He whined breathlessly as Mike began sucking kisses along his jaw and down his neck, as Mike's fingers loosened the first few buttons on David's shirt so he could reach his collarbone.

'..ah.. ah! Mike'

'Yes David, was there something you wanted?' Mike grinned against his shoulder and David shivered.

He reached between them and unbuttoned the fly on Mike's pants, slipping a hand inside.

'Oh nothing much, just thi-' David's jaw dropped and he glanced down to confirm that he was holding the right body part.

Mike's grin widened and he rolled his hips forward, causing David to let out a breathy whimper.

'Fuck me!'

'I was rather hoping we would' Mike chuckled.

David bit his lip and nodded enthusiastically.

'Mmhm, yes, just- Jesus Christ -let me just-'

David, trembling, took a deep breath and slid down between Mike's thighs. The corporal leaned back into the driver's seat as David fished him out of his pants.

David nearly drooled.

Mike was easily pushing double digits, and so thick David couldn't wrap his fingers around. He was half hard already; David licked a stripe across the tip and Mike twitched, hands clenching reflexively.

He couldn’t fit the entire cock in his mouth but he did his best, bobbing his head as he swallowed it down. He moaned as it hit the back of his throat, and pumped the shaft as he gently fondled Mike's balls with his spare hand.

Mike tasted amazing and he smelt even better, a heady mix of musk and something refreshing and sharp. David tried to angle his head so that his stubble wouldn't rub against Mike's inner thigh, but firm fingers gently tugging his hair forced him back into range.

After a few minutes David became aware that he was the only one making any noise. Was Mike enjoying this at all? He hadn't said anything, and his cock was rock-hard.

David glanced up; Mike's mouth hung open, silently gulping down air as he gripped David's head with sweating hands. His eyes were shut and his face was flushed, the redness rolling down his throat and underneath his collar.

David's own cock strained in his pants at the sight and he sped up, putting both hands behind Mike's knees and letting his jaw loosen so Mike could fuck into his mouth.

A squeak forced itself out of Mike, like he couldn't contain it any longer, then-

'I'm coming'

Mike made to pull away but David smacked his leg and swallowed him deeper just as Mike spilled down his throat, back arching. David did his best to lick him clean and Mike pulled him up by his shirt and kissed him.

'I can blow you in return, or I can fuck you'

'I thought you'd never ask'

David ignored his aching cock as he bent down onto the passenger seat.

'Hands on the door' Mike said, gruffly. David did as he was told, glancing over his shoulder as Mike slid his pants down around his knees.

'Did you bring the-' David hissed as Mike rubbed a cold, lube-slicked finger between his cheeks and over his hole.

'Shush, just breathe sir' Mike gingerly fingered the edge of David's rim and the incredulous expression David was wearing melted away for a second.

'Sir? Now?!'

'Why not?' Mike adjusted the angle of his hand and pushed. David choked on a groan as Mike leveled out at his knuckles, pulled out, and slid back inside.

Mike bit his ass as he buried a fourth finger inside and it was all David could do not to come right then. He was desperately hard and leaking precome all over himself, and he was dimly aware that he could touch himself if he needed but he couldn't make himself move, and there was spit dribbling down his chin, and then Mike removed his fingers and pushed his cock inside.

Two fingers. Three had David sobbing intermittently between ever-louder moans, and high pitched keeing whines that he hadn't known he could make.

David was bouncing now, hands gripping the side of the truck, stifled screams muffled by Mike's beret he had shoved between his teeth. Mike reached around and draped a hand loosely around the base of David's cock, just tight enough to provide some friction but not enough pressure for David to rub himself off on. It felt like exquisite torture.

Mike pumped David's cock properly in long, fast strokes as he gripped his hip with his other hand and pulled him back onto him, bottoming out. The sudden surge of pressure on his prostate made David scream so loudly his voice cracked; his legs seized up, his vision blurred, and he felt himself freefall over the edge.

Mike held him upright as he finished, his face buried in the middle of David's shoulder blades. Breathless and shaking, they stayed sitting together until David found the strength to clamber off Mike and clean himself off with a small rag.

'Excellent patrol' he wheezed. Mike held out a flask of water towards him and David offered a nip of rum in return. The two men swapped refreshments and smoked as they sat back, watching the stars.

[virginpornstar]

Free Zimbabwe

My first boyfriend Zimbabwe and I may have only dated for 6 months, but it was the most intense 6 month emotional roller coaster of a toxic relationship that I may ever expereince.

The first cut is the deepest, and the first relationship is definitely one that always sticks with you.

It's been over 5 years, almost 6, since we broke up. That was the last time I ever saw him, but even all these years later he's never left my mind.

I did truly love that man. It's crazy how things can start off so beautifully in the beginning, but then by the end it's so unrecognizable from that beautiful beginning.

I don't have any regrets. Well besides agreeing to have threesomes while in a relationship, but even that is a lesson learned to know to never repeat that mistake in future relationships. So no regrets. This relationship taught me so much about myself, and who I am when I'm in love.

Even though I was 26 in my first relationship, we all are young and dumb in our first relationships.

I'd been thinking of Zimabawe a lot lately. Well every year during Cuffing Season Snapchat does send me non stop old memories of me and Zimbabwe. We dated August - February which is all of Cuffing Season, so every 6 months I'm reminded of him with photos popping up every time I open SnapChat.

I don't have Zimbabwe's number. We aren't connected on social media, since he had my blocked when we were together and pretended he didn't have social media. Along with pretending to be DL/closeted while having an IG with 70K gay followers. The entire relationship was crazy, but I just chalked it up to well this is Atlanta...

The last time I heard from Zimbabwe was when he messaged me on Instagram nearly 2 years after our breakup to apologize for how he treated me. That didn't last long, since he had a bf and we were flirting, but he was acting like he was trying to be faithful. He also backed off once he realized I'd moved away from ATL.

Part of me thought he was sending feelers to find a new victim if the old one wasn't working out. To see if he could circle back to me.

I've always suspected that was Zimbabwe's M.O. The typical bum nigga tops in Atlanta. Professional hobosexuals. They just go from bottom to bottom for a place to live, which is easy to do. There's a lot of lonely bottoms with their own places in Atlanta, and so many bum homeless tops. It's easy to get seduced and love bombed, and move in your new boo since all you want to do is spend all your time together.

I hate thinking that, because i don't want to ever feel like Zimbabwe's love for me wasn't genuine, and he's assured me many times before and after the breakup that he did genuinely love me. Since he truly had nothing and was at rock bottom of his life when we were together. Still...there's always that little doubt.

I was hoping Zimbabwe and I would cross paths while I visited Atlanta for the first time in the 4 years since I moved away. Granted we never crossed paths after we broke up and were both still in Atlanta. Granted I lived in the city and he was always in the outskirts, and he wasn't ever in the gay scene, so we never had reasons to cross paths.

I was hoping he'd see me on Jack'd, and hit me up, and we'd spend the evening together and have sex. Lack of sex was a big issue in our relationship since I wasn't on PrEP back then, and I was too scared to have sex in Atlanta. Even while in a monogamous relationship, since being poz has always been my biggest fear.

I didn't see or hear from Zimbabwe while in was in ATL. Though now I know why.

Since I have no way to reach him since I don't have his number/email/social media, I did a google search of him days after I returned home from Atlanta.

Nothing really ever comes up whenever I searched him in the past. Besides an old LinkedIn profile that hasn't been touched in years. Though something new did pop up this time. A mugshot.

I was shocked. It was definitely a recent pic. The most recent pic I'd seen of him in years. It said he was arrested in September 2022 for trespassing/public indecency.

I was shocked. Well not about the arrest. He'd been arrested while we were together, and I was freaking out after not hearing from him for over 24 hours. Also I used to search his name while we were together/freshly broken up and so many court dates would pop up for Zimbabwe. Usually unpaid speeding/parking tickets/driving violations. That man would always be in trouble with the law...I do love a bad boy.

I assumed that with the date being September 2022 that this case would've been wrapped up by now, since it was over a year ago. It's October 2023. But then I started to dive deeper down the rabbit hole.

Luckily court documents are public, and you can also search if someone is locked up. I'd never had to search for an inmate before, so this all was new to me. Learning how to look up inmates and court documents. Though I learned quickly, and I learned a lot.

I learned that the arrest was actually for attempting to steal/break into a car and indecent exposure. I'm still confused about this all. I didn't find the arrest report with full details.

My first thought was was he arrested for cruising? That's been happening in ATL lately. Everyone's always fucking in public places in Atlanta. Especially with all the content creators.

But that would explain indecent exposure, but not the attempting to break into/steal someone's car. Like was he trying to break into someone's car naked?

One time Zimbabwe did get pissed about me blogging about us, and he grabbed my laptop and stormed out into the hallway in his underwear threatening to smash my laptop, and we were arguing in the hallway. It was so ghetto.

So maybe he got into a fight with a guy he was seeing, and stormed out while naked/half naked, and tried to break into their car/steal it? Then his dick fell out, and that lead to the indecent exposure?

I have no clue. I want answers! I need to find the full arrest report. I want details!

Then when I really started digging in court records. Zimbabwe wasn't arrested in September 2022, the court records I found said he was arrested in May 2023, and he didn't get out until the Saturday I was in Atlanta.

He was locked up from May to October, for the trying to steal a car and public indecency. Which is crazy. I read his letters to the court, which are publicly available, where he's begging to be released.

Zimbabwe admits to having a mental health issue, which explains a lot. You have to be mentally ill to think it's ok to lie to someone you're dating and pretend to be someone you're not for months. Though he could just be playing that up for sympathy to get released. Bringing up his mental health issues and being a vet. Though I believe it. He always had intense mood swings, and a lot aligns with bipolar disorder. Especially the hypersexual urges, mood swings, violent outbursts, lying for no reason, pretending to be someone he's not, etc...

Though I feel bad for Zimbabwe. I feel bad this is his life currently and what he's going through. Here I was hoping I'd reconnect with my first love, and he's been locked up in Fulton County for months. That jail keeps making headlines for the terrible conditions.

As much as this man has hurt me in the past, I do still care about him. I do still love him, or have love for him. It's just crazy how much can change in 5 years, but also not.

Zimbabwe would always talk down to me when we were together. Like I was a downgrade from his previous bfs since I was broke and struggling too. Granted he got 2 cars repossessed while we were together, and he was homeless, suicidal, and a rock bottom but I still always loved him and was there for him.

It was struggle love, but I definitely was madly in love. I mean on the bright side he's now finally free from jail. Court records still list his case as open, so I don't think he's in the clear yet.

Though 5 months locked up is crazy, but trying to break into/steal a car is a felony charge. The public indecency is just a misdemeanor.

I want to talk to him still. I'm nosy and want his side of everything, but also I do still miss him.

As toxic and tumultuous as my relationship with Zimbabwe was, I did really love that man. I definitely loved him way more than BMore Bae. Zimbabwe is the one that got away in a way. Granted we needed to get away from each other, and with all these issues he's still going through all these years later, I'm glad I got away.

Yet I do always wonder how life would've been had we did continue to date, or if things would've gone differently. Granted he's clearly not matured if he's still getting arrested now like he was 5 years ago, and this time the charges are worse.

So this should be the wakeup call I need to realize that I shouldn't be reminiscing and nostalgic for an ex that literally just got out of jail less than 2 weeks ago.

[anonymousfiction211]

You just have to believe: 5

You just have to believe masterlist

Proposition Rachel opened her eyes and had to blink a few times, to get adjusted to the bright light. After she did, she tried to sit upright on the bed. She felt the sharp pain from her abdomen, and the previous night started to come back to her. The crazy woman who, after Rachel denied to have taken her stuff, had stabbed her. The memory was nearly as painful as the actual deed. She struggled to sat upright, but finally managed.

She pulled off the blanket to check on the wound. When she removed her shirt, she was surprised to see it was wrapped up in bandages. That's when the panic set in. She realized that someone, while she was unconscious, had brought her back to here and tended to her wounds. Even though it was kind that they did, she didn't know who they were. Or with how many they were. If they had good intentions or if they hadn't. She realized that she had clenched the sheets with her fists. She looked around the room again, desperate for a hint to where she was. But she didn't find any.

The room was quite luxurious. The bed she laid on was king sized, the mattress was soft and the blanket was clearly of high standard. If she wasn't panicking right now, she would say this was one of the best beds she had ever rest in. But now was not the time to dwell on that. Rachel shuffled to the edge of the bed and swung her feet over. She saw that her ankle was wrapped in bandages too. She started to search her body, to find that multiple old injuries were attended to. Injuries she didn’t go to the doctor for, because she didn’t had healthcare anymore.

Right before she wanted to stand, the door swung open. A dark-haired men walked in with a food of tray. He eyed her up and down.

‘You should not be out of bed’ he said. While he sat the tray down on the table, on the other side of the bed from her.

He didn’t comment on the fact that her breath hitched when he entered or how she was shrinking underneath his gaze. She didn’t trust him. For a moment she wondered how far she would get, if she indeed get out of the bed and ran through the hallway. Even if she could ignore the pain long enough, she still had to find a way out the house. If there was a way. And after that she had to figure out where she was, and where she would go. She had a feeling that he would go after her, and it wouldn’t take him long to catch up with those long legs.

‘I’m sorry, I should start at the beginning’ he said, when he finally saw that she was uneasy about his presence.

‘I’m Loki. I was walking around yesterday, when I heard someone scream. I went to check it out, and found you laying on the ground, bleeding’

‘Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?’ Rachel interrupted him. He couldn’t hide the smile from the sharp remark she made, even when she was still a bit foggy from all the spells he used to heal her.

‘Well, since I’m running for president I have a really good doctor in my service. I don’t mean to offend you, but judging by the neighbourhood, the clothes you were wearing, and the fact that you had little to none possessions with you, I thought a hospital with high bills would do you more harm than good’

Rachel stayed silence. He wasn’t wrong and had judged her excellently. She was embarrassed that she had reached a stage, where people could tell she was at rock-bottom, just by taking a look at her.

‘Thanks’ she mumbled. Still a little bit shaken by the fact that she was somewhere else, with a guy she didn’t know. But that’s when it hit her.

‘Wait? Running for president?’

Loki nodded.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you. You are the guy, Thor’s brother, yes?’ she asked.

It took Loki every fibre in his being to keep him from glaring and rolling his eyes. Instead he gave her a fake smile, which he hoped she didn’t recognize as fake.

‘Yes, like I said. I’m Loki, and trust me. I’m much more than just Thor’s brother. What is your name?’

Rachel could tell she hit a nerve, but he was nice about it. She thought it was best not to bring it up again. ‘I’m Rachel’ she told him.

‘Nice to meet you. I propose, you lay down in bed again, and eat something. I will send someone to bring you fresh clothes and crutches. If you feel up for it, come downstairs this afternoon. I’m very interested to hear your story, because I think we might be able to help one another’

Rachel eyed him up and down. He was acting too kind for a mere stranger, and she didn’t trust the fact that he thought she could help him. But curiosity got the better of her, that and the comfy bed she was sitting in. She moved the other side of the bed, towards the tray of food. Loki smiled and gave her a small nod. He started to make his way back to the door.

She saw the orange juice, the pain au chocolate and a croissant with butter and cheese. Her favourite.

‘How were you able to pick the things I like the most?’ she asked surprised.

Loki turned around ‘A lucky guess, I guess’ he winked at her. He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. He mentally cursed himself. He actually tried to do something nice, and almost blew his cover in the process. Realizing that he might have to be a little more careful with his powers around her, than he would have thought.

 Rachel had finished the food. There was a knock on the door and a kind looking woman came in. She had crutches and fresh clothes, like Loki said. She asked the woman who she was. Apparently she was one of his secretaries, and had nothing but kind words about Loki. She showed you were you could take a shower. The bathroom was as luxurious and the bed room. You loved every minute of the shower, feeling like a real human being again.

After she was all cleaned up, she grabbed the crutches and slowly made her way downstairs. The long stairway wasn’t easy, one step and one crutch at the time. But she managed. In the living room, Loki was in conversation with two other man. There were a bunch of documents scattered across the table, they were sitting at. He saw Rachel come in, and whispered something to the men. They nodded and Loki stood up.

‘Good to see you out and about’ he smiled.

‘You really have a luxurious home’ she said, looking around. He guided her towards another room, which she figured was the living room. There was a large couch, he motioned her to sit. He asked about her story, and she told everything. The accident, losing her job, losing her healthcare, losing her house and eventually her friends. How she tried to make it on the street, and was failing miserably. And that she didn’t know where she could get help.

‘I think I can help you’ Loki said when she had told him everything.

‘I’m not interested in being some girl you can film for a campaign video, telling you how you are going to reform healthcare and the housing market’ she bit back. A little regretting it, because what choice did she have at this point?

‘Not even for a large sum of money?’ he mused. He could tell that he had her with that remark. But he quickly continued. ‘But that’s not what I was going to propose’

‘I can tell you all about my plans to reform everything. How underneath my leadership, people like yourself wouldn’t get in a situation like that. But to actually achieve something, I have to win. And right now, it’s not looking good’ he said.

‘You see, I need more of an identity. The first thing people associate me with, is Thor. And the second thing is that awful situation with Jane Foster. And I tried to show people that I’m kind and understanding. But research shows that people want to get to know me, on a more personal level. They want to know what I’m like, how I live etcetera’

‘Yes..’ Rachel hesitantly answered. Not really sure where he was going with this.

‘To cut right to the chase. I need people to see me as one of them. I need a wife, or at least a girlfriend’ she could see something in his eyes, which she couldn’t quite place. It was something mischievous.

‘A girlfriend?’

‘A girlfriend would get people talking about me, the paparazzi will post cute pictures, people will change their mind about me. Especially, when they see a nice looking girl who supports me in my campaign. It is more the American way, I have recently discovered’

‘I can’t argue with that’ Rachel answered. ‘But, and I mean no offense, you don’t look bad, you are exotic, clearly have the money and are a literal God. If you have trouble finding a girl, I think every men on the planet is doomed’

To her surprise, Loki laughed out loud. His laugh was genuine, enthralling. Contagious even, It made her laugh as well. ‘Thanks for the compliment. Maybe you are right. But you see, I actually need a girl who I can instruct what to do, when I need it to be done, who people think is my girlfriend. Not a ‘wild card’ like you people say’

‘Let me guess, that is where I come in?’ she said.

‘Yes’ Loki smiled. ‘For the next upcoming months I want to ‘hire’ you. Just to go on fake dates, go to important events, laugh in front of the cameras, and pretend to be completely happy and in love with me.’

‘I have to do just that’ Rachel emphasized.

‘It sounds like a lot, but we will prepare you for everything. And in exchange, you will get a pay check, your own room in this house, healthcare benefits, and a great way to network for a future job’

Rachel had to admit, it did sound enticing. Pretend to be someone’s girlfriend for a few months, for a luxurious live and an opportunity for a good future. Plus, Loki seemed like a nice guy.

‘What happens if you win, though?’ she asked.

‘You are very sharp’ Loki smiled. ‘If I lose, people will forget about us. If I win, you can either choose to keep up the charade, or we break up under the ‘pressure of the new job’. I will help you set up somewhere else, even another country if that is what you desire’

‘I ehm..’ Rachel started but was cut off.

‘Look, I get it. It is a lot I’m asking for. But you do get a lot in return. You don’t have to answer me now. I wanted to invite you for dinner. It is getting dark in two hours, and I don’t want to send you away, knowing you have nowhere to go. You can stay here for a night, and if you want to leave tomorrow, you are free to go. Just think about it’

Loki had set her up in the living room, with the tv-remote and some books. He would call her for dinner. He even got her a chair and a cushion, to keep her ankle elevated. Doctor’s orders apparently. After some time she was greeted by the amazing smell off roasted chicken. Looking around, she already knew what her answer was going to be.

General taglist: @benaddictcumberbatch​ @joyful-enchantress​

Series taglist: Let me know if you want to be added!

[slow-button-off]

Max was so calm because he knows all the other drivers will just let him pass like nothing (like every other time) and he'll be in the top 5 in like 2 laps lol and Ferrari will screw up with Charles so he won't be able to battle

The other drivers should start remembering that they are there to at least TRY and bring home points instead of just letting Max pass for fear of him pushing them into a wall

And you can't even say "they know their battle is not with Max" because last year they defended against Charles like crazy even though Charles was in another league, fighting for p1 and then p2, and there was no point in battling with him

They'll just let Max pass like always

I really hope we'll see the results of the penalties against Red Bull soon, when upgrades are required. Right now they have a rocket ship like last year. Last year they had some engine failures but still won almost everything. It's absurd that the penalties for cheating came so late and will probably not affect them until late this season. They cheated in 2021 and only suffer the consequences in late 2023 (but most likely 2024)? And in the meantime keep winning? While Ferrari was tanked and reduced to a mid team without proof after winning just 2 races in 2019? Absolutely ridiculous on the FIA's part. They were just tired of the Mercedes dominamce and couldn't stand Hamilton being the first driver in history to win an 8th title.

I've been watching this sport for 20 years and it's become such a joke. I thought we hit rock bottom years ago after the most infamousscandals, but apparently not.

I do agree that there are some drivers that defend weirdly hard against Charles (lando) overall it's the same for most drivers.

Max last year had by far the fastest car on the straights, there was no defending him because he just breezed past them on the straight.

Defending against Charles was a little bit more possible because he didn't just get to breeze past people with DRS.

But that's a car thing and not a Max thing. All of the Merc engines routinely let the Mercs past super easily. none of this is super out of the ordinary.

The whole Ferrari thing in 2020 with the engine was never an actual punishment. They just couldn't use that engine any more and therefore had to take those steps back because they didn't have a back up engine. The regs changed and for 2020 that 2019 engine was no longer allowed.

It's not completely comparable.

I am a little bit confused about your outrage over the regs change coming into 2022.

Regs change all the time. that's not some new thing to somehow shaft just Merc. And regs were changed anytime there was a more dominant period in F1. That has nothing to do with Lewis and the 8 titles.

To still keep it on topic with Lewis RB was super dominant with Seb and the blown diffuser and then the regs changed and only Merc got it super right. now Lewis and Merc had one of the longest dominant streaks in F1, which is something you should be aware of, and it ended like most others with reg changes.

Merc didn't get shafted mid season with new regs that was a scheduled regs change that even got pushed back. This wasn't about Lewis and specifically the 8 titles.

look at this collection of 2015 results:

Mercs 30s ahead

mercs 30s ahead of the Ferrari

Merc 40s ahead

this time only 20s

another 30s

and that's just from the first like 14 races and Merc won more that's just the ones with really big gaps.

This isn't the first time something like this is happening in F1 and it will not be the last time.

I would like for the penalty to be in effect sooner than later because I much like most people am not the biggest fan of dominance.

But this is neither unprecedented nor was there a conspiracy to keep Lewis from winning.

I can't quite believe that after 2.2 years people have forgotten just how dominant Merc was. But I think some also don't want to remember.

[screechingdinosaurchopshop]

I’m taking a good thing and turning it into goodbye.

Kyle doesn’t recognize himself anymore since moving in - I’m to blame for that. I’m making him cuss and yell and fight in front of brooks.

One week.

Fucking hell Rachel don’t let the best thing leave because you can’t get out of your head!!!

Hi babessssss. Your final Christmas gift is something you’re not expecting but I think it’s necessary. An explanation for my recent behavior.

It doesn’t make sense and for that I’m sorry. I was testing you. For what or why I don’t know. J used to threaten me with leaving or talking to someone. I know my trauma is my responsibility and my only purpose in this is to explain. I wanted to make sure you meant it when you said you weren’t going to leave or purposely hurt me.

I hit rock bottom though and I seriously fully intend to not get to that point again.

Idk if you remember but last Christmas you sent a text saying hopefully this is the last Christmas we’re not together & I’m so grateful/thankful/blessed that’s my reality- hopefully it’ll be my reality for the rest of my life.

^ I started this after the first fight with the dog shit and the vacuum- not sure why I didn’t finish it or just send that?

Got distracted - went to read the last note I wrote on my app about all things you & me. My anxious thoughts:

“So I was just going to tell you this in the morning when you call, but I didn’t want to wait. Also figured you’d read this when you wake up ☺️ Thank you for loving me and sending me that text before bed. I’m getting in bed with the biggest freaking smile on my face bc of it. This season of life is crazy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know how you feel (maybe not exactly the same) but I feel sad when y’all leave me after being together all weekend. So I really can’t wait for November. All the sleepovers and togetherness is going to be amazing. “

^ I wanna get back to this girl -STATasap.

Just heard a commercial with a cat and teared up because I miss nally so much. I love you and the boys down past my core, but I’m waaaay outnumbered.

“I don’t think I said this earlier in person, so I apologize, BUT I appreciate you so much for following me with the nail and letting me take your car to church and just being caring/concerned. I know it wasn’t a Sunday watching football on the couch, but it means a lot. I really have not had that in a life partner before so I’m sorry I went straight to wanting to call my dad. It’s just what I’ve done before I was married and then when I was bc J sucks. “

This is just another reason of you contributing & taking care of me. I’m sorry I really struggle with believe I’m deserving of any type of care. (Thought was waaaaaaay before we started dating back to me telling my dad I thought something was wrong with my mom and she was one person before school confident sweet and caring and after school she was cold sad and depressing/hurt- but also triggered me when you said it today in the car and I lashed out because I felt attacked and brooks was in the car.) also these fights are contributing to my trauma & I realize that is not what I need or want you for, but more respect you for putting up with me and not giving up.

But anywho like I think who I was when I was sending those is someone you were happy with and not questioning which Rachel you’d be walking into.. you used to reply to them and it’s okay if you don’t anymore, I just liked the reassurance.

I feel like that was bitchy and I’m sorry. That was also why I asked you what’s something that we both think is bitchy since I know brooks can’t read yet, but he’d ask what it says so I wrote my foot on the mirror. 😂😂😂

Bitchy in how I’m talking. I dunno. I’m sorry if it’s written rudely I just don’t know. I don’t know why I’m now like scared to talk to you now but it’s really bothering me. 😅

I’m not proofreading this so I’ll probably cringe when you read this or I’ll be asleep. You’re the best friend, lover, man partner, father, daddy😉👦🏼, teacher, coach, godly man I’ve ever met. How and why would I ever fuck that up to this point?! I meant what I said earlier. I’m starting over this year with trying on the controlling feelings on my part. I don’t have to take everything in the world so personally. I’m not a stuck up bitch. I’m afraid the anxiety about work and stuff is going to be there til I get my depression in check and/or get a new job. But mama wants a home with you, brooks, maxxy poo, booboo& dew so that new job is on hold and a new car for me. I want the Tessie because I want you and brooks & the pups forever and ever amen.

Holy fuck. I told you about when I wanted to die. And how I paced around the whole house for 8 hours. If you wanna know more about it let me know or if you wanna hear about it Jonathan knows. He’s the reason I’m still here so if you ever question my friendship ( don’t worry I do sometimes haha 😂) with him, that’s why. He’s like my little brother.

What do you think of this?

No I didn’t tell her that, just had the thought and wanted to share. Again. I don’t know how to talk about things with you, but I guess I can write it out. If you wanna do it, let me know I’ll call Fido’s and ask my mom to watch dew .

You just rolled over and put your arm around me. I think I could melt in your arms forever. I am going to make the best of this week and just pray often you don’t walk away from this.

Last thing and I’m going to shut my brain off - I want to text lauren in that group text about brooks birthday & just say like so excited for brooks birthday party- hope y’all are on the mend from covid- happy new year! 🎊

Wanted to get your thoughts tho before sending it. Forever hoping we’re going to going together but I know. I’m taking it a day at a time.

Please play Xbox again tho & lock the door just tell me that’s what’s happening or you need to be alone and I’ll fuck off.

You haven’t asked, but with our fighting aside I did have a great time off with you. I know you probably think it’s crazy I’m saying that, but I’m blessed and grateful for you every damn day.

I lover you handsome.

[foreignerabroad1994]

A Talking Sword: Short Story Writing Prompt

My response to the following writing prompt by u/poiyurt on the WritingPrompts subreddit:

[WP] You've gained a enchanted magic sword that can talk to you! That'd be amazing - but this sword has no combat experience and the mentality of an edgy teenager.

Miya stared down at the absolutely enormous sword gleaming on the dusty wooden countertop in her garage. She wasn't sure how she'd gotten it, exactly, because she didn't exactly set out to get a sword on her way back from dropping her son at his dad's house after another temper tantrum. It was just there when she got out of the car, paper bags full of boxed wine, bread and salty butter tucked under her arms and her hair a frizzy mess from the perpetually open window of her shitty car. Honestly, she was looking forward for solitary quality time with cheap alcohol, white flour, a new Love Island episode and potentially, a sneaky little hangout with her vibrator.

She made sure the bottles weren't going to tip over at her feet before she made her way a bit closer to the metal monstrosity. Was it Ian's? But her son was more into girls, overpriced sneakers and leaving a mess than roleplaying games. He hadn't wanted a sword of any kind since he was five.

She wondered if she should be more worried about the sudden appearance of a giant sword in her little suburban home, but she wasn't. She'd worn out her capacity to capably emote about two fights ago.

"What in the fucking hell are you doing here?" she mumbled, carefully running a suspicious finger over the smooth, cold metal. She had to admit, it was beautiful, as far as uselessly massive weapons went. Perfectly smooth and shiny, with no visible fingerprints or specks of dust, it was nearly as long as her whole body.

"And why the fuck are you touching me without my fucking permission?" a tinny, whiny voice replied, and she practically jumped ten feet in the air, looking around in a panic. Maybe Ian was right and she was, indeed, crazy.

"Over here, grandma," the grating voice almost seemed to roll its eyes, cracking ever so slightly. "The metal thing in your house, yes. Hi."

She blinked. Had she been drinking? Had she hit such rock bottom that she fell asleep, only to imagine the voice of an obnoxious teenager coming out of a piece of metal? "Hi?"

"Well I can't exactly wave at you, can't I? Waving is your job. Last time I heard, people, with arms, carry swords."

She huffed. "I don't know if this is real or not, but if it is, someone has a sick sense of humor to send me Ian's inanimate doppelgänger."

"I don't know any Ians."

She put her hands exasperatedly on her hips. "Well unlike you, talking scrap, he's a real boy. Smells, hormones and all."

"Ouch, really hurt my feelings there with that killer line, lasy. I'm so offended. My non existent heart in my non existent chest is broken."

"You know, when I made that little bastard and shot it out of my body while his dad was stationed in the Middle East, I had a lot of dreams. I thought, maybe he'd be a nice boy, and we'd have nice talks in a nice house-"

"Where is this going?"

"And here I am. Ian hates breathing air in the same room as me, his dad is now openly fucking his colleague who was definitely just his good friend back in the desert, and I'm talking to a sword, potentially hallucinating, about to drink myself asleep."

There was a long silence. She rubbed her face, feeling her shoulders sink. This sword could protect someone out there. Maybe it could be featured in a cool movie with shirtless men who grunt and touch each other homoerotically. Instead, there it was ready to be wielded by her, who hadn't lifted anything heavier than these grocery bags in years.

"Look, buddy, I don't know how you got here. I'm sure you're a nice young- sword... but I am tired, and my arms are noodles, so I couldn't wield you much further than the curb. I think you should leave the way you came, which is an insane thing to tell an object."

"If I knew how I got here, I sure as fuck would be using that information to get the hell back to where I came from, but I'm apparently stuck with you, so deal with it."

"Wait..." her brows furrowed. "You mean you don't know how you got here? Do you even know where you're from?"

She heard a squeaky huff. "Of course I-" the voice cut off. It was quiet again. "Actually, I don't... I don't know."

Something maternal in her heart cramped at that lost, tinny voice. She couldn't imagine appearing suddenly, completely immobile, in a foreign place with a foreign person, completely unable to do anything without their help.

"I'm sorry."

The sword took another minute to reply. "Maybe your sorry ass can figure out a way to get me the fuck out of this hellhole."

And there went that maternal ache straight out the proverbial window. "You're a mouthy little shit, you know that?"

The chuckle it gave made the metal blade vibrate ominously, like a giant guitar string. "Apparently. But you'd be mad too if you got stuck with an incompetent old woman as your wielder."

"I am not old."

"That's what offended you? Really?"

"Shut up." She slid down on the stool near the counter.

They sat there in relatively companionable silence, or at least she thought so - after all, this thing didn't exactly have expressions.

"Have you ever even been in a fight?"

"Of course I've-"

"I see that's a big fat no."

The sword vibrated again. It didn't add anything.

She looked down at the thing. She carefully slid her fingers around the hilt, feeling its impressive weight. She assumed that with some effort and two free hands, she could probably move it inside, at least. Maybe Ian would think it's cool. Maybe he'd take one look at her sitting around talking to a sword and never come back home again.

"You gonna fondle me forever, woman?"

She sighed and gave him a few seconds of silent, disappointed staring. Apparently, it worked on swords just as well as pimply boys, because before long, an unsure, defiant "what" made the sword vibrate in her hand.

"Want to go watch some TV?" she asked.

"I don't know what that is."

"It has moving pictures with sounds. They tell stories. It's in a little square."

"Hmm."

She took the time to make sure her car and garage doors were both locked. She was about to pick up the groceries when that tinny voice piped up.

"TV sounds nice, actually."

[aswecollapse]

i want to break down the last week...

i thought i had hit rock bottom and then the floor gave out. it was a culmination of everything piling up - stress, lack of sleep, inability to eat, the body aches returning, all of it just all at once. i think it all boils down to the stress, though. like a domino effect where once i couldn't sleep well, i started to not be able to eat much, and then it made everything hurt (though, i'm sure some of that has to do with it being a while since i last fed on anything, supernaturally). i know things have been really difficult lately and i'm trying to give myself more patience, more time to process, and just more... i don't know - more things i'm not used to giving myself, i guess.

yesterday and today, i was able to get in for back to back therapy sessions to really sit down, pick apart, and work through what my brain is trying to process. that's where this whole new found "try to be patient with myself" thing is coming from because it's easier said than done and if i don't put in the work, it will have bad consequences because this is the type of thing that will drive a person crazy - to the point of irreversible damage, or near irreversible. having the last day or so undisturbed by anything, focusing on this, and trying to get a handle on it is probably the best thing i could have asked for, given everything. it was good to have an unbiased perspective from someone who knows the entire story.

i want to be able to talk to spencer about these things. i trust him, yes. i love him and i know it would be met with nothing but understanding, patience, and love. he has never once made me doubt that. but, to unpack all of this would be a lot not only for me to do again but maybe even for him to hear because he does care about me so much. i don't want him to take on any of the weight of any of it because none of this is or ever was his fault, by any means. i feel like the main concern wouldn't even be that but he has the tendency to... for lack of a better way to say it, he gets protective to the point of destruction. and i can't say i blame him because of how long he's been alive, how much loss he's endured, and probably a lot of other reasons. i don't want him to make any decisions that he would later regret or would cause other issues (especially with everything going on with anna's case). i'm still going to try to at least give him the highlight reel because this stuff, unfortunately, it just part of who i am and why i am the way i am.

i'll spare the details here since i'm already going to have to dive into it again to some extent with spencer. basically, getting into a physical fight with andy unlocked some deep rooted, repressed memories of stuff with my family that i really did package up, shoved in the back of brain, and forgot about entirely. which of course, wasn't just an all at once thing, either. it has been coming in waves of new, tiny things just popping up as i'm trying to navigate my day to day.

but anyways, having yesterday and today to just focus on that was needed. i know that i isolated yet again but it wasn't in a way that was noticeable or damaging. it was more just a "recharge" time, i guess? that's what i'm going to call it if anyone asks. there's certain people i'll allow to be around during that recharge time, too. spencer, andy, ricky, basically anyone on our touring crew. they're not overwhelming.

i'm just really hoping the only way to go from here is up. i can't handle anymore but i know i have a support system, i know i need to keep working on it, i know that eventually, i will be okay but for now, the thing i can always hold on to is that i am safe and i am loved. i'm trying.

[unsprouted-seed]

Yeah ... I knew this was coming. Eating is too much... Is it really a relapse at this point? was it ever not? Hard questions to answer... either way I’m definitely back.

I think it’s just... gonna be like this. At least til I see my dr. The constant fight for control, back and forth. Starve one day, eat the next. But I feel very much detached from it right now.

Got tired of being sober. Drank some more. Seems like a terrible fucking idea, especially on an empty stomach, esp after such a bad experience so recently. Oh well. I’m taking it WAY slower. Had one glass of wine and I’m already pretty tipsy... no need to push it too far, I’m just glad to be feeling a bit out of it. Sobriety’s just too hard right now. ‘sides, wine’s got lots of cals... so better if I don’t have too much...

Pulled the trigger on my new housemate. My current housing situation’s on the verge of dissolving and the alternative’s moving in with my family which... god, what a nightmare that would be. So I stopped pretending I have a real option and just told my new housemate to come on down. I’ll work out the details when I work them out... I’m sick of having to have all the answers for everyone so hopefully it’ll work out but I can’t see the future... all I know is that it’s more likely to work out okay with another person than not. Maybe it’ll be great.

My uncle’s a recovering alcoholic. Apparently so much so that the doctors were afraid that he’d go into critical withdrawals if he stopped drinking too fast. Like, a really intense alcoholic. I’ve known plenty of alcoholics, drug addicts, and mentally complex people... and I had no idea that he had this situation. When he told me it was a big surprise, because I’d always thought of him as a really stable, put-together guy. Made me wonder...

I sit here and think ... I HATE being seen to eat, I HATE being seen to gain weight, to be seen to even be the weight I am now. I hate the idea of people looking at me and thinking “She doesn’t LOOK anorexic to me...” when I told mum it was SO hard because she had exactly the reaction I expected: shock. It was like... the least likely thing I could’ve said to her. Partly cos I hid it really well and partly cos... I don’t “look anorexic.” And that makes it SO fucking hard to even consider recovery. Not just because I don’t feel anything like what I want to... I’m nowhere near a gw that would work for me. But because ... when people look at me... people who KNOW I’m anorexic... I can FEEL their judgement, FEEL them scanning me for signs and symptoms and hints and shit, I feel the need to prove myself because my body doesn’t do it for me. I LOVE blood tests because they’re a catastrophe. I can point at them and say “SEE??? SEE????? IT SAYS RIGHT THERE, STARVATION!! LOOK I’M NOT LYING!”

I know that I’m paranoid. I KNOW that I’m paranoid, I’ve looked it up, I’m definitionally paranoid, I’ve been paranoid my whole life. I KNOW that when I can ... FEEL people judgeing me, when I can almost hear their thoughts, when I’m so fucking frail to their gaze and I’m cowering by the door wondering what the delivery person will think of me for ordering whatever i’ve ordered, or when I KNOW what my family’s imagining as they look at me, or when I just...

I know I’m paranoid.

But that doesn’t make me less paranoid. It just makes me more aware of how crazy I am, and more angry at myself for not being able to change it.

And I know that paranoia is a part of anorexia. I know the two go hand in toxic hand, dragging me down the same terrible path. I know that... even as I feel absolutely powerless to stop it. But I can’t help but wonder... When I describe anorexia to people addicted to other things I find it so helpful to describe it in terms of addiction. Addiction to control, to loss, to pain, to the agony of it. I just wonder... does my uncle fear that he doesn’t look alcoholic enough? Does he sit there and think ... if people don’t see him at his worst... was it even real? If he doesn’t hit rock bottom... if he’s not in hospital... if he’s not in the grave... is he alcoholic enough for people to treat him well? For them to believe him? For him to truly, honestly recover?

Would that even make sense to him to ask?

[bokuroskitten]

c-cockwarming with kuroo kenma bo ushi and iwa? 😳

I’ve got some real big brained anons asking me real big brained asks😌

ℌℭ ❦

〈 Kuroo, Kenma, Bokuto, Ushijima and Iwaizumi and how they like cockwarming

✵ genre: NSFW 18+ (Minors DNI)

✵ warnings: cockwarming, dom/sub dynamics (daddy, papa, & sir titles used), mentions of voyeurism

Kenma would have you warming him up all the time if he could, so every chance he gets he’s calling you over. Gaming, streaming, watching tv, doing just about anything, he loves sliding you down nice and slow on his cock. Your walls have been fit to his cock by now, so it’s always the perfect squeeze when you sit on him. Typically he’ll have you sit in his lap, back against his chest so you can do what you want as well, but mostly it’s so whenever he is live steaming he can suddenly thrust within you, watch the way you desperately try to keep your composure so the chat won’t start talking about how flushed you suddenly look.

“K-Kenma...” you murmur softly, feeling the warmth from your face slowly begin to spread along your chest. A smirk flickered over Kenma’s features, only for a brief moment, before he was back to that serious look, eyes glued to his game. “Yea babe?” He spoke, nonchalant as ever. That had your cheeks puffing up briefly, eyes darting from his game to the webcam that had the little green light on. You knew very well the stream was on, and considering the number in the bottom corner just kept steadily rising, you couldn’t just blurt out loud ‘Quit moving your hips’. Before you could even really get the thought out, Kenma knew, thrusting his hips up once more. One fluid motion of his body and his cock was hitting perfectly along your sweet spot. This time you couldn’t hold back the little Yelp that bubbled from your lips. Kenma had to laugh, quick to mute his mic as the chat began to pop off. He wouldn’t turn it off though. Oh no. He just got close to your ear, whispered in that voice he knew you loved.

“Better relax Kitten, or I’m gonna have to fuck you right here on stream. So sit pretty for me... unless my naughty girl wants it... you want it, baby?”

⋆⋆⋆

Kuroo is on his computer a lot, doing work and attending online meetings. He has set up a nice little office space for himself and he finds himself in there a little more than he likes. Especially since he has such a cute little kitty at home just waiting to be played with. Sometimes, when you just can’t stay away from him you poke your head in the door, the little mewl you let out making Kuroos brows twitch. Only a couple of pleas from your pretty lips has him caving. He likes when you straddle him, your little cunt fluttering so perfectly around his cock. He also likes how hard you cling to him, face in his neck and fingers getting lost in the hairs at the nape of his neck. Whenever he feels your hips begin to rock he’ll tsk, putting an easy stop to it.

“Kitty, don’t get greedy,” Kuroo speaks right beside your ear, goosebumps easily rising along your arms as you let out a needy whine. You hope it’s pretty enough to make Kuroo cave, or at least enough to make him let go of your hips. “P-Please Daddy, needa feel more of you in my cunny.” And it was true, you’re puffy walls were currently hugging him so perfectly, squeezing along his cock. Your legs tightened about his waist, wanting to add some friction to your clit that was currently throbbing for it. But Kuroo still had work to do, and even though your pleas made him weak at the knees, made his resolve wanna crumble so he could fuck you right here on the desk, he had to teach his pretty baby some patience. So he gave your rear a swat, a warning along with a hum.

“I know baby I know... your cunny is just fluttering like crazy around Daddy’s cock today. But just a little longer. So no more whining.”

You clung to him tighter, muffling your whines into the side of his neck and suckling the skin there instead. You stilled your hips though. Kuroo had to smile, fingers beginning to tap away at his keyboard again while your perfect velvet walls hugged his cock.

⋆⋆⋆

Part of Bokuto’s job was staying fit, considering he was constantly active out on the court. The gym he set up in your shared apartment was nothing short of impressive, and you couldn’t help poking in there while he was grunting away. Skin shining with sweat, muscles ripping as he lifted the next set of weights, you couldn’t help but lick your lips, or the little flood that happened between your thighs. Usually, Bokuto could wait until he was done, but sometimes you just looked too good, so desperate and needy as you clung to that door frame, basically drooling at him. He would take a seat, pulling you into his lap.

“12...13...14...” Bokuto’s voice was strained in the best possible way, his chest fluttering as you suddenly clenched down around him. He slowly lowered the weights to his sides a grin growing on his face as he felt your little nails dig deeper into his thighs. He pressed up into you, grin growing at the yelp you released. You could feel your cheeks heat up, pussy desperately milking his cock when it slapped against your cervix. “P-Papa!” You whined, looking back at him with tears swimming in your pretty eyes. “‘M sorry pretty Birdy... sometimes I can’t help but tease you when this perfect little cunt is squeezing me so good.” He pressed a few kisses along your cheeks, before he took hold of your jaw, forced your eyes back on the mirror in front of the two of you. “But Papa needs more motivation so he finishes his workout. So spread so legs back open, wanna see your pussy splitting.” And you had no choice but to listen, only thinking of how he’d pin you to the mirrors later to fuck you stupid. So you lulled your legs back open, biting your lip as he moaned at the sight of your stuffed hole.

“Perfect...” he breathed, keeping his eyes glued to the reflection as he hauled the weights back up to continue his count.

⋆⋆⋆

Ushijima isn’t much for PDA. Those little touches you always give him, running those pretty fingers along toned arms in public. It’s just too much for him. But Ushijima is a collected man, knows how to hold himself back. And know very well you’re doing it all on purpose. You’re his pretty baby, after all, he knows how you like to tease, pressing into his side on the subway or leaning down to look at something with a skirt that’s just a little too short. Ushi knows, when the two of you get home, your frame already vibrating with excitement, he had no problem pulling you onto his cock.

“More... more Sir....” the whine you release around his fingers as he stuffs them between your lips is high pitched, almost a little offended as tears swirl in your gaze. But Ushijima doesn’t budge, doesn’t move one inch other than his long fingers which are now pumping in your mouth. Your left whimpering around him, his cock throbbing within your walls and stretching you open without even moving an inch. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so handsy today and just asked for some dick like a good girl, you wouldn’t be in this position.” Ushijima huffed out, brows knitting together at the mess of drool that already started to bubble down your chin and around his knuckles. “But because you can’t keep your hands to yourself, you’re gonna keep my cock warm until I feel like fucking, are we clear.”

He knew you couldn’t respond, but the mewl you release as your fingers dig deeper into the skin of his thighs is satisfying enough to have a subtle smirk twitching on his lips.

⋆⋆⋆

Iwaizumi likes the closeness that comes along with cock warming, especially after a long day. There are some days where your schedules just don’t aline until late into the evening when the sun has already set. You’re both too exhausted for any sort of sex, but still want to be close to one another, want to share soft kisses and embraces. So once you two have dressed down for the night you curl up on your shared bed, finding a comfortable spot together.

“Princess...” Iwaizumi sighs into your ear, his palms slipping under the fabric of your shirt so he could the warmth of your skin. You mewl in response, nuzzling your nose into the crook of his neck before pressing wet kisses along the column. “Love you so much daddy...” you murmur back to him softly, your eyes fluttering a bit as he twitched between your walls. He was slowly growing, filling you up inch by inch until that familiar squeeze was apart between your thighs. It always felt so good, being stuffed by him when you drifted off into sleep. A smile curled on Iwa’s sleepy features, the familiar grip of your cunt around his dick making him sigh out in content.

“Love you too, my pretty princess.” He kisses along the crown of your head, hands massaging down your back as you cling to him tighter, sleep weighing down your eyes.

[cherryeol04]

Sunshine (M)

Pairing: Felix X Reader

Genre: Smut, Romance

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: Mommy kink, subby Felix, sub space (implied), aftercare

The uproar on Twitter had you nearly running to the dorm. It was late and you knew that these boys needed sleep, what with their crazy ass schedules for the upcoming comeback. But something was wrong with Felix and while you had faith that the other members would care for and comfort your boyfriend, you knew you needed to be there as well. Felix was never one to talk so long in English in Bubble, didn’t usually ask about his looks or how Stay perceived him. So when the questions started coming about his appearance and what kind of picture he should put up and if Stay thought he was cute - it really hit you hard that something was wrong.

The dorm was silent when you let yourself in, the door closing with a soft click. Toeing off your shoes, you made your way into the living room, noting that it was barren save for the open laptop left on the coffee table. You closed the lid gently before heading down the small hallway and opening the second door to the right. A dim cast of light was the only illumination - just enough to see that the single bed was empty and so was the bottom bunk. You almost thought the top bunk was also empty if it weren’t for the slight movement of the sheets and the soft sniffle that followed.

You’re chest clenched.

“Felix.” A barely there whisper that sounded like an air horn within the still room. The body on the bed didn’t move at first. Maybe he was sleeping? If that was the case, you didn’t really want to wake him up, pleased that he was even in bed at a decent hour. But just as you were singing praises in your mind, Felix shifted and slowly sat up, the covers pooling in his lap. His hair was disheveled, eyes rimmed red and glassy as he looked down at you from his perch. The sight of him nearly broke you. “Baby.”

“M-Mommy.” His voice cracked - horse from crying and your body was moving before your brain could even formulate the thought of going to him. You quickly climbed up the ladder, the frame of the bunk shaking under your weight - which would normally deter you. You were 100% sure those bunk beds were not safe and sturdy as they claimed to be and you were scared that a rung in the ladder might break or the bottom of the bed would break and you would fall through to the bottom bunk. But right now you casted all those fears aside because Felix needed you and you were not about to make him wait any longer.

Crawling into the bed, you pushed the covers back enough to expose his entire body to the chilled air before pulling him into your lap. He went easily, arms winding around your neck and legs wrapping around your waist as you found a comfortable position to sit in. It never ceased to amaze you how Felix - a man inches taller than you and built slightly bigger than you - could make himself look and feel so small in your embrace. But he managed somehow and perhaps that’s what fueled your need to protect him, love and care for him, but also ruin him.

But that had to wait. Now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

“Baby.” You whispered once more and Felix’s arms tensed and tightened more around your neck. Sobs wracked Felix’s frame, almost unnoticeable as he buried his face into your shoulder. You so desperately wanted to ask him what was wrong, but in this state you knew you wouldn’t be able to get a single, coherent sentence from him. So you simply leaned back against the way and gently rocked him back and forth, letting him cry it out. And it was painful. To hear these heart wrenching cries and not being able to do anything to make the pain stop. You couldn’t and it made you feel so helpless. But Felix had often told you that sometimes he just needed to cry it out.

( “That sounds horribly exhausting” you muttered with a pout. It was met with a bright smile.

“Maybe, but it's a stress relief for me.”

“I could think of a better way to relieve stress.” You smirked, winking at him.

“Y-Y/n!” He gaped, quickly looking around the crowded restaurant. “You can’t just say that stuff in public!”

“Oh? Not one of your kinks, baby? Such a shame.” You tutted, shoulders shrugging - yet your smile remained, which seemed to help put Felix at ease somewhat. “I’m sorry.” You weren’t.

“It’s okay.” He whispered and slumped back against his chair. “You know, sometimes things are just…hard.” He started after a few minutes of silence. “Crying really helps me to feel better.”

“You don’t have to justify it, baby. If you need to cry, just call me. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on.”

The smile he gave was so blinding and bright, filling your heart with so much warmth. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Anything for you, Felix.”)

“Why didn’t you call me baby?” You finally asked after half an hour of silence. Felix had long since settled down to soft sniffles and the occasional whimper. The neck of your shirt was soaked with his tears and it was slightly uncomfortable, but you did your best to ignore the offending material as you shifted Felix, pulling him away from you gently. He didn’t want to go though, fingers digging into your shoulder blades as he fought against you and in reality, if he didn’t want to go he wouldn’t. He was stronger than you and could easily keep himself grounded against you. And yet he finally released you and sat back in your lap, head bowed. “Lixie baby.” You prodded and he quickly shook his head, hands coming up to cover his eyes and you were afraid that he was going to start crying again.

“No, Felix, mommy isn’t upset.” You quickly shushed him, gently grabbing his wrists and lowering his hands. Cupping his cheeks, you lifted his head to stare into those sorrowful eyes. “I just want to know what’s wrong baby. Can you tell me what happened?”

“It’s stupid.” He mumbled and you frowned, raising a brow. “I just-“ he paused, brows furrowed. “Am I only cute?”

It felt like a lightbulb turned on in your brain. Felix’s bubble messages flashed in your mind and everything just clicked in place. “Oh baby.” You whispered, thumbs swiping under his eyes gently. “No sweetheart, you’re not just cute. You're beautiful and handsome.” The words tumbled past your lips and you prayed that he would believe you. Felix was your world - everything you said he was and more. There were plenty of times he showed his sexy side, his cute side and just his normal, bubbly and happy side. Whoever made him feel like he was a one dimensional person, you hoped karma would strike them swiftly. "You are so much more than just cute."

He stared into your eyes, searching for any sort of deceit and you knew he wouldn't find any. His lower lip wobbled and he was flinging himself against you - arms wound tightly around your body as he once more sobbed into your neck. Your hand skimmed over his back, rubbing soothing circles as you rocked from side to side. It was going to be a long night and you braced yourself for more bouts of crying in the future. But it would be worth it in the end, as long as Felix felt better afterwards and he could smile again - it would all be worth it.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before Felix finally settled back down, but you vaguely remember Hyunjin sneaking into the room at some point and then leaving. Felix shifted in your lap, his hand wrapping around your wrist as he lifted it, rousing you as he placed his hand over his crotch. For a moment, you just let it sit there as you tried to get your brain to start functioning once more. And Felix was so patient, thumb gently stroking over the back of your hand as he breathed in your scent. Looking down, you stared at your hand blankly, not entirely sure why it had been placed there.

"Felix?" He gave a soft hum before sniffling, clearing his block nose. "What do you want?" It was a simple question and you expected a simple answer, but what you got was a shrug and that confused you. It wasn't a secret that there were times you weren't the sharpest tool in the shed but you could confidently say that you could make inferences if given the correct context clues - which you were sure were all there - but in this situation, you were feeling a bit clueless. What did Felix want? After a breakdown like that, surely there would be something that Felix would want or need and he was pretty good at communicating, even when upset.

So then why didn't he answer?

You mulled over the thought for a while, trying to make a visual connection in your head of his actions and why he could have possibly done it. The random thought of 'maybe it was the verbiage' crossed your mind and though it seemed like a longshot, you decided to test it. "Baby?" you asked once more and again, received a soft hum. "What do you need from me?" You kept your voice steady and even, hoping it would coax Felix into giving a proper answer this time. If it didn't work, then you had no idea what you could possibly do to understand what his motivations are and you surely weren't about to do anything without his consent. Felix shifted in your lap, finally pulling back from your neck to look at you. The tears were gone, and his eyes weren't as red as you had expected them to be, but his cheeks were a bit rosy still. He muttered something, but you didn't quite catch it, brows furrowed. "Can you repeat that sweetheart?" He whined, but repeated himself nonetheless.

"Need you to hold me." And to make sure that you understood his request, he squeezed your wrist once. Glancing back down, it finally dawned on you what he wanted and you couldn't stop the fond smile that spread over your face. With your free hand, you reached up and ran your fingers through the soft blonde strands lovingly.

"Anything for you. Can you get up and strip for me?" You gave a gentle nudge to his side, watching as he eagerly climbed off your lap and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it slowly but stopping. Your eyes locked and he bit his bottom lip slightly.

"T-Take of yours too?" he asked hopefully and you laughed - a little too loudly for your liking and covered your mouth, eyes wide. The room was empty, of that you were sure but that didn't mean others weren't awake in the dorm still. Even if it was fairly late, there was still a possibility that some night owl was prowling the halls and the last thing you wanted was for them to hear you or for you to disturb anyone who may actually be asleep. Straightening up on the bed, you grabbed your shirt and pulled it off, Felix mimicking your movements. One by one, your clothes were shed until you were both naked and Felix was climbing back into your lap. Spreading your legs, he moved between them, taking a seat once more with his back pressed against your front. You slipped your arms around his waist and leaned back against the wall, letting the hard surface support both of your weights. Your fingers skimmed lightly over the hard ridges of his abs - the muscles tensing and jumping under your touch, making you giggle.

With one hand, you began your descent, flicking the gem of his piercing in the process. You played the nest of curls for a moment, humming softly as Felix sighed - his body relaxing further with each passing second. When you were satisfied, you slipped your hand over his member, cradling it in a tender embrace. The remaining tension in Felix's body melted away and it was like he was putty in your hands. The silence that fell over you was comforting and you started dozing again, and this time you didn't feel nearly as bad as you had when Felix was having his breakdown. It seemed like Felix was also dozing, his breathing steady and even.

As your own body started to relax, you became aware of your grip loosening around Felix. Your arm jerked lightly, hand squeezing around him and he grunted. You gave a soft apology, eyes still closed with the want to doze back off, which in turn led to your grip loosening once more. The cycle began, your hand tightening and loosening around Felix's cock, so it was no surprise when you felt it twitch and slowly start to fill out. Soft pants fell from Felix’s lips, his hips twitching even as he tried to control himself. You gave a purposeful squeeze this time and the moan couldn’t be held back.

Chuckling, you turned your head and pressed a kiss to his temple as you dragged your hand over his cock. “Mommy~” the breathy moan sent a stir of arousal through your core, fingers teasing the tip of his cock to try and pull more out of him. Reaching out, Felix gripped your thighs, holding them as he rocked his hips upwards. You trailed your lips down and over his neck, nipping at it lightly as you started a rhythm - slow and steady with a light squeeze just under the head of his cock. Felix couldn’t control the noises that fell from his parted lips, hips jerking erratically for more stimulation. It just wasn’t enough and you knew it. It’s what you wanted. “Please.” He begged, fingers flexing their grip on your thighs. It was so adorable, the way he squirmed in your lap, his cock pulsing in your hand. A small bead of pre-cum pearled at the tip, spilling over your fingers.

"Please what Lixie?" You asked gently, lips brushing against the shell of his ear - giving it a gentle nip.

"Nngh." he whined and you tsked. It wasn't an answer, but you had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. You rested your free hand over his abdomen, stroking it teasingly. Felix tensed in your arms, body curling in on itself - a high pitched whine leaving him as shudders ran through him. “Please.” He begged again.

Chuckling, you tightened your grip, barely dragging your hand over him. The sudden change in pressure and speed left Felix sobbing as he practically clawed at your bare thighs. “If you want something, you gotta use your words beautiful.” You cooed, nipping at his ear lobe once more. “I know you can do it.” You waited patiently for Felix to tell you what he wanted. His erratic panting serves nothing but to turn you on more. Your pussy was throbbing with want and you could feel how soaked you were. You would be surprised if the bed was still dry once you moved. But this wasn’t about you, it was about Felix. You wanted to give him everything he wanted - to watch him fall apart in your hands. You didn’t think it would take much.

Your fingers lightly circled his bellybutton, the muscles tensing and quivering as heady whimpers grew in volume. “Felix.” You warned, both for him to tell you what he wanted and to keep quiet. Not that anyone else would care what the two of you were doing, you just didn’t want to disturb those who were already sleeping.

“Touch me, mommy?” He asked softly. Before you could be a smartass with your reply, he continued. “Wanna cum with your fingers in me.” The request was soft, his voice getting softer with each word he spoke. You almost missed it, if not for how silent it really was in the bedroom, thankfully. You smirked, and reached up and turned Felix’s face towards you.

“Whatever you want, my perfect, beautiful, baby boy.” You whispered. Leaning in, you connected your lips in a soft kiss. Your still hand began moving once more, slow at first as you once more got acquainted with the hard flesh. Fingers moved over the head, slowly spreading the leaking precum around, though it definitely wasn’t enough to make your movements slick and smooth. “Where’s your lube baby?” You asked as you pulled away. Blinking slowly, Felix lifted his eyes to meet yours - unfocused and hazy. Oh how deep he was falling and you were surprised to see it. “Felix, are you with me?”

Felix’s eyes began to focus, clarity starting to shine through as he gave a slow nod. “Yes.” He whispered.

“I’m sorry for pulling you back baby, but can you get the lube?” You asked, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Then you can fall as deep as you want.” The promise had Felix nodding quickly and he pulled away from your body. Getting on his knees, he crawled to the head of bed and slipped his hand under his pillows. Digging around, it didn’t take long before he was pulling out the half filled bottle and crawling back to you - presenting it to you happily. “Thank you, love.” Pecking his lips quickly, you helped guide Felix back into position and opened the bottle.

Pouring some into your hand, you rubbed your fingers together to warm it up before wrapping it around the hard shaft resting adorably against his abdomen. The slide was much smoother, Felix’s moans higher in pitch as you gave a few pumps. Feeling like teasing, you tilted your hand upwards, making a claw shape so only the tips of your fingers were touching him from all sides. You slowly slid your fingers down, grinning as Felix jerked and shuddered, cock twitching three times once you reached the base, your palm rubbing against the cherry red head.

“Oh fuck-“ he gasped out, hands once more finding purchase on your thighs. Dragging your fingers back up, you garnered a similar reaction, so you couldn’t help yourself as you repeated the process a few more times. Felix was practically sobbing once more when you decided to give him a break, shaky breathes forcing their way out of his part lips.

You took that moment to open the lube once more and with nimble fingers, you used your clean hand to pour the liquid into that same hand. It was a struggle and probably not your best idea, but you managed, closing the bottle and tossing it away. Like before, you warmed up the lube before moving your hand between Felix’s part legs, index finger circling and petting hole. A guttural moan was ripped from Felix as his body tensed before going completely lax.

“Please.” He begged, hooking his legs over yours to open his wider and keep them open. “Fuck me, please.” There was no way you could possibly deny your baby when he was begging so nicely. Circling his hole a few more times, you pressed the tip of your finger against it, the muscles relaxing and opening for you. You slipped your finger into the first knuckle, biting your lip. It never ceases to amaze you how tight and hot Felix feels around your fingers. You don’t do this often with him, but when you couldn’t deny that you absolutely loved this. Bringing your boyfriend so much pleasure - having him begging for more. All the delicious sounds he would make.

You pulled your finger back, slipping it back in slowly, a grin spreading over your lips as Felix whimpered, his back arching, tremor running through him. He was so sensitive and you loved it. You continued to work your finger in and out of him and when his hole loosened more, you carefully slipped a second finger into him. It was a tighter squeeze, the velvety warm walls snug around you. “M-mommy.” Looking back at him, you smiled at the fucked out look on his face - eyes clenched closed tightly, lips parted with cheeks a rosy hue. He was so breathtakingly beautiful. “Don’t stop.”

You hadn’t realized your hands had stopped until he whispered that. “Sorry love, mommy wanted to admire how beautiful you are.” He whined, squirming once more in your hold. Chuckling, you stroked his cock once more, thumb swiping over the tip. Your fingers pumped slowly inside him, curling every now and then - searching - until you had him gasping for air, his thighs struggling to stay open, even in the position he had put them in.

“Yes yes yes,” he chanted as your fingers rubbed over the spot that sent white hot sparks of pleasure down his spine. “Fuck.”

You shifted in your spot, hips lifting to press against Felix. It did very little to ease the pressure between your legs, but it would have to do. Your fingers worked circles against his prostate, slow and torturous. Felix’s cock jerked and throbbed in your grip, precum drooling from the tip. You squeezed him, a loud moan leaving him as he bucked his hips. Stroking him faster, you alternated between rubbing and pressing against the squishy bundle of nerves.

“Oh god,” Felix gasped. “I’m gonna-“ Felix tensed in your arm, save for the way his legs trembled as you continued your assault on him. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand as he cums, coating your fingers in the sticky white liquid. Felix’s high pitched moans only climb in octave as you stroked him through his orgasm, his body curling in on himself at the intensity of it.

With the last throb, Felix fell lax in your arms, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You were very careful as you pulled your fingers free, not wanting to overstimulate him. It was a struggle to shift his body off of you and not touch him with your dirty hands, but even in his blissed out state, he still managed to help you but rolling to his side. Smiling, you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple before making your way out of the bed and down the ladder. Grabbing the wet wipes from the nightstand - and silently thanking Hyunjin for leaving them there - you cleaned off your hand and fingers first before carrying the pack back to the bed.

Felix was snuggled up with one of his pillows, eyes lidded as he watched your movements. Crawling over to him, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling as you felt him kiss back. “You with me? Or is your head still floaty?” You asked, keeping your voice low.

“Mmm, floaty. Feel all fuzzy mommy.” You couldn’t help but giggle at how adorable he was when he was like that.

“Okay baby. Let mommy clean you and then we can cuddle, okay?” He nodded and slowly rolled onto his back. Pulling out a few more wipes, you gently wiped up the cum on his abdomen before moving down to clean over his member and hole - mindful of how sensitive he was. Once you were sure he was cleaned, you tossed the used wipes into the trash and tossed the pack onto the floor below.

Turning to face Felix, you were met with his sleeping face and you all but cooed. Grabbing his blanket, you pulled it over your naked bodies as you slid behind him - one arm wrapped around his waist. It took a minute or two of shifting before you finally got comfortable. Despite not having an orgasm of your own, you felt completely drained and it wasn’t long before you were falling asleep, cuddling your favorite person in the world.

(Tags:  @jisungsjheekies @luminouskalopsia @sauceracha @hanjisungismybaby @kiwibaekie @imbonibi @jiwlys If you want to be a part of my tags or need to update what you get tagged in, you can find my list here!)

[deepdonutkid]

Morning sun

Requested: Yes, by @annoyingarcadeperfection​

Pair: Finn x female Reader

Summary:  Early birds are lovey-dovey~

Author’s note:

This is the first time in quite a while, where I start to write and not know exactly how it will end. I’m just as excited for this as you are.

It’s shorter than my usual one shot, but it’s not a bad thing I guess. This is more like an imagine.

Word count: 1222

Warnings: sex is mentioned?

What a sweet delight. The morning hours, when everyone was yet silent, but would soon come back to life, were a holy time. Just made for early birds, children and lovers, who just woke up from a mutual dream, still entangled and very sleepy.

You opened one eye first, blinked for a few times and looked around. The room was filled with the first rays of sunshine for today. Usually you would great the day as it came, lighthearted and full of joy, but right now there was a heavy weight on your chest. It was your boyfriend, Finn, still sleeping like baby. He had never looked as calm and soft as in the morning light. His cheeks were slightly red, his hair was undone and the look on his face was free of worries and sorrow, just like yours. However there was a difference. Your lips carried a peaceful smile. This was the perfect start for a perfect day.

Carefully, you played with his hair. It was so weird to see him without the pomade, he used every day. Now it was a fiery red chaos on his head and his locks went in every direction. You chuckled while he grabbed you more firmly. “Good morning, my dear”, you whistled, waiting for his reaction.

First he grunted, then he looked up, just to lay his head back on your belly and mumbled: “Good morning…” Finn might have said something else, it was just hardly audible.

“How did you sleep?”, you asked him and your hands hovered over his naked shoulder. You were still wearing your nightgown, but he stripped away his shirt in the middle of the night. Maybe he felt too hot under the blanket next to you. You didn’t noticed nor did you bother.

Now he was just lying there in his boxer short and made some sleepy noises. Your eyes widened, you squeaked joyfully, while his hands moved from your waist to your bottom. Finn was usually a very gentle lover somehow he seemed to find pleasure in kneading your ass keenly.

He poked his nose into your tummy and grunted again. When he finally looked back up again, you could see the lust in his eyes. “It was a little hot in here”, he explained and crawled on the sheets up to give you a kiss. Then he joked: “You, little Lady, radiate heat like an oven.”

“And you are just as cold as an icicle”, you laughed and put your arms on his shoulders. With a big smile on your face you glared down at the tent that built up in his pants. There was a rock hard icicle, but not actually a cold one.

Of course, Finn couldn’t not provoke you further. Just like the mean boyfriend he was he pushed his erection right against your thigh, which causes you to moan. With purring voice he groaned: “Am I really so cold?”

You shook your head and giggled. “No, but… the real question is… how can you still be so horny after last night. We had three rounds and you still want more?” It was more of a tease than an actual question. Since Finn asked you to be his girlfriend, you had plenty of sex, all the time and everywhere.  

“Yes, I want more”, Finn admitted and bowed down so he could kiss your neck. The kiss turned into a bite and then he started sucking on your soft skin. All the sudden he whispered in your ear: “I still have something to prove.”

You knew what he was talking about, nevertheless you asked: “Still?” This topic caught your concern. Once- when you were just friends with Finn and not his girlfriend- you said, you thought he was gay and he took it a little too serious. Back then it didn’t even crossed your mind, that this might hurt Finn and you only got the idea, because you never saw him flirting with other girls like his friends did. He was friendlier than other guys, you had known. Finn was sweet and caring and never tried to do something inappropriate when you were around. He didn’t even laugh, when his friends told stories about their sex life. Later you had learned that Finn was just completely love-struck with you and he was so afraid to mess things up, that he became stiff and shy.

“It was only a joke”, you added and guided his head with your hand in your direction, so he would have to look you in the eyes. Then you purposed your next question. You sounded more severe than before. “Is being gay a problem for you?”

“No”, he vowed with a stern look in his eyes: “Of course not. Isaiah is one of my best friends and he is fucking everything he can. I don’t have a problem with him and he has had several guys.” His index finger caressed your cheek.

You were silent and kept staring at him. Why was he so eager about this? This topic was over and done… months ago. Why did he have to bring this up again? It was not like you hadn’t apologized for the misunderstanding right when it happened. Would you have to do this every time you would sleep with him again? Your teeth were grinding while you waited for him to say something else.

“Babe”, Finn said under his breath: “I just want you to know, that I’m just interested in women… actually it’s just one woman.” Now, he was going in the right direction.

Before he would speak further, he lay down next to you and smiled at you. “Yeah, she is really beautiful”, he explained: “Honestly, she has the perfect body and a magnifying soul and a joyful laughter… I could hear this all day. Her laughter brings me so much joy.”

While he whispered these sweet words, his fingers had their own mission, to drive you insane. You felt his touch, even though the fabric of your nightgown was parting you from him. His declaration to your beauty made you smile. The whole fight- well you wouldn’t call it a fight- was silly. Both of you were crazy for each other and this misunderstanding was long gone. It was just his usual tease. You shouldn’t have taken this so serious. After all, Finn was joking all the time. So, why not about this as well? Now you bid your lip not to hide your excitement, but because you felt a little guilt for nearly ruining this perfect moment.

“Yeah, I love her… I mean… I love you”, he confessed. First he sounded dreamy, like he wasn’t saying this intentional, but after he corrected himself, you knew this was not an accident. It took a while for you to process, but then it hit you. Finn just declared his love for you.

All at once you started laughing, pulling him closer for a kiss and purred against his lips. Your hands ruffled through his hair. Slowly you opened your mouth and brushed your tongue against his lower lip to beg for entrance. He moaned into the kiss.

Suddenly he pulled away and asked: “May I take this as a yes?”

You nodded in agreement, before bursting out into laughter and hiding your mouth behind your hands.

tagging: @bonniesgoldengirl​ @justalonelyslytherin​

[invalid-prongs]

“For who could ever learn to love a beast?” from Beauty and the Beast, except I’m making it Starchaser because I miss writing about them </3 Also, the Gryffindor password is “venom of the snake” but in Italian, just in case you didn’t know.

It burns far worse than Regulus thought it would. He keeps wondering if there’s something wrong with it—there’s no way it should burn so much after having weeks to heal.

He clutches his left forearm between his thighs in an attempt to ease the pain and bites into his right hand to stop himself crying out. It’s kind of late and waking up his dormmates doesn’t seem like a bright idea.

Asking his parents for help is useless—they would just tell him to get on with it surely. The look of disappointment in his brother’s eyes would be too much to bare. Who else could he turn to?

With a deep, shaking breath and silent tears trickling down his face, he slowly peels back the covers of his bed and slips out from the green and silver sheets. He scans the room to make sure the other lads in the room are fast asleep before pulling his right hand from his mouth and using it to grasp his wand.

Regulus waits until he’s stood outside of the Slytherin entrance before waving his wand and muttering “Lumos” under his breath. The wand lights his way down the endless corridors as he drags himself around the castle, thinking of places to go. The burning in his arm doesn’t cease, even when he presses it to the cool stone walls and steps outside in the softly raining night.

It hurts and adds another layer of regret onto the Slytherin lad.

After what feels like hours of aimless wandering, too scared to visit the hospital wing, Regulus turns to head back to his dorm room. He can suffer through the next few weeks, and if it gets exceptionally bad, he can go to Hogsmeade one weekend and find something to help.

Before he can reach the Slytherin quarters, however, he’s stopped by the light tinkering of footsteps heading straight for him. He gasps softly, waving his wand behind his back. “Knox,” he mumbles, pressing himself flat against the wall as another figure steps around the corner.

“Hello?” a voice calls out and Regulus curses himself silently for picturing them in his mind. “Hey, is somebody there? You can come out, you know, I’m not a teacher or anything.”

Regulus takes a daring breath but doesn’t reveal himself. The person chuckles softly. “Hey, come on, don’t make me feel crazy.”

There’s nothing else for a few moments as Regulus screws his eyes shut and holds a hand to his mouth to muffle his breathing. But then there’s a lit wand in his face and the wide grin of one James Potter. “Gotcha. What are you doing out here at this time of night, Reg?”

He swallows thickly, trying to hold back the pain in his voice. “M-My name is R-Regulus, y-you know.”

James’s elegant face twists slightly. “Hey, are you alright? You sound like you’ve been crying?”

The Slytherin clamps his lips shut and shakes his head, but the Gryffindor isn’t fooled. He reaches softly for Regulus’s arm—his left one since it’s the closest—but it’s snatched away quickly.

They stare at each other for a few moments, wide eyes. James’s expression is hard for Regulus to decipher; he’s hurt, confused, and it causes the younger lad’s guilt to flare. James steps back slightly, allowing Regulus to fall out of the shadows.

“It’s hurting you, isn’t it?” James whispers into the darkness, and all Regulus can do is nod pathetically and whimper. James sighs and runs a hand through his unruly hair, assessing the situation. After a moment, he sighs again and holds out his hand. “Come on, come with me.”

He doesn’t trust James fully—what if he takes him to Madam Pomphrey, or worse, Dumbledore? But Regulus takes his hand anyway and lets himself be pulled in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

“Veleno del serpente,” he nods to the portrait, who twists her nose at the sight of a Slytherin buts lets them through anyway. Regulus is terrified of entering, because he’s sure there’s a rule specifically against entering the wrong house even on accident.

There’s probably a rule against having the Dark Mark, too, he figures to himself, ad follows James down the small tunnel. When they step into the empty common room, Regulus is hit with the warmth and comfort of the place, and the fire roars to life.

“Wait here,” the elder pushes him onto one of the sofas and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. “I’ll be right back, okay?” he disappears up the spiral staircase and Regulus just sits there, his eyes trained on the burning fire.

He thinks he should probably look around. Investigate the mighty Gryffindor house whilst he can. But his left forearm is turning numb, and not for a good reason, and his shoulder feels like it’s carrying the weight of a brick. He inhales sharply, willing himself not to cry again, and James reappears from the stairs with a small tray and a box.

“My mum is a healer,” he explains slowly, setting everything down on the coffee table and kneeling in front of Regulus. “She taught me some things, and I always have supplies for Quidditch accidents and such. Can I see your arm?”

Regulus pulls his left arm behind his back and shakes his head. He himself has avoided looking it as it as much as he can, and the thought of showing it to not anybody, but the proudest Gryffindor on the planet who is violently against everything Death Eater related…

But James’s  eyes are so soft and welcoming, and when he smiles gently and whispers, “I won’t judge you, I want to help you, Reg,” his voice is like velvet, and all Regulus can do is offer forward his arm and turn his head.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus chokes out when James gasps softly. “I didn’t—I had no choice.”

James simply shushes him softly by resting a hand on his knee before getting to work. Every movement is fluid and gentle, as if he’s cleaning a priceless artifact, and not just helping to stop the burning of a Dark Mark. It doesn’t hurt much, just a few stings, but it feels uncomfortable when James waves his wand over the snake and it writhes on the younger’s arm.

He tenses and automatically pulls away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” James soothes him softly. “I just needed to cast a spell, but I guess it didn’t like that.” He chuckles softly, and Regulus takes enough comfort in the sound to let a smile tug at his lips.

“Guess it didn’t.”

James works for a few more minutes, and by time he’s finished, Regulus can barely feel the mark. James flicks his arm experimentally, and Regulus flinches softly, so he’s assured he hasn’t lost all feeling in his arm.

Their eyes meet for a moment, flickering with the fire in the background. “How can I repay you?” Regulus asks gently. “I—you really didn’t have to help me. I’m sorry if this made you… uncomfortable.”

“You don’t have to repay me with anything. I would hate for you to be in any kind of pain, love.”

At the slip of the name, Regulus blushes softly and James clears his throat. They look away for a moment until the Slytherin dares to peers through his eyelashes to see James staring straight at him.

“I missed you,” he mumbles before he can stop himself, almost smiling at the way James cocks an eyebrow in questioning. “Over the summer. I kept thinking of you. I was… I was half tempted to come and see you before… but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

James tentatively reaches up a hand and wipes a tear Regulus didn’t know was falling. “It’s okay, I understand. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I missed you too. Sirius is nice, but he isn’t quite the same.” He winks at the end of his sentence, and Regulus can’t help spitting out a small giggle.

James bites his bottom lip softly, one hand still on the younger lad’s face, the other moving to rest on his knee again. Regulus knows they have a lot to talk about, and probably won’t get it done in one night. He knows he should be going before someone finds his empty bed or walks into the Gryffindor common room. But instead, he bats his eyelashes at James and tips his head down ever so slightly.

“Can I…” he trails off softly, waiting for James to pull away, maybe even yell at him about how he’s a Death Eater and they’re on opposite sides and they can’t.

But James doesn’t. Instead, he nods so softly that if he didn’t whisper a soft “yes” then Regulus would have thought he imagined it.

Their lips connect in harmony, and they melt together like they did every other time they did this. It’s as easy as anything, and Regulus can feel every negative emotion, every horrible feeling be flooded with the absolute adoration he has for the boy in front of him.

And then Regulus pulls back sharply to stare at James with his eyes wide and jaw slackened because he’s in love with him.

“Sorry,” James rocks back on his feet and pulls himself up off the floor. “Fuck, uhm, I’m so sorry, I didn’t… we can just… I don’t…”

“I love you,” Regulus whispers, raw and rough, and James shuts his mouth, honey-brown eyes snapping to meet an ocean of grey-blue. “I-I’m sorry, but I love you.”

James doesn’t reply straight away. He just sinks onto the sofa and reaches out, running a finger against Regulus’s bottom lip, which is red and slightly swollen. And then he smiles wider than he ever has, pearly white teeth almost blinding the room, and he laughs.

“Don’t be sorry, don’t ever be sorry. I love you too,” he replies, and Regulus reaches up a pale, aristocratic hand on James’s. “I love you more.”

The younger lad goes to protest, but his words are swallowed by another kiss, and when he wakes in the morning, stretched on the sofa with his limbs tangled with James’s, all he can do is smile and thank whoever controls fate that after everything that has happened, given everything that is and will happen, he’s found somebody who can still love him.