#yesterday was a fuckin' trip man

[insipid-drivel]

Having DID/OSDD can be very strange as much as it can be very interesting. We use this button, which has dry-erase paint on it and a marker to go with it, to ID ourselves when someone else is in front. We needed this button yesterday.

My mom just turned 66 and needed to go in for a breast biopsy after her yearly physical showed some anomalous sparkles on a scan. There’s literally a 90% likelihood she’s fine, but it triggered me like a baseball bat to an unsuspecting mailbox. My dad fought cancer for my entire teenage years until he passed away when I was almost 17 of an HIV-related infection. It isn’t the sort of trauma that tears and claws at me on a regular basis, but I broke down hard when my mom came home after the test and announced it would be a few days before the results came back. We were sitting down to eat together, and the meltdown first manifested when I couldn’t bring myself to swallow anything. Trauma sucks like that.

When I get that triggered that suddenly, it’s scary and bewildering. 2 years ago or more, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it, and I would’ve felt very alone in my own head. I didn’t know I had DID until 2 years ago when the characters in my books stopped being characters and revealed that they’d always been with me, and that my writing was the safest way they could talk to and interact with me. The eldest of them all, Cassandra, didn’t want me to be diagnosed until well into my adult life so I would have full control over how it was treated rather than a parent or guardian and doctors running on very poor research that could’ve caused more harm than good.

Marchosias took over all of yesterday afternoon and well into the night. He doesn’t usually like to spend much time in front, but a meltdown hit me quite literally in the middle of staring at my plate of dinner. He used to be an alter I was afraid of; we didn’t get along or understand each other, mostly because we didn’t know how to communicate. Marchosias processes trauma with anger; he’s gruff and has such a distinct voice that my mother doesn’t need any announcement to tell it’s him talking. I used to think he was a demon, because if you google his name, that’s what you’ll find, but now that we’ve learned to communicate with each other, he’s one of my toughest and most resilient guardians.

DID/OSDD doesn’t have to be a nightmare sentence of stigma and awfulness. I got triggered yesterday, and reached for Marchosias to help, because I needed not to be “here” for a while. He wrote his name on the button and pinned it on our shirt, wiped tears off my face as they evaporated like magic, and ate my dinner for me while reassuring my family I’d be okay and that the fries needed salt. When asked if he was nervous, he shrugged and said, “No. I understand statistics. 90% means you’re fine. 10% means your insurance covers a breast augmentation.” He then pulled out my tablet and loaded a webpage for a tattoo shop not far from where we lived. “These guys tattoo mastectomy scars for free.”

They spent the rest of dinner talking over potential tattoo ideas while I was in a dreamworld where there were 7 moons and a man who looked like mercury come to life with a love for expensive whiskey and strawberries talked to me about how infinity ran in every direction. He reassured me my mom was fine because he’d “put in an information request with the right people.” I shrugged it off and admired the snowflakes sparkling. My alters are very good at putting me in literal headspaces that are too pretty for me to continue to be upset in.

Marchosias made sure my teeth were brushed before bed. He made sure to brush my hair, and even refilled my weekly pill organizer for me, because it was the day for that and I was too upset to do it. He kept drinking water for me, took a bath for me, and got me to bed on time with everything organized and a message on my computer screen telling me that he’d taken the memories away, but everything else was taken care of.

When I greeted my mom the next morning, she simply said she wished she could “bottle some of that”, because she was envious of the instantaneous relief that came from switching with Marchosias. Marchosias wrote a note to her to explain that he wouldn’t do it very frequently, because the more episodes of amnesia I had, the more dependent I would be on help to stay oriented in the right time and place. “We have stringent standards and checks and balances to go by,” he said with authority. “The disorientation:relief ratio has to be distinctly beneficial. We have to deal with the ramifications of our own bullshit, you know.”

Waking up always feels a little like waking up in a patient recovery room with your loved ones just outside the door talking to the doctor. In my case, his name is Alex and he was responsible for making sure my medications were organized and counted out properly. While it was me again, I still felt someone behind me, and found that Marchosias had made a convincing pile of blankets and cushions for me to imagine was him.

Remember that a lot of these disorders are survival mechanisms. Mine won’t let me forget it, and I have a dry-erase button to prove it.

[vngelicc]

⊹₊ ⋆ “that dick make my soul smile,”

TAGS — creampie, fingering, slight degradation, dirty talk (LOTS), jk’s a sleazy mess at first, oc is done, mamas is stressed out, rough sex, jk rocks her shit 💀, some praise here n there, jk’s affectionate tonight, sex tapes r mentioned again, shower sex(?) not rlly, possessive!jk, breeding kink, never ending saga of jk saying “mama” or “ma”

WORD COUNT — 2.6 k

“Trash, trash, trash,” you mumble to yourself while you sort out the mail in your hands, “oh definitely trash.” You sigh and shake your head. You’re knocked out of your thoughts when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your middle and pull you back, “What the hell–” You hiss in surprise.

“Hey mama.” Jungkook’s stupid voice comes from behind, you already know he’s sporting a stupid grin on his fucking face. You shove his arms off and turn around to look at him with an annoyed glare, “Oh c’mon don’t be like that, aren’t you happy to see me? You weren’t mad at me like this yesterday when you had my head between your–” You quickly reach up to cover his mouth and look around the empty hall.

“Are you insane? There’s people around, Jesus, you don’t have any shame do you?” You side eye him, “First off,” you shake your head, “what are you doing here? I didn’t text you and Jiho didn’t ask, so why are you here?” You give him a look, “And if you’re looking for Jiho you’d know he’s on a camping trip with his cousins.”

Jungkook raises his hands in surrender, “Can’t a man come see his baby mama anymore? Shit you suck the fun out of trying to surprise you baby,” he shakes his head but you know, Jeon Jungkook isn’t fooling anyone and certainly not you.

“You forgot, didn't you.” You scoff, “Of course you did, what else did I expect? This camping trip is all Jiho talked about last week and yet you still manage to forget that because you’re thinking with your other head.” You roll your eyes and turn to unlock the front door, “Sometimes I wonder what Jiho even fucking sees in you, you’re a deadbeat Jungkook, a deadbeat.”

Jungkook chuckles, “To be fair my other head is the reason you get a good night’s sleep.” He says with a smirk on his lips as he stands there admiring the way your ass looks in that tight pencil skirt you’re wearing. You turn around to shoot him a glare but say nothing else and simply step into your apartment. Jungkook leans against the doorframe with both arms raised, “So, you gonna let me in sweetheart?” He licks his lips, poking his tongue out to push at his lip ring.

You look into his eyes and then down at his lips, “Well?” You shrug your coat and slip your heels off, “You gonna stand there all night or what?” He chuckles quietly and slips into your apartment, shutting the door behind him.

“This is new.” Jungkook comments, “Don’t remember you ever smoking.” He inspects the ashtray with a noncommittal hum.

“It’s not just for me.” You say uncharacteristically calm, “I bought it for you, figured you needed one since you love leaving a mess on my patio.” You don’t miss the way he smiles fondly at you, “Don’t get too excited dipshit, I smoke too, don't forget that.” You scoff and disappear down the hall.

Jungkook whistles under his breath and follows after you, “I didn’t say anything ma,” he kicks your bedroom door closed and settles himself over your bed, “what’s up with you? You’re not being your usual angry self.” He watches you go around your room putting things away and picking out your clothes.

“I’m tired Jungkook, I had two meetings back to back and all I wanna do is come home to shower and sleep. Can’t do that because you decided to come bother me at this fuckin’ hour.” You mumble and then throw a pair of panties at him full speed, “Don’t think I didn’t see the shit you posted either, you’re not funny.”

Jungkook throws his head back with a laugh, “Really? Cause I thought it was hilarious, I think it perfectly describes us.” He cheekily grins at you with that dumb lovestruck look of his.

You stop to give him an exasperated look, “Jungkook,” sigh, “telling people you’re always fucking your baby mama regardless is not funny, neither is saying ‘I fuck her when she mad at me.’ You’re a child.” You shake your head. You throw more clothes onto the bed and grab your robe and towel, “Don’t make a mess in my house Jungkook, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

Jungkook watches you with a pleased smile, “I won’t.” He reaches for your tv remote, “I’ll be rightttt here, sitting like a good boy for you ma.” He winks, “You just go ‘head and shower.” You eyed him suspiciously for a few seconds, he kept smiling goofily so you ended up walking away with no words.

You know he was up to something with the way he kept smiling so stupid. You grumble under your breath and hope he just doesn’t cause you to have a fucking aneurysm or something. You swear this man was going to send you to an early grave at this point.

Everything sounded pretty quiet out there, you heard Jungkook get up at some point but you figured he was going to smoke or get something. He even left the TV on, which you were grateful for because you didn’t do too well with silence. “What are you doing..” You mutter with closed eyes, just enjoying the hot water running down your exhausted body.

You were in the middle of reaching for your loofah when you heard the glass door open and Jungkook step in after you. “Pass me that bottle over there.” You softly hum.

Jungkook whistles softly and tugs you back into him, “Relax baby, let me do all the work.” He says in your ear, “I got you..” He gently pries the loofah out of your hands, “Worked so hard this entire week, baby deserves to rest.” He squirts some of your body wash onto the loofah. You don’t correct him because that’s true, hell you deserved this princess treatment for putting up with his ass too.

He gently ran his hand over your body, lathering your body up in the soap suds leaving you smelling like strawberries. He doesn’t try any funny business surprisingly, when he finishes he puts his hands on your shoulders and begins massaging gently. A quiet moan escapes your lips as relief rushes through you, “Damn you’re stiff as shit here.” Jungkook comments.

You lean your head back on his chest with a closed eye smile, “You’re finally being useful for once.” You chuckle.

“What are you talking about? I fuck you plenty baby, far as I know this dick makes you fall asleep faster than the fucking melatonin you take.” He laughs, making you laugh a little too. Jungkook lets your shoulders go and wraps his arms around your waist, tugging you backwards so your back is to his front. “Got you something special.” He mumbles into your shoulder.

“Did you now?” you huff in amusement and gently stroke his arm, “What did you get hm?”

“Nothing much, figured you needed a night in so I ordered some fried chicken and soju.” He lays gentle kisses over your shoulder and buries his face in your neck, “I set up a movie to watch too.”

You turn your head to face him, looking into his eyes before smiling softly and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, “Thank you. Guess you’re not a dipshit afterall.” He laughs at your words and you ignore him, opting to press your lips against his once more. Jungkook welcomes you, his fingers dance across your tummy and inch downwards causing your breath to hitch in excitement.

Jungkook’s lips wetly smack against yours, muffled grunt leaving him as he holds you tighter against him. The kiss initially started off slow and more controlled, now it’s wet and messy with sloppy noises filling the space between you two. You pant into his mouth and your eyes flutter open to look at him pleadingly.

Jungkook grins softly as he pushes you towards the glass, “There you go baby, let loose for me, I’ll make you feel so fucking good.” He has you pressed right up against the glass, tits smushed and hands on either side of you. You bite your lip and push your ass back against his thick cock, it’s hot and throbbing against your cheek making you all the more eager to get it inside of you.

“Look at you, pussy’s drooling all over my cock,” he bites his lip and swipes his cockhead through your dewy slick folds, “hear that? ‘s your pussy callin’ out to me baby.” He pushes in slightly, letting the tip pop in with a lewd squelch.

Your lips part in a breathy moan and you push back for more but he stops you with a gentle hand on your hip. “Not here baby, relax for me.” He says as he lets his cock slip out, “Gonna fuck your pussy with my fingers first, get you nice and stretched out before I fuck you with my cock.” He cups your pussy in his hand and lets his fingers slip through the mess dripping from your folds.

Jungkook takes his time opening you up, slipping his middle and then his ring finger into you until they’re knuckle deep. Your mouth falls open but nothing comes out, this is exactly what you needed after those long hours in the office this entire week. Jungkook does not disappoint when he begins pumping them in and out slowly, making sure he hits every nook and cranny inside of you.

“There we go,” Jungkook whispers and begins kissing down your neck, “doing so good for me mama,” he sucks a hickey into your skin, “let go for me.” He nibbles on your earlobe and uses his other hand to wrap around your throat, not choking–simply holding it.

Your eyes flutter shut and you lean your head back on his shoulder, “Oh fuck yes,” you sigh in bliss, “right there.” You circle your hips, gasping when his fingers brush against your g-spot.

Jungkook pulls you back in and kisses up your neck slowly, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty baby, look at you, dripping all over my fingers like a little cock hungry slut. Bet you missed this dick baby, need me to come fuck it in your needy little pussy, have you all spread on the bed for me begging for more,” he whispers as he kisses the side of your face, “you gonna be a good girl and take it?” He jabs his fingers into your g-spot causing a burst of pleasure to hit you.

“Yeah,” you pant softly, “want it deep inside,” you bite your lip and spread your thighs a bit wider, “need it so bad.” You whimper quietly and push back on his fingers.

Jungkook chuckles breathily, “Yeah..” He moves his fingers faster, jostling you as your back arches, “Make it messy for me sweetheart, go ‘head and cum,” he has you locked in place, keeping you from moving anywhere. His fingers piston in and out of you rapidly, loud squelching noises resonating as bits of slick drip down your inner thighs.

“Oh fuck..!” You gasp and clench down, “C-Coming..” You hump his fingers desperately, “K-Keep going, right there, right there,” you whimper out and feel your orgasm come crashing down on you, hitting harder as all the stress lifts itself from your body.

Jungkook slows down until you’re whining in overstimulation, “Clean ‘em.” He slips his wet messy fingers into your mouth, “Fuck.” He groans, “C’mere baby.” He turns you around and lifts you up in his arms, “Need you on my cock.”

“Wait, the water!” You reach behind blindly to turn the knob, groaning when he begins sucking on your soft tits.

.

“Fuck..!” You throw your head back on the pillow with gritted teeth. He’s fucking you so fast and hard you’re honestly no sure what to focus on anymore..him? The skin slapping? The bed creaking? He’s not making it so easy either with the way he’s groaning and panting right by your ear.

Jungkook has you folded under him, his hands grip the back of your thighs and hold them up while he plows your swollen dripping pussy with his fat cock. The room feels stuffy, sheets are strewn about messily and you’re both laid bare in the open without a single care. Jungkook isn’t faring much better, his moans are choked up and every so often you feel him throb inside you.

“You like that baby?” He pants breathlessly against your lips, “Got you clenching so tight around my cock, practically drooling all over me.” He rolls his hips against yours smoothly, pelvis pressing down and rubbing along your clit stimulating it. His balls press against your taint with soft palping noises every time he grinds into you.

You shakily claw at his shoulders and moan needily, the angle certainly has your legs feeling like jelly and your poor cunt throbbing from the pounding he’s giving you. “Love it,” you turn your face to slot your lips against his messily, “fills me up so good baby.” You cup his face in your hands and hold him in place while he works his cock in and out of you.

Jungkook lets out a muffled moan as he starts picking up the pace, hips smacking into yours over and over again with deafening slaps. He lets your thighs go in favor of planting them on either side of you on the bed, “Hear that sloppy little pussy? Got it creaming all over my cock and makin’ a mess. Who’s fuckin’ you baby? C’mon tell me.”

“You are.” You whimper out, “Shit–right there,” you mewl.

“That’s right sweetheart, no one else can give it to you the way I can. You can fucking try but at the end of the day this pussy is mine to fuck,” slap, “mine to use,” slap, “mine to breed.” He growls in your ear lowly, “Gonna ruin you for anyone else, so next the time you plan on letting someone else have it you’ll be remembering the way I fucked you so good.” He hisses softly and sits up, landing a set of punishing thrusts on you, making your body bounce a bit off the mattress.

Your head rolls back and you let out a series of staccato moans, crying out for more and scrambling to grip the bed sheets, the pillows, the blankets–anything. He’s fucking you within an inch of your life and you feel like you’re about to pass out from the sweet pleasure mixed with a tiny hint of pain from the way his hips smack into your ass. “Jungkook..!” You sob out.

Jungkook grits his teeth and reaches down to pinch your clit cruelly, relishing in the way your back arches off the bed. “Go on, cum for me little mama.”

With perfectly aimed thrusts and the combination of his fingers on your sensitive bud, you cum for a second time on his cock. He leaves you trembling on the bed, whimpering and whining. Jungkook follows up shortly with a low moan and your name escaping his lips, “Fucking hell.” He whispers breathlessly.

You let your jelly-like legs fall on the bed, “I’m not getting up.” You mutter, “Put the chicken away, ‘m going to sleep..” You turn on your side and curl up, shivering when his cock slips out of your battered pussy.

Jungkook hums, “The things I do for you baby,” he sighs softly as he strokes your thigh up and down, “lucky I love and appreciate you mama so much.” He rolls out of bed and slips his loose sweats on.

“You love me.” You sleepily mumble, “ ‘n you love my pussy.. I love your dick too.” You smile in your sleep, a bit delirious from the fucking and the strong orgasm he had given you.

Jungkook eyes you with a grin, “Damn right I do.”

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan

[steddieas-shegoes]

bad idea right

for @steddiesongfics July prompt using song lyrics from ‘bad idea right’ by olivia rodrigo

rated e | 1569 words | cw: alcohol, super mildly dubious consent because of the alcohol | tags: angst with a happy ending, post break up, exes to lovers, getting back together, sex

📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱

Eddie isn’t afraid to admit that he makes mistakes. Sometimes, he makes big ones.

Answering the call from Steve is the first big one.

“Steve?” It’s been almost a year since he’s heard from him, their breakup being the finite end to any and all communication. “You okay?”

“Eddie! Oh my god. So I’m out right now, and I’m all fucked up, and I was thinkin’ ‘bout that time I got so drunk you had to carry me to my bed.” Eddie’s listening to Steve, but he feels like his soul is leaving his body. “You remember how gentle you were? You were so worried about tripping up the stairs and you kept cussing when you lost your grip. You kissed my head when you thought I was asleep.”

Steve’s words are slurred, but Eddie can make them out fine. He was good at understanding Steve all the time, even inebriated.

“I knew you were awake,” he gulps. Robin’s gonna kill him for even entertaining Steve like this. Actually, speaking of her- “Is Robbie with you?”

“No.” Eddie can hear the pout on his lips. “She’s on a date with her girlfriend.”

Right. She’d mentioned that to Eddie yesterday when they were texting about plans for next weekend.

Robin had refused to be split between her two best friends when they broke up, and rightfully so. She may have been Steve’s platonic soulmate, but she knew that what happened between them wasn’t Eddie’s fault. She made sure to spend time with Eddie when Steve was otherwise busy.

“Are you good to get home? I can send an Uber for you.” Eddie offers even though he’s sure Steve thought of that already. Even drunk, he would know how to get home.

“I can get my own Uber.”

“I know.”

“I missed your voice.”

Eddie is doing his fuckin’ best not to make his second big mistake tonight, but it’s not going well. He knows what’s gonna happen. He knows because he’s weak and loves Steve more than anything even after having his heart torn to pieces by him. Even knowing it’ll only lead to more heartbreak.

“You should get home, Stevie.”

“Missed that, too.”

It’s quieter on Steve’s end now, like he’s stepped away from whatever club or bar he’s holed up in, maybe outside to get some much needed fresh air. Eddie hopes it sobers him enough to realize what he’s done so he hangs up.

“Steve…”

“Can I come over?”

Eddie makes the second big mistake of the night and says yes.

-

When Steve arrives, he’s a beautiful mess.

He’s drunk, but the ride must’ve helped a little. His eyes are clear, his cheeks not as flush as they probably were before.

Eddie’s waiting at the door when he gets there, standing with a smile that doesn’t belong. He’s trying to be welcoming to a man who did everything to make sure he felt like he didn’t belong.

Steve is in his arms as soon as he makes it to the front door. Eddie’s third big mistake of the night is wrapping his arms around him as if he’d never stopped, as if this last year wasn’t the worst of his life and he’s barely made it through.

“Sorry I called. I didn’t know where to go.”

And now Eddie’s confused. He’s confused because Steve has an apartment of his own, one that he definitely knew how to get to even when drunk. Even if he didn’t, he would’ve been able to call Robin to help. Or Max. Or Lucas.

And he’s sure that Steve’s been drunk in the last year and not called him.

“Why couldn’t you go home?”

“Too quiet.”

11 months ago, almost to the day, Steve Harrington told Eddie Munson that he was too loud, too hyper, too messy.

11 months ago, Eddie Munson gathered whatever he could find in four minutes and left Steve’s apartment for the last time.

11 months ago, Steve ruined a three year relationship because he’d been feeling overwhelmed and didn’t tell Eddie until it was too late.

Now, Eddie Munson is sure that Steve Harrington is about to be his fourth big mistake tonight.

“You wanna come in?” He asks, already knowing Steve’s answer.

“Please.”

-

Steve is tucked into Eddie’s bed, curled around a pillow, mouth open as he snores quietly. Eddie watches him for a moment before tip-toeing from the room.

Robin’s livid when she answers her phone.

“This better be good. I was two fingers-“

“Steve’s here.” Eddie interrupts what was sure to be too much information about what Robin was getting up to on her date. “Drunk.”

“He just showed up at your house?” Robin sounds less mad now, more concerned, though he’s not sure who she’s more concerned about.

“He called first.”

“And you answered.”

“Yeah. Well.” Eddie sighs. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch, but just wanted you to know he’s safe and I’ll make sure he gets home tomorrow.”

“Eddie, I’m so sorry. He said he was just gonna watch a movie tonight or else I would’ve suggested he go hang with Dustin or something.”

“It’s not your job to babysit him.” Eddie doesn’t like the way she said that, but he’s probably reading too much into it. “He’s an adult.”

“Yeah, no. He’s. I mean, he’s fine. It’s just that we all try to keep his mind busy since…ya know.” Robin explains, though Eddie feels even more confused.

“Since he specifically told me I was too much for him?”

Robin’s silence speaks volumes.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is behind him and he’s quick to turn and make sure he’s okay. “Sleep?”

“I’ll text you,” he whispers to Robin before hanging up and turning to Steve. “You should go lay down. I’ll bring you some water.”

“You too?” Steve was blinking slowly, barely awake as he stood in Eddie’s living room.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stevie.”

“Is it because of what I said?”

It’s not the time for them to have this conversation, and it’s not the time for Eddie to wish he could forget it ever happened so he can hop into bed with Steve. But he thinks Steve is probably sobering up little by little, and if he expects Steve to sleep, he may have to do this.

“You made it very clear how you felt. I’m just trying to respect your space until I can get you home tomorrow.” Robin would be proud of how he’s handling this, he thinks. He’s at least keeping things civil even though his head is screaming at him.

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

Eddie stares at him, tries to find the telltale signs of Steve lying. He doesn’t see any.

Steve’s too tired and too buzzed to hide it.

“Then why did you say any of it?” Eddie feels his chest constricting, his heartbeat racing the longer he looks at him. “Why did you make me think I was too much?”

“My dad came by that day,” Steve’s head falls, his hands wringing in front of him. “My dad had spent two hours telling me I wasn’t enough and that I’d done nothing but disappoint him and I’d never be what he wanted. And it wasn’t the first time, but it was after my boss gave a promotion to someone else even though I was more qualified and my head was killing me and Robin and I had gotten into a stupid argument that morning and it was a bad day.”

Eddie’s staring at him, mouth wide open, watching as the man he loves falls apart.

“It’s no excuse. I shouldn’t’ve said any of it no matter what. Not when it’s not even true. I’ve never felt like you’re too much or too loud.” Steve’s stepping closer now. “I’ve always just wanted to soak up whatever energy you have. And I didn’t know how to tell you that you’re more than I deserve without saying you’re too much for what I can offer.”

Damn Steve Harrington and his charm, even when buzzed, even when exhaustion is causing him to curl into himself.

Damn Eddie’s inability to avoid his fifth mistake of the night.

He doesn’t know if he is the catalyst or if they both are, but suddenly his mouth is on Steve’s and teeth knock together, and there’s a slight taste of blood on Eddie’s tongue.

There’s moans and hands against skin and in hair and hard cocks rubbing against thighs and bruises on hips.

There’s Steve’s head hitting the pillow and Eddie’s mouth sucking marks into his stomach and inner thigh and the blanket falling off the bed as they try to strip out of their clothes too fast.

There’s laughter and soft touches and nails biting into skin and check-ins.

There’s love when Eddie holds his face in his hands as he slides into Steve for the first time in too long, and there’s hope when Steve cries out for more, and there’s passion that Eddie knows he’d never find with anyone else.

After, when there’s sweat and tears and cum and an unfortunate wet spot in the middle of the bed, there’s whispers of tomorrow and the next day and apologies and promises.

It may have been a bad idea answering Steve’s call, but Eddie’s happy to make more mistakes if it means keeping Steve in his arms and being enough for each other.

[muwapsturniolo]

✯Chris dating a black girl ✯

-he would be so lost but in love

-he gets whiplash with how much you change your hair (different colored wigs, different braids, etc)

-“wasn’t your hair just blue yesterday?”

-would try and run his finger through your hair and would be scared when his hand gets stuck

-he tries to put on all your bonnets

-“why the fuck do you have so many?” “Mind the business that minds you Christoper”

-LOVES THE GLOSSED LIPS (he loves the brown lipliner combo🤭)

-buys you lipgloss from a store but gets confused when you tell him it’s the wrong one.

-“it’s lipgloss how is it wrong?”

-introducing the beauty supply✨

-he’s amazed by everything in the store and keeps trying to touch everything

-“stop touchin! My momma would have popped you by now!”

-tries to convince you to let him get a durag

-“chris baby, let’s not have you get canceled.”

-gets scared by the mannequins

-he gets stuck reading all the perfume oil names (his favorite is ‘lick me all over’)

-“you lost baby?”

-he gets scared when a auntie speaks to him but he feels warm at the pet name.

-“no?”

-stays by your side for the rest of the trip

-blushes when the aunties hype him up for paying for all your stuff.

-if you’re close with your fam, he loves going over.

-“is your mom making her peach cobbler!?”

-plays fornite with your brothers

-listens to your sister complain about their boyfriends

-if you’re not close with your fam (like me) he will listen to you complain.

-“my auntie need her shit rocked for real! I’m tired of her ass!”

-“that’s why her kids got taken. She can’t keep a man and she can’t keep her kids!” Chris chokes on his drink.

-his first cookout he was mad confused when your mom (or whoever) told him to only bring the paper plates.

-“I was going to bring cookies!”

-“bring the paper plates, ion have time to back up your cookies Chris.”

-almost cries when he doesn’t see Pepsi in the cooler and sees RC.

-looks at you aunt/grandma crazy when they demand you to make his plate first.

-“look at him! He don’t have no meat on his bones! You be starving him y/n!?” “Ion even live with him!” “A damn shame, come on baby let’s get you a plate!”

-he fucks up the food! He had three plates

-“he fuckin that shit UP!” Your cousins try to clown him.

-nervously laughs and nods along to your uncles talking about getting girls and dominos (old head shit)

-your cousin offer him to take a walk with them and he says yes but then you gotta snatch him up and tell him what that means.

-he definitely embarrasses you trying to dance.

-“I told you to only get up to the cha cha slide!”

-“I wanted to dance!”

- takes home four plates

Lemme know if yall want more of these!!!

TAG LIST 🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @that-general-simp @iloveurgf

[dreamskug]

[ SUBJECT INTERVIEW: ÍVARR ]

NICKNAME:

NOT "Gramps". Not for you, anyway. Just my name.

GENDER:

Male.

STAR SIGN:

Why, checking if we’d match? Hah. Was told I’m a Scorpio. 'That check out?

HEIGHT:

With platforms or without?

ORIENTATION:

If we vibe, nothing else matters. An incubus with neat taste in personalities, I guess.

NATIONALITY / ETHNICITY:

So, some Scandinavian blood in me - half, actually. Can speak the language, too - 'least something neat daddy gave me, not that the fucker's outdone himself in parenting. Mom’s an American, born in Badlands. Ever heard of her clan? Messed with witchcraft a lot, and summoning even more. Know what I’m getting at? A perfect fuckin' match, weren't they?

FAVE FRUIT:

- Yeah no. Don't even start with anything citrus. Especially don't peel this shit in front of me, alright? Nasty shit. [Interviewer]: - Just wondering, how do you feel about cardboard boxes? [Ívarr] : - Ain't purring for you, man. But nice one.

FAVE SEASON:

Fuck summer. You ever felt what's that like - the real winter nights? Pitch fuckin' dark - quiet so thick you hear the snow falling. First time I saw those snowflakes as a kid - can swear I thought they were bees.

FAVE FLOWER:

Cherry blossoms? The fuck I know, man. Ask my mainline, I grab whatever he likes.

FAVE SCENT:

Expecting me to be like - "Muahaha, the smell of fear"? Seriously, it's apparently a pheromone released in your sweat or some shit. C'mon I'm joking, it isn't my fav - keeps stinking up this damn city. Alright, a freshly baked cake is something I'd kill for.

COFFEE, TEA, HOT CHOCOLATE:

Yeah coffee I guess? Rich, strong, black, with a splash of something fun, make it whiskey.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP:

Woke up just yesterday 'cause my mainline was pulling back my eyelid, imagine? Scared the fuck out of him, no seriously, can sleep through a fuckin' bomb and I'm not joking. Average hours - a shitton honestly? That's how I got my very first cat - Dad got enough of me breaking down every single morning, cause fuck mornings. And he'd be like - this is Snowy, she's gonna live with us and she already had her breakfast, so get the fuck up. How'd I argue with Snowy? You don't mess with Snowy.

DOG OR CAT PERSON:

See? Check it out - cat fur. Here too. I'm claimed, man - gave up cleaning it up a long time ago. Not to be dramatic, but if there's anything human in me left - it's for them. Fur kids, all mine, what can I say. Two of them adopted - and you bet each of them has a bigger personality than an average gonk.

DREAM TRIP:

Dream trip, jeez... Somewhere not fucking hot?

FAVE FICTIONAL CHARACTER:

Balrog has style, y'know? Gotta be honest, I feel for the dude. Imagine yourself sleeping deep within the mountains for thousands of years to get awoken by a bunch of motherfuckers? I'd go nuclear too. And this one too, ehh you know GoT? The Targaryen, her, yeah. Burn them all, girl. Boss move.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS YOU SLEEP WITH:

Man, your questions. I dunno, a half? With my ass covered, or not at all. Bed king sized, lights out, make it pitch black with the window open and you got me passed out.

RANDOM FACT:

One doesn't have to actually summon a demon to get them to come play, d'you know? There's one watching you through my eyes right fuckin' now. Should I introduce him?

Late to the party, but I remember many of y'all have more than one OC or just created new pixel babies that haven't participated yet, so I'm tagging (with no pressure):

@therealnightcity @wraithsoutlaws @sammysilverdyne @theviridianbunny @th3irin

@a-pirate @chessalein @halkuonn @luvwich @shimmer-like-agirl

@kdval @cybersteal @cyberholic77 @chevvy-yates @morganlefaye79

@anxious--ace @mhbcaps @wormskul @silver-samurai @androgymess

@winkyblinkyandstew @astarionhistears @valsilverhand @drunkchasind @themermaidriot

@pinkyjulien @skelior @medtech-mara @lokiina @timaeusterrored

@tokyofuturnoir @aggravateddurian @sifofasgard @elfjpeg @aurorartz

@lucky38-2077 @dustymagpie @gloryride @stannussy and anyone else who wants to! Also pls DM me if you don't wanna get tagged🖤

[justmeinatree]

A Hard Man To Lose

Summary : part 2 to Teasing Louis Request … the smut.

TW : smut

Word Count : 2.4k

A/N : a day late, a buck short 😬 .. just realizing now that i was supposed to post this yesterday. stoner brain is real yall, and my memory SUCKS. enjoy ✌️

niall walks up to you, slinging his arm around your shoulders, happy, drunken smile gracing his mouth, “coming back to mine tonight, right ?”

your eyebrows furrow, because you are absolutely, positively certain that you’d never spoken about staying over at his place. “uhh, i am ?”

“yeah, i figured,” niall shrugs, “we have breakfast with mam tomorrow, remember ? ya always spend the night.” 

he’s right. fuck. he is absolutely right. you always end up staying with your brother the night before meeting your mum, saving you the extra trip to and from the city.

“christ, ya don’t have to look so disappointed,” he laughs, “have other plans or something ?”

instinctively, you shake your head. you know how important it is to louis that niall not find out tonight. and it seems as though the universe wants to cockblock the hell out of you. “no, no, i just forgot is all. surprised me. i was expecting to go home, have a cozy night in after this,” you quickly lie, trying to hide the severe level of disappointment.

niall leaves a wet, smacking kiss on your cheek, “got me tonight instead,” he smiles playfully, patting your shoulder, before sauntering off to chat with someone you honestly didn’t recognize.

you use the opportunity to go find louis, slithering through the people, noting him by the bar. walking right up to him, your body pressed against his, arm resting against his shoulder, as he’s sat at the one of the stools.

his head snaps, not expecting anyone to lean into him, taking a big sigh of relief when he notices you, “fuckin hell, darling, scared me.”

“sorry,” you giggle, biting your lip, “m’not gonna be able to sneak off with you tonight. have to spend the night at my brother’s,” you groan.

louis’ eyebrows furrow for a moment, before standing, looking through the crowd to make sure niall’s nowhere near, his left arm wrapping around your back, hand landing on your hip, pulling you close, “don’t want to let this opportunity slip. m’gonna take care of this,” he murmurs against your ear.

your eyes flutter shut, senses invaded with louis. his fresh scent, masked with the lingering vodka from earlier. the firmness in his grip. the warm puffs of air as he speaks, hitting the delicate skin of your neck. the command he seems to already have over you, his towering height helping the allusion. “what are you going to do ?”

his other hand lands on the side of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw, making you look up at him, lips ghosting yours as he speaks, “promise me right now that you can be very fucking quiet tonight.”

you can almost feel your pupils dilating, breath leaving your lungs, hands gripping fistfuls of his shirt, as your teeth dart out to nibble into his bottom lip, “promise, fuck, i promise.”

“good girl,” louis coos, hand dropping from your neck to your upper chest, thumb and forefinger spread to cup the base of your throat, holding you in place as he takes a step away from you. “now, m’gonna go invite myself to your brother’s place,” he smirks, walking off in niall’s general direction, leaving you stunned and catching your breath, reaching for his unfinished beer, and polishing it off.

louis walks up to niall, smiling wide, too wide. niall knows something is coming as he hears, “can i crash at yours ?”

“what’s wrong with your place ?” niall asks, both of them knowing full well that louis would end up at niall’s regardless of whether or not he was properly invited. but niall still played the same game every time, not wanting it to be too easy for him.

“s’too far,” louis groans, “c’mon, please. s’not like you dont have the space. and we both know you love the company.”

niall rolls his eyes, not wanting to admit that it was true. simply because he would never live that down with louis. “gotta take the couch though. my sister’s got the spare room tonight.”

“fine by me,” louis smiles wide, “thanks mate.”

and that’s how louis’ ended up sneaking into the guest room of niall’s house, slithering his way into the bed with you, lips mingling with yours instantly.

you groan into his mouth, fingers gripping tightly in his hair, throwing your leg over his hip. you couldn’t help yourself, you’d been waiting at a shot with louis for over a decade, and now here he was, kissing you just as, if not more, eagerly. 

“louis,” you breathe against his lips, your heel pressing into his bum, trying to feel more of him, needing to feel more of him. he’d left you so incredibly horny back at the bar, you were fucking craving him, “want you, please.”

“impatient little thing, you,” louis chuckles breathily, rolling himself on top of you, your legs opening instinctively to allow him space. 

louis’ mouth trails open mouth kisses from your chin, down your jaw to your ear, nibbling on the shell, and taking tentative little licks. you could feel his hot panting breath, a shiver running down your spine, shooting straight for your pussy.

you were clenching, trying to buck your hips under his weight, needing to feel more of him. with the alcohol coursing through your veins, your brain already fuzzy with louis, louis, louis. a part of you was flabbergasted that this was even happening. that finally, fucking finally, your advances towards him were being reciprocated.

truth is, you would never have let yourself chase after a man for so long. but you knew he was interested, you could feel it radiating off of him. and now that you’re actually privy to the reason why, you’re happy that you hadn’t read the situation wrong, and he’s not completely disinterested in you. but also angry that your brother would stand in your way of potentially being with someone so right for you.

the feeling of his breath, warming your skin. the sound of his voice, breathy groans, and soft moans. the tickling wisps of his hair against your neck and chest. the weight of his body as it perfectly moulds with yours. the firmness of his grip, hands now roaming under your shirt, over your hips, up your sides, cupping your breasts.

a small whimper escapes your throat, his thumbs flicking over your nipples. your face presses into the top of louis’ head, buried in his hair, willing yourself to be as quiet as possible. 

the downside, however, being that you’re absolute shite at staying quiet. it was something you had a hard time controlling. it’s like if your brain shuts down, your body taking over and doing whatever it needs. loud moans being one of the things it seems to need.

“lets take this off, yeah ?” louis asks quietly, slipping your shirt as high as he can, helping you lift your body from the bed, to take it off completely. as soon as his eyes fall on your breasts, nipples pert from the attention they’d just gotten, a groan rumbles from his chest, eyes fluttering shut, mouth suctioning to your skin.

he was everywhere. from your nipple to the valley between your tits, to the swell of the underside. it’s like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to be. louis’ been so deeply in denial of his feelings towards you, not letting himself truly feel, in a way to avoid disappointment, and tonight felt like the dam finally breaking from all the pressure. he couldn’t focus, too preoccupied with touching, licking, nipping, at every single inch of your body, not wanting to leave any bit untouched.

your mind was reeling. it was so much louis, you didn’t know how to even begin focusing. your skin was tingling, prickling, fuck you felt like your entire body was about to burst like a firework. your heat was throbbing, clit aching, hips bucking into him, as you plead, “need more, louis, please. please give me more.”

louis’ forehead rests against your stomach, eyes closed, taking a calming breath. christ, he thinks he could cum in his pants just hearing you beg for him. the sheer desperation in your tone, hearing his name slip from your lips in such a sensual way. his nails dig into your skin, taking a moment to centre himself, to ground himself, because fuck, this was really happening and there was no way he was going to let himself cum too early.

“fuck, beautiful girl, say that again,” he breathes, needing to hear it all over, as his hands slip into the waist of your pants, shuffling them down your legs. 

“please, louis,” you whimper, legs trembling, your cunt clenching hard with the cool waft of air hitting your most sensitive parts, a dribble of arousal bubbling from your entrance.

louis’ eyes were locked on your centre, the sound of your voice hitting his ear drums, his mind turned to mush. his hands grip into your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart as far as they’ll comfortably go, tongue darting out to wet his lips, watching the glisten of your soaked pussy.

gaze stuck to you, louis’ fingers reach out, tentatively swirling through your folds, gathering some of your arousal, and spreading it all over your labia and clit. with another clench, and another drip of arousal, louis bites his lip, fingers twitching for more.

a tug of your hands on his shirt pulls him from his trance, eyes snapping up to meet yours as you mumble, “want you naked too, please.”

“so fuckin polite, how can i say no to you ?” he hums, shuffling himself out of his clothes, his shirt then his pants, his cock bobbing up against his stomach. instantly, you reach out, hand wrapping around his prick, giving a few slow but solid strokes. 

you notice his eyes flutter shut, a moan of relief echoing through the room, as you notice his shoulders relax, drips of precum accumulating at his tip.

your thumb flicks over the head, gathering the thick liquid, before your hand leaves him entirely, sucking your finger into your mouth.

louis watches as you hum around your thumb, your tongue poking out from between your lips as it swirls through your mouth, tasting him, “taste so good,” you groan, fingers reaching out for more.

he’s quick to grip your wrist however, a shiver running through his body, “m’so fuckin worked up, darling. m’not gonna last if you keep doing that,” he explains, all those years of pent up frustration rushing to the surface.

you nod, understanding, as you also feel like you’re about to fucking burst. as he lets go of your wrist, your hand grips onto louis’ hip, pulling him closer to you, and with a few swipes of his dick through your sopping folds, the tip was breaching your entrance.

in one fell swoop, his cock is entirely seethed inside you, a loud moan reverberated through the room. instantly, louis’ mouth is on yours, muffling any sounds that may threaten to escape.

“gotta be quiet, lovely,” he coos against your lips, cock unmoving inside you, as he takes a moment to calm his heart rate, feeling your walls spasm around him.

“please move,” you whimper, entire body trembling, nails digging into his skin, the sudden fullness fuzzing your brain.

with louis’ elbows rested against the mattress on either side of your head, fingertips playing soothingly in your hair, he takes a bite at your bottom lip, tugging on it, his hips rolling at a steady rhythm.

“christ, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, feeling your pussy suck him back in with every thrust.

you moan, attempting to stay quiet, your body completely overheated, orgasm already forming in the pit of your stomach, your inebriated brain unable to focus long enough to hold anything back.

louis notices. notices you losing your senses. notices the breathy whines getting more urgent. notices the fluttering in your tummy. notices the added slickness to his thrusts. notices the roll in your eyes. notices the sting of your nails in his skin. notices the clamping down of your cunt. 

and in one final greedy moment, one of his hands grips the underside of your knee, pressing it up to your chest. his cock instantly slides its way into you, impossibly deeper, a loud gasping moan, knocking the air straight out of your lungs, orgasm crashing over you.

“fuck,” louis groans, louder than he’d like, your cunt clamping down on his member in a vice grip. with his mouth on yours again, willing you to quiet down, his request falling on deaf ears, the ringing in your brain too loud to even hear him.

“shh, you’re okay darling,” he coos, as you seem to relax a bit, his cock still delving deep inside you.

“fuck, louis,” you whine, bottom lip trembling, “can’t stop, fuck, i can’t stop.”

and for a moment, he’s confused as to what you’re referring to. that is, until the clench of your cunt picks up momentum, “christ, are you cumming again ?”

you nod around a whimper, tucking your face in his neck, body wracking through another strong orgasm, louis joining you over the edge, not a minute later.

through a mess of breathy moans and pants, both of you staying as quiet as possible, you make your way down from your high, light sheen of sweat sticking your bodies together. louis gently peels himself from your body, leaving a series of pecking kisses over your nose, lips, and chin, as he pulls his cock out of you.

he smiles softly at you, leaning down to nibble on your lip, murmuring, “you’re fucking irresistible. can’t get enough of you.”

you hum, a shy smile gracing your lips, giggling quietly, “we can do that again sometime right ?”

“that, and much much more. do this again when we can take our sweet fuckin time,” he chuckles. “think nialler heard us ?” he asks.

“oh, he heard you,” you both hear muffled through the wall, eyes growing wide, strong blush taking over your cheeks, as you both burst out in an embarrassed laugh, slightly too blissed out at the moment to really care about the consequences of being caught.

……

Masterlist

tags : @gorlsinmultifandoms @cc-horan

[rileyslibrary]

Living With Ghosts: 5. Banter

He is in a good mood today. His demeanour says it all—witticisms ready to be hurled at you like knives in combat.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,207

Notes:

Fluff

I know, I know… It’s kinda hard to imagine Ghost uttering the word “photosynthesise”, but let’s just go with it.

Entire work on AO3

Table of Contents

———————————————————————

“You’re in my spot, Lieutenant.” You tease, leaning against the doorframe with a cup in each hand.

He’s sitting at the bay window, your go-to place for contemplation. You finally get to see him at rest—one leg on the window’s bench, the other on the floor, both arms gently resting on his thighs.

He’s not in his regular operator outfit today; instead, he’s casually dressed in a black sweatshirt and light blue jeans. There is no tactical vest to protect his chest, no firearm strapped on his shoulder, and no holster around his waist. He feels safe.

Only his gloves and mask remain unchanged. Does he ever take them off?

“Huh, so that’s where you come to photosynthesise.” He huffs as he pulls his leg off the bench.

He is in a good mood today. His demeanour says it all—witticisms ready to be hurled at you like knives in combat.

You approach him and extend a cup. ”Your... cuppa, I believe you call it?”

He accepts your offer with a nod. He is smiling; you can tell by the fine lines forming at the corners of his eyes.

He twists his body and faces the opposite direction, his right side now facing the bay window. As soon as he feels comfortable in his new position, he pats his shoulder, indicating that you can now sit behind him, with your back against his.

It’s your thing now. Every day after harvesting, you sit with your backs kissing and share a moment drinking tea before continuing with your day.

You didn’t question the change of behaviour—not verbally, at least. Maybe it had something to do with his latest confrontation with the enemy. Or perhaps it was influenced by your efforts to make the house a safer, more festive environment for both of you. Whatever the reason, getting Simon to close up again would undo months of hard work. Even though your relationship was strictly platonic for the time being, you were getting along great.

Your backs are pressed together; he feels warm but stiff—as if he’s attempting to imitate the back of a chair. Is he scared that if he relaxes, he will collapse on you? He is a big dude, after all.

You feel his vacant hand rising, lifting his mask. Although you can’t see him, you can hear him blowing on his tea.

“Do we have any updates on the operation?” He queries.

“I spoke with Laswell yesterday.” You inform, ”It appears that Makarov is plotting something far more sinister than we expected.”

“More sinister than a terrorist attack?” He snarls, irritated by the new information. Your back is pounding as his words echo inside of you.

“Human trafficking,” you admit, ”women, even children.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” He turns his head toward the window, but you won’t even dare peek at its reflection. Don’t betray his trust.

“What about you?” You ask, ”Any news from your team?”

There’s a nod. “Captain and Gaz are on the lookout, not far from here.” He reveals and takes a sip from his cup.

“What about the sergeant?” you question further, ”the one with the blue eyes.”

You can feel his body tensing up, like a deer startled by a noise in the woods.

“You like blue-eyed sergeants, keeper?”

“Not my cup of tea, Lieutenant.” You declare with a smile.

He likes you.

“Soap is hiding in a safe house in Venice.” He continues, “There’s a port there, and he’s keeping an eye out for any... suspicious shipments.”

“Venice is lovely; we should go someday.” You suggest flirtatiously.

“You barely know me and want to take a trip together?”

“I know you like your tea unsweetened and your lasagna pipping hot,” you sneer with a terrible British accent. ”My grandmother used to say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Wise lady, that granny of yours.” He shuffles around, his body slowly relaxing.

“I’m not sure about that.” You shrug. ”She married twice; both failed.”

“Two divorces; was she as obnoxious as you are?” He scoffs and brings his tea to his mouth.

“No—Widowed.”

His body jerks. He’s coughing—no, he’s choking on his tea.

“Christ, keeper, are you trying to kill me as well?” He gasps in between short breaths.

“Are you okay?” You exclaim, unable to respond in any other manner. Don’t betray him while his mask is almost off; don’t turn around. Leave him there, choking on his tea, but never betray his trust.

He clears his throat one last time. “I’ve been in worse situations.”

“Speaking of worse situations,” you start, “I have a question; it’s uh..”

Hold on a second. Is that question necessary for this discussion? Why bring it up now, after everything you’ve done to draw him closer to you?

Fuck it, it’s too late to back off now. Just remember: You reap what you sow.

“It’s about the mask.”

“What about it?” He asks, cautious but not defensive just yet.

“Do you ever take it off?”

You feel a slight nudge—he is nodding.

“It’s just... I’ve never seen you without it.” You close your eyes and bite your lower lip in terror as if a bomb is going to go off.

“You never asked me to take it off.” He replies.

Huh—what? Is that it? No—this can’t be it. Is it?

“Would you take it off then?”

“No.”

Of course not.

His declination sounds more playful than dismissive. You chuckle to lighten the mood. In return, he leaves a suppressed cackle, pleased that he made you laugh.

“You are so grouchy, Lieutenant.”

“And you’re annoying.”

If someone heard him talk to you this way, they would think he was blatantly disrespecting you. But you are familiar with him and his jokes; this is how you communicate—through witty banter over a cup of tea.

As you’ve discovered, the Lieutenant is like a wild deer. You forcefully pursue a wild deer, and it bolts. But if you offer food and a safe environment to become accustomed to, it will eventually approach you.

That’s what happened; he was the one who came to you, not the other way around.

He adjusts his balaclava and sets the empty cup aside.

“Alright, kid, I have to go get geared up.” He says and stands up. “Thanks for the tea—and the company.”

“Anytime, Lieutenant.” You respond with a slight bow of your head. “Same time tomorrow?”

He nods at you and begins his way upstairs to his bedroom.

“Lieutenant! One last question!”

He stops in his tracks and turns his head towards his shoulder, extending his left ear towards you. You’ve done it once; you might as well do it again. Rip the bandage while he is still in a good mood.

“I disclosed my preferences; I’m not into blue-eyed sergeants, but what about you?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. ”What kind of women are you into?”

“Alive ones!” he shouts. ”So, for the love of God, stay safe and out of trouble until we finish this.”

“And then what?” You shout back with raised eyebrows, like a kid waiting for dessert.

“And then, Venice sounds like a good idea,” he replies with a smile hidden behind the mask but detectable in his voice.

———————————————————————

Next ->

[baby-tini]

Thank you so much, we did have an amazing anniversary! We kept trying to 1up each other with gifts though…

Which brings me to this thought. Anniversaries with Mikey, specifically racer, are lowk insanely competitive. You woke him up with handmade breakfast in bed?? How funny, look at this insanely large basket of flowers he bought you yesterday, sitting on the door step. You bought him a new bike he’s been eyeing occasionally? He bought you a fucking house with a diamond ring inside, sitting on the table. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate you though— I mean, obviously he does. Through all the playful competition and light hearted teasing, he’s eternally grateful to have met you. You, the love of his life, the very reason he even convinces himself to keep going, are everything to him. After the day is over, you finally think that the playful shit is over, but I mean..come on. It’s Mikey. When is he ever not trying something?

BOOM. He’s throwing you on the bed and giving you the most back breaking, hip aching, womb blowing, chest heaving, toe curling, shoulder scratching sex you’ve EVER had. And even then he can’t stop his competitive nature. By the end of the night, you’ve cum on his cock seven times and counting.

…I need to be sedated.

I'm so glad your anniversary went well and the whole one upping each other with gifts is so fucking cute!!! Also, I had too stop reading this MULTIPLE times just so I could scream and fangirl about it, I love this idea with every part of me, truly. Let me go on a rant real quick...

He is so fuckin' competetive when it come to literally ANYTHING, so him trying too out do you on your anniversary and buy you thousand dollars worth of things, really shouldn't be a surprise baby. He is in love with you, he would do anything for you, you don't even have too ask, he learned how too mind read, don't worry. Also on birthdays, he's doing E V E R Y T H I N G, trips, jewelry, clothes, handmade gifts, you name it, he'll buy it. Nothing is too much for his girl, ever, don't even let the thought of "is this too expensive", cross your mind, cause baby... nothing is too expensive for him. If you're Mikeys girl, you're already getting the best, but enough is never enough for you, in Mikeys opinion.

THIS MAN WILL GIVE YOU THE BEST SEX OF YOUR LIFE, I'LL BET MILLIONS ON IT!!! I don't picture Racer!Mikey too be as kinky as his counterparts (*cough* Manila *cough*) but... he is definitely an experimentalist, if you wanna try it, he has no problem giving it a go. You want him too wrap his pretty hands around your throat and squeeze? Just right too where your cunt is milking him for everything he's worth? To the point your eyes are rolling all the way back as your mouth falls open, not being able too scream with how good he's fucking you? Want him too cum in you and fill you to the point your stomach is bulging? He can do that, shhh of course he can do that baby... you want him too look you in the eye as he fucks you nice and deep? Of course you do, you're such a good girl for him, always his good girl, huh? Need him too brush the wet strands of your hair away from your face as you sob for him, dragging your nails down his back? Leaving the prettiest red marks as he leaves hickeys down your chest... you want that baby? 'Course you do sweet thing, always so patient baby.. waiting just like he asked you too.

Also, if you need too be sedated? I need too be euthanized, put down like a fucking dog, I swear to you...

[http-paprika]

⋆ ★ WINNING NUMBERS / JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH ★ ⋆

a small snippet for @glitterypirateduck and the soap-it-up challenge / this came to me as a fever dream yesterday and I forced myself to power through writer’s block for it. enjoy!

challenge prompt you’re distracting me / wc 455 / pairing john “soap” mactavish x f!reader / warnings swearing and an american girl’s attempt at a scottish accent

★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★

“For you.” You chuckle, ducking back into the car and handing over the multi-colored scratch card to Johnny. A groan escapes his lips as he takes it in his hands, rolling his eyes playfully as you set the last of materials, a good six-pack, needed for your trip in the backseat.

“M’not gonna tell ya shat anymore if this is tha treatment I get, lassie.” He waves the card in front of your face, the reminder of his admission. You arrived in Johnny’s life at the right place and the right time, a beaming glory that distracted him from a trickshot in a dingy bar in a losing game against his teammate; when two billiards sank Johnny gathered the courage and sought you out.

Now, you were like a lucky penny. With a polaroid of you safety stored in his tactical vest over his heart, he shoots better. And with your arm wrapped lazily around Johnny’s waist, the darts always manage to land in the right spot.

“Well, I’ll scratch it off then if you’re going to complain.” You say, attempting to snatch it out of his hand.

“Absolutely not happenin’, this is mine. Not yours, lassie.” Giggling from your seat behind the wheel, you reach for your lip gloss while he searches for loose change to scratch the metallic cover away. His blue eyes dart across the central console as you carefully apply his favorite shade, pink tinting his cheek as Johnny blinks away and the shilling begins to scratch away for a surprise.

“Yer distracting me, it’s not fair. I’ve gotta focus if I’mma win the Powerball fer ya.” Johnny lights scolds, looking up at you as you smack your lips together. The satisfying sound caused his skin to tingle.

“Good, a little distraction is necessary in a time like this.” You say, tempting him as you lean against the console. It didn’t matter if you had a rental waiting, you were going to take all the time in the world.

“Aye, no, quit!” He gripes as you start to kiss his cheek, the fresh layer of gloss marking his skin and stubble. Johnny’s knuckles are white while trying to focus on finishing his scratch ticket instead of you. “Lassie!”

The card finally displays his numbers, and winnings, a twenty pound prize shining up at them. “See, I’m still lucky. That’s enough for another six-pack and a Mars bar.” You snatch up the card between your nails, drawing his attention away from it to you.

“Never said ya weren’t.” Johnny snorts, mitts cupping your cheeks and pulling you in. The taste of your lips drives him crazy. “But I’m tha luckiest fuckin’ man in tha ‘ole bloody world kissin’ a lassie like ya.”

[karahalloway]

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 12 - Hungover on You

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: The time has come to fly back home... but who won the bet?

Word Count: 6,800

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, aggravation, references to graphic images, references to sex, references to bodily functions, toilet humour, motive for murder, way too much caffeine)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Thank you so much for bearing with me! This chapter was supposed to be done quickly but then it suddenly exploded into the almost 7,000-word monster that you see before you (I blame Leo 😆). Hopefully, the contents make up for the longer-than-planned wait! There will be one more chapter.

A/N2: As an FYI, everything that is mentioned is true/correct/accurate. Yes, everything! You'll know what I mean when you get to it! 🙃

Chapter 12 - Hungover on You

"Mmm... You're right... These pancakes are heavenly...!" enthuses Max 'round an overstuffed gob.

"I have to admit, I may have been skeptical at first, given the somewhat... dated nature of the décor," admits Chris, skewering the last bite of his own stack, "but I am very glad that I did not allow first impressions to sway me, and to instead let the delights of the fare speak for itself."

I throw him a sidelong glance. "I told you to trust me, didn't I?"

"That you did, mate," Chris chuckles good-naturedly. "That you did."

"Drake always finds the best food," sighs Max as he closes his eyes in blissful appreciation.

I shrug nonchalantly. If you know where to look...

Having hit up Times Square and snapping the obligatory pic or two — it's the end of the trip... fuck it — I'd heeded Chris' final request for this trip by tracking down somewhere we could fuel up before our fast-approaching flight home.

And given the questionable-looking nature of our chosen venue, Chris' initial trepidation had been more than understandable.

Because from the outside — but for the tell-tale smell of bacon wafting out onto the street — this joint looks more like an illicit drug den than a bona fide restaurant. The single-paned window that faces the street has a massive crack in it, the doorway stinks of stale urine, and I wouldn't be surprised if a dead body or two had ended up in the dumpster 'round the back.

The inside's not much better, either. It's a cheap, no-frills galley-kitchen kind of set-up manned by a single, overweight chef who pumps out eggs, bacon, pancakes and hash browns in massive portions while you sit on the other side of the greasy, Lino-covered counter on creaky, '60's bar stools, sipping fully-leaded coffee from chipped mugs.

In short, the complete antithesis of the polished and slightly over-glammed feel of the retro, 1950s diner we ate at yesterday.

And that's why I picked it. Because after having been up the whole night, we need something to sub-in for our lack of sleep, and nothing tastes better than comfort food when you're craving a calorie hit. Plus, Chris had wanted a 'classic' Stateside breakfast experience, and it doesn't get much more Americana than this...

"What is all that sticky goop that it's swimming in?"

...except for the fact that I have Tariq sitting on the other side of me, complaining loudly about every-damn-thing that offends his toffee-nosed sensibilities.

Because as per usual, I can't seem to take two steps in this fuckin’ city without the Almighty crapping on me.

Our butts had just hit the stools when Chris' phone began lighting up with a million-and-one messages from Max asking where we were, what the plan was, and was there any food anywhere.

So, Chris (being Chris) had extended the breakfast invite to not only Max, but to the rest of our band of noble misfits, meaning that our laid-back outing has now morphed into a real-life rendition of The Breakfast Club.

I suppress a groan as I take another swig of my scalding coffee, careful not to move my mouth too much, given that — on top of everything — my jaw has set into exactly the kind of contused stiffness that I'd hoped to avoid.

My own damn fault for not icing the damn thing down when I had the chance...

The only person missing is Leo.

Not that I really care. I've had enough of that guy and his BS for one trip. And the main reason I haven't decked him yet for the shit he pulled last night is because I haven't actually seen him since Gale and I got booted from the club.

And I don't want to ruin Chris' last hour in the Big Apple by knocking his brother's teeth out.

The same can't be said for Tariq, though...

"It's maple syrup, Besnard..." I grunt at him, trying to maintain my focus on the viscous caffeine in my hand, and not the half-a-dozen ways in which I could smash the asshole's face into the countertop.

Because after the steady stream of crap that's hit the fan in the past 36 hours, the only thing keeping me on this side of sane right now is the free-refill mugs of coffee that I've been pouring into myself since we sat down.

Which means that my mood's dancing on a hair trigger, and I'm one stupid comment away from committing violence.

The chef'd probably thank me, though...

Tariq flashes me a disgusted look. "Maple syrup...? You mean tree sap? That is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard of!"

"A lot of things come from trees, dipshit..." I mutter, forcing myself to keep staring at the wall ahead.

Tariq scoffs. "Why would—?"

"Cinnamon is obtained from the inner bark of various South and South East Asian tree species," Chris reminds him.

"And cloves are the dried aromatic flower buds of the clove tree," adds Max, chewing loudly on a ketchup-coveted tater-tot.

Tariq glares down the counter disdainfully. "What are you lot? Walking encyclopaedias...?"

"We just know where our food comes from, Besnard," I grind out around the rim of my mug. "As would you if you ever bothered to step outside."

"Where it comes from is irrelevant," comes the derisive clap-back. "The only thing that matters is the price tag."

"Even when it's been through the digestive tract of a wild animal?" interjects Max with a perfectly straight face.

Tariq nearly spews his over-steeped tea across the room. "What!"

"Certain brands of coffee demand a premium price because of their somewhat... exotic processing process," affirms Chris. "For instance, Kopi Luwak is the most exclusive coffee in the world primarily because it comes from beans that have been consumed and then excreted by the Indonesian palm civet."

Tariq's eyes bulge. "Excreted... As in—?"

"Pooped out," confirms Max gleefully. "Through tiny little butt holes."

Tariq looks like he's about to puke.

"That is correct," continues Chris. "The bile in the civet's digestive system causes the fermentation of—"

Tariq bolts from his chair.

"Lemme guess..." I drawl, turning to face the other two. "The fuck stick's just realised that he's willingly subjected himself to this fancy ass coffee."

"Ass being the operative word..." sniggers Max as he mops up the escaped yolk from his sunny-side-up eggs with a piece of over-buttered toast.

"Yes," laughs Chris, reaching for his own mug of coffee. "He accompanied his father on a business trip to Indonesia last year where he was given the 'Holy Grail' of coffees as a gift..."

"...not realising what it actually was," I snort. "Typical."

The door of the dive creaks open.

"Speaking of typical..." I muttered under my breath as I glance over my shoulder and catch sight of the familiar figure who's just stepped through the entranceway.

"Hey, hey, hey, party people!" greets Leo as he saunters up to us like he doesn't have a care in the world...

...Oh, wait. He never does.

"Glad you could make it!" smiles Chris as he gets up from his stool to clasp his brother's hand in his own. "I was starting to think maybe you lost your phone again."

"I did, as a matter of fact," confirms Leo with a lop-sided grin, fist-pumping Max as he flops down into Tariq's now-vacant seat.

Chris frowns. "But then how—?"

"DiCaprio took pity on me and gave me a new one he had lying around his flat... Which, I have to say, is pretty sweet."

Max is gaping in starry-eyed admiration. "You got to go to famous Leo's apartment? Jealous!"

"No party like the after-party! And that man knows how to party. Oh! Bacon!" the elder Rys exclaims, suddenly laying eyes on Tariq's abandoned plate.

Chris still looks confused. "But if you lost your phone—"

"The magic of the eSIM, baby!" declares Leo with a full mouth as he brandishes a brand-new iPhone into the air. "Been using it for years! Why d'you think my number never changes?"

Chris opens, then closes his mouth. "Fair point."

"Glad to see you haven't lost your touch, Walker," continues Leo with a shit-eating grin as he elbows me in the ribs. "This place is the perfect spot to get daytime murdered in!"

"Careful what you wish for, Rys..." I mutter under my breath.

"Good bacon, though!" he quips, filching another rasher.

"We can order you a helping if you're hungry..." offers Chris.

"Nah, I'm good," replies Leo, dunking the bacon into some syrup. "Grabbed a bagel on the way from this awesome little Jewish place. Do you know that they even—?"

"Oh, dear God...!" gasps Tariq, bursting back into the dining area with a horrified look on his face. "That restroom is disgusting!"

I clench my eyes shut. Sweet Jesus give me strength...

"I admit it smelled a bit funky," concedes Max, "but nothing worse than when Bertrand—"

"There is excrement floating in the toilet bowl!" Tariq all but shrieks.

"Lemme guess..." I murmur to Chris under my breath. "He didn't know how that shit got made either."

Chris' eyes bulge as his coffee goes down the wrong way.

"That is generally what happens when you take a dump," Max tells him prosaically.

"It wasn't mine!!"

"Hate to break it to you, old sport," intones Leo, laying a hand on Besnard's shoulder, "but not every pisser flushes itself. So, you're going to have t—"

"No!" interjects Tariq, shoving Leo's arm away. "I refuse to go back in there! In fact, I've had it with this entire establishment, this entire city, and this entire bloody trip! Everybody is rude, nobody respects me, and I have suffered enough denigration to last me a lifetime! I am leaving!"

Throwing his nose into the air, he turns on the heel of his treadless Ferragamo loafers to stomp out of the diner.

"Christ!" huffs Leo as he jerks a derisive thumb in Tariq's direction. "Who pissed in his Earl Grey?"

"Oh, he's just miffed because he knows he lost the bet last night," supplies Max 'round a mouthful of toast.

Leo perks up. "What bet?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." I groan.

I'd completely forgotten 'bout the stupid bet...

"He does know that the hotel is in the other... direction..." coughs Chris, having finally managed to clear the wayward coffee from his lungs. "Doesn't he?"

"I wouldn't bet on it," I mutter, watching Tariq nearly get run over by an early morning cab as he tries to cross the street. "If we're lucky, he'll end up in Brooklyn again."

Chris starts hacking all over again as he tries and fails to stifle a laugh. "You're a...horrible person..."

"But I'm not wrong," I tell him, pointedly lifting my mug to my mouth again.

"Screw the sour-arsed sod!" cries Leo. "I want to know about this bet! And why I wasn't included on it!"

"You weren't there," I tell him tersely. "Plus, you'd've been ineligible anyway."

"Why would I—?" The proverbial lightbulb clicks to life in Leo's head. "Ooh! It was a race to fourth base, wasn't it?"

"Congrats, Sherlock," I grunt. "You've graduated to deductive reasoning..."

"Not just a pretty face, Walker," winks Leo in reply.

I roll my eyes as I return my attention to my coffee.

"But who's the winner...?" Leo continues contemplatively, eyeing the rest of us.

Max opens his mouth...

"No! Don't tell me!" decrees Leo, shoving a hand into the Beaumont's face. "I wasn't included in the bet, so I demand some vicarious recompense! I'm going to guess!"

"How—?" starts Chris.

"By using my incomparable situational awareness, sprinkled with just a smidge of mind-reading!"

"Sounds mystical..." admits Chris.

"Oh, it is! Prepare to be amazed!"

"I'm ready!" shouts Max like an overeager five-year old.

My head hits the Lino between my arms with a pained groan. Somebody just shoot me...

"Alrighty, then," declares Leo, rubbing his hands together with an ungodly dose of perverse satisfaction. "So, we know for a fact that Toss-Pot Besnard never made it out the gate, and—"

"How are you so certain?" asks Chris with a frown.

"For a start, it's Tariq," I mutter at him from the greasy countertop. "Plus, if by some miracle he had managed to pull, he'd've been bragging about it as soon as he walked in."

"True..." Chris concedes with a laugh.

"But, more importantly," adds Max, "Lucy and Jamie — the two girls he'd been after — ended up taking me home last night."

My head snaps up so fast, I nearly give myself whiplash. "They fucking what?"

"You heard me!" grins Max like the Grinch who stole Christmas.

"Hayley and Harper's friends..." reiterates Chris carefully. "You slept with both of them?"

"Yup!" comes the cocky affirmation.

"Well, fuck me running..." I scoff with a shake of my head.

Though I can't seem to stop an involuntary smirk from pulling at my mouth. Because that shit? That's impressive.

"Yes, gold star to Baby Beaumont," agrees Leo with a grin, slapping Max on the back. "But did he seal the deal before my little brother? That's the million-dollar question..."

"What about Drake?" interjects Chris. "He and Harper—"

"Oh, Walker didn't score!" laughs Leo.

Chris' eyes widen as he turns back to me. "You didn't? But you were the first to leave."

"Not by choice..." I admit sourly.

"Captain America here got his arse handed to him by a couple of beefcakes..." Leo explains.

"Fuck you, Rys!" I snap. "It was five against one and I still held my ground!"

"It was you who got caught up in that fight?" gasps Max. "That looked brutal..."

"It would certainly explain the bruises on your face," muses Chris, eyeing me critically. "And the ripped shirt."

I make a vague noise by way of reply. But I don't bother to correct him. The details aren't important. They lead to the same result.

Not that that's anybody's business...

"...and promptly got tossed out the club with Swifty in tow," continues Leo cheerfully. "Which I'm guessing is the reason why she wasn't willing to put out, because—"

I shoot off the stool, shattering the mug in my hand in the process. "Mention her one more time, Rys, and I swear to God—"

"Wait, wait, wait, wait!" interjects Max with a frantic wave of his hands. "If he left with Harper, how do you know that he didn't—?"

Leo jabs an uncompromising finger into my face. "Does this look like the expression of a man who spent the night warmly cocooned by the soft embrace of a woman's supple and welcoming thighs?"

I slap his hand away with a growl.

"Hmm..." muses Max, narrowing his eyes at me. "Now that you mention it... He does seem surprisingly grouchy this morning. Even more so than he was last night..."

"Beaumont..." I warn.

"Whereas my little brother is positively glowing!" continues Leo, fanning his hands around Chris by way of illustration. "Tell me you don't see the difference!"

"Fuck you, both," I grunt, slinging myself down into the barstool again.

A fresh mug of coffee appears before me, as if by magic.

I grab for it tersely. Where's the whiskey when you need it...?

"I rest my case," declares Leo smugly. "Which means, it's down to Lord Three-Way Beaumont and Prince Pull-Hard Charming. But who took their ladies to Heaven first...?"

"It doesn't matter," I grunt abrasively. "Max isn't in the running."

"I am afraid he is correct," Chris agrees after a second's reflection, glancing at Max. "No one backed you, so—"

"Rubbish!" objects Leo loudly. "The sheer act of the ménage à trois should guarantee him a spot in the champions' league, if not the entirety of the pot outright!"

"Except he's not the one who gets the money," I point out. "It's the person who ponied him."

"Christ, if it's that much of an issue, I'll punt him!" declares Leo. "What were the stakes?"

"Eight hundred ducats," Max tells him.

"Done," Leo declares, pulling his wallet out to drop a handful of Ben Franklins on the counter.

Chris meets my eye. "Your call, Drake. It's your money on the line."

I flick my eyes between Max and Chris, before letting out a low breath. "Fuck it. Let's make it interesting."

Pulling my own wallet out, I slap the requisite cash down as well.

Because worst case? I'm out of pocket $500. But best case? I net four times that. And I'm my book, that's a play worth making. Especially when my money's on Chris.

"That's my man!" whoops Leo, punching me enthusiastically in the arm.

"Careful, Rys," I warn him as Chris and Max add their contributions to the purse as well. "It's your dough I'm about to walk away with..."

"Eh..." shrugs Leo unconcernedly. "Money's relative."

"Spoken like a born-and-bred fat cat," I reply dryly.

"And now for the big reveal!" shouts Leo, clapping his hands together. "The stakes are set. The buttocks are clenched. Who takes the crown of Don Juan?"

Chris and Max exchange wry looks.

"What time did you get back to the hotel?" Max asks.

"Just after midnight, I believe..."

"Twelve thirty-five," I tell him.

Max's feet start dancing beneath him. "Oh, this is going to be close! We got back to the girls' flat around half-past as well."

"Sod all that!" cries Leo. "Get to the climax, gents! We want to know who got slob on their knob first!"

"Well, after we got back to the suite, we shared a drink before we..." Chris clears his throat. "...retired to the bedroom. So, perhaps 1am?"

"Yeah-yah!" enthuses Leo with a snap of his fingers. "Bring it home like a pro, bro!"

"Not sure why you're rooting for him," I scoff.

"I am permitted to share in my little brother's sex-tastic accomplishments!" he counters. "Especially when I'm the one who taught him everything he knows!"

"Except now, it's about to leave you out of pocket," I smirk, reaching for the pile of cash.

"Hold on!" interjects Max, scrolling furiously through his phone. "I think I have Christian beat!"

I frown. "How in the—?"

"Watch it and weep!" the Beaumont exclaims triumphantly, thrusting his phone out.

Leaning in towards the device — from the speakers of which spew the unmistakably pornographic sounds of sex — Leo, Chris, and I are greeted with a bird's eye view of Max balling Lucy from behind while she went down on Jamie's spread-eagled form on the bed.

Leo's jaw drops. "You filmed it?"

"Would've been rude not to," smirks Max.

"You dirty bugger!" laughs Leo, grabbing the Beaumont to noogie him.

I pull my eyes away from the X-rated spectacle. "Okay, but how does this—?"

"Look at the...time stamp," prompts Max from beneath Leo's arm.

Glancing back at the screen, I focus in on the tiny numbers at the top.

12:52am.

My shoulders slump. "Goddamn it."

"Looks like we have our winner," Chris concedes with a wry chuckle.

"You're not even going to contest it?" I demand, throwing an accusatory hand out at Max.

"I am not sure there is anything to contest," replies Chris. "The numbers speak for themselves. And since Maxwell is the only one out of the two of us who had the foresight to record the exact timing of the event, I think it is only fair that he takes the pot."

"Yeah, baby!" whoops Leo, jumping off his stool with outstretched arms to thrust out an in-your-face victory dance à la Ace Ventura. "Can you feel it? Can... you... feel it?! Damn, it feels good!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever..." I grunt with a roll of my eyes.

But, Leo's asinine antics aside, I have to hand it to Max. Not only did the guy manage to go above and beyond, but he somehow managed to beat the clock as well.

So, I can't begrudge second place too much.

"I believe this is rightfully yours, big brother," declares Chris, graciously handing the pile of bills over.

"Why, thank you, little brother!" grins Leo as he accepts the winnings with a mock bow...

...before studiously dumping the cash into Max's lap.

The Beaumont's eyes widen in disbelief. "I— But you— I didn't—"

"Hey, I wasn't the one with my pants down on the front lines last night," he says. "So, if anyone deserves the spoils of war, it's you."

Max is still gawping like a stupefied goldfish. "But—"

"Spend it well, kemosabe," the elder Rys incants somberly, laying a hand on Max's shoulder.

"Th-thank you," stammers Max, suddenly overcome with unexpected emotion.

"Ehh... Don't mention it!" shrugs Leo with a grin. "I'm just here for the memories. Though... speaking of, if you want your lasting memories of this trip to be anything other than dear Father sending a squadron of Guards after you to haul you back across the Pond, I suggest you get your tushes to the airport."

"Oh, shit..." I cuss, glancing down at my watch. "We gotta move." Necking the last of my coffee, I signal for the cheque.

"Are you flying back with us?" asks Chris as he pushes himself off his stool.

"Nah," demurs Leo, reaching across his brother to grab the final piece of bacon off Tariq's plate. "As much as I'd love to steal your thunder by gate-crashing yet another fancy ball that I don't have an invitation to, you know Regina still hasn't revoked that shoot-on-sight order she put out on my head last year."

Chris laughs. "I'm sure it's not all that bad..."

"You'd be surprised!" insists Leo with only a touch of sardonicism. "Plus, I promised Katie that I'll bring her back a box of cronuts. So, I got a few errands to run before I jet out."

"Well, in that case," replies Chris, reaching out to envelop his brother in a hug, "thank you for coming, and we'll hopefully see each other soon!"

"You can bet on it, matey," confirms Leo, giving Chris a heartfelt thump on the back before pulling away. "At the Coronation, if nothing else."

Chris' eyes widen. "Father signed off on your attendance?"

"Not yet," the elder Rys admits. "But I'm slowing wearing the old man down."

"Well, I — for one — certainly hope you succeed!" laughs Chris.

"I have faith in myself," winks Leo. Leaning past Chris, he reaches out to bump knuckles with Max. "Beaumont. Say hi to Bert for me."

"Will do," nods Max. "And thank you. Again. You really didn't—"

"Like I said," Leo deflects with an arrant smirk. "Don't even mention it."

Max nods gratefully.

Finally, Leo turns to me. "Walker."

I meet his eye impassively as I draw myself up to my full height to face him. "Rys."

"You got his six, right?" he asks, inclining his head almost imperceptibly back towards his brother, who — true to his earlier promise — is in the process of intercepting the bill before it can make it to me.

"Come hell or high water," I affirm.

"Good," he nods, his expression uncharacteristically tight. "'Cause there's going to be both. And he'll need someone to help pull him through."

"This ain't my first rodeo, Leo," I remind him, watching Chris trying to figure out which greenback was which with Max's help as he sought to pay for our breakfast.

"I know," acknowledges Leo, his face tightening as the memories of the fallout from the assassination attempt flash through his memory. "But I still appreciate it. He is my only brother, after all."

I meet his eye. "Then you know why I'm doing it."

Leo holds my gaze for a long moment before extending his hand. "You're a good friend, Drake."

"Someone's gotta be," I tell him with a wry smile, reciprocating the gesture.

Leo might grate me up the wrong way with his bad jokes and juvenile attitude, but we are — and always have been — on the same page when it comes to Chris.

"They're rarer than you think," Leo murmurs softly. Dropping my hand, he turns back to Chris and Max, who have finally managed to settle the bill, plus tip. "Ciao, amigos! It's been a blast!"

"Have a good flight!" Chris tells him with a wave.

"I always do!" Leo assures him. "Stay safe, little brother. Give the ladies a fair chance, don't do anything I wouldn't—"

I scoff. "Is there even such a thing?"

"—and remember," Leo continues unabashedly, "if you're ever in doubt, there's always the balcony!"

Chris stifles a laugh. "I'm sure it won't come to that..."

"Never underestimate the beauty of a Plan B!" Leo hollers over his shoulder as he pulls the rickety door open, and steps out onto the street.

Max stares after him with a perplexed look. "When he said 'balcony'... Did he mean you jumping off it, or you throwing the lady off?"

"I wouldn't read into it too much," I advise as I grab my leather jacket to pull it on. Turning to Chris I ask, "You good?"

"Yes, I think I managed to sort the bill..." he replies, pulling his own jacket on as well. "Fifty percent gratuity is acceptable here, right?"

I nearly dislocate my shoulder putting my arm into a non-existent sleeve. "Erm... Yeah. Sure. More than acceptable."

Christmas definitely came early for this waitress!

But at least the hefty tip would help smooth over any wayward resentment left in the wake of Tariq's ass-like behaviour.

Chris' face visibly relaxes. "Oh, good! I wasn't sure of the correct etiquette."

"Trust me," I drawl, opening the creaky door. "You ain't never gonna fall flat in that department."

"If you say so," concedes Chris with a smile as he and Max follow me out onto the street.

"I know so," I assure him, leading the way back to Broadway.

At just gone 7am on a weekday, the city is already a hive of activity with cyclists, taxis, and pedestrians vying for position on the thoroughfares against the buses, garbage trucks, and private vehicles, as everyone tries to get where they're going just that much faster.

My gaze tracks west almost on auto-pilot. Wonder what Gale's doing... Is she still asleep, or—?

I yank myself forcefully back from the precipice of that dead-end drift.

The only thing that matters right now is getting Chris and Max (...Tariq can go fuck himself) back to the hotel and then getting 'cross town to Teterboro in time for scheduled departure.

Leo hadn't been joking when he'd said that Constantine would not hesitate to unleash a squadron of King's Guard on our tails if we didn't arrive back in Cordonia by the agreed time.

That had been the agreement.

Because the first event of the season kicks off tomorrow with the Masquerade Ball, and Chris has a full week's worth of engagements penciled into the twelve hours beforehand.

Which means that there can be zero deviations, zero slippages. We have to be on that plane...

...even though that's the last thing any of us want to do right now.

Because glancing back at Chris and Max as we make our way up back to the hotel, it's clear that New York has been a much-needed escape for both of them. Not just from the daily grind of court, but also from the strictures of expectation. As here, you weren't your name, or your title, or your birthright.

You were just another guy on the street, trying to make your American dream come true.

And despite — or rather, because of — their stations, that's a privilege that neither Chris nor Max have ever had the luxury of experiencing before. Because even though they may have all the money in the world, one thing they could not buy with it is freedom — true freedom. As money garnered expectations and expectations choked you out like chains around your neck.

And that was life's unfair trade-off...

...unless you were Leo, who somehow managed to screw the pooch into laying him a golden egg by finding a woman who was apparently not only worth abdicating for, but who also turned out to be loaded in her own right, thanks to a very generous inheritance provision in her grandmother's will.

And because that money came with zero strings attached, the lucky bastard got to have it all: living it up large, while also getting to flip the rules and regulations that he's always hated the bird.

But, unfortunately for the rest of us mere mortals who weren't born with the luck of the devil, the best we can hope for are those rare moments in between when the constraints of your usual life fall away, and you're rewarded with a much-needed breath of levity.

And maybe that's why I'd fallen so hard and fast for Gale. Because irrespective of the magnetic pull she had on me, she wasn't just some hot girl I'd happened to hit it off with. As while undeniable, the deep seated attraction went beyond the mere physical... or even the personal.

Because beyond the fact that she was gorgeous, funny, and knocked me for six at every turn, she was more than just simple perfection. She was the sweet promise of possibility. Tantalising me with a taste of what could've been in a world free of obligation. Where I was just me — not an undercover Guard, not a duty-bound friend to a prince, not a jaded outsider confined to the sidelines, always looking in.

But as entrancing as the experience had been, I know it couldn't last.

Because such moments are — by their nature — transient. And like a pre-dawn mist on the water, they dissolve with the first light of the sun.

Just like our time in the States.

Which means that it's time to return to reality. Whether we want to or not.

Because duty always calls.

Arriving back at the hotel, I see that the pre-arranged limo is already idling next to the curb.

Detouring by the driver's side window, I have a quick word with the chauffeur to let him know that we'll be back down in a sec with our bags.

Turning to lope into the hotel, I catch up with Chris and Max just as the lift arrives in the lobby. The doors ping open and we pile in to make our way up to our floor, each of us lost in our respective thoughts.

The elevator arrives on our booked-out floor and we disperse into our rooms to throw our shit together. While packing, I send a text to Schweitzer to let him know that we're bugging out, so his team can start the clean-up and check out.

Zipping my duffle up, I do one last sweep of the space before grabbing the keycard and exiting the room for the final time.

Stepping back out into the corridor as the door clicks shut behind me, I find Chris already waiting for a lift.

"You were quick," I say, coming to a stop next to him.

"Wasn't much to pack," he admits.

"Hayley still there?"

"Yes, she's sleeping," he confirms with a ghost of a smile. "I couldn't bring myself to wake her."

I nod wordlessly. Good-byes suck. They're either gut-wrenching, or awkward, or both. Best to just—

"Will...you be back?" "I wouldn't hold my breath." "Maybe I want to."

The ding of the elevator knocks me back into the present.

Shaking my head, I step into the car after Chris. But for some reason, I can't seem to duck the sudden sense of emptiness that's dropped into my guts. Like I'd forgotten something... Even though I know I haven't.

I rub my eyes. I'm just beat...

I'm about to hit the button for the lobby when Max careens in out of nowhere to throw himself through the wedge between the doors, Gucci backpack dangling haphazardly from his arm.

"Oh, thank God!" he pants, falling gracelessly into the small space. "Thought you'd left already!"

"We wouldn't dream of leaving without you, dear friend," Chris assures him with a laugh.

"Speak for yourself," I grunt abrasively as the doors finally close. "You fall behind, you get left behind."

Max's eyes widen. "You wouldn't!"

I meet his gaze impassively. "Try me."

"But Tariq—"

"—can find his own damn way home," I cut in flatly. "If he ain't buckled up by last and final call, that plane's not waiting for him."

Max flicks his horrified gaze from me to Chris.

Chris shrugs. "Drake is correct. It is unfortunately too short notice to modify the flight plan and—"

Throwing his head down, Max begins typing away furiously on his phone.

"You're wasting you're time, Beaumont," I tell him with a low exhale. "Regardless of where the fuck-wit is, he'll still need to come back to the hotel to get his passport, if nothing else. He ain't gonna make it."

"But we can't just abandon him!"

"He's a grown-ass man," I grunt dispassionately in response as we hit the ground floor again. "If he can't be bothered to look at his overpriced Rolex, then that's his problem. Not mine."

"Chances are he is waiting for us at the terminal already," advises Chris optimistically.

"But—"

"Drop it, Beaumont," I grunt, grabbing my duffel to march out of the elevator car without a backwards glance.

I have no clue why Max is being so hard up about waiting for the dipshit who wasn't even supposed to be on this trip in the first place. Especially since that same dipshit also happens to be in possession of a gold credit card.

So, I really can’t give a flying fuck if Besnard misses the flight. He can pay for his own charter home.

I'm not about to jeopardise Chris' commitments for the benefit of a self-absorbed prick.

Exiting the lobby, I beat a straight line to the back of the waiting limo. The chauffeur spots my approach and scrambles to open the door, but I've already beaten him to it.

Popping the trunk, I toss my duffle in before making my way to the front to grab the shotgun seat while Chris and Max offload their own bags.

A slam of doors, a click of seatbelts and we're pulling out onto 57th St., only ten minutes behind schedule.

I try to settle down for the half-hour drive, but I find my knee jackhammering impatiently. I know we have plenty of time to spare before takeoff, but I hate running late. Even if it's only by a minute.

Because you never what kind of shit's gonna hit the fan — roadworks, lane closure, freeway pileup — and you can't mitigate if you ain't got any time in the bank.

I can only hope and pray that we don't run into any last-minute surprises on the 15 or so miles to the airport.

Chris strikes up some kind of conversation with the chauffeur, but I'm in no mood for small talk. Folding my arms, I try to tune out whatever it is they're saying by watching the skyscrapers flick past as we head west, then north to pick up the George Washington Bridge to Jersey.

And apart from a brief wait at the toll plaza on the other side of the Hudson, the journey passes quickly and uneventfully.

Arriving at the airport concourse, we exit the limo and make our way into the main terminal building. Luckily, at this time in the morning, there are not too many flights, so we pass through customs without any hang-ups...

...except for the fact that Max remains glued to his phone, obsessively-compulsively checking for texts from Tariq every two seconds, even as we board the jet.

"Have you tried calling him?" Chris asks as he stows his bag in preparation for the flight.

"At least ten times," confirms Max, glancing anxiously out the window in the over-keen hope that Tariq will magically appear.

"Maybe his phone ran out of battery..." offers Chris hopefully.

"More likely he got mugged," I grunt, falling into one of the leather seats.

Max throws me a disbelieving look. "That's a horrible—! Oh. You're actually serious..."

"Guy like him... Prime target," I reply dispassionately.

Max's face drains of colour. "We have to call the police!"

"And say what?" I snap abrasively. "That the bell-end got himself lost somewhere in Manhattan? They'll laugh us off the call."

"But—"

"If Tariq really is in trouble, he can hit up the Cordonian consulate," I declare uncompromisingly. "But it was his bright idea to throw a hissy fit and stomp off in the wrong direction when—"

"You ungrateful ingrates!"

My eyes snap past Max. "For fuck's sake..."

Tariq is stood in the doorway of the jet, looking like he'd literally battled his way through the nine levels of hell to get here. His over-gelled hair looks like it's been zapped with a Taser, his clothes are somehow drenched and filthy, and he's wearing only one shoe.

"Would it have killed you to wait?!" he shrieks, throwing his Louis Vuitton man-bag onto the closest seat.

"Yes..." I reply.

Tariq shoots me a murderous expression. But before he can open his mouth again, Max has crushed him into an over-eager bear hug.

"You made it!" he enthuses. He pulls back suddenly. "But why were you not picking up your phone? And also, why do you smell like a wet dog?"

"Because I was robbed!"

"Told ya," I smirk across the aisle at Chris.

"It's not funny!" shouts Tariq, jabbing an irate finger at me. "If you only knew of the horrors that I have been subjected to, you would think more than twice about making light of my plight!"

"Pretty sure I wouldn't..." I mutter with a roll of my eyes.

"What was that?" demands Tariq imperiously.

"Nothing," I grunt as a steward appears next to my seat.

"Can I interest you in a pre-flight refreshment?" she asks.

"Yeah, sure," I shrug.

She hands me something pink and bubbly in a champagne glass. "Enjoy!"

"I doubt it," I mutter, grabbing the flute to throw it back in one swig.

I grimace as the sour mix of grapefruit and Prosecco hits the back of my throat. But alcohol's alcohol, and at this point, I would've downed windscreen wash if it'd've helped drown out Tariq's high-pitched info dump of his trials and tribulations.

Kinda wish we had left the bastard behind...

But I couldn't seem to win on this trip, so I'm just going to have to suck up the next twelve-or-so hours locked up in an airtight fuselage with the bouchebag and pray that there's enough whiskey on board to keep me from choking him out.

Pulling my phone from my pocket to help distract myself, I shoot off one final text to Schweitzer to let him know that we've made it to the airport and we're about to take off.

I'm about to do the same for Bast when the over-taxed device finally gives up the ghost and the battery dies halfway through the text.

"Great..."

Reaching into my duffel with a sigh, I extract the phone's charging cable and plug it into the seat's USB port so it can get some life back while we're airborne.

As Tariq continues to piss and moan about nearly getting run over, having his phone stolen right out of his hand as he tried to call a cab — followed shortly thereafter by his watch — and then tripping and falling into an open excavation hole as he tried to chase after the pickpockets, the cabin crew shut the aircraft door and complete their final cross-checks in preparation for departure.

A quick intro from the captain, and the jet starts rolling. After a short taxi, we're out on the runway, where we idle for a couple of minutes waiting for the go from the tower.

As soon as we get it, the pilot revs the turbines and the jet lurches forward. We hurtle down the runway, wheels bouncing and jet engines whining before jumping into the air to start our climb to 41,000 feet.

Glancing out the window, I watch the ground fall away as we ascend over Jersey, my ears popping from the rapid altitude change.

The plane banks sharply to the right and I catch sight of the Manhattan skyscape...

...but there must've been something in the mimosa because I’ve crashed out before the plane fully levels off.

The story concludes in Epilogue: Into The Night.

A/N: As another little bonus, here is a pic of Chris in Times Square:

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Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits: Breakfast - New York - Diner - Chris - Tariq

Max, Leo, and Drake were generated using the AI art app Wonder

[dreamsclock]

Hi!

I don’t know if you know the Dreams Chat as butterflies Headcanon but I am literally in love with it. So combined with the protégé AU I think that could make a pretty cute situation?

Hope you have a nice day!

PROTÉGÉ TOMMY AU / BUTTERFLY CHAT AU

Tommy wakes up to a beautiful orange butterfly perched on his nose.

His gut reaction is to slap at it, but it flutters high above him before his hand connects, and so he only really succeeds in hitting himself in the face.

“Dreeeeeaaam,” he groans, head flopping back against the bed, “go the fuck to sleep, man.”

warnings: ambiguous / hurt/comfort ending

His only answer at first is the sound of a man at the end of his tether turning over in bed.

“Dream.”

“How’d you even know I was awake?” A familiar voice grouses from across the room. “You’re so creepy. You’re like— stalking me or something. Monitoring my breathing.”

Resigned to the fact he won’t be sleeping any time soon, Tommy flips on the light beside him. He doesn’t particularly care if he wakes Punz: Punz is an idiot, and he sucks, and yesterday he’d tripped him up and made him look like an idiot in front of Techno, so yeah, Tommy hopes he wakes up. And he hopes he’s pissed.

But thoughts of smug vengeance die quickly when his attention is drawn to something much more pressing instead: namely, the roof of their base.

Or what had been the roof of their base. Tommy can’t actually see it anymore because it’s become the joke of thousands and thousands of tiny butterflies, fluttering their wings innocently, but he’s certain the roof is still under there somewhere. Hopes it is, anyway. Last thing he needs is for their roof to have been completely destroyed by a bunch of stupid ugly butterflies he doesn’t even like.

“Your fuckin’ Chat,” Tommy scowls, “don’t blame me. Maybe if you had a normal fucking version of your Chat that wasn’t seventy thousand butterflies— Jesus Christ, man, they’re just creepy. They’re everywhere and they’re creepy and they’re fucking orange.”

“They’re not all orange.” Finally gracing Tommy with his presence, Dream sits up in bed. His eyes are bloodshot, and there are dark rings under them. There’s a butterfly nesting in his unruly hair that he gently lets land on his finger, a small green one, lined with silver spirals. “Nat isn’t. Don’t tell me you’re colourblind or something.”

Tommy stares. “You named them?”

“No— what?” Dream splutters. “Tommy, it’s— Your Chat all have names. You’re not being serious. You knew that, right?”

From underneath Tommy’s bed, there’s the sound of a mechanical, sad whir from his Chat. He tries not to think about it too much. “I— Yeah, course I knew,” he says, breezily, “they— all of them? Like there’s multiple names?”

“You’ve been neglecting your Chat.” Incredulously, Dream shakes his head. “That’s fucked up, Tommy.”

“Not neglecting!” He protests. “Just not—”

“Jesus Christ,” Punz snaps, “can both of you shut the hell up?”

From the doorway, Punz appears like a rabid animal, arms crossed, tapping his foot as if he’s the most long-suffering person on the planet, which in all fairness, Tommy thinks, he might just be. Dream takes one look at his ally and flips back down into bed with a groan, hands covering his face like he’s the second most long-suffering person on the planet, which in all fairness, he might just be. “Sorry,” Dream mumbles, “Tommy is just—”

“Don’t speak.” Punz tells him. “I don’t wanna hear the kid’s name before eight tomorrow morning. I want a— these are my Tommy-Free hours, okay. You wanted him here, so you keep him for the night.”

Tommy squawks. “I’m not a pet!”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Dream and Punz say in tired unison, before offering each other a reluctant grin.

—

By the time they actually settle down to sleep again, the butterflies have settled down. They’re calm, shrouding Dream’s body in a soft multicolored glow that surprisingly, doesn’t annoy Tommy as much as he’d assumed. His own Chat has fallen asleep again, making soft little hums as it sleeps, and, heavy-eyed, Tommy finds himself following suit.

“Dream?” He yawns. “Why were you still awake earlier?”

For a moment, he thinks Dream might already be asleep. But then his voice rings out in the darkness, quiet, tentative.

“I… was thinking,” he admits, “about tomorrow.” And then he says, “I… was scared.”

Tommy’s eyes snap open.

“What?”

Dream doesn’t reply. For once in his life, Tommy doesn’t push the subject. But he doesn’t fall asleep that night either, plagued with thoughts of the morning to come. Because the morning brings a new day with it, and the new day brings the staged disk finale with the rest of the server.

Which brings with it, the prison.

When dawn breaks, Tommy sits up in bed, quietly, and locks his gaze on Dream’s sleeping form across the room. Without his mask, in the pale light of early morning, he looks vulnerable. The butterflies crowding round him aren’t beautiful, anymore. They’re protective.

I was thinking. About tomorrow. I was scared.

Tommy’s lips pull themselves into a tight, tight frown.

When Dream wakes, he says nothing. But before they part ways to play their respective roles, Tommy seizes his arm roughly, pulls him close.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he says, voice thick, “trust me, man. You’re gonna be fine.”

Dream, expression hidden behind his mask, doesn’t speak for a long moment.

“I know,” he says finally, and the words come out resigned, tired, “I’m always fine, Tommy.”

There is a lone butterfly in his hair when they separate, and Tommy hides it under his helmet. The rest remain with Dream until the bitter end.

Tommy’s butterfly stays with him when Dream is locked away, and Tommy keeps it safe, fluttering right over his heart.

send me prompts via my askbox!

[writtenjewels]

Partner part 5

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Salim couldn't make any sense of Jason's behavior. The younger man seemed happy at first when they went out together, but by the end he was more withdrawn. Salim tried to assure him that he didn't have to go on such trips again, but that only made Jason angry. Salim decided the best thing to do was to give Jason his space.

The garden was his pride and joy. Salim often felt overwhelmed by all the demands of his position, but here in the garden it was simpler. There was only the gritty earth between his fingers and the mixture of scents from his plants. Usually Salim could get his mind to clear with some weeding and watering, but not tonight. His thoughts kept traveling back to Jason.

What happened today? Salim thought they were getting closer. The feel of Jason's hand was so assuring, every squeeze giving him strength. More than that, they talked and laughed together so naturally one would think they'd known each other for longer than a few days. Salim knew he should keep that in mind. They were still getting used to each other.

He headed back inside, making sure to be quiet so he didn't disturb Jason. Salim started a bath and began to strip down.

“How's the garden?” The voice caught him by surprise. Salim quickly snatched a robe and pulled it on.

“Ah, Jason, I didn't... I thought you might be asleep.” He turned to face Jason, who was standing in the opening that separated their rooms. The man was still fully dressed. Jason shrugged at Salim's comment, leaning against the wall.

“I'm a night owl.”

“I see.” Salim lifted his head and decided to test the waters. “I thought owls were supposed to be wise.”

“Wow.” Jason let out a snort, shaking his head. “You are such an asshole.”

“I can be nicer if you ask.”

“Nah.” Jason's lips lifted into a smirk. “I can deal with your bullshit.”

“And I can deal with yours,” Salim retorted. Jason chuckled, and Salim's heart warmed. This was the ease he sensed between them before. If only Salim knew what made Jason angry earlier. He glanced between the inviting bath water and where Jason stood.

“I'll talk to you at breakfast tomorrow,” Jason promised, turning away. Salim was sorry to see him go, but a little relieved, too. The idea of stripping down with Jason watching made his heart beat fast.

They sat together at breakfast, and this time Salim got to introduce an unfamiliar food to Jason. Maybe Jason had just been tired yesterday; Salim knew he could sometimes be in a bad mood if he was under enough stress.

“I have a few meetings scheduled today,” Salim mentioned after the dishes were cleared.

“You want me there?”

“You don't have to--”

“That ain't what I asked,” Jason interrupted. “I get it, I ain't high-class or nothin'. Stop bein' so fuckin' nice about it.” The harsh tone caught Salim off-guard. So that was why Jason was upset yesterday.

“Jason.” Salim reached for his hand, hoping Jason wouldn't mind the touch. “You helped me so much just by agreeing to be my life partner. It feels wrong to ask any more of you.”

“I can handle it,” Jason insisted fiercely. He locked eyes with Salim. “I can deal with your bullshit.” The words sounded like they took on a different meaning. Jason's hand squeezed around Salim's. “Do you want me there today?” he asked again.

“Yes,” Salim responded. “Do you want to be there?”

“Yep.” Jason nudged their shoulders together. Salim nudged him back. They stayed like that, shoulders touching, until it was time to go. Jason hadn't let go of Salim's hand. The way their fingers interlocked felt good.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

I know, I know it might be the algorithm and all but I'm actually disturbed by how much content I see on places like Instagram, reels of couples talking about how your partner is toxic if they're not letting you have access to their phone, don't give you the code to their devices (Clearly they have something to hide!!!!) if they're spending time with (respectively) male/female friends on their own or if they're going out - and I don't think it's a coincidence that the vast majority are explicitly or implicitly about women being 'toxic' if they don't give their boyfriend access to their social media or have male friends or go out on parties or have female friends (!) (because apparently female friends will sabotage the relationship aka tell her that her boyfriend is a controlling manipulative knob). One woman bragged about how her boyfriend sends her photos and locations every several minutes on vacation to show her that he's just with the boys and that this is beautiful and normal and 'see, your relationship can be this healthy, too! Don't take less!' <3<3<3<3<3<3 Yesterday I saw a guy talking about how if he pays more for stuff like rent or food or sth, he has a right that his girlfriend delete her social media presence entirely.

it's 'they read my message at 10:15 am and haven't responded!!!!!'/'they were online on social media A but didn't respond to me on social media B!!!'/'they received so-and-so many snaps!!!' culture meeting toxic relationship meeting heteronormative stereotypes and relationship models meeting using therapy language for manipulation meeting 'men and women cannot be friends' meeting you have to be online and available 24/7 meeting parental child-tracking devices NOW FOR ADULTS meeting abusive partners hiding AirTags in your car (but now guilt-tripping you into taking them with you) meeting women are a passive resource that is accessible to any man talking to her for long enough.

It's basically turning relationships into a dystopia of their own where you can track your s/o like a fuckin Tamagotchi (and if they don't let you, they are the evil wrongdoers who are hurting you!). You cannot escape work anymore, you grow up controlled by your family, you're under constant supervision of whatever loser tiktoker happens to walk by you - and now even your relationship is being turned into a hyper-controlled space. Not to be dramatic, but that's another space - the most private and most intimate space for most people's lives - that is no longer private or personal and no longer in their hands.

And I think most of us adults are still analogue enough to see how toxic it is (except abusers will definitely see how useful it is to tell their SO that this is normal) - but you also have kids growing up and bombarded with this content telling them that this is normal and healthy and that they have a right to track their partner like they purchased GirlFriend Premium PlusPlusPlus and are now owed (and it's so healthy and normal and good!) access to their partner 24/7.

And there is also the simply matter of what it does to relationships if the demon of 'cheating' is constantly, constantly, constantly in the room without reason. It's pushing a culture where you treat your partner like they've already cheated - for no reason. Where the default of your relationship is treating your partner like that. Which is something that hurts you and hurts them. This is like becoming randomly obsessed with the idea that your partner might be stealing money from your purse or has a second family hidden away somewhere. It's basically setting yourself up to look for something that doesn't match up or feeling betrayed if your partner simply...wants a moment of privacy. Privacy and some alone-time is a very central human need. One that in our current time is losing a lot of ground which means that most of our secrecy is now happening in our private lives (someone made a post on here about how young people e.g. are more likely to shut their curtains and stuff). But if you now hivemind the kids into the belief that every person is per default a cheater and under constant obligation to prove otherwise (guilty unless proving innocent at all times), that's another piece of privacy disappearing and it's putting a giant strain on your relationship - basically setting it up to fail and do you both a lot of mental damage.

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Balearic Beats (The Album Vol 1) 1988 Balearic Beat / Disco / House / Industrial

Man, this is such a momentous fuckin' album that was compiled by legends Paul Oakenfold, Pete Tong, and Trevor Fung back in '88. Here they deliver the first compilation to *ever* attempt to encapsulate the sound of the wide-ranging 'Balearic beat,' a dance phenomenon whose home was in the party capital of the world, on the Spanish isle of Ibiza, where plenty of Europeans would visit and end up drawing inspiration from. And with this album, these three guys appear to have finally successfully broken through, able to bring this very quirky vibe into the UK to coat its own exploding dance music scene during the historic 'Second Summer of Love,' which saw the Chicago-born genre of acid house reach critical mass among the youth and spawn a first generation of ravers.

But Balearic beat is not something that one can easily describe, because its most defining trait is that it really only has one rule: so long as there is some sort of tangible beat that's danceable, it'll do. Essentially, Balearic beat represents an extremely expansive coterie of a whole bunch of different genres: pop, rock, house, disco—pretty much everything that ranges between James Brown funk records and industrial music, and with blends of psychedelia, Italo flavor, plenty of leftfield experimentalism, guitar rock, and chunks of world music too. It's probably the single-most unique dance music scene that this world's ever borne witness to, and it not only allowed, but actively encouraged DJs to take unprecedented levels of risk in their own selections, as a culture of decadence, hedonism, freedom, and acceptance was nurtured and fostered.

And Oakenfold and co. really tried to bring this vibe and approach into the UK's own dance consciousness a couple times between '87 and '88, after returning from summers spent on Ibiza and opening up a couple nightclubs. But things finally started taking hold with Oakey's own Monday club night called Spectrum at gay superclub Heaven in Westminster, London. And this comp, with liner notes provided by Boy's Own's Terry Farley, represents those Spectrum club nights, as well as stuff from Shoom, which is the club where the UK's acid house movement first originated. Shoom was founded by Oakenfold compatriot Danny Rampling, whose own first trip to Ibiza with Oakey and others is what inspired him to open up the club in the first place. And Rampling took ecstasy for the first time on that Ibiza trip too 💊😁🥹.

So, from a glance, by looking at this tracklist and not having any familiarity with what Balearic beat entails, you might see this list of songs and inevitably scratch your head: Italo-jazz saxophonist Enzo Avitabile?; pop starlet Mandy Smith, who's unfortunately best known for having an underage relationship with former Rolling Stone Bill Wyman and then marrying him 🤮?; San Francisco avantgardists The Residents taking the bassline from "Billie Jean" and fashioning a cover of a Hank Williams honky-tonk tune out of it?; EBM group Nitzer Ebb?; industrial act Fini Tribe on a weird, cocaine-fueled tribal disco tip with ringing and clanging bells??? What on earth is this?!?!?

But don't worry, now that you have a proper frame of reference, it'll all make a whole lot more sense when you actually put this album on 😎.

And we gotta make special mention of this release's opener too, "Jibaro" by Oakenfold and Steve Osborne's Balearic electronic project, Electra. Yesterday I posted about an Italo comp that was put out by this same Pete Tong-run FFRR label called The House Sound of Europe - Vol. V - 'Casa Latina', and I remarked that although the Electra track on there really had no business being included—because it was neither Italian-made nor really a house tune—it was still the best track that that comp had to offer, as it was the pure ultimate in 80s Ibiza silky-chillness. But this "Jibaro" track, a cover of a mid-70s Spanish psychedelic disco-funk tune, and whose own 12-inch art inspired the album art for this comp itself, represents a different branch of that girthy Balearic tree, because this one's a full-fledged house jam; slower than a typical house tune, but a house tune nonetheless; and with a richly patched-together sonic quilt of different sounds that *majorly* diverges from all the black, queer, and acid-jacking beauty that'd been emanating from Chicago.

So, ultimately, this was a very important album in the grand scheme of things. Balearic beat brought a very elastic dimension to the acid house movement writ large in the UK, and if you'll now all allow me to unveil my corkboard-and-yarn setup here to give you all a parting glimpse of just how intertwined all of this got within the UK's own vibrant, fluid, and interconnected music landscape, let's bring all of this full-circle by talking about legendary Manchester new wave band New Order.

New Order once took a two-week trip to Ibiza that had such a profound effect on them that it yielded their fifth studio LP, Technique, in 1989. And they also owned a very popular club in Manchester called The Haçienda. In '88, The Haçienda would launch its own Ibiza-themed club nights, which then played an integral role in the development of the city's own Madchester scene, a style of alternative dance music that saw indie bands mesh their sound with psychedelia and acid house beats. And one of Madchester's biggest landmarks ended up being 1990's Pills 'n' Thrills and Bellyaches, an album by a group called Happy Mondays that was co-produced by none other than the Electra boys themselves—Paul Oakenfold and Steve Osborne! 🤯

Highlights:

Electra - "Jibaro" Code 61 - "Drop the Deal" Beats Workin' - "Sure Beats Workin'" Enzo Avitabile - "Black Out" Mandy Smith - "Mandy's Theme (I Just Can't Wait) (Cool & Breezy Jazz Version)" The Residents - "Kaw-Liga (Prairie Mix)" The Woodentops - "Why Why Why (Live)" Fini Tribe - "De Testimony (Collapsing Edit)" The Thrashing Doves - "Jesus On the Payroll"

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

another GOOD fuckin day!

spent the morning doing more organizing/downsizing, then a friend stopped by and we went on an impromptu thrift store trip to exchange a jacket from yesterday, and instead I got a cute windbreaker and an old brown leather belt!

after that i went to a small ecology workshop, and it wasn’t a lot of new stuff, but it was a fun refresher, and the class was mostly older women who are involved in like community gardening and stuff. three of them stopped to talk to me afterwards, and one runs a local ‘gardening for beginners’ workshop in her free time, but professionally she’s a vegan chef from Japan!

anyway much cool stuff, i think i handled the socializing really well. in fact, i must’ve looked extra friendly today bc i was stopped three times on my walk home, twice by people looking for directions, and once by an older man looking for his escape artist cat (he was on his patio just asking if i’d seen him. i had not, unfortunately. he said if i saw him he WILL NOT respond to his name but if you make little noises at him he’ll come over for pets.)

anyway. that’s me using this as my journal again.

[sucktacular]

cw weight loss mention.

today.... is a good readmore!! good news!! a lil bit of a vent here and there cuz my brain is a mine field, but over all im feeling kind of good?

not to like.... pat my own lil head about it or anything but i went outside today. AND i went on a WALK on my OWN around the neighbourhood.... I've never walked around here on my own, and i think the last time I went out for a walk on my own was a year and a half ago when i had to come out here to check out the room for rent (current room). so its really been a hot fuckin minute. i was honestly feeling super anxious. but i put in my head phones and listened to my music and text-talked to some friends and it made it a lil easier. ; w;

I've been working out a lot too for the past few days!!!! My lil weights and lots of other exercises.... I feel really good about it so far honestly and I really hope maybe I can keep this up. especially through winter.

honestly im terrified of winter coming. i really dont want to feel stuck inside again and things get worse? I want so badly to go outside on my own. Be able to do shopping when I need. Go get little treats! Take care of myself and my needs. I'd really really like to work on getting a job or some sort of money source.because disability denied me over and over despite having even a therapist letter confirming like. heyyy theyre fucked up!!!, but like.... i want so badly to have money again. and i want to save and i want to put it away and also... being on social assistance im not allowed to leave canada for more than 7 days in a row and that is straining the FUCK out of my relationship and like my life moving forward at all in general. we cant go on a trip to the Adirondacks for the seasonal change and im super fucking bummed out about it honestly. and its literally just cuz of social assistance keeping me at home. its literally so fucked.

but anyway. im trying my fucking damnedest and im trying soooooo hard to keep upright and now sink and slip back down. Ive got some friends in my corner. and thats great. but its all on me at the end of the day. and if im being frank i fucking HATE HOW IM LIVING!!!!!!!! I DONT WANT!!!! TO BE DEPENDANT!!!! ON PEOPLE!!!!! i dont want to be stuck at home, the summer is fucking gone and i barely did anything.... i want to go out! i want to go to concerts! i want to go to festivals!! i want to go to meet ups and visit friends and i want to do so many fucking things!!! i want to explore, i want to see the world, i want to eat food and meet ppl and experience. i want so much out of my life. but im absolutely holding myself back. and i know its not entirely on me to just push myself out of that because i also dont want to burn out. and i know mental illness and i know i know i know.

but

im so tired of this. im literally clawing in my cage here and i dont feel like anyone really GETS that? idk idk maybe ppl do im just out of my mind and this ISNT ME. this isnt who i want to be, and i know i dont really get much of an option in that? cuz my brain is going to fucking keep doing what it is doing. but i AM getting therapy. I AM talking about the hard hard fucking shit. the shit that makes me want to kms the shit that makes me want to peel my skin off or just disappear entirely. im trying. and i dont want to crash and i dont want to burn and go back to this again. but like... idk man if i dont fucking push myself up im NOT gonna get back up. im complacent in the comfort of hiding away from life. when i want nothing more than to love everyone and kiss my friends faces and hold their hands and go to places and see things and eat things and do stuff blah blah blah

im strong.. im smart.. im creative... I CAN dance the dance. but im terrorized by the thought of existing enough to not be wanted around by even just one person LMAO;;;;;;

anyway this is getting a bit venty but

I WENT OUT!!! I WALKED FOR LIKE 30MIN. I GOT SWEATY. I CAME HOME. I WORKED A LITTLE. I DID MY DISHES YESTERDAY. I WORKED UP A HUGE SWEAT LAST NIGHT. I MAKE MY BED EVERY DAY. THE WEATHER IS CHILLING. I LOST 20LBS SINCE APRIL!!!! I HAVE A BETTER SLEEP SCHEDULE AND IM TRYING MY DAMNEST TO KEEP BRING IT BACK A BIT MORE (4/6am - 3/4pm right now. I'd love to wake up by 10am at minimum honestly). IM MOTIVATED IM TRYING SO FUCKING HARD.

i need to remember im independent. and i fucking adore my independence. and i need to stop being so complacent to allow ppl to care for me. like obv my heart is open to it and i let people in and i dont shy away. to be a human is to care and receive care. but my independence is a deeply deeply personal thing for me and without it im... just not myself. im just not me. im just not at my full potential. and i reallllly need to work it out.