#alcoholism implied /

[amusedmuralist]

The pink opaque

Get a wide mouth Thermos

Add frozen pink dragon fruit

Get lemon soda water and agrum or another pink soda, warm from the super market

Add them slowly to the Thermos, one after another, in the dark. The 2 things together is important, the chill of the frozen pink fruit and the fizz of the pink soda

When it feels like something is missing, Add gin. Keep adding gin. Keep adding gin until you can ignore the feeling and the labour of your suffocating breaths

[firedragon1321]

All You Never Wanted (Short Story)

I'm working on a short story collection called Down With This Ship. It's on the back burner, mostly. But the central theme is "forced love". There's dystopias, artificial intelligence, fractured fairy tales, a horrifying deconstruction of The Bachelor (inspired by the hellsite itself) and an early draft for my novel Tick Tick, amongst many other things.

This entry is a second-person experiment. It's One-Sided Male Yandere Human Cartoon Character x Gender Unspecified "Normal" Reader. This is not meant to be romantic, but that's the clearest way I can communicate the content. It's still a little rough, but I wanted to share the draft anyway. It was kicked off by this post I made in the past, though I may revisit the idea again in a more polished form. If there's interest in this, I may post a few more stories from the collection.

Triggers include- yandere, alcoholism (implied by unreliable/yandere narrator), trauma mention, blood, minor character death, implied rape (of reader), bad end

Short Summary- An ordinary human gets together with ordinary friends to watch childhood cartoons. A drunken spat grows out of control. A wish is made- "may my favorite character always be happy". The morning after, the wish leads a poor soul to a new life. There, they meet the monster they created.

Now, now. Don’t  be afraid.

Don’t you recognize me, love?

It’s your old friend Touya. Y’know—from that kid’s anime? The one with the magical transforming monsters? I’m not a cosplayer or a hallucination. Can’t you see my hand? It’s smooth, without imperfections. Feel it. Haha! Does it scare you not to feel fingerprints? Rest assured- I’m real as you are.

I’ve always been here for you…

I’m sure you don’t remember the wish you made. You had a full plate of drunkenness last night, with a side order of high. Do you like poisoning your brain? Does it scare you? Maybe it’s your little friends. I don’t know why you all need drugs to have a good time.

When you have me…

You were watching my cartoon for old time’s sake. Laughing at the corny jokes. Laughing like asses. Hee-haw, hee-haw! Though I can’t blame you for being under the influence of those drugs.

And your stupid friends…you never needed them…

It’s been years since you’ve seen my backstory, but you never forgot it. I remember it, too. But it’s no longer a part of me. It’s all thanks to your wish. 

I owe you so much. I love you so much.

Still don’t remember? Picture this—the cold beer in your hand, your friends laughter like cheese graters, the stench of pot. The screen, in sepia tone, showing my little brother falling out of a tree house. It was because I wasn’t careful. He nearly died because of my negligence. It always bothered you, since

—you always loved me—

I was a child then. How can a little boy be expected to care for a toddler? All I cared about was adventure—the shining sky above, the world like ants below me. I didn’t want to leave my brother behind. I’d get in trouble if he was alone in the house. Yet, I still was the fool. I took the fall. It wounded me forever.

It wounded you too, love.

Your friends said something stupid about over-dramatics. Like every other character didn’t also have problems. They kept their mouths shut on them. But me? It was “going too far for a kid’s cartoon”. It made you furiously angry.

See? You don’t need them…

That’s when you made the wish. It was a challenge, almost. You were egged on by their asinine behavior. They had to stop their dumbass hee-hawing. Seeing me suffer was never a joke, even when you were drugged out of your mind.

Because I was always your favorite.

You wished I never suffered. You wished it never happened. You wished I would always be happy, and the sun would always shine upon me. 

It worked. I’m here, aren’t I?

You said a lot of other things, too. Many of them were angry. Your friends called you a baby. You never took well to insults. The drugs didn’t help. A few fists flew. A glass or two broke. One donkey hit the coffee table. He didn’t die, but there was a lot of blood. That’s when the others got scared. They scattered from your house, back to the pasture.

I think it was worth it—don’t you?

So here we are, in your bedroom. The posters of me—hand-drawn or official—are missing. All the toys on your shelves are gone. Your wish whisked me out of your room. It purged me from your life. I’m a puppet that danced on your screen as a child- no more, no less.

But you still remember me, don’t you?

I was always worried—about my brother, about other people. I longed to prevent that kind of suffering. My pain turned to love, my love to courage. That was what you envied most about me—courage. You craved it like a fetish. Without beer, there’s not a brave bone in your body. People like you long for a sip of valor. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?

And because of that, no-one loves you but me.

If not for my trauma, I wouldn’t be brave. Without my courageous heroics, you were never enthralled by me in grade school. You never carried me through your life. In rewriting my life, you rewrote your own life. But I still clung to your nostalgic memories.

You love me too, don’t you?

So here we are—in a bedroom with drab adult decor. You don’t know those smelly donkeys. You’ve never touched a single drug. Life is better, but not grand. You’re an office worker someplace. You go to work, clack on the keys, and go home. Only your boss and your parents know your name. You’re a blank face in the crowd. No-one knows you. No-one loves you.

No-one but me.

At least your wish worked for me. I have everything I could have ever wanted. One night, I dreamed of you—a shining star. I saw your little shit-show. Then, a gentle, maternal voice told me that I would be reborn. I would recall the dream, and my past life. I would remember you. But I would wake as a small child, ready to do my life over.

I’m eternally grateful.

I encountered no obstacles before the first episode began. The old me had to struggle to lead the team. I floundered for episode after episode, like a fish gasping for breath. But after your wish, I have no such issues. I lead with power, not courage. 

That is still appealing to you, isn’t it?

I killed that annoying bitch who told me I was being too harsh. I smashed her head against a log. It made me think of your donkey-friend. Hee-haw! Hee-haw! 

You were on my mind the whole time.

But that’s only the beginning. My rival? Monster chow. That one kid who worried about everything? Unfortunate accident. The others scrambled to find the monster who did it. They never checked the boy in front of them.

I did it all for you.

But there was one thing I still wanted. I made myself king. It was easy. The world was too scared to say no. My monster kept them all in line. The world saw what my creature of death could do. Every villain was torn to bloody shreds by his fangs. The goody-two-shoes were as grateful as they were afraid. All I had to do was ask, and the crown was mine. 

Doesn’t every king deserve a consort at his side? 

I couldn’t marry you as a child, though I had longed to. Luckily, my creators made me older, season by season. So I waited until I grew up. 

Then it was time for us to finally be together.

I went to the heart of my magical world. There, I slaughtered the great guardian of time and space. I still remember his blood on my hands, like gooey stardust. The barrier between worlds that he guarded became mine. I left several monster slaves there, to ward off any nosy donkeys. Then, I came here, to your world, to bring you back to mine.

We were always meant to be together.

You sweat like a pig with a knife pressed to its neck. Don’t be afraid. It won’t be so bad. You’ll finally be something. Haven’t you always wished for that? You may be a coward, but I still love you.

It’s the reason I love you.

Here—feel my chest. These are the velvety robes you gave me. I’ll give you a matching set—a thousand times more beautiful. I’ll give you the sun, the moon, the stars—whatever you wish. You won’t be able to leave my side. But you won’t want to.

I love you so much.

A weak word creeps from your lips—“no”. This isn’t what you wanted? Too bad. This is exactly what you wished for. It’s everything you ever wanted. After one night, you’ll remember how much you love me.

Even if I have to force you.

The portal won’t stay open forever. My time runs low. Good thing you’re easy to carry. Is that fear making you immobile? Your skin is like ice. Your blood is frozen syrup. Ironic—by defending courage, you plunged into further cowardice. But you must still love me. I’ll just have to remind you. After one night, you’ll never want to leave my side again.

We’ll be together—forever.

[x1tadpole1x]

🎶FUCK NO!! i'm coming right now to see yooou🎶

[awetfrog]

respite

[unreal-sundogs]

Sleepover after the night at O'sadleys

[ivymarquis]

The Neighbor

Hello friends I fucked off for a month but I’m back and I bring Price smut as an apology for my absence. @sky-is-the-limit’s “Im here to do what your boyfriend cant” prompt has lived in my brain rent free ecer since I read it and while I didn’t follow it verbatim, I did keep in spirit with the theme :)

Also womp I was gone for the Price challenge by @glitterypirateduck but this actually checks off a couple of the prompt options (first time being intimate, a confession/secret is discovered/revealed) so I’m submitting it.

There are a lot of tags. Make sure you read them.

Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| M Word Count| 4.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Accidental voyuerism by virtue of living in an apartment, the reader has a dogshit boyfriend at the beginning of the fic (there is no cheating), slut shaming (from the dogshit boyfriend), these two idiots are down bad for each other, sex toys, oral (F!receiving), unprotected PiV, gratuitous squirting because I’m me, not really heavy on BDSM elements but mentions of the following: bondage/restraints (John uses his hands, nothing crazy), something akin to subspace from how good the nut is, aftercare, John is a prick to the now-ex, very brief angst due to a quick misunderstanding, very vaguely implied somnophilia, rampant abuse of italics. Lemme know if I missed anything.

His neighbor is clearly used to Price being deployed.

She’s a sweet thing, really, and on the whole isn’t that disagreeable of a neighbor.

He just has one problem with her (not even her, really) that is a thorn in his fucking side- her boyfriend.

The boyfriend was not an issue when they first met- wasn’t in the picture at all.

And no John most assuredly hasn’t had it out for the guy since Day 1. The fact that John had gathered himself up to ask his pretty neighbor out when he came back from his latest mission, only to find out about the new boyfriend, does not color his impression of the other man. He’s grown and this is not the first time his advances have been turned away for whatever reason.

But there are, to his knowledge, no true redeeming qualities about the man and he is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

He catches bits and pieces through the walls. The boyfriend is not attentive, caring, or sweet to her. She is treated as a guest in her own home, and twice he’s heard bellowing shouts that had Price at the door with his fist banging against it- both to shut him up and make it exceptionally well known that if the boyfriend thinks intimidating a woman is going to fly, that Price will not hesitate to kick the door in.

The most appalling part of it all is that John has a front row seat to just how atrocious he is in bed.

For the life of him John does not understand. It’s not even like the lad’s a good lay.

He’s heard many stories of women tolerating absolutely atrocious behavior from the muppets they were with because he knew how to make them see stars.

That is exceptionally not the case here. And John is rapidly finding his patience wearing thin at continually being subjugated to his pathetic performance.

So what the hell is it about the boyfriend that keeps his neighbor so enamored with him?

John stares at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn as he tries to tune out the thumping of the headboard against the wall.

He thinks that if the man was just a bad lay and completely incapable of getting her anywhere, that would be one thing and John would continue to be frustrated but ultimately understand. But it’s the way he seems to actively ruin it anytime she has the audacity to enjoy having sex with him that truly grates on John’s nerves.

It’s not often, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then. The thumping of the headboard is accompanied by her sweet voice moaning lowly in short staccato notes as the boyfriend appears to finally be doing something right.

The thumping comes to a halt, and John groans in frustration.

“Why’d you stop?” He can hear his pretty neighbor lament through the thin walls.

“Why the fuck are you being so loud? Trying to give the neighbor a show?”

John squints his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The fucking muppet can’t do anything right.

If the neighbor was his, John wouldn’t give a fuck who heard. Let all the neighbors know that he could fuck the sense clear out of her pretty little head. John could show the muppet what loud is.

“No! I’m not trying to do anything- it just felt good,” she defends herself.

“Well, be quieter about it, no one needs to hear that. You sound like a whore,” the muppet snaps at her irritably, and John is nearly at his fucking limit when the god damn headboard starts to thump against the wall again.

“Get out.”

Oh.

John is impressed- pleasure and pride coursing through him as his sweet neighbor stands up for herself rather than letting that ungrateful swine continue to berate her.

Good fucking girl.

“What did you just say?” The thumping stops.

“You don’t get to call me names. Get off of me and get out.”

For all his sins, it seems even the muppet has a line he’s not willing to cross.

There’s a shifting as he presumably pulls out and gets off the bed- the words are muffled but the tone is clear. The muppet isn’t above laying into her verbally though consent is (smartly) a line he won’t toe.

And good thinking on his part- John would probably tear through the drywall and turn him into a chew toy had that conversation gone in any other direction.

The door slams loudly, announcing the boyfriend’s departure.

John can’t help but keep his attention on his neighbor to see what her reaction is going to be. It is taking every ounce of self control he has to not follow the boyfriend and wring his neck in the parking lot.

There’s no conventional guide for how to address this situation with your neighbor. ‘Hello, I’ve fancied you for quite some time and that ungrateful prick somehow swept you up before I got the nerve to ask you out. I've had to hear you have the most lackluster sex ever for the past several months, and equal parts want to check in on how you’re doing emotionally after his latest stunt, and also want to bend you over and pin you to the mattress until you’re squealing. May I come in?’

He can’t say he is too surprised to hear things slamming about in the apartment- his pretty neighbor sounding more pissed off than upset, catching snippets of “Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that” and “Motherfucker couldn’t find my clit with a map and a headlamp but can find the audacity to call me names-”

Okay, John has to fight back the urge to laugh at that last one lest she hear him. She’s quite the viper when (finally) provoked, and it just endears her more to him.

She doesn’t appear particularly distraught, the slamming and huffing and muttering concluding with her tossing herself on the bed.

It’s a very common occurrence that after the neighbor’s rendezvous with her lazy boyfriend, John is treated to a show where she finishes herself off with her toys.

The boyfriend, like many inadequate men, is threatened by them and John has heard the snide remarks.

Hilarious, he finds it, that a man incapable of getting her off is so adamant that she gets rid of them.

She hasn’t listened, clearly, as the low sound of her vibrator can be heard through the wall.

John is soon graced with the sound of her panting moans. His cock stiffens in interest at her voice, which is a frequent occurrence. She makes such pretty noises, mewling and whimpering as she works herself up.

Tonight is a whirlwind of emotions for his pretty neighbor, and at the end of the day her no-good boyfriend left her high and dry.

John will gladly enjoy the consequences of the boyfriend’s actions, one hand wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke in time with her whines.

What he wouldn’t give for a chance to make her see stars. He’d be so good to her.

The reality of his job makes dating a logistical nightmare, part of what stayed his hand for so long.

He’s not blind. His neighbor is kind and sweet with a killer smile and wandering eyes. He’s caught her more than once ogling him when he’s returned home in uniform, or more nondescript tactical clothing.

Feeling her gaze on him always makes him puff up with pride, enjoying holding her attention no matter how fleeting. If he takes his time after a run and makes a point to pull the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow where she can see it, that’s his business.

So John thinks he’s dreaming when he hears that lovely voice whimper his name from the other side of the wall.

He stiffens, quietly waiting to see if he hears it again.

“John- Oh, fuck- please,” is all he needs to hear before he’s well and truly lost any semblance of patience.

Only having the presence of mind to dress himself enough to not warrant any errant looks from the other neighbors, he is at her door in a second.

It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he may well have killed whatever momentum she’s built for herself- given her muttering as she approaches the door- but he fully intends to make up for the stolen release.

She opens the door without looking through the peephole, obviously expecting it to be the ex based on the vitriol poised to spill at John’s chest, approximately eye level with where the (hopefully ex) boyfriend would be.

Once again he has to stifle a laugh, finding her a comical vision when the anger on her face melts away as her eyes flick up to his face with the realization that it is him at the door and not the object of her ire.

“What are you doing here, John?” Christ, he’s always been a sucker for pretty doe eyes. If he held even an ounce less of restraint he’d be mounting her right here for everyone to see.

“I’m here to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”

Even as he reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, he’s watching her body language- gauging if she stiffens or shifts away.

She doesn’t.

In fact, her arms loop behind him and pull him closer, tugging on his hair and his shirt.

John’s not wasting any more time than he already has, walking her backwards into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before reaching back to lock it- he’s got no desire for any interruptions from wayward former boyfriends.

They separate for a moment as she paws at the hem of his shirt, clearly wanting it off of him. John is all too happy to oblige, preening under her attention. He’s always had the stockier build of a man who’s fitness came from utility in the field, opposed to the hard defined abs of someone who spends most of their time in the gym.

It’s cute, the way she has to pry her eyes up to his face- clearly liking what she sees and flustered by the fact that John can see her staring.

“I broke up with him,” she clarifies.

“Good,” is his simplistic response, although if John’s being honest with himself he doesn’t really care about the finer details. The little prick never deserved to have her and John finally has his chance to prove himself worthy.

“The bedroom’s this way,” she prompts between kisses.

Their clothes are peeled off in turns as they stumble towards the room. The layout is inverted to John’s own flat nextdoor, so despite having never stepped foot inside before he guides her to keep her from crashing into something behind her.

By the time they are collapsing against her bed, they’re stripped of everything except a scant thong on her and his own boxers.

She’s just so delightfully soft in his grip, John can’t keep his hands or his mouth off of her.

The feeling is reciprocated as she pushes up off the bed to grind against him. As much as he’s relishing in them dry humping and making out like teenagers, he’s wanted her for so long and now that she’s finally willing and pliant underneath him, he’s itching for a taste of her.

Kissing his way down her body- starting at her jaw, the column of her neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum; latching onto each nipple and teasing them to hardened peaks before continuing his path down.

He’s compelled by the urge to turn her into a chew toy as he reaches her belly, although he stifles that urge and keeps his teeth to himself.

He can’t quite resist giving a small nip as she squirms, clearly excited by the implication of where he’s heading.

There’s a damp spot on her underwear already as he kisses along the waistband while his hands tease with the elastic on either side of her hips.

The sound of her breath hitching in anticipation makes him smirk, attention drifting further south.

The fabric is in his way as he presses a kiss against her clothed cunt, gripping handfuls of her hips to keep her still as she bucks in his grasp.

“Easy, sweetheart- we’ve got all night,” he soothes before moving his attention up one thigh to the backside of her knee.

Those sweet thighs are splayed open for him, giving John unfettered access as he continues to tease.

“When’s this sweet cunt been eaten last, hm?”

He knows he’s heard her give that undeserving muppet head, but can’t recall any reciprocation occuring. There’s not much that can shock John at this point in his life, and he’s willing to roll the dice by dragging up her now-ex because he knows this poor thing hasn’t been eaten until she’s begging him off in ages.

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she answers breathlessly, anticipating having her thighs twitching in his hold.

Out of the corner of his eye, John spies a torn condom wrapper that didn’t quite make it into the bin. Well that keeps him from having to ask two questions, then. Smart girl.

“What a shame,” he tsks lightly, peppering kisses back up and down her thigh.

Deciding that she’s waited long enough and he’s had his fun being a tease, John is quick to remove the scant lace and pull it off of her legs before tossing it to who-knows-where.

The sounds she makes as he makes a meal out of her is music to his ears. Each hitched moan and breathy whimper makes him stiffen in interest.

His attention shifts to focus on her clit, tongue circling the sensitive nub as his hands hold her hips in place.

As focused as he is on what’s right in front of him, it takes a moment for John to realize that she’s stifling her noises. One hand is fisting the sheets beneath her while the other is clamped across her lips.

Well. That simply won’t do.

The ex may have trained and shamed her into silence, but John didn’t make it as a military captain without learning how to break someone else’s bad habits.

He ignores her whimper of protest as he stops, one hand abandoning the softness of her hip in favor of grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from her mouth.

“None of that,” he admonishes gently, pressing a kiss to one thigh. “Let me hear you.”

“I-I’m too loud,” she protests and for a split second John sees red.

To his credit, he does not leave her wet and leaking on the bed to go bludgeon her ex to death with a blunt object.

“No such thing, sweetheart,” he soothes before having a thought to tease her. “Who are you worried is going to hear you?” He asks kindly, a shit eating grin as he speaks again, “the neighbor?”

Her wide eyed expression is thoroughly scandalized and John can’t fight the chuckle that escapes him.

He hasn’t released her wrist yet, deciding that it’s time to get back to his meal. If she abandons gripping the sheet with her free hand to cover her mouth again, he simply plans to hold both of her wrists.

It’s tentative at first, still not entirely trusting John at his word that he wants to hear her.

But John is all for positive reinforcement as a motivator, crooking his fingers to stroke that one spot that makes her see stars to encourage more from her.

She’s a quick study, although when she releases the sheet John is watching her like a hawk.

Rather than clasping over her mouth again, John is pleased when her fingers end up burying in his hair.

More than happy to let her guide him, John takes his cues from how she pulls at his hair. The feel of her thighs twitching as she breathes in staccato breaths is all the reward he needs.

“You’re getting close,” he says against her cunt, pointing out the obvious before getting back to work. She’s anxious, he thinks, the closer she gets to her climax. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself with an orgasm she hasn’t had to put all the work into.

“D-don’t stop,” she stammers, rewarded immediately with John redoubling his efforts.

He’s not going to stop. Pretty thing like her deserves nothing less than laying on her back and enjoying getting her cunt eaten out.

“O-oh fuck,” is his only warning before she’s gushing on his face and John is like a kid on Christmas morning.

He doesn’t even know if she realizes she’s squirted, too caught up in the pleasure of her high.

He’s always thought it was hot- now that he knows his pretty neighbor is a squirter he is more than willing to get on his knees and pray to whoever is listening that this isn’t a one time event. He’ll do anything to get her to keep him.

Even as her high fades he doesn’t let up on her, continuing to work his middle and ring finger inside of her. All he wants is to see her cum- wants to see those eyes roll as she squeezes them shut in anticipation.

Despite pulling his face away from her wet pussy, he doesn’t leave her clit unattended for long before his thumb is gently circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

Kissing his way back up her body, John can’t help but be pleased as she pulls him in to make out with him. Snatched gasps and bucks of her hips grace his ears as he works her from orgasm to the next, the wet sound of his palm slapping against her.

“John Im gonna cum again,” she whimpers in warning.

He feels like a god with the way she stares up at him reverently, eyes wide and desperate for another climax.

“Come on,” he goads, “Show me- let me see your face when you cum.”

Christ if her leg twitches any harder it’s going to start vibrating, serving to only encourage him.

“O-oh,” she mewls, “God- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-“ she’s pleading with him like he wouldn’t sit at her feet if she asked him to.

The bewildered look on her face is darling, and John nearly finishes untouched; he's so wound up it’s not going to take much.

A few choice thoughts keep his own eminent climax at bay and buys him enough breathing room. She bucks and trembles in his hold, a high pitched squeal escaping her as he proves not only can he make her cum twice, but he can make her squirt like a faucet twice.

As soon as she’s starting to come down from her high she’s pulling at him, drawing up her knees to spread her legs in invitation.

“Greedy girl,” he teases as he kisses her- wet fingers abandoning her cunt in favor of manhandling her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he positions himself.

“Please, please, please-“ she begs so prettily for him, pleading for him to do exactly what he’s been fantasizing about for months.

He’s not a small man and mindful of that fact, but she’s well prepped and takes him easily. The desperate whimper that escapes her sears into John’s memory.

The buildup of everything finally gets to him as he wastes no time setting a steady pace.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Let me hear you,” he encourages as she cants her hips in time with his, whines of pleasure escaping her on each thrust.

“John, please,” she begs, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as she watches where they’re joined.

“Eyes up here,” he instructs and Christ he almost loses it when her gaze flicks from between their bodies up to his face.

His hands find hers, fingers lacing together as he lowers his torso in order to kiss the ethereal creature underneath him.

She whimpers into his mouth, her sounds only encouraging John.

Everything about her is warm and inviting, from her soft skin to her warm cunt and the way she sings for him at every thrust.

Maneuvering them so he can grip both her wrists with one of his hands, the other immediately dives between their bodies to find her clit again.

His pretty neighbor has spent months not having an orgasm she didn’t give herself, and John is determined to prove to her that he can give her as many as she can handle.

“John I can’t cum again,” she pleads even as her thighs shake on either side of him.

“Yes you can,” he assures her. “One more time for me, yeah?”

Now, should she insist she’s done and satisfied then John would leave her clit alone and finish up their fun. As it is, though, she nods in acquiescence before the trembling in her thighs increases.

“Good girl,” he praises, fingers continuing their steady pace around her clit as she creeps closer to the edge.

She’s babbling in his ear as he presses a kiss to her temple and he knows she’s almost there.

“Good girl,” he praises again, a cocksure grin pulling at the corners of his lips at her immediate response.

“My good girl,” he ups the ante, testing her response to John staking a claim on her. And God did it ever work. That last little bit is all it takes to finally tip her over.

She clenches down on him like a vice and John immediately loses it, groaning low as the haze of his orgasm washes over him.

It’s everything he wants- she’s everything he wants as he recovers enough from his climax to finally notice that the bed is an utter mess beneath them.

It’s not his immediate concern however, more interested in soothing her through the come down of her high. She’s shivering underneath him, eyes glossy from the intensity of her last orgasm.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Just breathe for me.”

He gathers her up in his arms, listening as her heartbeat relaxes in time with his own.

Eventually when enough time passes she’s more alert and happily snuggling against his chest. After giving her a chance to rest he herds her along to the bathroom so she doesn’t give herself a UTI. She tries to brush him off but her legs are taking their sweet time cooperating again.

Of course, she’s not exactly a recruit taking a piss test so he gives her her privacy and she’s able to return on her own albeit on shaky legs.

John pets at her head idly, attention drifting in post coital bliss as his hand strokes down along her back.

“I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed,” she giggles deliriously after a stretch of quiet.

“Only reason I wasn’t here sooner was because of that muppet,” he assures her. He doesn’t want her thinking that this is a one time thing for him. He’s wanted her for so long he can’t possibly be expected to turn her loose at the end of the night.

“I only dated him because I didn’t think you liked me,” she scoffs at herself.

“Oh, it was nearly the first moment I laid eyes on you. But with my work I kept talking myself out of doing anything,” he tells her. “Kept telling myself you deserve better. And then you brought the muppet home and kept him around,” John grouses good naturedly at her. “Think they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

“I plead temporary insanity,” she jokes, snuggling closer against his chest. “But I got rid of him. And you finally made your move.”

He hums in agreement, sleep pulling at him now that he has her tucked up against his side.

John doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes with a jolt to the sound of pounding on her door.

He’s only been out for an hour or so when he checks the clock on the nightstand, his neighbor sprawled out next to him.

Well, now he knows she snores. The sound is light enough to have never heard it through the wall, but curled up next to him she’s like a cat purring loudly in his ear.

And he’s exceptionally pissed right off at the fact someone has woken him up. Especially considering he has one guess who it is.

He fully debates answering the door buck ass naked to teach the prick a lesson about banging on doors after midnight but settles on tossing his joggers on.

Much like when she opened the door for John, the ex is automatically trained at where her head would be rather than looking at John’s face.

“My eyes are here,” he quips sarcastically. “Why the fuck are you banging on the door this late.”

“Why th-“ the ex starts to parrot back before cutting himself off. “Why the fuck are you in her apartment? Why isn’t she answering?”

“She’s asleep,” John answers simply. There’s no obligation to explain the why and how he ended up in her apartment.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s asleep? How is she asleep after she just dumped me? And why the fuck are you here?”

The boyfriend (the ex boyfriend, he thinks with glee) is either oblivious or…

Well. The ex boyfriend is oblivious. Let’s just keep it at that.

“I’m here because you can’t do your job right. She’s asleep because I can. What part of that is confusing?”

“That stupid slag’s been fucking you behind my back-“

“No.” John is somewhat mindful of not giving a full on “screaming at recruits” bellow, but his voice booms into the corridor outside the apartment anyway. “You watch your fucking mouth. This” John gestures vaguely at his own presence in her flat, “just happened after she dumped you. You don’t get to hurl insults.”

“She hopped off of my cock and straight to yours- what the fuck else is it?”

“You couldn’t get her off,” John hisses in annoyance. “I’ve had front row seats to your shitty little performance more than once. Not 5 minutes after you leave and she’s having to handle it herself.”

“I can’t be expected to compete with a fucking vibrator!”

“Well I sure as shit didn’t need one to get the job done. Poor girl could barely get her legs to work to go to the loo and not give herself a UTI. Your skill issues are what started all of this.”

“You know what? Fucking have her. I don’t need this shit.”

Ah yes, because John needs the ex’s permission to date a newly single woman. Absolutely. That’s entirely how that works.

“Never needed your blessing. Now fuck off. I’m trying to sleep.”

The ex responds with a two finger salute as he spins on his heel and storms off.

John is almost tempted to grab him by the back of his neck and turn him into a chew toy. Given his military career, his patience for muppets giving him attitude is virtually nonexistent.

But the siren call of his pretty neighbor is a stronger pull than the muppet can ever hope to achieve. John’s succeeded in his mission to run the prick off, and he’s going to try to get a few more hours of sleep before seeing if she’s interested in another romp in the morning when she wakes up.

The bedroom is dark and poorly lit but John immediately picks up on the silence.

Rather than being sprawled out and snoring like when he left her, she’s quiet and curled into a ball.

She’s awake.

“Sweetheart?” He calls softly.

She jolts, fabric rustling from the sheets falling off her as she sits up.

“You’re still here,” the surprise in her tone cuts, although he knows she didn’t mean for it to.

She seems to realize how that comes across and clarifies further, “I- I heard the door shut.”

It falls into place for him then- she woke up to the sound of the door and John nowhere to be found. She thought he’d left.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he consoles, making his way back to the bed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he assures her while gathering her back into his arms.

Sleep comes back readily once the two of them are situated back in the bed.

Come morning, John’s got the patience and the presence of mind to throw a towel on the bed. He finds out for himself that his neighbor makes the prettiest noises with her arse propped up in the air and her face still buried in her pillow.

He can’t help but laugh later when she texts him that one of the neighbors made a noise complaint.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[shattered-system]

I’ve seen some art with the line “the future is plural!”

I hope it isn’t.

More systems means more abused kids.

[muzgozjeb]

[superbellsubways]

remake of something I did 2 years ago ⁉️ cuz why not

[gomzdrawfr]

it's hard loving yourself

[mumbeau]

blasts you with forearm laser

[glossysoap]

tw dubcon and drugging and alcohol mention!

dark ghost/r/soap where soap pervs on you at the bar and you have to pretend to have a boyfriend, and who better than the hulking brit sitting on your other side. all big and intimidating, with a handgun stuffed in his waistband.

the drink he paid for tastes a bit weird though. and he seems a bit too familiar with the scot who’s feeling you up. and he’s not doing much of anything to stop him.

[arch-aeology]

he may be a mass murderer, but he pays his damn child support

(tumblr I am begging you not to eat the image quality)

[motleyfam]

Mocktail

It’s just an act.

The staggering around, the boisterous laughter, the flirtatious comments at passing servers… none of it is real. Bruce is just working the crowd, leaning into that stupid billionaire playboy persona to try and shmooze some information out of one of the other rich bastards here. It’s for a case that he and Robin have been working on—he’d even briefed Jason on the plan prior to their arrival. He’s not actually drunk.

Jason knows that.

Which is why Jason is so pissed at himself that he can’t keep his muscles from tensing up at the familiar boozy scent on his guardian’s breath when he leans in to whisper something in Jason’s ear, can’t stop his hands from instinctively balling into fists at his sides, can’t keep his eyes from darting around, searching desperately for an escape.

Bruce isn’t drunk. Jason knows that.

He knows that.

...So why can’t his body get the goddamn memo?

Bruce must have said something funny because the semicircle of businessmen surrounding him bursts into laughter. One man slaps Bruce jovially on the back, causing Bruce to stumble forwards, sloshing half his drink down the front of his suit and eliciting even more laughter from the group.

It’s the last straw.

Heart hammering, Jason ducks out of the crowd, head down, feet aiming for anywhere that isn’t here. It’s stupid, it’s so fucking stupid because he’s fine, nothing is wrong, Bruce isn’t even drunk. And even if he were, so what? People get drunk all the fucking time and the vast majority of them manage to keep their fists to themselves, their family’s bank accounts from zeroing out, their tongues from cutting lashes into everyone they love.

He ends up sitting at one of the empty tables near the back of the ballroom, stabbing angrily at a piece of raspberry white chocolate cake with his dessert fork, because he’s Robin for god’s sake, he interacts with drunk people practically every night. Why the fuck is he freaking out now?

“So how’s baby’s first gala?”

Jason glances up, then immediately scowls. “What do you want, Dickhead.”

Dick lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That bad, huh?”

Jason gives him a withering look. “Fuck off.”

“Why?” Dick snorts. “So you can mutilate more raspberries?”

“I’ll mutilate your face…” Jason grumbles, raking his fork through the frosting like some kind of crappy zen garden.

Dick’s grin falters. “Jay,” he says seriously. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No,” Jason snaps. “Go away.”

“Because if someone’s being inappropriate—”

“Nothing fucking happened, okay?!”

“Okay, okay!” He holds his hands up placatingly. “Don’t have to bite my head off.”

“I’m fine,” Jason growls, stabbing at the cake again.

“I can see that,” Dick deadpans.

Jason glares back.

Dick lets out a sigh. “Look, you don’t have to talk to me—”

“No shit.”

“—but there’s a 24-hour froyo place two blocks away.”

Jason blinks. “What.”

“Wanna get out of here?”

There’s a beat.

“...Fine," Jason relents. "But you’re buying.”

[archaickosmonot]

whatever is happening you can trust I'm spending way too much time on a bit

[dreamwatch]

Turn The Page

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #30 - Prompt: Fame and Fortune | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: implied alcoholism | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: mild angst with a happy ending, future fic, they’re in love your honour, Eddie’s over it

Again, another iPad entry so hopefully no typos but… who knows!

The moment Eddie gets off the stage Steve knows something is wrong.

The twenty-first had been hard, a day of press, of meet and greets, of things Steve asked Eddie to cancel. ‘It’s easier to just do it’; it’s not though. It never fucking is. The press and the fans get a Diet Eddie, and Steve ends up with an angry drunk in his bedroom. But they power through it. They always do.

 Steve goes to special shows now, wouldn’t have come to this one but it’s the twenty-seventh, and what’s more special than knowing your boyfriend is still alive?

Eddie practically throws his guitar at his tech as he rushes off stage, rushing past everyone, Steve included.

“Eddie?” he calls out.

The rest of the band get off the stage. “Eddie!” Jeff shouts from behind him. “The encore!”

But he’s gone, down the labyrinth of hallways, the crowd still cheering for more.

He doesn’t shower, doesn’t grab his shit from the dressing room, just walks out of the back of the venue to their car,  Steve running behind him. The car isn’t ready, they’re not expecting him for another thirty minutes at least, and it’s a confused mess of security and crew, frantic radio messages.

“Eddie, what the fuck is going on?” Steve asks, taking him by the elbow. He gets a tight head shake as a reply.

The car ride is silent, the smell of cooling sweat blending with the air con blowing full blast at them, and when they get to their hotel room, Eddie heads straight to the phone.

“Hi, can I get room service to the Junior Suite?”

Steve just gawps, he feels like he’s losing his fucking mind.

 “Uh… can I get… do you have pineapple? I’d really like some pineapple actually. And a bottle of champagne… whatever you think is best, oh and hold on,” he says covering the mouthpiece with his hand. “Do you want anything?” 

He sounds manic, so off, so not his usual self. Wild in a crazed way, and it’s scaring Steve. He stands in the entranceway, mouth hanging open.

“Yeah, I want to know what the fuck is going on?”

Eddie blinks.

“And a cheese burger and fries.”

He hangs up and finally peels his t-shirt off, letting it drop to the floor as he walks to the bathroom to shower. The phone keeps ringing, Jeff asking what the hell is going on, their manager, Phil, screaming at him. Eddie wanders in, towel around his waist, another wrapped around his hair. He doesn’t even stop to ask who Steve’s talking to, just gently takes the handset from his hands, places it back on the phone.

The room service arrives and Eddie leads Steve to the dining table, tells him to sit and eat, and then he takes a huge piece of pineapple with him to the bed.

The phone rings again, and this time Eddie rips the cord from the wall.

“Ed, you have got to talk to me.”

“I will. Just let me eat this first. Eat your burger.” 

As if he could.

Eddie sits on the edge of the bed half naked, eating pineapple. Steve’s watched them trash rooms before, true idiot behaviour, but this is probably the weirdest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

There’s banging on the door, Steve can hear Gareth’s voice, then Phil’s again, it’s after midnight now. Eventually they go away.

“You know,” Eddie says breaking the silence. “I don’t think I’ve enjoyed anything in the last few years as much as I enjoyed that fucking pineapple.” He frowns at the half eaten fruit platter, like he’s trying to solve a math problem. 

Steve crouches in down in front of him, his hands gripping Eddie’s knees.

“Bambi, please, what the fuck is going on? I mean, do I need to call a doctor here…? You’re scaring me.”

Eddie looks at him like he’s water on a hot day. 

“What if I said let’s run away? I’ll quit the band, we’ll buy a ranch or a farm. Get out of LA.” His eyes meet Steve’s properly for the first time since he got off stage. “What would you say?”

“I’d say give me ten minutes to pack.”

“Really?”

“Really. Where’s this coming from?”

“I died twenty years ago. And I got a second chance and I took it, you know. We’ve done amazing things. But it’s not fun anymore. It hasn’t been fun for a long time. And life’s too short for that, it’s too short for me to waste it being miserable. And I am. I’m a thing, I’m a commodity. I go where I’m told, I turn up, do my thing. I don’t remember the names of the towns I’m in, I always thought that was a joke you know? It’s not. It’s real.” He laughs, but it’s shallow, his eyes flat. “Who fucking knew?”

Steve gets off the floor and sits beside Eddie on the bed. “Are you serious?”

Eddie doesn’t answer straight away, but when he eventually looks at Steve he nods, and for the first time that day, Steve realises, he smiles. “Yeah. Yeah I’m serious.”

“I hate that you felt this way and didn’t tell me.”

Eddie takes his hand, threads his fingers through, locking them together.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

This stupid, beautiful man. His everything. His life.

“And the band?”

Eddie shrugs. “They’ll be fine. They’ll get another guitarist no problem. People would kill to join them.”

Steve reaches for Eddie, lays his palm against his cheek, trails his thumb along the silvery thread that runs all the way to his throat, a memory woven on his face. It scares him how close they were to not having this, hits him sometimes out of nowhere. He leans in, his lips meeting Eddie’s, tastes pineapple, tastes home. He wouldn’t deny this man a single thing.

“Alright then,” says Steve says, breaking the kiss with a smile. “I guess we’re going shopping for a ranch.”