#beat the absolute shit out of one of them

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

You Had Me at...

He didn't know why he was even still awake.

No, that was a lie.

He knew exactly why, but he also knew it was stupid and silly and completely outside the realm of possibility. He just hadn't been able to help himself.

He'd stayed up and watched the clock, waited as the minutes ticked by until it was officially Valentine's Day, and held his breath...

And then nothing.

He'd huffed out a laugh, telling himself he was more embarrassed than disappointed because honestly, what had he expected?

Evan to show up at the door to declare his love? To want to get back together?

To want him?

That wasn't Tommy's life. That was fantasy. The stuff of romcoms, not the real world.

Reality was getting into his ratty pajama pants and an ancient, worn-soft LAFD t-shirt (that still had a B and a U and a half-peeled Y on the back) and accepting the fact that he was once again alone for this stupid, fake holiday...that he absolutely loved.

Sighing, he made his way out to the kitchen and dug around in his freezer until he found the pint of cookie dough ice cream that Evan had left there and Tommy had been avoiding for the past three months. What was the point of leaving it? Evan was never coming back. It wasn't like he'd be there to get mad at Tommy for eating it and why let it go to waste?

He stood there, staring at the ice cream.

His therapist would have plenty to say about him struggling to let himself have things, but that was a problem for Tuesday Tommy.

...screw it.

He was eating the ice cream.

Tommy snatched the container out of the freezer and set it down on the counter, ignoring its accusing stare as he grabbed a spoon out of the drawer.

"This is for the best," he muttered. "I'm putting us both out of our misery, okay? We can't wait forever. He's never coming back."

He tapped the spoon against the lid, frowning when a faint knock sounded back.

"What the fu-"

The knock again, louder this time and clearly coming from the front door.

Tommy set the spoon down beside the ice cream, grabbed his phone, and crept down the hallway toward the door. He was still debating calling 911 when he caught sight of a familiar silhouette through the window and his heart stopped.

He'd know those curls anywhere.

Evan startled, hand still raised when Tommy whipped open the door.

"Shit," he said, eyes going wide. "I mean, not sh-not that, I just...I wasn't expecting you to answer so quickly and I'm still kind of working on what I'm going to say..."

"...did you want me to close the door and give you a minute?" Tommy asked after another weighted beat passed between them. He'd stand back in the hallway for as long as it took. As long as Evan needed.

"No!" Evan jolted forward, hand flexing like he was ready to catch it - as if Tommy would willingly close a door between them ever again. "I..."

Tommy waited, drinking in the sight of Evan as he fidgeted on the front porch. He itched to tug the lip free that he was chewing on, but he was equally afraid to touch him.

He didn't think he could bear it if this turned out to be a dream.

"I watched them all," Evan blurted out suddenly. He rubbed at the back of his neck, cheeks going red. "All of the movies I could remember from your shelves. T-the romance ones? And then Maddie recommended some more."

Tommy didn't know what to make of that. "Why-"

"Because everyone said I wasn't allowed to bake anymore," Evan said, as though that was a sentence that would clear things up. "But I had to do something, right? To stop myself from calling you every second that I was awake."

Wait, what?

"And I figured, if I couldn't stop thinking about you, then at least, I could maybe get inside your head and try to understand where we went wrong - where I went wrong," Evan barreled on like he wasn't completely upending Tommy's brain. "I watched them all and in every single one, ever single one, the couple has a fight and b-breaks up because, well, for all kinds of reasons, but it was because they were always missing what was right in front of them."

Evan took a deep, steadying breath, bracing himself on the doorframe. "I said a lot of stuff that night, but I missed saying the most important thing of all. I felt it, felt it so much it felt too big to say, but that was a mistake." He looked up, meeting Tommy's gaze with bright eyes.

"I love you, Tommy. I love you. I'm sorry I did everything backwards and managed to leap ahead all at the same time." Evan shook his head, blinking back tears as Tommy fought to hold back his own.

"I'm sorry I ever made you doubt that what I feel for you is real," he said "The most real and right thing I think I've ever felt in my life and I don't want to lose you. The last few months have been...I felt like I was missing a part of myself. Like my heart has been out there in the world without me and I've hated every minute of it."

"Please," Evan said, searching Tommy's face, hope threaded through every letter. "I know we have a lot we need to talk about, but can we - can we try again?"

Tommy took a shaky breath, still half-convinced he was about to wake up and have all of this ripped away from him.

"Please say something," Evan whispered, his shaky plea finally snapping Tommy into action.

He reached out to cup Evan's cheek, stroking a thumb against his skin as he leaned in. "You had me at 'shit'," Tommy said, a helpless smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

Evan's mouth dropped open as Tommy's words sank in. Relief warred against an extreme pout as he poked at Tommy's chest. "Did you seriously just Jerry Maguire me? I can't even-"

The rest of his protest was cut off when Tommy yanked him inside the house for a searing kiss, kicking the door shut behind them.

"I love you too," Tommy murmured against Evan's lips as he pressed him into the wall. He tried to get the apology he'd been agonizing over for the last three months out between kisses. "I'm sorry I ran. I got scared and stupid and I want this. Want you. Want everything."

Evan groaned, grabbing at him as he gave back as good as he got, kissing every part of Tommy he could reach without letting him move an inch out of his arms.

"Stay," Tommy gasped when they finally broke apart for air. "Please stay and just sleep beside me and we can talk properly in the morning?" He wasn't prepared to let Evan out of his sight any time soon.

"Try and get rid of me," Evan said with a little laugh as he rested his forehead against Tommy's. They kissed once more, softly, knowing they had time now. Letting out a happy sigh, Evan dropped a tiny peck on the end of Tommy's nose before releasing him and moving toward the kitchen.

Tommy went to lock the door, freezing when Evan let out a garbled noise of outrage.

"Is this my ice cream?"

Biting back a grin, Tommy headed toward Evan and his continuing grumbles...

And let his grin actually spread when he rounded the corner to find Evan standing there, holding out a second spoon.

[00valentina-writes00]

ellie with reader who has selective mutism? love your workk

♡♥︎Ellie with a girl they has selective mutism♥︎♡

♥︎ Ellie’s got a big mouth—always has, always will—but the moment she realizes you have selective mutism, she dials it back. Not in a way that makes you feel weird or different, but in a way that says, Hey, I see you. I get it.

♥︎ She never pressures you to speak. If you want to, cool. If you don’t, also cool. She reads your body language like a damn expert, catching onto little things—the way you shift, the way your eyes dart—before you even realize you’re communicating.

♥︎ That being said, she still talks a lot. Not to fill the silence, but just because she wants to share things with you. Her day, a dumb joke she thought of, how she absolutely destroyed Dina in a game of poker (she’s lying).

♥︎ Ellie’s the type to get really protective when people try to force you to talk. If anyone’s being pushy or making you uncomfortable, she’s immediately stepping in with a sharp, “They don’t owe you shit, dude. Move along.”

♥︎ She picks up on your nonverbal cues fast. If you glance at the door at a party, she’s already grabbing your hand to lead you out. If you shift uncomfortably when someone tries talking to you, she redirects the conversation smoothly.

♥︎ Writes little notes and passes them to you when you’re both chilling. Sometimes they’re stupid doodles of a buff giraffe (her artistic skills are questionable), sometimes they’re just little things like u hungry? wanna get outta here? u look cute btw.

♥︎ Over time, she gets used to the different ways you communicate—gestures, nods, writing things down. If you’re comfortable, she’ll even help you practice speaking in a low-pressure way, like whispering to her when no one else is around.

♥︎ She talks to you in the same casual, unfiltered way she talks to anyone else. She never makes you feel fragile or different, never acts like she’s walking on eggshells.

♥︎ Lowkey brags about understanding you better than anyone else. If someone’s confused about something you meant, Ellie’s already translating like, “They mean no, dude. Can you not tell?”

♥︎ If you ever do decide to talk, even just a word or two, she never makes a big deal out of it. Just gives you this soft little smile, like she’s proud of you but doesn’t wanna put you on the spot. Later, though, when you’re alone, she might squeeze your hand and be like, “That was cool, babe.”

♥︎ Hums and sings under her breath around you. Sometimes she does it just to make the silence feel shared rather than empty. If you have a song you like, she’ll learn it on her guitar and play it for you without expecting you to say anything about it.

♥︎ Lets you take the lead in physical affection. If you reach for her hand, she acts all casual about it, but inside she’s melting. If you tug on her sleeve for attention, she turns to you immediately, giving you her full focus.

♥︎ If someone asks why you don’t talk, Ellie is the first to shut that down. “That’s none of your business,” she’ll say, jaw tight. She doesn’t need an explanation to respect you, and she makes sure no one else does either.

♥︎ Gets really good at interpreting your facial expressions. A raised eyebrow? She’s smirking. A side glance? “Okay, yeah, that dude is weird-looking.” She makes it feel like a secret language between you two.

♥︎ If you ever get frustrated with yourself, she’s the first to reassure you. “Hey, you don’t need to talk to be heard, alright?” She’ll sit with you through whatever you’re feeling, no pressure, just warmth.

♥︎ Teaches you dumb hand signals for things. If you’re across the room and she wants to make you laugh, she does something goofy, like a dramatic thumbs down when Dina’s being annoying.

♥︎ If you text her instead of speaking, she responds in the same way—never makes you feel like it’s weird. Sometimes she even sends voice memos in response, all lazy and affectionate, like, “Babe, you should’ve seen Jesse’s face when I beat his ass in cards today.”

♥︎ Winks at you a lot. Not in a flirty way (okay, sometimes in a flirty way), but mostly in an I got you kinda way. If you’re struggling, if someone’s being annoying, if she just wants to make you smile—wink.

♥︎ At the end of the day, she never sees you as “the quiet one.” She just sees you. The way you light up when you’re happy, the way you make her feel safe without saying a word. And in return, she makes sure you always know: you don’t have to say anything for her to hear you.

[anghraine]

I know it's well-understood at this point that Kirk/Spock is much more of a nerd4nerd ship than a nerd/jock thing, but it's just been kind of percolating around my mind that both of them aren't just space nerds but space nerds who were personally bullied.

Like, 18-year-old Kirk was targeted by an older bully who combines "total asshole" with "the most grating man in existence":

MCCOY: Well, yeah, I'm beginning to feel a little bit picked-on, if that's what you mean. KIRK: I know the feeling very well. I had it at the Academy. An upperclassman there. One practical joke after another, and always on me. My own personal devil. A guy by the name of Finnegan. MCCOY: And you being the very serious young— KIRK: Serious? I'll make a confession, Bones. I was absolutely grim, which delighted Finnegan no end.

This was five years after Kirk survived a genocide, btw, and likely well before his stint as an Academy instructor known to be strict and demanding (which is the period the "stack of books with legs" description of him comes from). By the time he's 33, fifteen years after all this, it turns out one of his deepest fantasies is just beating the shit out of his bully, but only if he can do it According To The Rules (the replica of Finnegan sneers, "Always fight fair, don't you? True officer and gentleman, you").

Spock, meanwhile, is viciously targeted by his Vulcan peers for being biracial from at least age 5; he's described as being tormented by other boys by that age, and "at home nowhere except Starfleet." I think he'd have been 18 or 19 when he left for Starfleet and it's... the least bad of his options, but he seems to have spent his entire career among humans and being persistently subjected to raw racism and profound disrespect for his culture at every turn.

Like, their histories of being metaphorically shoved into lockers are not identical or anything, but I think it's interesting that they both have them.

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER TEN

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash, competition??

playlist: spotify

You were going to die.

Like, actually, literally, cease to exist because your heart was beating so violently that it was probably about to explode, and your lungs had decided they no longer wanted to participate in the act of breathing.

The girls were staring at you. Correction: three-fourths of the girls were staring at you. Ji-Yeong was standing on the couch, one foot on the armrest, holding a half-empty iced coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, looking like she was about to deliver a TED Talk.

"You guys," she said, eyes wide, voice hushed. "I need everyone to remain calm."

Se-Mi was already grinning, vibrating with suppressed excitement. "Oh, absolutely not."

No-Eul, who was seated cross-legged on the floor, barely looked up from her book. "Just say it, Ji. Before you combust."

Ji-Yeong took a deep breath, dramatically swiped to refresh the Twitter feed on her phone, and then—

"WE GOT NOMINATED FOR A GRAMMY!"

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

Se-Mi shrieked, launching herself across the couch to grab Ji-Yeong’s phone. No-Eul blinked once, twice, and then set her book down with an exhale like she was finally accepting reality.

Sae-Byeok, who had been leaning against the counter, arms crossed in her usual unimpressed stance, went still.

You? You just stood there, gripping your clipboard like it was the last tether to reality, trying to process the words that had just been spoken into existence.

"Wait. Wait. Wait." You snapped out of your trance, reaching for the phone that Se-Mi was now aggressively shaking in front of your face. "Are you serious?"

Ji-Yeong let out a borderline manic laugh, pointing at the screen. "Does this LOOK like I’m joking?! We just got nominated for Best Rock Album and Best Rock Performance for ‘ROCKSTAR.’"

Se-Mi was already pacing, hands on her head. "Holy shit. Holy shit. We’re actually going to the Grammys?"

Ji-Yeong dramatically flung herself onto the couch, arms outstretched. "We’re actually going to the Grammys."

No-Eul, who had been quietly typing on her phone, finally lifted her gaze. "The official Recording Academy account just posted the list." She turned her screen toward you. "It’s real."

Your brain short-circuited.

Because this? This wasn’t just big. This was huge. This was career-defining.

This was the moment you had dreamed of for them.

Sae-Byeok, still eerily silent, finally moved. She walked over to Ji-Yeong’s abandoned coffee on the table, picked it up, and took a long sip.

"Guess we need to buy dresses," she said, completely deadpan.

Se-Mi screamed.

No-Eul actually laughed. Ji-Yeong started yelling something about how she was going to fight Harry Styles for best-dressed on the red carpet.

And you?

You just smiled, heart pounding, because somehow—someway—this was only just the beginning.

A little while after the excitement died down to a normal level, the girls (as in Ji-yeong and Se-mi) decided that it would be a good idea to start shopping.

And the boutique was insane.

Racks of designer gowns stretched wall-to-wall, the air smelled like expensive perfume and wealth, and Se-Mi was already trying on sunglasses that she absolutely did not need.

"We are literally shopping for the Grammys," Ji-Yeong announced dramatically, twirling in front of a mirror. "Do you understand how unhinged that is?"

Se-Mi, now wearing a pair of oversized Gucci shades, nodded solemnly. "I think I blacked out the second we walked in here."

No-Eul was flipping through a rack of sleek suits, completely unfazed. "Try not to pass out before we actually get to the red carpet."

You chuckled, trailing your fingers along the fabric of an elegant dress before moving toward the accessories section, letting the others lose themselves in their respective fashion meltdowns.

And that’s when you saw them.

A pair of heels—sleek, timeless, perfect. They weren’t too flashy, just the right mix of elegance and edge, and something about them just called to you.

You picked one up, checking the size.

Too small.

You frowned, scanning the display, but every single one was either too big or too small.

Figures.

With a sigh, you set the shoe back down and turned away, pushing it from your mind. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

But No-Eul had seen.

She had been flipping through a rack of blazers when she caught the way your face fell—the tiny frown, the way your fingers lingered on the shoe before you walked away.

At first, she assumed it was the price. This place was ridiculously expensive, after all. But when she subtly checked the tag, she realized—

It wasn’t the price.

It was the size.

No-Eul, being the quiet observer that she was, didn’t say anything. She just turned on her heel, scanned the boutique, and sought out the store owner like it was a mission.

"Do you have these in another size?" she asked, holding up the shoe. "This size, specifically?"

The boutique owner, a well-dressed woman with an expert eye, nodded. "Let me check in the back."

Minutes later, No-Eul had them. The perfect pair. The right size.

She paid for them without hesitation, taking the sleek designer bag and tucking it behind the counter for later. No grand gestures, no need for attention—just a quiet, simple act of kindness.

Sae-Byeok had seen the whole thing.

She had been pretending to browse scarves (which she did not need) when she caught No-Eul’s little mission. The subtle way she checked the price, the quick decision to buy them, the way she didn’t even tell you.

And it annoyed her.

Not because she didn’t want you to have the shoes—no, that was actually kind of sweet.

But because why hadn’t she thought of doing something first?

Sae-Byeok had spent so much time watching you—watching you be there for them, watching you take care of everything, watching you never ask for anything in return.

And now No-Eul was out here being thoughtful and sneaky, and Sae-Byeok was just standing there like an idiot.

Unacceptable.

So, naturally, she decided that if No-Eul got the shoes—she was going to find you the perfect dress.

"Hey." She appeared beside you, hands in her pockets, her usual unreadable expression in place.

You blinked up at her. "Hey?"

"You found a dress yet?"

You sighed, gesturing at the endless racks. "I have no idea what I’m doing. This is, like, next-level fashion, and I am but a mere mortal."

Sae-Byeok smirked. "Come on. Let’s find something."

And just like that, she took over.

Before you knew it, Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi had joined the search, the three of them pulling dresses from racks like it was their sole purpose in life.

"This one," Ji-Yeong said, holding up something dramatic and covered in sequins.

"No," Sae-Byeok and Se-Mi said in unison.

Se-Mi held up a sleek, elegant gown with a thigh-high slit. "This is hot."

Sae-Byeok gave her a look. "She needs classy, not ‘I’m about to murder my rich husband for his inheritance.’"

Ji-Yeong gasped. "That’s a great aesthetic, though."

You just stood there, watching them bicker, warmth blooming in your chest.

Because, for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just dragging you along for the ride.

They were taking care of you.

And for once—you let them.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw

[c0rrupt-mutt]

Need a sadistic older brother who loves to see me crying but only if he’s the one making me cry.

He loves to tease and beat the shit out of me but if anyone else tries, they’re absolutely fucked.

And after he makes them regret their existence he’s always sure to spend the night making me feel so good I forget anyone but him has ever made me cry

[sombrashe]

2 random relationship headcanons ∿ team thanos

suggestive

✐ᝰlets you take a hit of his vape in the middle of sex. doesn't matter if he's fucking into you or if you're bouncing on his lap. he's grabbing his vape off the bedside box and blowing smoke in your face

"Quit it, Choi."

"Harsh... want a hit? It's cherry lime."

"Sounds awful."

"You say that to everything."

"That's because blue raspberry is the only flavor."

✐ᝰrolls a blunt on your lower back as you're scrolling. swatting at your ass when you laugh too hard and shake some of the bud loose. he finishes it off by keeping his tongue out too long and licking a stripe from the blunt to your side.

"Ew, Su-bong. What have I said about the licking?"

"That you love it and want me to do it."

"I get enough weed stench on me being in your presence. I don't need it embedded into my skin."

"Boring."

✐ᝰbrings home random pills he's collected throughout his shift at the club and expects you to take them with him. you always question every little thing about the pill. all he has to do is taking a quick look and knows exactly what it is.

"That's ecstasy. It's an upper."

"So I'll get like super depressed after?"

"Yeah, but I'll be here. It's fun."

"I hallucinate, right?"

"That's one of the symptoms, yeah"

✐ᝰdoes your nails because he's dead broke. He wishes he could buy you those cute sets you always linger on when online browsing. He found some nail sets on temu and went to a beauty store to buy nail supplies. he kept these hidden while he watched video after video about how to properly do nails.

"Where did you learn this?"

"YouTube."

"Why?"

"Bored."

✐ᝰdyes your hair so long as you agree to go with her when she gets a new piercing. she loves seeing all the different colors you've gone through. she especially loves how you just make shit up, mixing emerald pixie and frozen cotton candy and naming the teal color frozen pixie candy. amazing

"What color are we doing next?"

"I don't know. Any ideas?"

"What about pink. You always look so cute in pink."

"Pervert."

"I didn't even say anything."

✐ᝰrants to you about her day, everyday. at first it was frustrating, it seemed like all she did was complain. the more you bit your tongue and listened you slowly came to realize she needed a new job. immediately. what kind of boss says those things??

"You need to quit."

"I can't just quit."

"I make enough to hold us over until you find another job."

"But we would have to cut down a lot."

"I will do whatever you need."

✐ᝰblushes when you offer to go down on him. you don't do it often since he normally initiates but the few times you do offer his face turns beat red. it always starts at the tip of his ears, moves over to the apples of his cheeks, and ends splattered across his cheat like a renaissance painting.

"You're so red, Min-su."

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not! I promise, I think it's cute. Sexy even."

"Uh-huh."

"No really, It shows how turned on I make you."

✐ᝰgenuinely giggles. anytime you get the upper hand during wrestling you stick your fingers right under his chin and start tickling. at first he lets out a sharp laugh. something harsh that is accompanied by kicks. when it really starts getting to be too much he starts giggling uncontrollably.

"Stop. Stop. Too much."

"Say it. Say I'm the champion."

"You're-."

"Min-su."

"You won. You're the champion. Now stop, please. I can't breathe."

✐ᝰwatches you whenever you're not looking. He feels like a creep doing it but you're just so gorgeous. Absolutely ethereal and he physically can't keep his eyes off of you. He does it so often he ends up spacing out and you have to raise your voice to snap him out of it.

"Gyeong-su? Gyeong-su!"

"What?"

"Have you heard a single thing I said?"

"What did you say?"

"Unbelievable."

✐ᝰhypes you up any chance he gets. just woke up and need nothing more than a shower? God, baby, you look so good. putting the finishing touches on your makeup before a night out? Wow, you're breathtaking. when you're facedown and his lips are inches from the shell of your ear? Amazing how I get to call you mine.

"Which shirt with these pants?"

"You look amazing in both."

"That's not helpful Gyeong-su."

"But it's the truth."

"Then lie."

[sinmartini]

"crybaby." // soldier boy

notes: MDNI 18+ summary: soldier boy knows exactly how to get under your skin. luckily, he knows how to fix it, too. wc: 1110 warnings: p in v (unprotected), dubcon, use of the word 'dad,' arrogant!soldier boy (what else is new), pet names, fem!reader, not proofread, objectification, slight misogyny, age gap, gun mention.

“I don’t like you,” you told Soldier Boy. Plain and simple. That was that. 

There was something about the way he stared, about the way he spoke, about the way he moved. Leather clinging to his skin, a gun plastered to his hip as he barely glanced at you when you talked to him. 

Soldier Boy, or Ben, was the newest addition to your team, and you had never met anyone who could get under your skin the way he could. He didn’t even have to speak to crawl under your skin, resting against every single one of your nerves. It was amazing, truly, the way he could rile you up with a flick of his brow, or the arrogance caress of his tongue against his bottom lip.

Ben only made a gruff noise in response, but you could see the way he lifted his shoulders and dropped them in a way that exuded, ‘I don’t really care.’

“You’re arrogant,” you told him, deciding that right now was the best time to list all of the things about him that drove you crazy (newsflash: getting into it with Soldier Boy while the two of you were alone was probably your dumbest idea to date), “you stretch out on the couch like you own the place, the way you walk irritates me, and I think you’re unkind.”

Ben finally looked over at you, a small smirk dancing across his lips as he began counting all of the items you listed on his fingers. You tried not to watch the flick of his fingers, the way the veins on his hands popped as you spoke. “Only four things? There’s gotta be more, princess.”

“See!” You stood from the couch, hoping someone— Frenchie, Hughie, Kimiko— would walk through the door and save you from having to spend too much alone time with Ben. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re so arrogant.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” Ben threw his shoulders up, nonchalance washed over his features like he didn’t have a care in the world. It was absolutely, mind bogglingly infuriating to you.

Typically, you let this kind of stuff roll off your back. If someone annoyed you, you could ignore it. Hell, even if someone was downright mean to you, it was easy to remove yourself from the feelings it stirred and detach from the situation. But for whatever reason, that was not the case with Soldier Boy. The more you tried to detach yourself, the more you found yourself doing the complete opposite.

“Whatever,” you huffed, falling back into the couch, careful to leave enough space between yourself and Ben.

“I think you just don’t know how to handle me,” Ben stated, running his palm against the meat of his thigh as he stretched his legs out, completely manspreading.

“What?” The hell was that supposed to mean?

“I mean,” Ben sat up straighter, his eyes now locked on the side of your head as you tried your best to not catch his gaze, “I think you’re used to boys who you can boss around, and I don’t take shit like that from you which makes you feel a little… Well, crazy.”

You could feel your throat tightening. The worst thing about when you felt angry, or worse, called out, was the tears that would prickle at the corner of your eyes. As soon as that feeling settled in, it was hard to stop. Saliva pooled in your mouth, frustration causing your heart to beat a little faster.

“No,” you tried to correct him, but your voice quivered just enough to catch his attention, and his expression which was once nonchalant was now piqued with interest. You could see it, the way Ben’s eyes were lighting up, his lips turning upward into a devilish smile. And this was probably the most irritating thing about him— he was so handsome.

“Crybaby,” Ben cooed, his tone laced with mockery, a delicate taunt dancing across his face as he offered a faux pout. “Come here.”

You sat there, arms crossed over your chest as he mocked you, only adding to the pressure you felt in your chest and tightness in your throat. How were you supposed to respond to that? As so many iterations of responses you might be able to conjure if you weren’t feeling so overwhelmed flowed in and out of your brain, Ben piped up once more. “I said c’mere.”

There wasn’t any rhyme or reason as to why you listened to him, why you moved across the couch cushions like a kitten, and crawled into his lap when you were just telling him how much you didn’t like him. And you didn’t understand why you didn’t protest when he lifted your skirt just enough to slide his thumb in between your thighs and stroke softly, almost in a soothing way.

“Dad’s gotcha,” Ben said, and you froze at his words, not expecting to like the way they fell from his lips in hushed whisper, “we’ve just gotta fuck it out right, princess?”

And that’s how you ended up with his cock inside of you, curling up into you as he moved you up and down his shaft in a beat that kissed your cervix with every slam. His hands were wrapped around your hips, fingers indented into your skin in such a harsh way, you were sure there would be bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow.

Whines pulled from your throat, falling from your lips as your eyes rolled to the back of your head in pure ecstasy.

“I hate you,” you told him, riding him reverse cowgirl style on the couch that the rest of team payback would be splaying out on later. Did you feel a little guilty for this? Yeah. A bit. But no one had to know, right?

“You don’t hate me, princess,” Ben corrected, pushing up into you as his large hands moved your core back down on him. That one motion pushed you over the edge completely, hitting your peak without any clitoral stimulation.

The moans that came from you were moans you didn’t even know you could curate. They sounded innately primal, desire consuming your every being as you rode out your high on his cock, sweat accumulating in a thin layer on top of your skin. 

“We’ll do that again?” You asked Ben, nearly forgetting that this was the same man you were adamant about hating, his cock still inside of you as you leaned your back against his chest, heaves causing your chest to rise and fall at a fast pace, “right?”

“If you’re good,” Ben could only chuckle.

[butchersboobs]

Foxie, Becks and Butcher, Too

A Billy Butcher POV fic

'The course of true love never did run smooth' - as Billy Butcher's about to find out...

This story is based on several Butcher-yapping sessions I've had with the absolute legend @vulgarcupcake, whom I bloody adore.

⚠️ Smut below the cut, along with all the dark shit to be expected from a fic set in 'The Boys' universe - MDNI

-----

Seedy don’t even begin t'describe this fuckin’ shit'ole. 

Stinks o’stale beer, cheap aftershave an’ desperation. The kinda joint where the bouncers are too busy floggin' crack t'stop the strippers gettin' mauled by punters. 

But filf festers in places like this, so ‘ere I am - tryna find this fuckin’ z-list supe ‘oo claims ‘e knows summink that’d take them Vought cunts down f’good.

I lean against the sticky bar, scannin’ the room, when the lights dim and ‘Thunderstruck’ starts blastin’ frew the speakers - just about loud enuff t'make me fuckin’ ears bleed. The crowd shifts, all eyes look to the stage, and me - well, I turn t’look, too, more out of ‘abit than any real interest. 

But then I see ‘em.

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

Two o’the most stunnin’ birds I’ve ever clapped eyes on, movin’ abou’ like they own the fuckin’ place. 

One’s a tiny fing, platinum blonde ‘air wiv these black streaks frew the ends, all sass and wicked smirks. Looks like she’d eat ya alive an' laugh while she's doin’ it. The uvver one- fuck me - she’s got curves that’d make a priest reconsider ‘is vows, a dark red pixie cut and these sultry eyes that flick over the crowd like she’s tryna choose ‘er next victim.

They strut t'the front o’ the stage as the beat kicks in, ‘ips swayin’ in sync, tits 'n arse cheeks bouncin’ about - the ‘ole fuckin’ rooms vibratin’ off their energy.

The blonde grabs the pole, spins ‘erself round so smoove, it’s like she’s weightless, then drops low, archin’ ‘er back jus’ right. The red’ead stalks forward, slow 'n deliberate, lockin’ eyes wiv some poor sod in the front row who's probly jus’ shot ‘is load in ‘is fuckin’ trousers.

I should be finkin’ 'bout me mission - the scumbag I’m sposed t’be huntin’ down, but all I can do is stare. Me mowf’s gone dry, me ‘ands tight on me glass, an’ f’the first time in fuck knows ‘ow long, I’m bloody mesmerised.

Then, just as that screechin’ guitar solo ‘its, the red’ead flicks ‘er gaze my way - looks right at me - an’ whips ‘er top off.

And fuck me if I don’t feel like I’m the one bein’ hunted now.

Then it ‘appens.

Some fat-fingered, lairy twat in a cheap suit - some banker or city prick, no doubt - gets it in ‘is ‘ead that ‘is front row seat means 'e can do more than just look’. ‘E reaches up, grabs an ‘andful o’the blonde’s arse like e’s paid for it.

Big. Fuckin’. Mistake.

Before I can even set me drink down, she swings round and chins the cunt. No ‘esitation, no messin’ - just a straight-up, solid fuckin’ right ‘ook to ‘is jaw. The crack of it’s fuckin’ beautiful. Prick goes down like a sack o’spuds, clutchin’ ‘is face, shock all over ‘is punchable gob.

Then ‘is mate - annuver greasy-lookin' wanker - jumps up from ‘is seat, all puffed up, actin’ like e’s about t’do summink about it. But before ‘e can even open ‘is gob, the red’ead’s there.

She don’t just step in - nah -she fuckin' flies. Legs 'round ‘is waist, fists in ‘is hair, draggin' ‘im down t'the floor like some feral fuckin’ cat. E’s too busy shriekin’ n flailin’ t'fight back. The bouncers finally decide to earn their fuckin’ pay, 'aulin’ the two twats off while the rest o’the room cheers like they just watched the main event at a fuckin’ boxing match.

I just lean back against the bar, chucklin’ to meself.

Fink I might 'ave t'come 'ere more often.

A minute later, the scent of vanilla and a bit o’violence ‘its me, and I don’ even ‘ave to look t’know oo’s just walked up. One on eiver side o’me. The blonde perches ‘erself against the bar to me right, knuckles still red, lips curled in satisfaction. The red’ead slinks up on me left, smug as fuck, shakin’ out ‘er ‘ands like she ain't just flattened some city wanker in record time.

They both signal the bartender at the same time. “Five shots,” they say, almost in sync.

Five? Each?

The drinks are lined up in seconds, and before I can even make a smart-arsed remark, they grab their glasses and knock ‘em back like it’s fuckin’ water.

I watch, properly fuckin’ transfixed, as they down every last drop. Neiver of ‘em even winces.

The blonde slams ‘er last glass down, licks ‘er lips, then glances up at me.

The red’ead does the same, then tilts ‘er ‘ead, lookin’ me up and down like she’s measurin’ me up.

I exhale slow, grinnin’.

“Evenin’, ladies,” I say, all smoove like, before downin’ me own drink. 

“Crackin' show, that…”

I glance between ‘em, still fuckin’ reelin’ from what I just witnessed. Ain’t often ya see a couple o’strippers deck two pricks. These are definitely the kinda gells oo’d eat a bloke alive and not even leave the bones.

I huff a laugh, leanin’ on the bar. “I’d offer to buy you boaf a drink, but summink’ tells me if I said the wrong fing, you’d rip me fuckin’ bollocks off.”

The blonde barks out a proper, froaty laugh, smirkin’ up at me, eyes glintin’. “You wish…” she purrs, flickin’ a bit of ‘er bloody gorgeous ‘air over ‘er shoulder.

The red’ead just grins slow, proper dangerous-like, and steps in closer - right into me space. She tilts ‘er head, eyes gleamin’ under the neon lights. “When I get my hands on your bollocks,” she murmurs - 'n fuck me, she's a Brit, “it won’t be to rip ‘em off.”

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

I swallow ‘ard, heat shootin’ straight t'me cock. I ain’t a nervous bloke - don’t get rattled easy - but fuck me if that didn’t just knock the wind right outta me sails. She knows exactly what she’s doin’, the little minx. And the blonde? She’s watchin’ it all wiv a knowing look, like she’s waitin’ to see if I’ll crumble.

Not a fuckin’ chance.

I grin, signal to the bartender. “Right then. Let’s get some more shots in, shall we?”

Few minutes later, we’ve got fresh drinks in ‘and, and I’m feelin’ the warm buzz o’whiskey makin’ its way frew me system. I clink me glass against theirs, eyes flickin’ between ‘em. “So, what do I call you, then? Or am I just gonna keep thinkin’ of ya as the two sexiest fuckin’ women I’ve ever seen in me life?”

The blonde chuckles, rollin’ ‘er eyes. “Foxie,” she says, tappin’ ‘er shot glass against mine before knockin’ it back like a pro. Fuck me. She's fuckin’ foxy alright.

“Becks,” the red'ead says, voice like warm fuckin’ honey.

Foxie ‘n Becks.

I roll their names over in me ‘ead, takin’ anuvver slow sip o’whiskey. Two of ‘em, right ‘ere, pressin’ in close, flirtin’ back just as ‘ard as I’m throwin’ it. And me? I’m in fuckin’ turmoil.

Because I genuinely can’t choose which one I want most.

Foxie’s all wicked grins and flirty, she's absolutely stunnin’ and is definitely trouble - a tiny little firecracker oo’d probly set me ‘ole life alight just for the fun o'watchin’ it burn. Becks is pure filf, wiv the most crackin’ set o'tits I've ever seen and a mouth that could fuckin’ talk a bloke into - or out of - anyfin.

I wan‘em boaf.

And if I ain't mistaken, they boaf fuckin’ know it.

-----

The booze is flowin’, the flirtin’s gettin’ filfier, and I’m ‘avin’ the best fuckin’ night I’ve ‘ad in years. Foxie’s perched on me right, leanin’ in every time she laughs, ‘er little ‘and on me arm, eyes flashin’ like she knows exactly ‘ow much trouble she is. Becks is on me left, battin’ 'er eyelashes and touchin’ me up, ‘er voice drippin’ wiv suggestion every time she opens that wicked mowf. I’d be lyin’ if I said I weren’t absolutely fuckin’ smitten - an’ absolutely fuckin’ torn.

An hour’s gone by in a blur o’whiskey, teasin’, and them takin’ turns windin’ me up so bad I can barely fink straight. The club’s windin’ down now, punters stumblin’ out into the night, and it’s clear as fuck where this is ‘eaded. They boaf want me. Boaf of ‘em. And I, in all me years of chasin’ skirt, ‘ave never been in such a fuckin’ predicament.

I push back from the bar, stretchin’ me arms over me ‘ead. “Right,” I say, grinnin’. “I need a slash. But when I get back, you two are gonna have to play Rock, Paper, Scissors over me or somethin’, ‘cause I ain’t got a fuckin’ clue ‘ow to pick between ya.”

Foxie just giggles, downin’ the last of ‘er drink. Becks smirks over the rim of ‘ers, archin’ a single, perfict brow.

I ‘ead off to the bogs, splash a bit o’ cold water on me face, and stare at meself in the mirror. Jesus, Butcher. What the fuck are you doin’?

I know EXACTLY what I’m doin'.

When I step back out into the club, they’re still at the bar, standin’ close, talkin’ low between ‘emselves. Their eyes flick up to me at the same time, and summink about the way they’re lookin’ at me makes the ‘airs on the back o’me neck stand up.

Foxie tilts ‘er head, smilin’ as she taps a finger against ‘er lips. “So, Butcher…”

Becks leans in, voice all warm and velvety. “What if…” She lets it ‘ang there, just for a second, before she grins.

Foxie finishes for ‘er. “You didn’t have to choose?”

I fuckin’ freeze.

And then, very fuckin’ slowly, a grin spreads across me face.

“Ladies,” I murmur, steppin’ closer, lettin’ me gaze flick between ‘em. “I fink I just ‘ad the best piss o’me fuckin’ life.”

Foxie ‘olds up ‘er ‘and, ‘er smirk widenin’. “Hold on a minute, big boy.”

Becks leans in, mirrorin’ ‘er, and I swear I’ve never been more fuckin’ eager to ‘ear what’s comin’ next.

“Just so we’re clear,” Foxie purrs, eyes glintin’ wicked, “we come as a pair, yeah, but not in the way you’re thinkin’.”

Becks tilts ‘er head, trailin’ a finger along the rim of ‘er empty glass. “You can have us both,” she murmurs, “but not at the same time.”

Foxie leans in close, ‘er breath warm against me ear. “We’ll share you. No questions asked. No jealousy, no moanin’, no nagging…”

Becks’ lips brush against me ear as she whispers. “The best of both worlds.”

I stare at ‘em, flickin’ me gaze between the two, and for the first time ever, I’m speechless. Two of the most stunnin’, dangerous, sexy birds I’ve ever laid eyes on, and they’re offerin’ me a fuckin’ dream scenario.

I let out a low chuckle, shakin’ me ‘ead. “This night,” I murmur, grinnin’ like the bastard I am, “just keeps gettin’ better.”

-----

We stumble into mine, the door barely clickin’ shut before the gells make ‘emselves at ‘ome like they’ve been ‘ere a hundred times before. Foxie kicks off ‘er ‘eels, stretchin’ like a cat, while Becks flops onto me couch, arms drapin’ over the back like she owns the fuckin’ fing. It’s a sight, I tell ya - the pair of ‘em loungin’ round me gaff like they belong ‘ere. 

I could definitely get used to this.

I grab a bottle o’whiskey, pour three glasses, then drop meself onto the couch right between ‘em. They don’t waste a bloody second - Foxie leans into me right side, ‘er little fingers trailin’ up me arm, while Becks presses in close on the left, ‘er thigh warm against mine. I take a slow sip, feelin’ proper fuckin’ smug.

“So,” I say, “right. ‘Ow’s this gonna work then?”

They share a look, Foxie’s lips twitchin’, Becks’ smile filfy as ever.

“You choose,” Foxie says simply, eyes dark and glintin’. “Whoever you want tonight. No hard feelings.”

Becks nods, draggin’ ‘er fingers slow over me knee. “We promised, didn’t we? No jealousy, no drama.”

I glance between ‘em, then huff out a laugh. “Oh, bollocks to that. I ain’t gonna choose.”

I dig in me pocket, pull out a coin, an’ ‘old it up between me fingers. “‘Eds, Foxie. Tails, Becks.”

They watch, amused, as I flip the bastard. The coin spins in the air, catchin’ the light, and when it lands on me palm, I flip it over t'the back o’me uvver 'and.

'Eads it is.

Foxie grins, triumphant, while Becks just chuckles, stretchin’ ‘er arms over ‘er ‘ed like she ain’t got a care in the world.

“Right then,” I say, pushin’ meself up. “Let’s get you sorted, love.”

I grab a pillow and blanket from me cupboard, tossin’ ‘em onto the couch. “Comfy as fuck, that couch,” I tell Becks, watchin’ as she flops down like she’s testin’ it out.

Before I turn t’leave, I crouch down, catch ‘er chin between me fingers, and press a slow, deep kiss to ‘er lips. She hums against me mouth, all warm an’ lazy, and when I pull back, I let a low growl rumble from me throat.

“Night, love,” I tell ‘er.

Foxie grabs me ‘and, tuggin’ me towards me bedroom, but Becks just grins up at me from the couch.

“Night, Butcher, night Fox - don't break him!” she says, only ‘alf jokin’. Fuck - what ‘ave I let meself in for?

And wiv that, me and Foxie disappear into me bedroom, leavin’ Becks stretched out, smilin’ to ‘erself, like she already knows ‘er turn’ll come soon enough.

-----

As soon as the bedroom door clicks shut, Foxie’s on me like a fuckin’ wildfire, pressin’ me back against it, ‘er li'le ‘ands already slidin’ up me chest. She’s tiny, barely comes up to me chin, but Christ, the way she moves - like she’s already got me figured out, already knows exactly what she’s doin’ to me.

I let out a low chuckle, thumbin’ a strand of ‘er platinum hair, feelin’ the silky softness between me fingers. “You’re a right little menace, ain’t ya?”

She grins up at me, all teeth and trouble. “You love it.”

She ain’t wrong.

I grab ‘er waist, pullin’ ‘er in flush, feelin’ the heat of her pressed against me. It’s been a long fuckin’ time since I’ve ‘ad a woman like this - one that’s all confidence, no ‘esitation, knows exactly what she wants and ain’t afraid t’take it. And fuck me, does she take it.

Her mowf’s on mine before I can fink, kissin’ me like she means to fuckin’ ruin me, ‘er ‘ands slidin’ up into me hair, tuggin’ just enough to make me groan into ‘er lips. She tastes like whisky an’ trouble, and bollocks, I’m in deep.

Me fingers skim under the hem of  er top, findin’ bare, warm skin, and she arches into me, hummin’ against me mouth like she’s already got plans for how this night’s gonna go. I back ‘er up towards the bed, ‘ands roamin’, touchin’, takin’ in every inch of ‘er like I need t’memorise it. Because fuck, I do.

This ain't just a quick fuck - it ain't just about scratchin' an itch. It's sumfin else entirely. Sumfin sharp an’ electric, a proper fizz in the air, like she’s got some kinda spell on me.

And the worst part? I don’t even fuckin’ care.

-----

I wake up to the smell of bacon. Proper thick-cut, none o’that supermarket shite. First thought in me head? Fuck me, I’ve died and gone to ‘eaven.

Foxie’s still sprawled out beside me, ‘air a mess, lips all swollen from last night. I let me fingers drift down ‘er back, lazy ‘n light, but she just grumbles, buryin’ ‘er face in me pillow. Right then - guess I’m flyin’ solo.

I pull on me joggers, drag meself outta bed, and wander into the kitchen, rubbin’ the sleep out me eyes. And there she is - Becks, stood at the stove like she’s done it a thousand fuckin’ times before, ‘air a messy li'le pixie halo, flippin’ bacon wiv the kinda focus usually reserved for bomb disposal.

She clocks me standin’ there and smiles over her shoulder. “Mornin’, Billy.”

I lean against the counter, arms crossin’ over me chest, watchin’ as she plates up eggs, sausages, the works. “You been out?”

“Course,” she says, like it’s the most normal fing in the world. “Figured you’d need proper fuel after last night.”

I huff out a laugh, runnin’ an ‘and frew me ‘air. “You takin’ the piss?”

She grins. “Maybe a little.”

I glance at the spread on the table - bacon crisped up just right, eggs lookin’ golden ‘n runny, black pudding, mushrooms, the fuckin’ lot. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, sinkin’ into a chair. “You tryna make me fall in love with ya?”

Becks just winks, settin’ a mug of tea down in front o’me. “Eat first. Declare undyin’ devotion later.”

Just then, Foxie staggers in, ‘air all over the shop, wearin’ one of me shirts that’s way too big on ‘er, lookin’ sexy as fuck. She lets out a delighted little gasp when she sees the food. “Good ol’ Becks - I'm fucking starving”

Becks just nudges a plate towards her. “Eat up, gorgeous.”

And so we do - three of us sat round me kitchen table, laughin’, nickin’ bits off each other’s plates, like we’ve been doin’ this f’years. It’s fuckin’ weird, in the best way. Easy. Natural.

I sip me tea, lookin’ between ‘em, and shake me ‘ead wiv a smirk. I dunno what the fuck I’ve gotten meself into - but I ain’t complainin’.

-----

I barely make it frew the day. Every time I look at Becks, I’m finkin’ about what’s comin’ later. She knows it, too - the little look she gives me every time I catch ‘er eye, the way she brushes past me, barely fuckin’ touchin’ me, but leavin’ me burnin’ all the same. Foxie clocks it straight away, the smug little cow, an’ she just gives me a wink over ‘er tea and says, “Well, you two are gonna be useless today.”

She ain’t wrong.

By the time night rolls round, I’m climbin’ the fuckin’ walls. Foxie gives Becks a li’le nudge  as she ‘eads off to the couch, tellin’ ‘er to “play nice,” and Becks just laughs, low and husky, shootin’ me a look that damn near finishes me off on the spot.

The second the bedroom door shuts be’ind us, I’ve got ‘er pinned against it, one ‘and tangled in that dark red pixie cut, the uvver already slidin’ down ‘er waist. She lets out a breathy little laugh, all warm an’ wicked, tiltin’ ‘er ‘ead back like she’s invitin’ me to do me worst.

Oh, love, you dunno what you’ve just signed up for.

I kiss ‘er like I mean to wreck ‘er - slow at first, deep an’ teasing, then ‘arder when she makes this little noise in the back of ‘er throat, fists tight in me ‘air. She’s all curves, soft in all the right places, and fuck me, she smells good. Like vanilla and sin.

“Been waitin’ f’this all day,” I mutter against ‘er lips, slidin’ me ‘ands under her shirt, finally gettin’ me ‘ands on them tits. Fuckin’ell - what a pair they are.

She grins, eyes dark wiv mischief. “Oh yeah?” ‘Er fingers tug at me waistband, draggin’ me closer. “Guess we’d better make it worth the wait then.”

Fuckin’ell. I’m gone.

I growl low in me throat, haulin’ ‘er up, and she wraps ‘er legs round me waist like she was made for it. Christ, the feel of ‘er - warm, soft, all smug confidence like she knows she’s got me in the fuckin’ palm of ‘er ‘and. And she does. Oh, she does.

I carry ‘er to the bed, droppin’ ‘er onto the mattress wiv a bounce, and she props ‘erself up on ‘er elbows, lookin’ at me like I’m ‘er next meal.

“Gonna stand there all night, big boy?” she teases, runnin’ ‘er tongue over ‘er bottom lip, an  fuckin’ hell, I nearly lose it.

I climb over ‘er, settlin’ meself between ‘er thighs, lettin’ me weight press  er into the bed, and she shivers, eyes dark as sin. “You’re a proper filthy fucker, you know that?” I mutter against ‘er jaw, kissin’ my way down ‘er neck.

She hums, archin’ up into me, ‘ands slidin’ down towards me cock, sendin’ a thrill right frew me. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Can’t argue wiv that.

I take me time, explorin’ every inch of ‘er, memorisin’ the sounds she makes, the way she moves under me. It’s different from Foxie - where Foxie was all wild energy, Becks is slow, sultry, like she’s enjoyin’ every second, makin’ sure I do too. It’s fuckin’ intoxicatin’.

She rolls us over sudden-like, straddlin’ me wiv a wicked grin, ‘ands pressed to me chest. “My turn,” she murmurs, leanin’ down to kiss me, slow and deep, stealin’ every last bit o’ control I ‘ad left.

I am so fuckin’ done for.

-----

The room’s all warm an’ cozy, tangled sheets and the scent of Becks still clingin’ t me skin. She’s out cold, one arm draped over me stomach, ‘er breff slow an’ steady against me chest. I slip out careful-like, grabbin’ me joggers from the floor, and pad out to the kitchen, needin’ a drink, a smoke, and a fuckin’ minute to get me head straight.

I light up, takin’ a deep drag, lettin’ the smoke curl in me lungs before breavin’ it out slow. The place is silent, just the faint hum of the fridge and the distant rumble of cars outside. It’s peaceful. Almost too peaceful, considerin’ the absolute madness of the last twenty-four hours.

I should be confused, right? I should be sittin’ here, tryin’ t’figure out which one of ‘em I want more, which one’s got me proper. But I ain’t. Cos I can’t fuckin’ choose.

Foxie, wiv ‘er magic li'le mowf. The way she fuckin’ owned me cock and ran ‘er ‘ands all over me like ‘er life depended on it. And Becks, all slow ‘n sensual, makin’ me feel I was summink special just by the way she looked at me. And the way she moaned my name when I first stuck me cock in ‘er. Fuck.

'Ow the fuck am I meant to pick?

And then it ‘its me - I don’t ‘ave to.

I don't want to.

They don’t want me to. 

They’ve already worked it all out, already set the rules, and bollocks if it don’t make perfect sense. I get ‘em both. No jealousy, no moanin’, no drama. Just me and me gells.

I let out a deep breff, then take another drag, a slow smirk spreadin’ across me lips.

Yeah.

This can definitely fuckin’ work.

-----

I dunno exactly when it ‘appened - one minute they were crashin’ at mine now and then, the next, their shit was everywhere - fuckin’ perfumes takin’ over me bathroom, bras ‘angin’ off the back of me chair, and me kitchen permanently stocked with Becks’ dodgy fuckin’ vodka and Foxie’s 900 different types o'soddin’ pasta. Proper fuckin’ nutjobs, the both of ‘em. 

But I wouldn’t change ‘em for the bloody world.

Foxie, me little crybaby, snivels over everyfin. Some daft advert on the telly? Tears. I fuck me fleshligh’ t'teach ‘er a lesson? Waterworks. I barely fuckin’ touch her with a joke punch, and she’s clutchin’ her arm like I just shattered the fuckin’ fing. But she’s got an ‘eart the size o’the fuckin’ moon, and it ain’t just herself she’s cryin’ over - she’s always lookin’ out for Becks ‘n me.

And Becks? Fuckin’ liability, that one. Proper mowfy gobshite, ‘specially when she’s ‘ammered, which is quite a lot. The amount o’times I’ve ‘ad t’drag ‘er away from some poor cunt she’s squared up to, pint in ‘and, swayin’ on ‘er feet but refusin’ to back down. Christ. And yet, some’ow, she always gets away wiv it, flashin’ her fuckin’ cleavage an’ battin’ them big eyes ‘til she’s the bloody victim of the ‘ole situation.

I keep tellin’ ‘em boaf to pack in the strippin’, but do they listen? Do they fuck. So now I’m sneakin’ into the club most nights, nursin’ a whiskey at the back, keepin’ an eye out - just t’make sure no cunt so much as breaves the wrong way near ‘em. They know, o’course - pair o’smug little bitches they are - always sendin’ me cheeky winks from the stage, Becks pushin’ ‘er tits togevver or blowin’ me kisses, Foxie wearin’ them tiny knickers ‘n knee socks she knows I can't resist ‘er in - just t’take the piss.

They’re a mess. But they’re my fuckin’ mess. 

And god ‘elp any cunt ‘oo ever fuckin’ upsets ‘em - cos I'll fuckin’ kill ‘em.

-----

Been fuckin’ burned, ain't we.

I’m fuckin’ dreadin’ this. Not the safe house. Not Vought breavin’ down me neck. Not even the fact me ‘ole life’s just gone up in flames again. Nah, what’s got me sweatin’ is me gells.

‘Cause I ain’t exactly told The Boys about ‘em.

Weren’t ‘iding it, exactly - just never got round t’yappin’ about me domestic situation. ‘Oi, lads, pass the whiskey - and oh, by the way, I’m shaggin’ two gorgeous but absolute nutter strippers. Oh, and they live wiv me…’ didn’t seem like natural conversation. 

But now, I ain’t got a choice - they got nowhere t’live. Turns out they ‘ad t'do a runner from their place after Becks chinned the bloody landlord cos the ‘cheeky cunt’ asked for the seven months’ rent she ‘just forgot’ t’pay.

So - they gotta come wiv me. Cos Christ - they ain't bloody safe t’be left t'fend for ‘emselves.

I glance over at ‘em in the back seat, where they’re pissin’ about like this is some bloody road trip an’ not me worst fuckin’ nightmare. “Right,” I warn ‘em as we set off. “I need you two to fuckin’ be’ave yerselves.”

“Yes, Billy,” they chirp in unison, like butter wouldn't fuckin’ melt.

It crosses me mind that I'd rather just put me foot down ‘n chuck meself out the bloody car door than try t’make this pair listen to a bloody word I say again.

“No - don’t you ‘yes, Billy’ me. I fuckin’ mean it. No windin’ M.M up. No flirtin’ with Frenchie or nickin’ ‘is stash. And for the love of fuck, do not - DO NOT! - get ‘Ughie involved in any of your bullshit.”

Foxie gasps, all fake innocence. “Billy, I’m hurt.”

‘Oi! Jus’ fuckin’’ listen, yeah? An’ don’ be startin’ any shit wiv Starlight or Kimiko, neaver. Do you fuckin ‘ear me?’

Becks smirks, spreadin’ her legs wide open, flashin’ ‘er minge, just t'piss me off a bit more. “C’mon, Butch - we’re angels.”

Angels, my fuckin’ arse.

I know EXACTLY ‘ow this is gonna go. 

And I know - wivout a fuckin’ shadow of a doubt - that I will never ‘ear the end o’this from the lads.

-----

I knew it. I fucking knew it.

From the second I stepped frew that door wiv me gells in tow, I knew it was gonna be absolute fucking carnage. And lo and bloody be’old…

M.M. just stares at ‘em - ‘n goes from nought t'ragin’ in 0.01 seconds. “Butcher,” he says, real slow. “Why the FUCK have you brought two hookers to this safe house?”

I damn near snap me own teef grindin’ ‘em togevver. “Oi - watch yer fuckin’ mowf, M. This is Foxie, ‘n this Becks - they're… well, they're me gells, ain't they.”

‘Ughie, the soft bastard, looks baffled. “Wait - wait… What do you mean, ‘your girls’?” He gestures wildly between me an’ the pair of ‘em, who true t'form are struttin’ ‘round the place like it’s theirs already. “Butcher… are you their fucking pimp?”

Foxie bursts out laughin’, wrappin’ herself round me arm. Becks just cackles.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, rubbin’ me face. “They’re me birds, alright? We’re -” I wave me ‘and, tryna find the right words.

Foxie hums, lookin’ thoughtful. “I wouldn’t call it dating, exactly.”

“No - I'd describe it as ‘fucking’‘- like - A LOT. A co-habiting fuck-triangle, maybe?” Becks cuts in, all bolshy. “And for the record, m ‘n m or whatever your name is - we’re strippers, actually.” And before I can stop ‘er, she flashes ‘er fuckin’ tits right there in the middle of the room.

‘Ughie looks like ‘es gonna ‘it the deck, and Annie practically dives in front of ‘im, tryna shield ‘is poor fuckin’ innocent eyes.

M.M. looks two seconds from murder. “That’s it. That’s fuckin’ it. We’re all dead.”

Frenchie, on the other hand? Absolutely delighted. “Oh, mon dieu, this is fantastic.” And before I can stop ‘er, Foxie’s climbed into ‘is lap, wrappin’ ‘er arms round ‘is neck an’ startin’ up a bloody lap dance.

Kimiko's takin’ it all in, clearly findin’ the ‘ole fing fuckin’ hilarious. Annie looks like she’d rarver go back to The Seven than stay ‘ere. ‘Ughie's rockin’ back and forth mutterin’ ‘why does this shit keep happening to me’ repeatedly. M.M. - well ‘e looks like ‘e might need a fuckin’ ambulance.

I just sigh, already headin’ f’the whisky. This is me life now.

I've not even left the bloody room before Becks pipes up.

“Skin up then Frenchie, there's a good'un. I’ll rack us up some lines, yeah? Where's your stash, babe? Grab some vodka, Fox. Let's get this party started!”

Foxie cheers. “Fancy another lapdance, French? Where's the stereo? Dry humping's better when music is pumping - that's my motto…”

Frenchie looks like e'd ‘appily 'stay on the run forever.

I don’ even bovver tryna find a glass - m'just gonna neck the ‘ole fuckin’ bottle. 

-----

Tags: @vulgarcupcake @dumpy-little-nobody @bluemerakis @karlurbanism @enchantedflameandflower @jax-the-oregonian @bobabilbil @frank3nfag @bohemianblasphemy @bluecalypso24 @galaxyshifting @jynx15 @lloquent @noonwardmoss @rustanddusted @scrmqwn @scxrchedearf

[sdv-confessions]

I absolutely adore the SDV characters and find it really easy to like them because of how nuanced and relatable many of them are.

The one I “dislike” most is Pierre but while having credit being stolen from me makes me reasonably upset, I can’t even outright dislike him. This is because my friend brought up the wonderful concept of Pierre/Morris corporate slime x capitalist slime toxic yaoi and now I can’t stop laughing while imagining them making out in the CC while beating the shit out of each other

- 🍓

.

[veilosdaigoa]

Daily Writing Challenge February 2025 Day 5 - Navigate

Veilos leaned both elbows atop the desk, resting his face against his fists as he stared blankly at the closed door to his office at The Shielded Mind. All of his appointments for the day were finished, and he was done cleaning and tidying up. From the sound of it, or lack thereof, everyone else had finished up for the day as well and departed, aside from a small handful of night crew.

It had been about two weeks now since he had started working for the clinic, and while he loved the job and helping people, it still felt as if something were missing. He had been a career military man up until his medical discharge, and before the invasion of the scourge in Quel’thalas, he always had someone to come home to. Now, it was just him. He wasn’t seeking pity, his situation was no different from that of many others that had lived through that horrible event. The vast majority lost all or most of their family and friends, but not even the shared trauma could cure how lonely it could be. At times it felt like an impossible situation to navigate.

He could go home, he should go home, make himself dinner and focus on relaxing. Instead, he sat there and stared at the door, feeling completely unable to even make himself budge an inch. Depression was one hell of a drug, and even with proper medication and healthy habits, it never went away completely. However, if he kept sitting here and staring, his mind would start wandering too much and he would no doubt end up attempting to wash away his feelings at the bottom of a bottle.

Reluctantly and with a great amount of effort, he stood and made his way towards the outside of the building, breathing in the crisp twilight air. He didn’t want to go home just yet, but he also couldn’t stay here - so instead he wandered aimlessly. His path unconsciously brought him to the infamous Murder Row, a place he had previously done his best to avoid at nights. Although the way he felt right now, if anyone tried to fuck with him they would be in for a world of hurt.

A sudden, muffled roar of cheers and applause coming from inside of a nearby building immediately caught his attention. There were no bouncers present outside, so whatever this was didn’t appear to be some sort of private affair. He would find out soon enough. He walked into the dingy dive bar where a few patrons clustered around the small tables and bar - surely this was not where all that noise had been coming from.

“Brawl is downstairs if that’s what yer lookin’ for. Through them back doors and down the steps to the right.” The bartender called out while refilling a couple mugs.

He had visited a few brawling clubs in his younger years, but had never participated himself. While he was trained in hand-to-hand combat, being punched for fun and sport had never been his cup of tea. Regardless, he continued downstairs, eyes widening as the area opened up into a rather swanky club. It could be assumed this space was also used as a night club at some point, with all the bars and booths hugging the outside of the space and a large open ring in the center.

The excitement of the crowd gathered around the two fighters was contagious, and he found himself suddenly enamored with the entire atmosphere. He maneuvered his way to the front of the crowd, eagerly watching these two participants beat the absolute shit out of each other while everyone around placed bets, and smoked and drank and took drugs of all sorts with no fear of consequence. It was exciting and thrilling, the spike of adrenaline was more than he had felt in the past year.

When one man was finally knocked out, some of the crowd threw up their arms and cheered while others groaned at their loss. A couple large bouncer types dragged the unconscious man out of the ring as a gorgeous, fiery redhead stepped into the center with microphone in hand. “Well friends, it looks like we have an opening. Any of you brave souls want to step into the ring and show us what you got?” Before Veilos could even talk himself out of it, he found himself speaking up as he ducked through the barrier. “Me. I’ll do it.”

@daily-writing-challenge

[freedelusionshere]

Carmy absolutely does do things that are shitty all the time. All the stuff about ditching the restaurant to hang out with Claire in S2, for example. Which is letting Syd and his entire team down. Carmy can sleep with or date whoever he wants, that’s not the problem for me and doesn’t really need any excuse. Syd is not actively pursuing Carmy romantically at all.

Claire isn’t responsible for him ditching, either, but she doesn’t give a shit and actually tries to distract him from building his new restaurant. She plays on his confusion and brings up his abusive mother and the cannolis, which he tells Syd he hates and is an obvious trigger for him.

“No one’s ever made dinner for me.”

Carmy is easily guilted and unsure of what he wants because he’s been manipulated by his family which she also knows about. She knows he’s confused about her, too, she just doesn’t care. She’s definitely taking advantage of his mental state.

She keeps asking about the phone number in order to get the answer she wants. Threatening to have Faks beat him up. Telling him he’s being weird/difficult for not dropping everything to help her move her mom. She’s been kind of stalking him via Neil (also Neil directly influences Carmy as well). It’s implied Nat sees it as a positive and Richie encourages it. Leaving the “I love you” on a VM on Friends & Family?

And she kind of gets what she gives, right? He flip flops on her because she makes him uneasy because she’s subtly manipulative (instead of direct like his mom) and she didn’t expect him to drop her until she was done having her thrills. Or choose something (or someone) else over her.

I really feel if Carmy were a female character people wouldn’t act like she owed someone like Claire all of this. People would see the gaslighting and isolating from family (co-workers), and having her good time at their expense. People would be talking about how manipulative Claire is. Instead I feel like because Claire’s aggression is hidden behind softness it gets a pass.

Claire is also just as messed up as Carmy. But she’s figured out how to hide how messed up she with her facade and by watching other’s pain which the show repeatedly shows her talking about and doing over and over again. She is aware of what she’s doing.

Does Carmy know what he’s doing? No, he doesn’t. He tried dating Claire because he wanted to see if he could have a life outside the restaurant. She did make it easy. He was not even trying to think about them having a future, Syd is the one who brought that up. He was just trying to enjoy himself.

I mean, I believe Carmy is in love with Syd, but he made her off limits in his mind, I think, until the end of S3. Richie calls him out on sublimating his feelings, it’s not even subtle. He wanted to have a life outside of work (Syd is at work) and it completely failed because of who he is and the kind of person Claire is.

Carmy is ultimately responsible for his choices but so is Claire. People that have been abused can fall into patterns and not be able to easily escape from them which is what a lot of his journey is about. He is lying but it is to himself. Carmy did used to have a crush on Claire and he did like her in high school “so much”.

Anyway, thank you for responding!

People can easily use each other in all kinds of relationships, that’s why I think it’s so important to have relationships established on knowing and caring for people and not seeing them as disposable.

Hook-up culture is not that. I really don’t think it’s accurate to say Carmy used Claire and not that they used each other, but also one person has experience with hook-up culture and it’s not Carmy, and they make sure to show this is what Claire and her friend group typically do.

They reverse the gender tropes a lot on this show and definitely did around this relationship, and Carmy wasn’t even going to tell Claire what he said in the walk-in. She was in a place she wasn’t supposed to be and accidentally overheard it.

She walked away. She didn’t try to work it out or talk about it. And it was about him not her. He never blamed it on her at any point. Which she lies about later to Tiff. It wouldn’t feel good to hear that for anyone, but he didn’t know she was there and he wasn’t saying it to hurt her.

There’s also no indication he ever felt safe enough with Claire to have that deep of a convo, all their convos are depicted as vapid and talking around their real feelings for a reason. Claire was using Carmy as well. She knew he had anxiety, she noticed his heart racing. She is a medical professional.

Just because you have sex with someone or call them a “girlfriend” or whatever, doesn’t equal intimacy or a bond of any kind. Which, Carmy thinks that word sounds awful, but it doesn’t come up very often that maybe he doesn’t care for the gendered dynamics of that?

He doesn’t say it outright, but the whole thing with him dating Claire is that it’s what Mikey and his family thought was good for him, and Mikey (and Richie and Fake’s) opinions of Claire are extremely sexist. Notice how Carmy gets grossed out by Richie calling Syd “sweetheart” or Nat pretending to be a helpless little girl to manipulate Cicero. He literally calls it “gross”.

Anyway, just me ranting about this for the millionth time but Carmy can apologize to Claire for using her because he didn’t know what he actually wanted when she was just hooking up with him for fun and thrills (she tells us that’s what she’s into) and then it didn’t go the way she wanted and got too inconvenient so she walked.

Carmy wants intimacy and emotional safety, and the show has gone to great pains to show he gets that from Syd, in contrast to anyone associated with his past. What Syd is getting in return needs to be answered now from her POV, but that contrast is the reason Carmy and Claire don’t work. Not because he made the mistake of calling her his girlfriend in order to not be seen as a jerk by Syd and not because they had sex (big deal TBH), and not he had a meltdown and admitted his real feelings to Tina.

[xkatchy]

Sooo I tripped and fell into the Bloodweave void (bc OFCOURSEIDID) despite romancing Gale with Val (my Tav). Almost enough to make me obsessive scroll Tumblr again. And now the songs I regularly have on in my car start to have new meaning (BCOFCOURSETHEYDO) so now I've got:

Gale:

Astarion:

[washingtonwhitemarkiplier]

IS THAT THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!

[book-lover85]

Stay at home dad and artist on commission Keefe

[seventh-district]

“Why’s he call you Darlin’?”

on my knees begging my brain to stop trying to associate this song with Sam

[ratatatastic]

happy we love defending our teammates around here from mr aj "thats one of the biggest things is im very loyal to my teammates and no ones going to take liberties and take any cheap shots towards my teammates" greer

if youd like to know what caused aj to go after kastelic its because of two hits on adam and jesper that happen within 7 seconds of each other and while casters were quick to note the jesper hit they never mentioned kastelic basically riding adam near the benches hard not even a few seconds before that and those within tandem is what makes aj go enoughs enough! and shed his gloves

there has to be something so funny about jesper and uvis hovering nearby as aj just (insert the dog eating cabbage angrily video)

despite wrastling the shit out of a guy aj wants more and honestly a perfect addition to our kitty lineup!! oh delightful little cat!!

boston bruins @ florida panthers | 10.8.24