#because if he really let himself feel while he was doing that he'd be a sobbing wreck on the floor. he's still not let himself go

[runnning-outof-time]

A Deal that Goes Both Ways | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @peakyswritings

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

Summary: Feelings get spilled as Tommy comes to (Y/N) to have her patch him up yet again.

Warnings: smoking, language, mentions of blood

Word Count: 1867

A/N: this became a full on fic…..I just didn’t know when to stop it haha. I hope you like what I did with the prompt, Reb! You didn’t add who you wanted it to be with so I went with Tommy (of course) — and this could also be read as a prewar Tommy story too…I didn’t really slap a time period on it. Enjoy! :)

COMMENTS & REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED — I’d love to know what you thought of the story!

Comment/Message me if you want to be tagged!

Not again was the first thought (Y/N) had as she heard the knock sound off of her front door. Only one person would be knocking at this time of night...and he'd most likely be knocking for only one reason.

"What happened this time, Thomas?" she asked with a sigh as she opened the door to see the man she knew was standing on the other side.

"Why so formal?" he asked nonchalantly, a cigarette lazily hanging from his lips, resting on the side that wasn't split and still bloody.

"It's two in the morning," she responded, turning and walking deeper into her home. The foosteps sounding behind her told her he was following. "I'd much rather be sleeping."

"I can go if you want," he offered.

"No, you've already woken me up," she dismissed his suggestion, "what happened this time?" she re-asked her initial question.

"Same old," his nonchalant nature returned as he sat down in the chair (Y/N) pulled out for him.

"So a bar fight? Or bet gone wrong?" she paused getting the necessary supplies to quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Neither," Tommy shrugged, looking down at his busted knuckles as he flexed his hand.

"So not the same old?" there was a slight tinge of surprise in (Y/N)'s voice. "Please do tell what happened."

"Someone spoke to me the wrong way," he responded, his explanation still very vague. (Y/N) didn't press for any more info because she knew this was all she'd get out of him.

What Tommy wanted to say was that he had to punch some bastard's teeth in for speaking about her the wrong way, and then he proceeded to fight said bastard and two of his drunken friends when they wouldn't let it go. He couldn't admit that to her though.

"Ahh..." (Y/N) trailed off as she moved over to him, placing the supplies she gathered on the table beside him as she stopped to stand between his parted legs.

Tommy resisted the urge to reach out and hold her waist even though he so desperately wanted to do so to steady himself.

"Let's see what we've got here," she said, more so to herself as she gently took hold of his chin to get a better look at his face. The hiss he let out made her realize that his jaw had also been bruised in the altercation.

She quietly got started on dabbing the blood off of his split lip, and followed it up with putting some ointment on the cut in hopes it wouldn't get infected.

She then examined the rest of his facial features for any other injury all while trying to shake the feeling of his intense gaze that was focused on her face. She couldn't let her feelings for him get the better of her... not while in this position.

"Let me see your hands now," she instructed him once she considered his face finished.

"They're fine, love," he brushed her off, keeping them balled in fists resting against his thighs.

"Let me see them, Tommy," she insisted, her eyes meeting his to convey the serious nature of the situation.

The slightest sigh escaped his lips as he flattened out his hands. (Y/N)'s eyes immediately went to his right hand, and she took it into hers to get a closer look at his bloodied knuckles. "Goodness, Tommy," she breathed softly as she grabbed a wet cloth and began to gently wipe the blood off. She couldn't help but wince as he hissed at the feeling. The cuts looked deep and had to be painful. "Did the man have a steel jaw?" she, half-jokingly, questioned him as she began placing the same ointment on his knuckles.

"Must've," Tommy mumbled, letting out a soft snort at her attempts to make light of the situation.

(Y/N) smiled softly at his response, finishing up what she was doing with his right hand before she checked over his left. She then stepped out from between his legs when she considered herself done, moving over to the kitchen countertop to begin cleaning up. The scrape of the chair off of the hardwood floor told her that Tommy had also stood up.

"Make sure you some ice on your jaw and you should be good in a-" her statement was cut off by the shriek of surprise she let out when she turned around to tind Tommy now standing right behind her. "You scared me, Tommy," she gasped, placing her hand over her chest as she took some calming breaths.

"Wasn't my intention," he responded, although he couldn't help but smile at the reaction he'd gotten from her.

"You frustrate me sometimes," she huffed, shaking her head before she brought a hand up to the side of it, hoping that she could remember what it was she was saying before the surprise happened. "I was saying that if you remember to put ice on your jaw and make sure your cuts stay clean you should be good in a few days...now are you going to follow that? No, most likely not, but it's my hope that you will," she explained her plan of treatment to him, finishing her rambling by glancing up at him. "Why're you looking at me like that?" she asked without thought, commenting on the intense gaze he currently had locked on her.

His blue eyes just about made her shudder under their stare, and she'd be lying if she said that the undivided attention he was giving her was making her heat up.

"What, am I not allowed to look at you?" he asked, his brows raising.

"No, not like that, you aren't," she insisted, holding a hand out between them to emphasize her statement.

"How exactly am I looking at you, (Y/N)?" he asked another question, wanting clarification from her.

"You're looking at me like..." she trailed off, struggling to find the words that she needed to convey her statement, "like you think that l'm...like I'm some..."

"Like you're the only person in the world?" Tommy cut off her stumbling, hoping that his suggestion would finish her sentence. As he spoke he stepped closer to her.

"Yes, exactly!" she agreed with him without putting much thought into what he was saying, "you were looking at me like I was the only person in the world."

"And you don't like it?" he asked, his brow raised inquisitively.

Now (Y/N) could no longer stay solid under the weight of his gaze combined with his close proximity. She only hoped that she was able to keep a good exterior composure...on the inside she was done for.

"No, it's not that I didn't like it, it's just..."

"Just what?" he pried for more information, his eyes flitting down to her lips as he admired how she looked as he stood inches away from her.

"Jesus, you don't ever act like this, Tommy...what's going on?" she deflected with a question, hoping to carry the conversation on without him realizing that she didn't have a concrete answer to his previous question.

"You didn't answer my question, love," he completely ignored her query to remind her she was ignoring his.

"Yeah, and you didn't answer mine," she wasn't falling for his tactic, instead throwing it back in his face.

"You wanna know why I came here tonight? Why I got into that fight?" he asked her, his brows raised.

"Someone spoke to you the wrong way," she reiterated what he'd told her earlier.

"Someone spoke about you the wrong way," he quickly corrected her, telling the truth this time around and adding emphasis on what actually got him upset, "and you know I can't let anyone do that."

(Y/N) took a moment, letting what he said sink in. His intense gaze stayed locked on her, and it certainly wasn't helping her think straight in this situation. After a few beats of silence, she finally let out a sigh. "I don't need defending, Tommy. I've told you that so many times."

"I'll still take a fuckin' punch for you when I need to, love," he told her, his words making her laugh despite the wild mix of emotions she was currently feeling.

"Oh Tommy." she let out another sigh, trying, and failing, to stop the smile that was tugging on her lips. She quickly turned around and attempted to busy herself with continuing cleaning.

Her diversion didn't last long as only seconds later Tommy's hand was taking hold of her arm to spin her back around to face him. Her mouth opened slightly as she looked at him, waiting for whatever he had to say.

He didn't say anything though. Instead, his gaze flitted between her eyes and lips as he moved in slowly. (Y/N) quickly realized what he was doing. She placed her hands on his chest when she felt his breath fan across her face.

"Tommy, your lip," she said, her voice coming out in a whisper, "this'll hurt it."

"I don't give a damn about my lip, (Y/N)," he firmly replied, moving back slightly so that his eyes could match hers. He could no longer resist from bringing his hand up to hold onto her jaw. "I want to kiss you," he told her then, never sounding more sure about anything in his life.

(Y/N)'s mind was buzzing. She never thought she'd be in this position with Tommy; never thought that their relationship would take that turn. But now here they were, close enough to feel each other's breath.

"Then kiss me," she breathed, unable to even smile at him because his lips were on hers the second she finished speaking.

The kiss felt like a whirlwind. It made her dizzy and fuzzy inside. She never thought someone with such a tough exterior could be so gentle, but here was Tommy Shelby, crushing all of her prior conceptions.

Both were out of breath when they pulled away. Tommy had to close his eyes to center himself, still truly surprised that that had just happened. Truthfully, he'd wanted to kiss (Y/N) from the moment he first spoke to her. He never thought he'd actually get the opportunity. When he finally did open his eyes, he saw that (Y/N) had her gaze locked on his face, and the sweetest smile was present on hers.

"Why're you looking at me like that?" he re-asked the question that got them to this point, a grin forming on his face.

"What, am I not allowed to look at you?" (Y/N) teasingly quipped back, essentially allowing their conversation to do a full 360.

"Love you could look at me all you want, so long as I'm allowed to kiss you again," he waged a deal, playfully quirking an eyebrow as he waited to see how she'd respond.

(Y/N)'s smile only grew. "I'll accept your offer so long as this deal goes both ways."

"Oh it most certainly goes both ways," Tommy grinned, his hand finding her jaw again so that he could match their lips together once more.

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @succubaby @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21

@mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings

@just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @mischievouslittlecreature @stevie75

@lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick

@dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety

@justrainandcoffee @dragons-are-my-favorite @mrs-bond @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader

@red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

@ryecosse @padfootdaredmetoo @novashelby @wonderlanddreamer

[luvvums]

"But i've been so good!" - Sub!Daeho x Fem!Reader

[ MINORS NO!!! PLS!!! ]

...….......................................................................................

Sumn: Daeho loved making bets for fun but what happens when he finally loses and isn't able to touch himself while you're out?

(Basically whiny Daeho/calling reader mistress. He's so cute.. this idea has been stuck in my head foreverrr (an hour) idk if this is a drabble or one shot I have yet to research the differences!)

• Under 1k words // Not proofread •

(TYSM FOR 40 NOTES ON MY FIRST POST <33)

Nsfw below the cut <3

...….......................................................................................

• Dae-ho who had been so good for you, patiently waiting for you to come back from work.

• Dae-ho who was struggling after losing a bet he thought he'd win, where the consequences unfortunately included not being able to touch himself all day

• Dae-ho who suddenly felt like your 4 hour, part-time shift was way too long.

• Dae-ho who had to hype himself up, convincing himself the bet was "no biggieee." But the second he heard the door knob jingle, he felt his cock throb painfully.

The second you walked through the door, he was there in front of you on his knees, the bulge in his pants clearly apparent. "M-missed you sweetheart." The tremors in his voice were not missed by you, which made you smile. He waited until you came to him so he could hug your legs, his breathing shaky. "I.. missed you a ton, love.."

"M'yeah?" You whispered, petting his head, letting your fingers run through his long black hair. The subtle feeling of his crotch grinding against your leg wasn't missed either. "Did you really miss me that much?" Daeho whimpered as he rubbed his crotch against your leg, already panting, his face turning a gentle shade of pink. "B-baby.. Baby please. I did so good, so can I please-" But a gentle shush from your lips had him quiet down immediately, his lips quivering close.

"Now how would I know you haven't touched yourself hm? If you tried to sneak it while I was gone?" He let out a whiny groan, pressing his head against your stomach before lifting up your shirt to kiss your tummy. "B-but I've been so good! You have to trust me sweetheart! Please.. f-fuck, I need to.. w-wanna love you.." Despite the butterflies forming in your stomach because of his words, you only smiled, enjoying how needy Daeho really could be. "What do you need to call me?"

"Please mistress."

And slowly, you kneeled down to unbuckle his belt, having to hold his hips down so he couldn't buck. He was laser focused on your face, looking at you with nothing but pure admiration and love. Your gentle ministrations, your calm expression, everything you did and how you looked made him fall even more in love with you.

Daeho was so deep in his admiration for you, he felt like the wind was knocked out of him when he felt your hand slide down his cock. He let out a deep groan, searching to grab onto something other than the smooth wood floor of the apartment, but instead latched onto your arm. Precum immediately beaded on his tip, a sign of how pent up he was. He bucked his hips in a desperate attempt to feel more despite you just using your hand as he clenched his stomach from the pleasure.

"Need more.. need you mistress." "How badly do you want it?" You whispered, your voice lulling him into a desire-filled frenzy. "T-till I can't t-take it." And that's what was given to him. When your mouth wrapped around his cock and he felt the licks against his shaft, he was so embarrassed to admit he was fighting back from cumming. And so early too. Daeho's cock twitched as he ran his fingers through your hair, lightly tugging, but clearly trying to be gentle. But when he felt you sneak one of your hands to gently squeeze and massage his balls, he let out a whimper as he teared up.

"M-m'gonna cum.. gonna cum mistress.. a-ahhn.." You let out a gentle him as you sucked him off, the vibrations making him buck. You deep throated him, letting your nose bury itself against his well kept hairs before pulling back only to come back down to deep throat him again.

With a groan, he held your hand as you sucked him off, letting him cum deep in your throat. "I-im yours..! I'm your good boy!!" He whined, his thighs tensing and shaking as he struggled to sit still. His cum hit the back of your throat in thick warm ropes, which was immediately swallowed. After pulling away, Dae-ho was taking deep breaths to relax, his face beet red. After wiping your mouth, you smiled and looked at him.

"Let's get in the shower, and then in bed, yeah? It'll feel more comfortable than the floor."

"A-alright..~"

"..."

"Did I do good for you today, miss?" His tired voice rang out in a gentle whisper.

"You were perfect, Dae~"

...….......................................................................................

(OKAYY I HOPEE THIS WAS OKAY LMAO IVE NEVER WRITTEN SMUT AND POSTED IT B4)

[zepskies]

Aw thank you so much for giving me the idea and letting me run with it!! 🥰

Oooh I feel like with Big Sky you can start from the last episode of season 2 and more or less understand why Beau is there. Whereas with the Boys...yeah, you definitely need to see season 1 and 2 before you watch 3. 😉 Still, I'm so glad you could still have fun with this batch of HCs!!

Aww no worries on 10 Inch. It's not the best movie ever, but Priestly is oh so very adorkable in it! 💜💜

Hahaa yay!! Another Friends fan! 💕

I was imagining MEV reader again, and as I was writing this I kept getting myself confused because I’m relating her to Monica’s love of cooking. But Dean is a bit of a mother hen and fussy with the cleanliness of his room, so he’s definitely got some similarities with Monica there haha - role reversal when the ‘bossy’ one gets bossed - just go to bed Dean!

Awww honestly it makes me so happy you were imagining the Midnight Espresso-verse reader! 🥹 That version of her and Dean live in my heart rent free always. But you're right, she totally embodies Dean's love of cooking while he holds her down in a similar way that Chandler holds down and supports Monica. She also dotes on Dean a lot though, so it would make sense to me how she'd be taking care of Dean and making sure he slows down to take care of himself. 💞 (Yes, go right to bed, Dean!!)

I’m really surprised by Beau’s character. I’ve read a couple of fics where the big 3 were all present, granted they were crackish, but I was under the impression he was a little more grounded and sweeter? And I guess he probably is, I’ll give him a pass because he has the man flu, but I didn’t realise he was such a work-a-holic. Then again, he’s a sheriff, makes sense. And at least he listens eventually, even if there were a few, I’ll say instructions. Man runs a right ship. “And can you get me…”

Aw yeah, Beau tends to be more grounded and a little more mature than Dean, but he still has a playful aspect to him, along with a hidden edge of trauma in his past (you'll see when you watch the show).

Yes! The idea was that he's the sheriff and really gets into his work, but once he caves to her telling him he needs to take it easy, it was my HC that he'd settle into being her patient. More sweet but annoying, in a "can you get me just one more thing, baby?" kind of way lmao.

He’s just a dick, a grumbly one, but also a softie and wants some love deep down right? You won’t win it with yachts, mate, although I guess it’s worked for him before?

Oooh yes, Ben is selfish and an asshole, most of the time. Taciturn and grumpy, but for someone he actually cares about I feel like he'd try to soften up just for her. 😉

LOL he's learning that love isn't just throwing money around. 😆

I’m going to see if I can watch Ten Inch Hero 🤞 - but now I really want to know if I was to read one of your Ben fics (being a super hero interests me the most), is there one I could read where I wouldn’t have to watch the show first? 👉👈 spoilers don’t bother me, I read supernatural fics set in the bunker before I’d even gotten there 😅 but I want to check one out and Break Me Down is looking very appealing ❤️

10 Inch Hero is an easy watch! Though with Soldier Boy, I reeeeally recommend you watch The Boys first to get a sense of the world, the characters, the background of SB's story. It's a wild ride lol, but I would truly love it if you read Break Me Down! That's the SB series I'm most proud of, and was my first foray into figuring out how to write Soldier Boy. 🥰💚 Hopefully BMD emulates the tone of the show. I tried to do justice to SB's characterization, as well as the other Boys characters, like Butcher, Hughie, Annie, M.M. etc.

However, if you do decide to dive into BMD before watching the show, the main thing you need to know is that Soldier Boy (real name Ben) is a Boys parody of Captain America...if with a Winter Soldier "captured by Russians and tortured for 40 years" storyline. 😅

At the end of season 3, there's a big showdown between Homelander, SB, Butcher, and the rest of the main characters. BMD is canon divergent from how season 3 ended, but you can read up on the canon plotline here.

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

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[skibasyndrome]

may never make it out challenge

Thank you so much @saynomorefic for creating this very fun game and for the initial tag 💜💜💜 Equally big thanks to @goldenwilmon and @toffeelemon for tagging me as well 💜💜💜

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP / fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart

I've been dragging this one around for a WHILE (seems like I created the doc in decermber '23 oh my god). And you've likely seen parts of this already. Essentially, the idea is that Simon and Wille never got back together and when Simon starts university in Stockholm Wille reaches out again and, even though Simon would love to think he's over Wille, they start hooking up again. Simon is... angry in this. This is far from 5 paragraphs, but. Uh. If I never get to actually finish it, then at least it's here, lmao. Beware, there's some smut (NSFW) down there.

When he first spots Wilhelm, he immediately regrets his decision. Wishes he'd just ignored the text, maybe even told him to fuck off, all decorum and pretense of being over the past be damned. He shouldn't have agreed to this. The smile he flashes Simon as he starts walking towards him, moving around tables and bags people have placed on the ground in the small coffee shop is every bit as crooked and cheery as Simon remembers it from four years ago and he can't stand it. He shouldn't be able to act like this is okay, like they are okay, like he just gets to burst back into Simon's life like that and smile about it.

But that's the whole problem. Simon let him, let it get to this. “Hey, Simon,” he hears him say as soon as he's standing in front of him. And it really shouldn't affect him that much, the simple utterance of his name shouldn't hold that much power. He twists the napkin he's subconsciously grabbed with one hand, forces a neutral expression. “Hey,” he replies.  If he has to be here at all, he's sure as hell not going to be cooperative in conversation. Wille's smile falters ever so slightly. It really wouldn't be noticeable, but Simon knows that face, knows all its traitorous tells and he seemingly still has all that info filed away neatly. As Wilhelm sits down opposite of him the initial enthusiasm has seemingly left him and he's starting to pick at his nails. Simon knows all the signs and if he were a better person he'd try to reassure him now, make him feel a little less anxious about their encounter. But he fights the urge, tightens the grip on the napkin when his hand threatens to reach out to grab Wilhelm's. He hates himself for wanting to give in so easily. Before any other body part can betray him he decides to speak instead. “So what do you want?”

[...]

[Simon] does wonder, too, in between his moans and gasps that mirror Wilhelm’s sounds, whether Wilhelm does this with other people, whether Wilhelm has ever held anyone so close and made sure their bodies aligned perfectly. Whether Wilhelm has lost himself like this with anyone else, since. There’s a spark of anger at the thought of it, then a crashing wave of pride when he feels Wilhelm start to shake under him. A heady warmth, thick and sticky, when he realizes that it’s him and him alone that made Wilhelm spill into the condom. It’s powerful enough to spur him on, to give him enough fervor to raise and lower his hips once, twice again. He messily fucks into Wilhelm’s fist and finally he’s coming in streaks that lay claim on the man that’s turning boneless underneath him. He doesn’t say any of it out loud, doesn’t repeat his traitorous thoughts about wanting to be the only one to fuck Wilhelm like this. He doesn’t lie about sex with Jacob, but doesn’t feel the need to mention that it’s been weeks since they've done it like this.

[...]

Simon’s gotten into the habit of lying. Says he’ll have to be back in his apartment soon, says he can’t possibly stay overnight, that he needs to get up early for classes tomorrow. Says he can’t on weekends because that’s when Sara comes over. Or that Ayub is planning to visit him. Or that he’ll have to take an extra shift at the café. Wilhelm never questions him. He never really pushes, simply adjusts his schedule somewhat and ends up parking his car down the alley from Simon’s apartment building on a Tuesday evening, Wednesday evening, any evening Simon hasn’t given an excuse for. It’s bitter-sweet. There’s something thrilling about the fact that the Crown Prince will roll up any time of the night just to get his fix of Simon, no matter the ridiculous restrictions Simon gives him. It feels good to be the one calling the shots for once.

[...]

Underneath him, Wilhelm is writhing, moaning, arching his back, doing everything to meet Simon’s thrusts, offering his body in a way Simon is not quite sure how to take in. This openness, the unguarded way he lets go while Simon is pinning him down, the desperate pleas for moremoremore that he’s uttering, tumbling over his lips and glinting in his eyes whenever he stares back up at Simon, it twists something deep inside of Simon’s soul. Wilhelm is letting him in, he’s laying out his soul, opening up his chest for Simon to reach inside. It’s fascinating to watch and it’s scary to think about. Another thrust and Wilhelm is throwing his head back, baring his throat, pale and soft and long and claimed by the violently purple bruise Simon has sucked into the skin of it. And somehow it all wraps up in that sight, this vision. Wilhelm would let Simon tear into him, no questions asked. Would offer himself to him, bleeding.

I'm not sure who has and hasn't done this before, but I'm tagging @saynomorefic (if you want to do another one <3) @impossibleknots, @earlgrey-lateatnight, @the-impala-is-my-home, @shouldntbearevolution, @grapehyasynth, @pagegirlintraining, @wilmonsfolklore, @iwouldnevergetintofanfic @caramelpenguin, @willesworld &&&&&& can we make this about gif-art as well? Probably right? In that case, maybe @sobadbad & @books-books-smolderinglooks have any projects to share? Anyone else who would like to share one of their may-never-make-it-outs, you've been tagged as well💜💜💜 Tag me if you do so I can read it!

[loulou-land]

The Perfect Beach Day

Day 12 of @bucktommyfluffebruary | a day at the beach | 1,465 words | on ao3

Buck had been craving a day at the beach for what felt like weeks now. Living in LA meant he could simply go whenever he wanted. Oftentimes, Buck would drive his Jeep, park by the beach and just sit there letting the salty air and rhythmic crash of the waves soothe him. Other times, he'd grab his surfboard and hit the waves until exhaustion set in leaving him feeling satisfied and at peace. 

Yet, in all the time he'd been with Tommy, they hadn't gone to the beach together. He’d wanted to change that. Buck had whined about his lack of ocean time, as well as his desires to go with Tommy until the other man had given in, kissing Buck on the forehead with a promise to make the trip on their next day off. 

But the universe had other plans, because their schedules had refused to line up for weeks. That was, until now. 

Which was the reason Buck was all but vibrating, barely able to contain his excitement right now. He had been looking forward to this all week, already picturing Tommy shirtless, the sun casting a golden glow over him, enhancing all his yummy muscles, his curls all tousled and unruly. The mere thought had Buck grinning like an idiot and foaming at the mouth. 

Of course, him being who he was—he’d had so many plans for their first beach outing together that he'd had to bring out the clipboard. He meticulously made a list of everything he wanted to experience with Tommy—sunbathing, sand-castle building, swimming, having a picnic, taking an ice cream break and ending the day by watching the sunset. Buck had accounted for every single detail he could think of, wanting this to be the perfect beach day. 

“Baby, we haven’t even parked yet,” Tommy said, amused as he glanced at Buck, practically bouncing in his seat, one hand on the door handle. 

“I know,” Buck sighed. “I'm just excited.” 

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Tommy said dryly, his mouth twitching slightly. 

Buck shot him a dark look. “Oh, har har. Go ahead, make fun of me now. But wait till you see all the fun things I’ve planned.” 

“You do know we’re here for the day, right? Not a whole week,” Tommy pointed out as he finally pulled into a parking spot.  

“I know,” Buck replied cheekily. “That's why I made the list. It’s perfectly designed to maximize our time.” He turned in his seat, rummaging behind him until he came in contact with what he'd been looking for. 

“Aha!” His fingers closed around the edge of the clipboard, and he triumphantly pulled it out, presenting it to Tommy like it was a sacred object. 

Tommy hummed, taking one look at it before deadpanning, “Didn’t know we were bringing the clipboard along for our day.” 

Buck narrowed his eyes. “It has the list. Of course I’d bring it.” 

“Oh yes, Of course,” Tommy said, voice dripping with indulgent amusement. Before Buck could snark back at him, Tommy reached out, tugging him in by the back of his neck and pressing a slow, teasing kiss to his lips. 

Buck let himself be distracted for a few blissful seconds before reality set it. He pulled away, squinting suspiciously. “Nice try, but I won't let you distract me from the schedule.” 

“I wasn’t—” Tommy started, but the rest of his words were cut off as Buck eagerly jumped out of the truck, heading to the back to grab their things. 

Tommy shook his head, amused, as he followed, gathering the rest of their gear. “Alright, lead the way. I’m sure you’ve got the perfect spot in mind.” 

“If you must know, I do.” Buck said smugly. He had been to this beach plenty of times and he knew the ideal spot—one that offered both shade and sun, and was close enough to the water but also far enough from the tide when it started to rise. 

And for once, luck was on their side. The spot was still available. 

Buck set out the towels while Tommy placed the cooler and their bags down. He took a long, satisfied look around before launching into a rambling explanation of everything they were going to do. 

“Okay, so I was thinking we’ll start with sunbathing. The sun’s rays are pretty light right now so we don’t—” Buck was interrupted by large hands grabbing his waist. Before he could make sense of it, the world tilted and the next thing he knew, he was upside down—his view consisting of Tommy’s very fine ass. 

Buck gasped, kicking playfully as he wiggled in Tommy’s grasp. “Tommy! What are you doing? Put me down!” 

“Mmm, in a minute,” Tommy said, laughing. 

“Oh, you better not be thinking about doing what I think you are,” Buck warned lightly. 

“We’re going swimming,” Tommy said innocently, moving closer to the water. 

“Babe, we were supposed to sunbathe first! I had a plan,” Buck whined, swatting at Tommy’s backside. 

Tommy moved one of his hands over the back of Buck’s thigh before sliding up, giving him a light pinch on the ass. 

Buck yelped, then noticed they were almost in the water now. “Okay, fine!” We’ll go swimming first. You can put me down now”

Tommy ignored him. 

“Oh, you are not seriously going to—Tom—” Buck’s protest was cut off as he was unceremoniously tossed into the cold water. 

Buck resurfaced sputtering dramatically, as water dripped from his hair and down his face. He shook his head wildly, before setting his sights on Tommy. There must have been something in his eyes, because Tommy took a cautious step back, lifting his hands placatingly. 

“Sweetheart,” Tommy started, attempting—and failing—to look apologetic, before bursting out laughing. “I'm sorry…you just look like a drowned angry cat.” 

Buck lunged at him. 

They wrestled around in the water, before switching to dunking each other, splashing water everywhere, as their laughter filled the air. Eventually, their playful rowdiness slowed, and they naturally drifted closer to each other. Buck wrapped his legs around Tommy’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder as he clung to him like a starfish. 

Which reminded him of the documentary he'd watched the other night. 

So, naturally, he had to start spewing facts about them. 

“Did you know starfish aren't actually fish?” Buck murmured into Tommy’s ear. 

He felt Tommy’s smile more than he saw it. “Tell me more.” Tommy replied, just like he always did when Buck had facts to share. 

Tommy hummed as he listened—asking questions, keeping Buck from going off topic like he tended to do—his fingers lightly tracing random shapes over Buck’s forearms. 

After a while, they decided to head back to their towels. Tommy grabbed a large beach towel, turning to Buck with a soft smile. 

Buck grinned, stepping into Tommy’s arms and letting him dry him off. He shivered slightly whenever Tommy’s touch lingered over particularly sensitive spots. He watched Tommy’s face, his breath hitching at the love he saw reflected in his eyes, felt in the gentleness of his hands as he took care of him. Almost a year together, and Tommy still stole the breath from his lungs. 

“How’s that? Good?” Tommy asked, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Buck just smiled and leaned in, kissing him slow and deep, tasting the salt of the ocean on Tommy’s lips. He deepened the kiss, chasing the taste, searching for Tommy’s warm tongue, moaning when he found it. Tommy pulled him closer, when—a screech farther up the beach reminded them of where they were. They broke apart, their foreheads touching as they caught their breath. 

Tommy stepped back, but not before he pressed a soft kiss to Buck’s cheek. 

Buck beamed. 

Once dried, they settled onto the towel. Tommy sat first, Buck settling in front of him as he leaned back into Tommy’s chest. He sighed as Tommy’s arms came around him, holding him protectively. He never got tired of this—of the solid warmth of Tommy at his back, the steadiness, the quiet comfort. He melted into it, letting the stress of the past few weeks fade away. The salty air and the faint scent of Tommy's sunscreen grounded him, as they watched the waves roll in. 

After a while, Tommy murmured in his ear, his voice a low rumble against Buck’s back. “So, what’s next on the list?” 

Buck thought for a moment, then let out a soft, contented sigh. “You know what? The list can wait. Let’s just stay like this for now.” 

Tommy hummed in agreement, pressing a lingering kiss to Buck’s shoulder. 

And so, they stayed wrapped up in each other, watching the waves, enjoying their perfect beach day—exactly as it was.

[bunni-v1]

Was playing some ZZZ and did some trust stuff with Lighter. And I couldn’t help but think of stuff like Dad!Lighter. It’s so cute thinking how sweet and protective and emotional he’d be, or just general domestic fluff 🤭 he’s such a blazing green flag omg

Lighter would legitimately be a fantastic father, and I'm 1000% sure he wouldn't agree. He just doesn't think he's suited for that kinda life. He's too rough and rugged, he's got a fucked up past, and he just doesn't have it in him to care for something so small and fragile.

But, in this scenario, let's pretend he ends up with a kid. Whether it's his biologically or not doesn't matter, because he wouldn't really sweat the details like that. When it comes down to it and he's got a little girl (cause let's face it, he's so girldad-coded), she's his whole world. That little lady is everything to him, and he would burn the world down for her.

It takes a while for Lighter to accept the fact that he is the little things father, but that doesn't mean he doesn't try to step into the role. If she really wants to be around him so badly, he'll humor her by letting her follow him around Blazewood or taking her for rides on his bike (with an unnecessary amount of safety gear, even for a child), hell he even carries her around when her feet start aching.

They're attached at the hip, literally in some cases. Where he is, it's likely his little girl is nearby. It's an inside joke amongst the SoC that he's softened up for his daughter, but I don't think that's something Lighter would be ashamed of. He may not admit it to himself openly, but he takes special pride in being a father figure to the kid.

It's not uncommon to see him carrying her around on his shoulders or watch him chase after her as they play tag (per her request). Hell, he's even been caught sleeping with her curled up on top of him. She even gets to pull on his scarf or play with his glasses with no protest from him. Some people even see him smiling and giggling along with her, which is honestly a little scary for those who don't know Lighter too well.

He loves her a lot, she's quite literally the closest thing to family he's had since his friends went into that hollow. It makes him very protective of her, especially since she's so young in comparison to everyone else he's close to. I say with certainty that if anyone ever targeted her for even a moment they wouldn't live to regret it. Lighter wouldn't let anyone lay a hand on her, he'd sooner die than live to see her suffer for any reason.

Her pain is his own. It's rare to see Lighter so emotional, but his little girl makes him feel a lot of things that he just can't control. If she cries he has to fight back tears to stay strong. If she's happy he's overjoyed. If she's angry he's pissed. No emotion is too big or too silly if it's from her.

Even to this point, where he's very attached to her and is clearly her father -- she literally calls him daddy -- he still doubts himself. He loves the little girl more than life itself, but he just worries that he's going to do more harm than good to her in the long run.

[ci0zi0]

Cio do you think Shadow milk cookie will get a redemption arc? is so what do you think will happen?

Honestly.. when it comes to that costume

I think either...

A. Awakened Pure Vanilla blasts Shadow Milk with the mlp friendship beam

Awakened Pure Vanilla shows an understanding to Shadow Milk, getting close to a redemption because PV is just that forgiving. SM is confused, how can PV just accept it so easily?!..

But in the end, SM will probably retreat, not allowing himself to be healed that quickly.

Though at the same time, Shadow Milk seems so attached toward Pure Vanilla.. I doubt he'd just leave far away from em.

I'm not fully sure. I feel like both PV n SM will go through a major change in the end (obviously)

Though when it comes to redeeming Shadow Milk, I dunno if it'll be set in stone right away

Hes definitely not going to change his mindset right there. I can see him leaving and then having mixed feelings over the concept.

Or.

B. It's a trick from Shadow Milk / BINDING RITUAL?

Seeing as the Beast Binding Ritual is apparently still relevant from description...

I'm surprised people haven't looked deeper into the name.

"Binding"

Binding could have multiple meanings to its name. People tend to think it means sealing

Though I think it's different. Shadow Milk constantly says he and Pure Vanilla are "bound."

Let's say.. Awakened Pure Vanilla/Truthless Recluse find this so called Binding Ritual and use it against Shadow Milk.

Binding could also be considered as uniting. Connecting.

Chaining people together.

What if this "fake" ritual is actually a way to unite them closer?

Or.. it doesn't even exist, but the illusions Shadow Milk can create make it LOOK like it worked.

PV uses the ritual against SM, and as the name suggests.. it binds SM to the Soul Jam, to PV.

It binds the two together.

It'd explain why SM has a yellow eye. He and PV are literally being connected through this spell. Would explain the eyes in Awakened PV's design too.

But is this a trick or real?...

It could be a trick, SM posing as actually having gotten affected by the ritual.. The ritual was a ruse set up by them afterall!! It's confirmed in SM n Candy Apple's interaction dialogue.

Or, SM expected the spell to make PV more like him over the chance of making SM more like PV. And it backfired.

There's SO many ways ep8 can go and it's exciting because the dynamic is so interesting.

Also, there is the option that the costume is

C. It's noncanon

Costumes do have the ability to not be canon in the story, and maybe Shadow Milk doesn't have any chance for being redeemed.

Maybe Pure Vanilla returns to the light and Shadow Milk learns NOTHING, going back to plan what's to come next while cursing Vanilla out.

..though I really think we'll see it somewhere in the story. This dude is a shape-shifting fanatic. There's no way in hell it's not canon.

And, it's not fully in character for SM to just.. leave PV.

Not with this weird obsession he has over the guy.

Somethings definitely going to go down

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

love the idea of being a controversially young gf for roy 🤭

Omg YES this is one of my favorites for him (even though I'm coming up on 30 and am officially out of the controversial range 😭)

Spotting Roy at a bar and having your girlfriends egg you on to go say hi to the man you all grew up watching on the telly (and, admittedly, your first crush ever).

Flirting with Roy heavily, watching him slowly let his guard down until he finally blurts out the one thing he'd been thinking since you approached him "How old are you anyway?"

Batting your eyes at him innocently and purring, "Old enough for you to buy me a drink."

One drink turning into two turning into him bringing you home for what he chalks up to a hookup, something for you to brag about to your friends.

But fuck it, he decides as he watches you get dressed the next morning. He likes you. He surprises himself and asks to see you again. And- another surprise- you smile and say yes.

When he picks you up for your date, you're surprised to find him at your front door, not texting you from the car like most of the guys you go out with; it's sweet. Roy Kent is sweet.

It goes well. Really well, actually. Roy finds himself laughing at your jokes and smiling at your pretty face and having a damn good time. Hell, at the end of the night he brings you home, again. And asks you out, again.

But then, the next day, he sees the photos some papps had snapped of the date. And sees the comments people made, calling you a golddigger, calling him a creep. And it's almost enough to stop him from going out with you anymore.

Almost.

Because every time he thinks he needs to break things off, you surprise him. You buy him that book he'd been looking at weeks ago. You make him his favorite meal after a bad match. You don't muss at all when he needs to cancel plans to take care of Phoebe. You're good to him.

And you don't let the press bug you either. You roll your eyes when they call him old enough to be your dad, joking "Guess you don't have to be a father to be a DILF, babe." When they call you Roy's "little plaything" you smirk and tell him "How do they know what you call me in bed?"

Your nonchalance has Roy feeling better, relieved that you keep your chin up, encouraging him to do the same.

And oh, don't get Roy started on the bedroom. Even with those million one night stands, he's working his ass off to keep up with you. He finds himself in the weight room more often, wanting to get back the physique he had while he was still playing, plus wanting to make sure he's got the stamina for you.

Of course, all Roy's training does is make him more irresistible to you, creating a cycle neither of you minds too much.

The only thing Roy actually minds about the whole thing is when you go out with the team and you get misidentified as one of the player's girlfriends. (It's even worse if it's Jamie.)

Of course, when people see the way you dance close to Roy and the way you just can't keep your hands off him, there's no question whose girl you are 💙

[altraviolet]

Hello! I just wanted to ask (sorry if this has already been answered) what is one favorite thing you love about soundwave and Rodimus? What is one thing you dislike (if any) about them both? Additionally, how do you think your soundwave sees shockwave. In transformers prime their relationship seemed.. mutual? Like, you do your job and I do mine kind of thing. If another shockwave came aboard would their relationship be similar to that?

Hi anon!

One thing I love about SW and Rodimus... their designs. Rodimus has a very, shall we say, conventionally attractive silhouette. Soundwave just looks freaking alien and magnificently glowy. I love those things. But if you'd like an answer beyond the superficial... the Rodimus in the comics is a pretty big jerk with a heart of gold, and tbh I don't love that too much, but his speech at the end of LL was absolutely fantastic. SW's competence was a delight in TFP and I really enjoyed writing his pre-emotional self in TEG.

As for Shockwave, hmm. It's hard to recall their interactions in TFP (because overall I think Soundwave had very few interactions with the other characters. he was usually just Working). I feel like SW approved of Shockwave's work, in so far as it aligned with Megatron's desires. A TEG Soundwave would be extremely aware of Shockwave's competency and alignment- like Soundwave himself in TEG (post realization), Shockwave is motivated by his own pursuits. Like Brainstorm: he wants to do science and he won't let anyone stop him. If his goals happen to align with yours, lucky you. In TFP I think Shocky realized he needed to align with Megatron for survival and grant money (basically, lol), but as soon as/whenever he was able, he did his own thing.

TEG SW would view a boarded Shocky with a lot of suspicion. TEG SW's loyalty is to Rodimus and the ship, and he would see Shockwave as a possible threat, due to his intellect and competency. SW would recognize this, but not really want to be the one to do anything about it, lol.

That said, I think a Shockwave on TEG LL would find himself in the same sort of position - obliquely - as he was in under Megatron. He'd be beholden to the ship for sustenance. I think the co-captains would recognize this right away and encourage a "we'll let you do your thing, as long as it's not Evil, in exchange for room and board," and then hope that Shocky comes around to valuing the crew beyond a means to an end. I don't think Shockwave is literally emotionless. I'm not sure what kind of arc would be needed for him to become a happy, sociable crew member: I'd have to rewatch his TFP scenes and think about it for a while. I think appealing to his sciencey side would be the trick.

Whereas Megatron was sent to talk to Soundwave after his bluescreen moment, Perceptor and/or Brainstorm would be sent to Shockwave.

Welp I'm outta time before work to cogitate on this. Hope you liked the answer :)

[inseparabiles]

Thank you. Maybe if nobody looks at Geta for five minutes he can have one (1) smile like he did at the Colosseum that actually reaches his eyes, too.

I am VERY enticed by these tags. I am holding them like a flower. Caracalla in this scene is absolutely the inspiration for half the Renaissance art we know today, by the graces of being so high off his arse he can't even steadily get out of his seat. The way he reaches for Thraex's hand, and then holds it, makes me think of that post about how he holds Macrinus's hand later and just won't let go. Really showing the need to be touched, need to be held, to have gentleness shown to him in these tiny gestures. I don't think he notices, and if anybody else does, they think it's just him being high/him being sick, but that's so profound to him. It's something that comes from much deeper than that.

And yeah right after we're back to... that. Geta's great at generic manspreading while we see Caracalla go from fully splayed to sitting with his legs crossed like the prettiest princess Rome ever had. This is what we call range.

As per the question of the underwear, I think - honestly - it's just because he is wild like this. Someone who sits straight and has their legs mostly aimed at the floor doesn't need to worry about flashing the room with their junk every two seconds (and according to everything I've read by now that was a real issue that Roman men tended to have actually lmfao), but Caracalla is all over the place all of the time and needs the extra layer of decency on him for that. Maybe even for privacy/personal feeling of security. He wouldn't want to need to worry about something like that - make it something to worry about - so it's easier to just dress accordingly from the start.

I'm almost certain Geta is as careful. Not because he actually is in any real danger of flashing the room but because he'd die if he did it anyway. Having to watch Caracalla move the way that he does and no doubt has always done has probably taught him both to sit very still for himself and make sure that if there's ever a situation, he's still leaving something up for imagination.

Okay and regarding my original tags:

#as a writer I owe this scene my life #solely because it canonically establishes that Caracalla wears underwear. #and I uh. needed this information recently

After doing such annoyingly thorough research into whatever the hell Romans were hiding under their skirts, I am absolutely obsessed with the idea of the twins wearing fancy lite versions of subligaculum, made out of thin and soft materials that allow them to actually keep that shit hidden under their ceremonials without unnecessary bulge. I spent like 12 000 words with that thought and it's never leaving me again.

moon, meet sun

[flwrkid14]

Buried Beneath The Laughter They Ignored

Tim is totally fine. Ridiculously fine, actually.

It didn’t matter that he woke up feeling this bubbling, manic laughter in his chest, like everything was suddenly so fucking funny. It didn’t matter that he’d woken up from another nightmare last night, crying, calling for his mama—not the mother he lost, but the mother he gained, Harley Quinn. And it didn’t matter that most days, he felt more like Joker Junior than he did Tim Drake.

It didn’t matter that no one else seemed to fucking care.

He shoved down every bit of laughter clawing up his throat, because he knew if he let even one chuckle slip, they’d all give him that look. The one they always did. Disapproval masked as concern. They didn’t like Junior. They didn’t want to believe Junior was still in there, clawing his way up every time Tim breathed.

It didn’t matter that no one ever asked him how he was doing. They didn’t want to talk about it. Because talking about it would make it real, and they preferred pretending it wasn’t. They expected him to be fine, to push it down, to carry on like nothing happened. If he tried to bring it up, they’d say he was being insensitive—insensitive to Jason's trauma. What fucking irony, he thought bitterly. As if it wasn’t insensitive to be stepping all over his by not letting him speak.

It didn’t matter that he caught them glancing at him sometimes, like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to snap, waiting for Junior to come out again. But they never asked. No one asked what was going on in his head. No one fucking asked.

It didn’t matter that when he finally snapped, when he finally screamed at them, sick and tired of pretending, they had the nerve to act clueless. As if they didn’t know.

It didn’t matter that Dick, of all people, screamed back. Yelling like he was being unreasonable. Like he was the problem. He screamed at Tim, demanding answers, to ask what the hell he meant by Joker Junior, as if—

As if they didn’t know.

They didn’t fucking know.

This whole time, they hadn’t known.

They didn’t know Tim had been taken. They didn’t know Tim had been missing. They didn’t know Tim had been held prisoner at the hand of the Joker for months, tearing him apart, piece by piece, until Junior was the only thing left of him. They didn’t know he had screamed for them, begged for someone to find him, but no one ever did.

They didn’t know how much he had suffered. Alone. They didn’t know how much he had changed. They didn’t know that every time he woke up now, it felt like he was still Joker Junior, just wearing Tim’s skin.

And they didn’t know how much it hurt—how much it broke him—to realize that they had never known.

Tim wasn’t fucking okay. And it mattered—oh, it mattered—that they didn’t fucking know.

Because if they didn’t know, it meant no one ever bothered to look. It meant no one ever cared enough to notice.

[roughentumble]

ok wait lets think of some actual things yandere!logan would do since that post failed so badly while also being shoved in my face. like, for example, yandere are incredibly obsessive about the object of their affections, while logan has enhanced senses from his mutation, so it wouldnt be unreasonable to assume he'd obsessively steal articles of clothing and other personal effects that carry a scent, and smell them almost religiously until the scent faded, desperate for a little piece of his beloved that soothes his animal hindbrain

[silusvesuius]

g*lmar rly has to be the best skajrim character on the real like even if you don't like him he just is . literally The best one i think......... on dat note i also imagine that he and ulfr*c despite being fairydust BFFs for lyfe genuinely have the worst communication skills ever seen

[unascended]

THIS WAS NOT HOW ASTARION HAD SEEN THINGS GOING. There was horror blooming on that gorgeous face, wrapped in thorns and heartbreak. Astarion may be a vampire and far past accepting that fact despite the pain it'd brought him, but this... Oh, this made him feel beastly. He'd given away the truth without explaining it, and without giving any reassurances that maybe he did want this. Because -

Why? What was he so afraid of that he'd willingly tried to continue this charade when it was clearly nearing its expiration anyway? Fighting his own feelings had only drowned them both.

Now Sylverian felt like a monster who'd groped at his skin and torn into his flesh without his wanting it. And while it was true that Astarion hadn't, at least not at first, they weren't hands that had ever harmed him.

Sylverian never ripped out his hair. He never shoved things inside him when he was ill prepared, eyes glossy and far away. Even if he'd fallen into himself when they'd fallen into bed together, he was still somehow the most present he'd ever been when that sweet touch blessed his skin.

It was Astarion who'd tainted this. He lied. And he lied again to cover the lie. And he kept lying until he couldn't lie anymore and Sylverian was shattering before him into multicolored crystalline shards. This, he had to admit, was the most loathsome he'd felt in his entire existence and he couldn't even bring himself to speak.

Through eyes wide, sad, and shining with fear Astarion was forced to watch and listen, frozen to the spot, as he was told he'd never be forgiven. It served him right, really. This was what he'd earned through his own choices. Could he even be trusted with making his own choices?

Was Astarion even capable of making good choices to begin with?

Could he change that?

If he accepted that he was helpless and stayed the same, perhaps he'd spend his freedom after killing Cazador doing the same thing over and over again. Breaking hearts and experiencing the torment of having genuinely wanted them but fucking it all up. Or worse - perhaps he'd fall prey to doing the same horrible things as his master. Obsessive over something, destructive, willing to tear down the world for the kind of power that allowed no one to hurt or leave him again. He was frightened and he was weak and Gods Sylverian was leaving him and he didn't want him to.

"Please. Wait, you don't have to -" You don't have to forgive me, just please don't leave.

By the time he'd reached out his hand in an attempt to catch one of Sylverian's wrists before he could flee it was too late. He was gone, his sobbing carrying over the camp grounds, and Astarion was left alone wrapped in fur and choking down the urge to cry and curse himself. (Astarion didn't deserve to cry like Sylverian. He did this.)

⋆｡°✩ - ⋆｡°✩ - ⋆｡°✩ - ⋆｡°✩ - ⋆｡°✩ - ⋆｡°✩ - ⋆｡°✩ - ⋆｡°✩- ⋆｡°✩

IF THE JUDGEMENT THAT FATEFUL EVENING HAD BEEN BAD... In the days that followed, it was worse. Sylverian was avoiding him. Whenever Astarion attempted to catch him alone to speak with him the little golden boy was squirreling himself away - gathering a party, talking to someone who glared daggers over his shoulder, rushing out of camp before Astarion even got within five feet of him. The rest of the party all had cutting things to say to him, too. Even Lae'zel, who found Sylverian's frequent crying irritating had threatened to stake him if he hurt him any further than he had.

Frankly it was beginning to piss Astarion off. He was trying. But every time he tried his attempts were rebuffed or dodged. More than ever his existence felt like a plague, and he was beginning to think, more than a week later, that perhaps he shouldn't stay. To the Hells with all of them. Let them all die screaming like he would.

Except... every time he packed up his bag and pressed his palms to his tent with all intentions of dismantling it to take with him, his guilt and shame arrested him. They'd made it to the Underdark. Tomorrow they'd be passing through the Grymforge to the surface, to the Shadow Cursed lands. Before he was even more starved and emotionally unstable, he had to do something.

Halsin seemed to be the only one in the group willing to entertain him for more than a moment since he'd admitted to it. So it was after some sage advice from the world's most annoying druid that Astarion settled on the one thing he could do about this.

If Sylverian wouldn't speak to him, then he'd leave him a note. Perhaps even a gift. Both things he could discard should he not be interested. After all, he'd overheard that the day prior a pair of Sylverian's favorite gloves had been utterly ruined in a fight. He was distraught about it, and there was no way to not know about it - everyone in Faerûn knew when Sylverian was unhappy with something. He may not be able to fix what he'd done, but he could fix this.

And so, as he was left behind once more Astarion fished those gloves out of a bucket they'd been unceremoniously dumped in during a melodramatic fit and scrubbed them until the blood was gone. He spent the entire day holed up in his tent, sewing. There were holes, but he fixed them with careful embroidery - intricate stars and fairies with a silver thread he'd found when they were still above ground. They were beautiful. Dare he say more so than they had been before.

Late that night, when the lantern in Sylverian's tent had gone out and the camp was silent, Astarion stalked through the dark lit only by glowing crystals and mushrooms toward his former lover's tent. The flap was tied shut, but he wasn't looking for an invitation to feed - he'd gone longer without, and surely he was going to again. Dropping into a low crouch before the sealed opening, Astarion shoved his apology under the canvas - the gloves, neatly folded and crossed over one another resting atop a letter written in flowing crimson script.

He then stole into the night in hopes of finding something to eat. It'd been days. Hells, he'd take a gnome at this point. (Except he wouldn't. It would upset Sylverian.)

The note read:

Sylverian, I want you to know that I'm sorry. You've said you won't ever forgive me and I understand, but you deserve this. If nothing else, you deserve an apology. Really you deserve the world at your pretty fingertips. Here we are about to march into eternal darkness when you deserve sunlight and happiness, and not a bitter and twisted man like me.

There is no good reason why I did what I did. The truth is that you didn't deserve it.

I don't want to make excuses. Something about you makes me want to be better. You make me want to be honest when lying would be so much easier. It's been instinct for two hundred years. You've made me believe that maybe I can BE better than this. Better than what he made me.

What I experienced is a part of the real world, but you're also real. I was too afraid to allow myself to believe that and I treated you like a tool instead of a person, just like my master did to me.

I feel awful, but... this isn't about me. I lied to you, bedded you, and manipulated your feelings so you or the others would have no reason to drive a stake through my heart. Even more, I wanted you to save me. I wanted you to want to save me. I didn't expect to start feeling something real, and I certainly didn't expect this. I didn't expect to want something real... with you. You trusted me, even when that was an objectively stupid thing to do, and you deserve me being honest even if it makes me look worse and you want to be rid of me.

What I feel is real. That day was difficult because I thought I could force myself to get rid of it. This time I don't have Cazador taking you from me an hour before sunrise, crushing my hope and mocking me. There is no getting rid of this, not for me. So I'll devote myself to doing better. Or... trying. I don't know what better is, but I'm willing to try.

For what it's worth, your touch was the first I've ever chosen for myself. Even if I didn't go about it honestly. You didn't hurt me. I hurt you.

You deserve happiness. I'll be here to make sure you achieve that and live, even if it isn't by your side.

Yours, Astarion

Of course Sylverian had waited when Astarion asked him to. Of course he had listened. How his heart ached for this poor man! How he wished he could take away his pain, could ease the weight of all that suffering. He wanted to reach out, to tell him that he understood. That they never had to be intimate, and he would be just as content simply holding him, just as devoted, just as hopelessly enamored. A promise Sylverian firmly believed he could keep, just as he believed he could anchor his fickle heart to one man, that what they had was truly special, that he could handle Astarion’s dark side.

He wanted to snuggle up to him, to thread his fingers through those pretty curls, to whisper against his skin that it was alright. That Astarion never had to do anything again that he didn’t want to.

But the depth of his sympathy was suddenly eclipsed by something heavier, something cold and leaden in his chest.

Astarion’s words echoed in his mind like a cruel whisper, over and over, refusing to fade.

To lie so you’d touch me.

His lips parted slightly, as if to say something, anything, but no words came. His thoughts reeled, struggling to process what had just been laid bare before him.

Had he understood correctly?

Had Astarion just admitted that… he had never truly wanted to have sex with him? That every touch, every moment of intimacy had been built on deception? Had he lied every time?

Not that it mattered. Even once would have been horrible enough.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Sylverian remained still, his hands resting in his lap, his expression growing more and more shocked by the second.

Sylverian had never once questioned whether their passion was shared in equal measure. Until today, he never had any reason to! Particularly, when it was often Astarion who had initiated intimacy. Oh, he must have been truly determined, truly skilled, to weave such a convincing illusion on someone so attentive and caring as the feyblooded half-elf. One should commend his skill at deception of the lowest order. How utterly despicable!

Even so, Sylverian still blamed himself for failing to see the invisible.

❝Tell me this isn’t true...❞ The words came out softer than he intended, barely above a whisper, as if he feared speaking too loudly might shatter him completely.

❝Gods, I—I would never have touched you if I had known, I would rather cut off my own hands...❞ His breath hitched, tears welled up in his eyes, his throat felt tight and for a moment, the weight of it all rendered him speechless. When he finally spoke again, his voice wavered between grief and fury. ❝Do you have any idea what that does to me? How I feel? Like some wretched, loathsome, vile bastard——!!❞

He needed to go. To get away from this tent, from Astarion, from the unbearable weight of betrayal that sat heavy on his chest like a stone. He pushed himself to his feet so fast his vision swam. Or maybe it was the tears. ❝I gave you all of me, and you let me! I—by the gods, I will never forgive you for this!!❞ A sob tore free from his throat, but he refused to stay long enough for Astarion to see his complete undoing. He turned on his heel and stormed out into the night. Crying.

[pinkcasket]

ik bpd akechi is popular but honestly I'm dying on my bipolar + c-ptsd + npd/narcissistic and ocd features for c-ptsd hill

[webism]

pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p