#he be really pulling off whatever he wears

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

“vickie!” eddie practically screams from his kitchen, rage coursing through him as he stares down at the tabloids spread out in front of him on the counter. “get in here! now!”

eddie’s had an issue with his rage lately. well. he’s had an issue with a lot of things, since he got famous, really. but that’s not his problem right now.

his problem is he’s looking down at image after image of himself on the covers of people and us weekly and entertainment tonight being dragged out of last night’s night club by his own security team with blood pouring from his nose. he looks angry. he looks crazed.

just then, a stranger walks into his kitchen.

“who the fuck are you?” he blurts out at the man, who’s wearing a dark green sweater vest over a white t-shirt and tortoise-shell glasses.

“i’m steve,” the weirdo stalker says, smiling brightly. he has surprisingly swoopy hair for an insane fan. “i’m your new assistant.”

“where’s vickie?” eddie asks, rubbing at the sore spot on his nose. thank god it’s not broken.

“you fired her,” steve tells him. “two days ago.”

“i fire her all the time.”

“ok, well… i guess this time it stuck,” steve shrugs. “chrissy hired me.”

“fucking chrissy,” eddie says under his breath, rolling his eyes. he pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and speed dials chrissy. “chris, what the fuck?” he doesn’t even give her the chance to say hello.

“good morning, eddie. i’m doing really well, how are you?”

“not fucking well, that’s how i am!” eddie practically yells into the receiver. “what the fuck? did you see the pictures? and who the fuck is this guy in my house?”

“yes, eddie, i saw the pictures.” eddie can hear the eye roll in her voice. “we’re handling it. nancy’s already on it with the team. what was the other thing?”

eddie knows she’s fucking with him and that pisses him off even more. “who is this freak in my house wearing a goddamn sweater vest?!” he feels like a blood vessel in his eye is about to pop.

“hey,” steve protests softly from across the kitchen where he’s started to pull shit out of eddie’s fridge. he didn’t even know there was anything in that fridge.

“that’s not a very nice way to talk about your new assistant,” chrissy’s voice comes loud and clear through the phone.

“christina fucking cunningham, you know i have final say on all hiring decisions when it comes to my assistants.” he rubs at his sore nose again.

“you had final say on all hiring decisions until you fired vickie for the thirteenth time and she refused to come back, even with a three hundred percent raise. we’re going in a different direction now.” chrissy sounds entirely too pleased with herself.

“well, i fucking hate him,” eddie grumbles and watches steve to make sure he’s heard him. steve doesn’t even react, just continues doing whatever the fuck he’s doing with the frying pan he’d found in the cabinet.

“you don’t even know him, eddie. give him a chance. anyway, i have to go, i have brunch plans with my very beautiful, very intelligent, perfect fiancée,” chrissy tells him, gloating, before hanging up on him.

eddie wants desperately to throw his phone across the kitchen, but if he breaks this one that would be his fourth phone in three weeks and he couldn’t bear to have to ask this steve person to go buy him a new one. he settles for squeezing it in his hand until it creaks while taking several deep breaths through his nose.

“what are you doing?” he grits out.

“are you always this rude?” steve asks, ignoring his question.

“to weirdo freak strangers showing up in my house unannounced? yes.”

“it’s not unannounced, chrissy wrote it on your calendar.” steve gestures toward the paper calendar hanging on the side of the fridge where chrissy writes his major life events and which eddie mostly just ignores before sliding a plate full of food toward eddie.

“what is this?” eddie sneers.

“it’s an omelette with cheese and mushrooms,” steve replies, smiling. he’s always fucking smiling.

“i’m allergic to… omelettes,” eddie says, just to be a dick.

“no you’re not. you’re allergic to blueberries and dust.” steve doesn’t stop smiling pleasantly.

“did you get access to my medical records? that’s a violation of my… whatever rights.” eddie waves a hand through the air.

“no, i didn’t go look at your medical records, jesus. i’m not a stalker. chrissy told me when she hired me.”

“whatever. i still fucking hate you.”

“okay,” steve shrugs again. “eat your breakfast.”

eddie has every intention of leaving the kitchen, full plate of food and all, but. he is hungry.

so he eats.

and he’s pissed that it’s actually good.

~*~

eddie spends the rest of the day being a general nuisance to steve any time he tries to do his job. when steve answers the phone before handing it to eddie, eddie “accidentally” hangs up on whoever it is on the hand off & makes sure to blame his new assistant when the person finally calls back. when steve has to drive him to his meeting with nancy and the pr team, eddie tries to give him the wrong directions, but steve’s too smart for that. when steve has to do the grocery shopping, he makes steve go to the erewhon all the way across town during rush hour because the one down the street “just doesn’t have the same vibe, steve.”

and all the while, steve just does his job, still smiling, not getting angry at all even though it’s beyond obvious eddie’s being a little shit to him.

which honestly just pisses eddie off more than anything else today.

“here’s some aspirin,” steve says, placing two white pills on the coffee table in front of eddie, along with a mason jar of water. eddie, lounging on his big squishy couch, pulls the ice pack away from his nose, which has started throbbing again. “you didn’t have any glasses.” steve shrugs when he sees eddie’s arched eyebrow looking skeptically at the jar of water. “if you don’t need anything else, i’ll take off for the day.”

it’s past 8pm already, long after steve should have left for the day except that eddie had made him stay to organize his extensive tshirt collection by color, shade, and design before he could even think about going home. it was an emergency, after all.

“i’ll have to check the t-shirt closet first,” eddie replies, before swallowing the aspirin dry. steve shrugs again and rolls his eyes. eddie would say something about his blatant rudeness, but he’s too exhausted.

eddie pulls himself off the couch and makes his way down the hallway to his “t-shirt room.” it’s so stupid, but he has all this space and he’d started collecting the tshirts so long ago. they’re not worth anything, they’re just his wardrobe but… they remind him of wayne and the thrifting they used to do every saturday morning.

the organization eddie had been having steve do was entirely arbitrary. it’s not like eddie plans his outfits. he mostly just pulls whatever out of wherever, unless it’s an event and then he pays someone to do the deciding and dressing for him anyway.

but. steve’s organized the t-shirts by genre and subgenre and then by band alphabetically and finally color. more than eddie had even asked him to do.

eddie had come in here fully prepared to rip steve a new one, but even he can be shocked into appreciation.

steve notices eddie’s silence and grins.

“can i tell you something?” steve says pleasantly and then continues without even letting eddie respond to the question. “i know i look like a nice polite guy next door that moms totally love—it’s the sweater vests, i think.” steve plucks at his top. “and that’s true. i am a nice polite guy and moms do love me. i’m awesome.” his grin widens. “but i got kicked out of my parents house when i was 18 and i lived in my car for a while. i’ve been on my own for seven years. i made a life in LA out of nothing. so you can throw your little temper tantrums and tell me how much you hate me. you can make me go to the erewhon all the way across town and you can make me look incompetent to my colleagues. but i need this job. i’ve worked hard for this job. this job pays more than any other job i’ve ever had combined. and you’re hardly the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. so you can continue trying to make my life miserable—hell, i’ll even give you my dad’s number, you guys can swap ideas!” steve laughs at his own joke before turning serious for the first time all day. “but i’m not vickie. you won’t make me cry. you can’t fire me. i’m not going anywhere.” he claps his hands together. “anyway, i’m gonna take off, since i have plans with my actual friends. but hey, i’ll see you tomorrow, huh?” and he smiles again, giving eddie a small waggle of his fingers, before heading out through the door.

eddie’s still just standing there in the middle of his tshirt room when he hears the front door slam shut.

[organic-bloodbath]

Teach Ddakji to me - Part 2

The Salesman x American!Reader

Summary: The salesman teaches you a new game: Rock, paper, scissors, minus one. However, he adds a mix to the game whenever one of you loses.

Warnings: 18+ smut, pure sex. Minors, time for you to leave and come back in a few years, this not for your eyes ✋🏻 the door is that way 👉🏻🚪

A/N: This shall have part 3 and i'm working on part 2 for Mingle too ✍️🏻 i haven't written smut in several years so be nice to me thank you, i feel a bit rusty 🥲

Taglist:

@apookalypse

@lady-of-blossoms

@k1ra-park3r

♡♡

By now you had been seeing him for over a month. He had asked all kinds of things about your life in the U.S., your studies and what you'd want to do in the future, your hobbies and in general what you liked to do, and so on. He was genuinely interested in getting to know you and it warmed your heart.

He told you a little about his job, how he was recruiting new people for different businesses. He didn't get into lot of details, just said that he did like his job and it paid surprisingly well. He was happy at his current life.

He told you about his family, how his dad had died by someone shooting him to death, and that he didn't really keep in touch with many family members anymore. A lot of them had passed away apparently and he didn't want to get into more details at this stage of your relationship. You did feel sad for him, since you still had many living relatives who had some kind of part in your life, despite you moving so far away from your home.

You had gone to several different dates, none of them ending up all the way to the bedroom - yet. Mostly you had been only making out at the end of the date, and that was a lot. He was fine with waiting as long as you wished, not wanting you to be only a short term thing. You had told him about your past with one of your boyfriends how he had left you right after he had slept with you for the first time. He promised he wouldn't even think of acting like that.

He was a little too perfect and you had waited to find any kinds of flaws he had, but by far you found none and sometimes that worried you a little. There was no way a perfect man like he existed. Everyone had atleast one thing wrong with them, whatever it was.

Tonight, you had booked a hotel room together and you had made sure to wear your best pair of panties and bra, definitely avoiding the least sexy ones you owned. You had gone for a dinner before coming to the hotel, he had paid your meal again like a gentleman, as he always did. You tried to insist that you'd pay yours but he wasn't having any of that. Afterwards, you had let him know that you were ready to go all the way tonight, if he wanted to.

Right now, he was teaching you a new game, though this one you knew already but it had a little different twist to it that you hadn't played before.

Rock, paper, scissors, minus one.

It took you a while to understand how the game worked, but you grasped on the idea well enough. You both sat on your own chairs, directly facing each other, only a small gap between your knees.

He had added his own twist for the game - only with you: The one who lost, had to remove one piece of clothing, randomly chosen.

This time, you lost, his scissors cutting your paper. By now you had taken off only your cardigan, while he had taken off his tie and socks - he was taking it slowly, apparently.

You put your hands under your white top, unclipping your bra and pulling it out without taking your shirt off. You showed your dark red bra to him, hanging it in the air, until you threw it towards him. He catched it easily from the air. He brushed his fingers along the lacy canvas for a few times, until let it lay on his lap.

Another round, which made him lose his shirt. He took his time taking it off, a smirk on his face, just to mess with you. He knew you weren't very patient. But when he had taken it off and you saw him shirtless, you could definitely tell that he worked out regularly and kept himself in shape. You bit your lip and felt your cheeks warming up. God damn, you had prepared yourself for that - but still.

There were barely any words exchanged during the entire game, there was no need for that.

This was definitely a lot better than Ddakji.

It didn't take long anymore until you were only wearing your underwear and nothing else, your chest bare and you could see the hunger in his eyes.

"I think it's time for the second part of the game," he said and got up. "This part i haven't gone through with any other people i've played with."

You could see he was already hard through his underwear, which was the only thing he had on him as well. You got up before he managed to come to you and made him sit back down on the chair. He looked at you, eyebrows lifted up in surprise, but didn't stop what you were doing.

You kneeled down in front of him and pulled his underwear off, finally seeing his size how big he really was and you weren't sure if you'd be able to take it all. You looked up at him while taking his dick in your hand, stroking it a few times. He let out a sigh, not been prepared for you to make a move on him first.

You stroked him a few more times, until taking him in your mouth as deep as you were able to go. You got a gag reflex quite soon but managed to take surprisingly lot of him, though definitely not the entire length.

He grabbed your head with his hand, fingers brushing through your hair. He guided you with his hand for a while, noticing what your limits were so he wasn't pushing your mouth too deep. He let out deep moans and grunts, but before he was about to come, he pulled your head off him.

He pulled you up from the floor and grabbed your waist, pulling you tightly against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips on his, taking him in a deep kiss. His hands fell on your ass, and his tongue found its way into your mouth when you let out a quiet moan.

He pushed you on the bed, immediately crawling on top of you, not breaking the kiss for more than a few seconds.

He massaged your breast until sliding his hand down your stomach all the way to between your legs, under your panties which you still had on. He gently massaged your clit, then putting more pressure on it, making you moan louder than before. He inserted his middle finger inside your vagina, pumping it in and out, soon sliding in a second finger as well.

"Oh god," you whispered, his touch felt so good and you felt like you were going to come sooner than you had expected.

But he stopped when he sensed you were starting to be on the edge of climax. You let out a frustrated groan but he shut you up with another kiss.

He pulled himself back a little bit to take your panties off and got a condom from the bedside table, wrapping it on him. He finally positioned himself against your entrance.

"You ready?" he asked, ready to push in whenever you gave her permission. "You remember the safe word, hm?"

"Ddakji," you breathed with a chuckle and nodded. "Ready."

He didn't wait even a second longer, right then pushing in, slowly. You gritted your teeth, nails digging on his back. God, it hurt so much and you were sure you were going to bleed a little.

"Just, wait a moment, okay?" you said quietly, getting used to his size. You had had sex with a few other men before, but the last time had been in the U.S. and none of them had been as big as him.

He kissed your neck on several different spots, and by now he knew exactly the right spots which made you insane.

"Okay go on," you whispered and that was all needed for him to start moving his hips back and forth.

"God you feel so good," he murmured in your ear.

You moved your hand on the back of his neck, pulling his head into a deep kiss, his tongue playing with yours.

You didn't know how many minutes had passed, you had lost the track of time, and slowly he was fastening his pace, becoming rougher than in the beginning.

Finally, you experienced the best orgasm you had ever had, the waves of pleasure going through your body. You didn't care how loud you were and how thin the walls of this room were, you let your body react the way it wanted. His body fell limp on yours, being a lot more heavy now that he didn't keep himself up on you.

"Was it good?" you whispered, unsure if he enjoyed it as much as you did. It was your first time with him and you weren't sure what kind of sex he had experienced with other women before.

He looked at you with a surprised expression on his face.

"Was it good?" he repeated and then kissed your forehead and smiled. "It was a lot more than just good. It was perfect."

You quickly washed yourself in the bathroom and when you got into the bed, it didn't take long until you fell asleep in his arms.

♡♡

"You fucked him," your roommate gasped, looking at the hickeys on your neck and below your collarbone. "Is this your walk of shame? Oh my god you definitely fucked him."

It was 6am and your class was about to start at 9am. You knew you should have spent the night with him on the weekend, and not when you had to go to a class in the morning, but you had other plans on the weekend and you couldn't wait another week to spend the night with him.

"Shut up," you chuckled, not denying it.

"So, tell me everything," she asked. "No, wait a moment until i get coffee for us."

She could see that you had stayed up late and needed some caffeine to wake you up before the first class. You waited until she was done with the coffee and brought two cups on the table.

"So, is he big?" she asked and your eyes widened. Straight to the deep end, then. "Like how big exactly?"

"Oh, he was big," you said, the back of your mouth still sore.

"On the scale of a cucumber - half of it? 2/3? Don't say an entire cucumber." Her eyes widened and she gasped. "I mean, he looked like he could easily be-"

"Oh god no, i would have instantly walked out of the door in that case," you cringed and showed an estimated size from memory.

"Ok but how did you do it? Bed, table, shower, wall? All of them?" she asked, talking so fast you weren't able to interrupt her. "Sorry, i haven't had sex in months i'm going insane if i don't get some soon. Like my vagina is actually screaming to be filled. Does he possibly have a hot friend? Could you text and ask? Friend, brother, dad - i'll take anything."

"I'm not going to ask that!" you laughed.

"How could you find a hottie like that in a damn subway station anyway? The only man who has come to talk to me there was a homeless man asking for money because he just got out of jail for drunk driving," she said. "Let's go clubbing this Friday, you can be my wingwoman."

"I don't know, i don't really do clubbing," you said awkwardly, you weren't a fan of those places and hadn't been at any club in a few years.

"Please you have to share your tricks with me," she was begging by now. "Otherwise i'm gonna have to seduce our professor who i've had hots for since the beginning of our semester and we all know that's a horrible, horrible idea."

"Yeah, that's a big no," you said instantly.

"You know what must be big? His-"

"Okay shut up," you interrupted immediately before she was able to continue. "Ask one of your friends to go clubbing with you."

"I will, but you should tag along," she insisted. "You should be more social with us outdoors, come on."

"I'll pass this time, thanks," you said, giving an 'i'm sorry' smile. You took a sip of your coffee, then changing the subject. "Oh, by the way, my brother is coming for a visit," you said and pointed a finger on your roommate before she was about to say something. "And he's definitely OFF limits, don't even think about it, he's going to get married next summer."

"Aw, fine," she pouted, for a second she had had her hopes up, but it was quickly erased.

♡♡

The salesman went to a park with a large bag full of bread, there was atleast 50 loafs in total, and pockets full of lottery tickets.

He found a group of homeless men and women, sitting on different benches. He approached them one by one, holding a loaf of bread on the other hand and a single lottery ticket on the other.

The homeless man looked at his hands and was about to take both to himself, but the salesman pulled his hands back.

"You can choose only one of these," he said. The man thought about his choice for a few seconds, until grabbed the lottery ticket. The salesman offered him a coin to scratch the ticket with.

The man's face fell when there was no win. The salesman repeated this action to all the people in the park nearby, and only one of them chose the bread.

Suddenly, he saw you in the distance, but his face fell when he saw who you were with. A young man was walking next to you, arm around you shoulder, keeping you close to him. The salesman had no idea what you were talking about, but somehow the man managed to make you laugh.

He didn't like what he was seeing, not one bit. Anger was rising inside him, he couldn't help it.

"Hey, give me the bread!" one of the homeless men yelled at him.

"Yeah, give us the bread!" a woman shouted nearby.

"I apologise, but you had a chance to choose the bread, but you chose the ticket instead," the salesman pointed out politely and threw the bags of bread on the ground.

He started pouring his anger out by stomping on the breads, mushing them all completely and letting out a few frustrated screams out of his mouth.

The homeless people looked at him like he had lost his mind and should have been taken into a mental hospital. They got up and left, it became too hard to watch a grown man's sudden tantrum.

The salesman pulled his hair back and brushed sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his suit. He took a deep breath to calm down.

"I'm cool, everything's cool," he mumbled to himself and straightened his tie a little bit. He looked around him, barely anyone on his sight anymore. He really needed to work on his anger issues.

♡♡

"Hi," you greeted and planted a kiss on his cheek when you arrived to the cafe a few hours later to meet him.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" he said and forced on a smile. He might have had a little sarcastic tone in his voice, but nothing what you might have noticed.

"Oh, my brother came to visit me, he's staying for a few days. I showed him a few places around here, he had never visited Korea before or really travelled much outside the States," you explained, seeming excited. "I haven't seen him since i moved to Korea."

He lifted his eyebrows and after a moment started laughing a little bit. You looked at him, confused what was so funny.

"Your brother," he mumbled. "Right, of course, your brother. Did you have fun?"

"A lot of fun, yes," you smiled widely. "Do you want to meet him?"

He went silent for a moment, somehow surprised by your suggestion. Sure, you had been dating for a while now but he hadn't been prepared to meeting your family members since they were all far away in the United States. It hadn't really seemed like an option before.

"Well, sure, why not," he said with a smile, though he was surprisingly a little nervous about it, which was quite unusual for him.

♡♡

That same night, your roommate had texted that she had found a guy at the club and if it wouldn't be a problem for you to find another place to spend the night, since she didn't want to go to the guy's place right when she had met him.

You were fine with it and answered that your boyfriend let you stay at his house. Calling him your boyfriend sounded so strange, but he was one, right? It just sounded like you were both still in high school, and he was a lot older than you anyway.

This was your first time visiting his home. You hadn't thought about what kind of home he had or what you were expecting, but it was larger than you had imagined. Certainly a lot fancier than your apartment, which felt like a closet compared to his place.

He hadn't visited your apartment either, so you didn't think much of it that you hadn't seen his place sooner.

He went to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine for you and left you in the living room by yourself. You saw a shelf which seemed to be full of old records, most of them seemed to be artists you weren't familiar with.

"Hey, can i look through your records and find something to listen to?" you shouted.

You heard his approval to choose anything you wanted and started browsing through them.

Then, opening one of the drawers to see if there was more, your heart stopped for a second when you saw something hidden in there.

A gun. He had a gun in his drawer.

You had never held a gun in your hand and carefully lifted it with your hand, making sure to keep your fingers far from the trigger, just in case it was loaded. You looked at it side to side, you didn't know much about guns but it seemed to be a real revolver.

Then, he came back to the living room, a red wine bottle and two wine glasses in his hands, eyes widening when he saw what you were holding and the shocked look on your face.

"Why do you have a gun?"

[screamlet]

“I wish you would write a fic where…” Through whatever contrivance, Buck tries to woo Tommy back through trivia. Maybe he gets Tommy’s team in on it, or the emcee/host - but it’s all Tommy-themed questions because Buck is trying to prove he knows him. Does it work? Maybe it’s all surface level and it hurts Tommy as much as he appreciates it. Maybe he revealed more than he thought and Buck was listening, taking it all in. Maybe Tommy decided to participate against him and inadvertently reveals something or accidentally says he loves him or something. If you would like it, I humbly offer whatever you can do with this premise!

heeeeey it took one million years but here's something!!! i love shenanigans, i hope this lives up to them.

bucktommy fix-it, 2k

---

Tommy's not exactly kidnapped.

He's met in the parking lot at Harbor by Hen, Karen, and a couple of big smiles, and then shoved into the backseat of their car and driven off somewhere. 

"You know, it's been my experience that some people text when they want to hang out," Tommy says.

"So you did ignore my voicemails!" Karen yells. "I knew it."

"It's not personal!" Tommy says.

"I'm taking it very personal," Hen replies. "Like hell you're leaving the Christmas card list again." 

"I'll move."

"Not in this housing market."

Tommy groans because it's true. 

And see, that's a little crazy but a little fun, to know that they care enough to abduct him and take him out for the night. It's then not really surprising that Howie's waiting for them at the bar they used to frequent ages ago, when Tommy was still at the 118. 

"I got the cuffs," Howie announces, a pair of very-real looking handcuffs dangling from his fingers.

"Those better not be for me," Tommy says as Karen pulls him out of the car with shocking strength. 

"Don't worry, they're not LAPD property," Hen assures him. "They're Bobby's."

"Please stop making me learn things," Tommy says.

He's already handcuffed. Howie's living-with-a-toddler sleight-of-hand has gotten unreal. 

It's around this time that one shock wears off and another dawns: this is a scheme and Tommy is trapped.

"No no no no, whatever you're doing—"

"Chim, no!"

The bar's tables have been cleared from the center to make two long tables facing each other. Fine, cute, two teams, it's now clear to Tommy that he has to win Evan back or something with trivia. The difference, though, are the two chairs in the center, where Evan is already sitting (and handcuffed). He turns around, almost tipping the chair over except Eddie catches him. 

"Fine, whatever," Tommy says as he's sat in the chair next to Evan. To make things better/worse (because Evan's so fucking squirmy), their chairs are put back to back so they can be tied together, too. "Oh, we're going full Last Crusade, are we, Howie?" Tommy has to grunt because Athena ties a really, really good knot and again: he wishes he knew less. 

"If you had answered your phone," Bobby says coolly. "If you had bubbled less and texted more—"

Tommy whips his head around and smashes his skull right into Evan's. "Goddamn—you saw that? Why didn't you text, if you were just sitting there watching me type?"

Evan struggles against everything keeping them together, then finally says, "Because you left and you didn't want me! If you wanted me, you would have called! And now we're—" One more hard thrash that gets Tommy in the shoulder. "Kidnapped and this is your fault."

"It's my fault? You wanted me to give up—"

"No I didn't! I said something dumb and you walked out before—"

"No, no, no, we can talk later," Eddie says. "It's time for Buckley-Kinard Feud."

Tommy and Evan turn their heads at the same time. "The hell are you talking about?" Tommy asks. 

"It's time to draft your teams," Hen announces. "I'm hosting, so I'm removing myself from the pool."

"This isn't fair! It's Buck's family—"

"You didn't just call me that in front of everyone," Evan hisses. 

"It's Buck's family against me, I don't have anyone—"

"I'm drafting myself," Howie announces. "Buck, your turn."

"Fine, I pick Maddie," Evan replies.

"Don't sound too thrilled," she replies. 

"Your next pick?" Hen asks Tommy.

"I told you, I don't—"

Bobby comes over to his side.

"You're insane," Tommy says. 

"That's not fair!" Evan yells.

"I met him first, Buck," Bobby says placidly. 

"Yeah, but—ugh, fine, then I pick Athena." Evan turns his head and bumps into Tommy's again. "You better not pick Eddie."

"I'm picking Karen," Tommy says. "She's my friend who's a lesbian—"

He can feel Evan tense against his back, probably out of frustration and a deep, deep desire to slam his skull into Tommy's again. He doesn't know how Evan resists.

"I've been bisexual for like, nine months, could you cut me some slack?" Evan asks.

"You spent an entire afternoon reading me articles and watching videos about the three-body problem and you couldn't fucking bother—"

"Because then I'd know," Evan yells. "I'd know that you and me were too good to be true, and I'd know that it was just temporary, and I'd know that you can't live your whole life one way and suddenly a guy kisses you and everything, everything is different, and your life's completely changed! I'd find something that would tell me it can't happen, it's probably not real, and then I'd realize I was wasting your time because I can never really change. If I looked at us too hard, I'd know it was just—"

Tommy's so overwhelmed, his chest so tight, that all he can manage to say is: "Yeah, it's called biphobia, and if you had asked, I don't know, one of the three gay people in your life—"

"I didn't know what to ask, Tommy! Fuck!" Evan tries to struggle out of their bindings again, but then he stops. "Apologize to me for being such a dick about this." 

The room is tense and quiet, eerily quiet, until Tommy finally says, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? You're right and I'll stop throwing that at you. It's really unfair. It's unfair of me and unfair of, I don't know, the whole world, that made you think this could never be for you."

"That you could be it for me," Evan corrects.

"Sure, whatever." Tommy's voice is nowhere near as light and bitchy as he meant that to sound. "So are we gonna play this game or what? Now that we've got some teams of dubious quality?"

Bobby takes a seat at what is now, apparently, the Team Tommy table. "I know you like fresh pasta because then you can have soft pasta and no one will call you a heretic for not liking it al dente." 

"That's psychotic," Tommy says. "And no one cooks it true al dente, it's always just barely cooked and I shouldn't have to chomp on pasta like a horse to enjoy it!"

Evan says, "And all of you said I was the weird one and he was the normal one."

"Literally no one said that, Buck," Eddie says. "You're both absurd, that's why you're perfect for each other."

"Well," Evan says, "I know you were thinking it."

"You were thinking it, and sometimes thoughts have to make it out of your mouth for people to hear them," Tommy snaps.

The entire room bursts into an uproar and Tommy tries to struggle out of his chair again. "Fine, fine, I'm a huge hypocrite, can I get a point for admitting it!" 

"Yes, just one," Hen says. "Alright, gather up, teams. Bobby and Maddie, you're up first."

"This is a nightmare, this is a nightmare," Tommy whispers to himself. "I crashed my helicopter and this is hell."

"Hey, Mr. Keeping Your Thoughts Inside, we can't hear the question," Howie says.

"You're on my team, you have to be nice to me!"

Howie dramatically pops his piece of gum and says nothing.

"This first question is in the category of fashion," Hen reads off her phone. The TV over the bar has turned on to show a Family Feud style board with four options and Tommy can't believe his vision of hell is this detailed. It's impressive. "Name one novelty apron belonging to either Buck or Tommy."

Bobby slams his hand on the buzzer that someone brought for the occasion. "Tommy has one that says Warning: Fowl Language and it has a rooster on it." Bobby points at Tommy and says, "Sal gave it to you for your fake birthday, which is June 13, but your real birthday is in November."

The room is quiet again.

"You had a fake birthday?" Evan asks.

Tommy looks up at the ceiling. This means that he and Evan's heads are touching and he can't help but lean into it a little. He doesn't go any further, though. "Did I mention I'm like… that there's a lot of things wrong with me?"

"Yeah, these are really struggling to stay in the quirks category," Karen says. "But hell yes, one point! Let's go, Bobby!"

Bobby rejoins the team and Hen strolls down to their side of the room. "Now, Karen: can you name another apron that Tommy owns?"

Karen winces. "Okay, this can be any apron?"

"Any apron," Hen agrees.

"Alright, then I'm gonna say… a plain, utilitarian grey apron that he wears because he doesn't want to use the nice ones." 

Hen says, "Show me boring!"

The word charcoal appears on the board with a (2) next to it.

"Two charcoal ones?" Maddie asks. "Tommy, love yourself."

"Yeah, I think that's the point here and I hate it," Tommy replies.

"Alright, Chim," Hen says. "Name another apron in Tommy's kitchen."

"I think we all saw Buck's lockscreen this summer," Howie says. "Tommy in a sleeveless shirt with a black apron that said Flippin' Awesome and had two spatulas crossed on the front."

"Show me spatulas!" Hen calls out. Another point. 

"Cheap shot," Tommy says. "Evan gave me that, of course you knew that."

"Hey, genius, how do you think people learn things about each other?" Howie asks. "Hen, take it away." 

"Alright, Team Buck," Hen says, wandering over to Maddie. "Name an apron you can find in Buck's kitchen." She turns her head and says, "And don't think we didn't notice he's Evan again."

Tommy turns his head away and whispers to Evan, "Can you make them stop? Please?"

"Sorry, do you think I wanted to be tied and handcuffed to you tonight?" A beat. "Okay, that's not—whatever, I'm suffering here, too."

"Are you?"

Evan huffs. "I'm tired of chasing after people who don't want me, and you don't want me." 

Tommy stays quiet as Team Buck racks up bonus points for Evan's punny apron collection. 

"I thought you'd call or text, or come over," Evan says, voice quieter. "You said, no matter how bad I want to be, so I thought… I don't know. I waited, Tommy. That didn't feel like the end. And you never answered my voicemails, so."

"I haven't checked my voicemail in five months," Tommy admits. "I saw you left a couple the week after and I just—I couldn't. I knew I'd—I'd press play and before you'd even said Hey I would be in my truck on my way to you."

"And would that have been so bad?"

Tommy drops his head down. "I wanted a clean break so we could both walk away." 

"Tommy," Evan whispers. "No matter how bad you want that to be true… it's not."

Tommy nods to himself. "I'm sorry."

"I should have come after you," Evan says. "I should have broken down your door or, I don't know, hung onto your helicopter like Captain America."

"Yeah, good luck," Tommy laughs. 

Between them, Evan's fingertips reach for Tommy's. They cling the best they can, and Tommy—he clings back. 

"Do you mean it or do you just want to get away from everyone?" Evan asks.

"Well, apparently I can't get away from them." Evan laughs dryly, so Tommy clutches his fingers again. "I mean it. Both of those things. If they take the cuffs off, I won't run. Will you?"

Evan laughs. "Only if you'll follow."

"Then we should make a break for it."

"You got it."

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 Beautiful Destruction . • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- Some addictions aren't found in powder form. Sometimes they're found in the way he says your name between midnight fights and morning regrets. A toxic love story.

warnings -- 18+-mdni, allusions to smut, mature/dark themes, mentions of blood, substance use, domestic abuse (from both parties), jealousy, toxic relationships, angst, no happy ending...

disclaimer -- with having read said warnings please note that this is a work of fiction, and as a writer, I do not condone or romanticize toxic relationships, substance abuse, or any form of physical/emotional abuse. This story explores dark themes for fictional purposes only. Please proceed with caution if these themes might be triggering.

main masterlist(s) | taglist | wc: 1.4k

The moonlight catches in his hair as Rafe Cameron stares at you across his bedroom, and you hate how beautiful he looks in this light—all sharp edges and barely contained rage. Your lip is still bleeding from where he kissed you too hard, punishment for the marks you left on his neck, visible enough that everyone will know. That was the point, after all.

The residual high from the lines you both did earlier is wearing off, leaving that familiar hollow feeling in your chest. It started as just a party thing, but now neither of you can seem to face these conversations sober anymore. The powder traces on his credit card mock you from the nightstand.

"Stay," he demands more than whispers, and there's that dangerous edge to his voice that should make you run. Instead, it makes you want to push harder, see how far you can take this before something breaks. "Just fucking stay this time."

You don't turn around as you pull your torn shirt back on, trying not to remember last month when you ripped his favorite button-down to shreds after finding texts from another girl on his phone. The fight that followed left a scar on your shoulder from where you hit the corner of his desk, and a matching one on his forearm from your keys. You both swore it would never happen again, but that's what you always say.

"Why? So we can pretend this is something it's not?"

"Don't do that," he says, and you hear him stand up, the sheets rustling. "Don't act like this is just sex when you're the one who showed up at my door at three AM last week, drunk and crying about seeing me with that girl at the Wreck."

"I wasn't crying," you snap, but your hands shake as you button your jeans. "And I don't care who you fuck."

He laughs, that hollow sound that means you've hurt him. Good. That's what you do best. "Right. That's why you made sure to let the whole party hear us tonight? Why you kept saying my name loud enough for everyone downstairs to hear through the walls?"

You finally turn, a cruel smile playing on your lips. "Maybe I just really enjoyed myself."

"You're such a liar," he growls, crossing the room in three quick strides. His hand finds your throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of how he held you earlier. "You're so scared of actually feeling something that you'd rather destroy us both."

"There is no 'us,'" you say, but your pulse races under his palm. "There never was."

His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling just hard enough to hurt. "Then why do you keep coming back?"

"Because you're convenient," you lie, watching the words land like punches. "Because you're always so desperate for it, aren't you? Poor little rich boy, so starved for love he'll take whatever scraps I throw him."

You expect him to push you away, to finally give up. Instead, he kisses you, hard and brutal, tasting of bourbon and blood. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker than you've ever seen them.

"You want to talk about desperate?" His voice is dangerously soft. "You're the one who begged me not to stop last night. Who cries my name when you come. Who shows up at my door every time you're lonely because you know I'll let you in. Because you know I love you, even though you don't deserve it."

The truth of his words feels like drowning. You shove him hard, needing space, needing air. "I never asked you to love me."

"No," he agrees, letting you go but not backing away. "You just made sure no one else could. How many people have you scared away from me? How many times have you shown up just when I was starting to move on?"

Your hand cracks across his face before you can stop yourself. The sound echoes in the quiet room. It reminds you of that night three months ago—the one you both pretend never happened. When the coke and jealousy and rage all exploded at once, leaving you both with bruises you had to explain away to concerned friends. He'd grabbed your wrists too hard; you'd thrown a bottle that shattered inches from his head. You both ended up on the floor, somewhere between fighting and fucking, leaving trails of blood from the broken glass neither of you had bothered to avoid.

"Fuck you," you spit, but there are tears in your eyes now.

"You already did," he says coldly. "Multiple times. Loud enough for the whole fucking house to hear. Was it worth it? Did it make you feel better about the fact that you're in love with me too?"

His smile is all teeth. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"I don't love you," you say, the words scraping your throat raw. "I don't even like you."

"Keep telling yourself that." He grabs your wrist as you reach for the door. "But we both know you'll be back. You always come back."

You jerk away from him. "Not this time."

"Right," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair—the same nervous gesture he made the morning you found him passed out in his bathroom, nose bleeding, pulse too fast. You'd stayed then, nursed him through the comedown, only to steal what was left of his stash before leaving. "Give it a week. You'll get drunk, see me with someone else, and show up at my door pretending you just want sex. And I'll let you in, because I'm stupid enough to keep loving you even though you're destroying me piece by piece."

"Then stop letting me in," you challenge, even as your chest constricts at the thought.

His laugh is bitter. "Maybe I will. Maybe next time I'll have someone else in my bed. Someone who isn't afraid to stay until morning. Would that finally make you feel something?"

The image hits you like a physical blow—Rafe with someone else, someone who deserves him. Someone better than you. The jealousy rises like bile in your throat.

"Do whatever you want," you say, proud that your voice doesn't shake. "I don't care."

"Prove it," he dares you. "Walk out that door and don't come back. For real this time."

Your hand finds the doorknob, and for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself imagine turning around, confessing everything. How you've been in love with him since that first night. How you push him away because you know you'll only break him in the end. How you'd rather hurt him on your terms than wait for him to realize you're not worth staying for.

Instead, you say, "Goodbye, Rafe," and step out into the night, leaving behind the only person who's ever seen through every lie you've told yourself.

Through the door, you hear glass shatter against the wall. Then another. And another.

You make it to your car before the sobs tear free from your chest. Your phone buzzes—a text from him.

I hate that I still love you.

You type back through blurred vision: I hate that I let you.

You drive away, your hands shaking as you resist the urge to dip into the baggie in your purse—the one you bought with money stolen from his wallet while he was sleeping last week. He probably knew; he always knows. Just like you know about the times he's followed you to parties, watched you flirt with other guys just to hurt him, waited for you to break down and come crawling back.

Next week, or next month, one of you will break. You'll end up back in his bed, adding new scars to your collection, both physical and emotional. You'll share lines and lies and bruising kisses, pretending the chemicals in your blood are the only reason your heart races when he touches you. Because that's what you do—you break each other apart and call it love.

Maybe one day, one of you will be strong enough to end this for good. Maybe it'll be when one of you finally goes too far, pushes too hard, breaks something that can't be fixed with apologetic kisses and promises you never mean to keep.

But not tonight. Tonight, you're already calculating how long to wait before texting him about the coke you just bought, knowing he'll let you in even though you both swore last time was the last time.

It's never the last time.

a/n -- Thanks to anyone who made it to the end of this fic! As always, all likes, comments, and reblogs keep me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt @iluvvmeeee @ecliptide @mrsdrewstarkeyy @blaustappen @disaster-rose @neslayuh @justdamnpeachy @rafecamlovr @lhhlver @upsidedownjill @niyalovests @cl4uus

[jschlautism]

someone call the doctor now, i'm feelin' low

note: wouldn't be a fluff writer if i didn't make a sickfic

warnings/tags: schlatt is a big baby about being sick, established relationship, reader is gender neutral, emetophobia, alcoholism is mentioned, hurt/comfort, reader is shorter and younger than schlatt, schlatt doesn't really talk because he feels like garbo

word count: 1,049

Unfortunately, waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone retching on the other side of the wall was something you were used to by now, what with your boyfriend being an alcoholic. You tried to help him as best you could, but some days were just far too difficult for him to handle. Assuming that drinking was to blame, you rolled over with a huff and tried to go back to sleep. It was nothing John hadn’t dealt with before, he’d had this problem long before you two got together; you were sure he could handle himself. At least.. That’s what you thought, and that was what you were working off of until John re-entered the bedroom, practically whimpering with a weak voice. A quick pet name was all you had managed to catch him say. At that moment, you realized something was terribly wrong here. Sitting up in the bed quickly, you lay your eyes upon John, who, admittedly, looked worse for wear. He was trembling, his hair a mess, and what looked faint freckles visible on his cheeks, likely from the straining it takes to throw up.

John just stares at you as you begin to get up from the mattress, tossing the blankets aside. You approach him, looking up into those deep brown eyes that you loved so much. They were captivating, even now as he was at his worst. “What’s wrong, my sweet boy?” You ask with softness in your voice that only he ever got to hear, reaching up to gently caress his cheek. The older man simply leans into your touch, closing his eyes as he lets out a shaky breath. To you, that was further confirmation that there was a problem. “Come on bubba, speak to me, tell me what’s wrong..” You push again as you take his hand and begin to lead him to the bed. Even now, you still got butterflies holding his hands, simply because they were much larger than yours were. You bury those thoughts, focusing on him and making sure he’s okay.

He sits down on the mattress slowly, and the moment that he does, you place your wrist to his forehead; you already have a suspicion about what’s going on. Sure enough, when you pull your hand away, you can still feel the warmth on your wrist for just a moment. “J, honey, you’re burning up.. are you sick?” In response to your question, he just nods his head. He was always a big baby when he fell ill, and this time was clearly no exception. You let out a sigh and shake your head. Thinking for a bit, you decide to advise John to lay down and try to get some rest. He protests, but eventually he does give in and lays his head atop the pillows. Once he’s gotten settled in, you tell him you’ll be right back, and leave the room to get some things you think he may need.

You make your way into the kitchen, then retrieve a water bottle from the cabinet. You figure he probably needs water after whatever the hell he had just gone through. Filling the bottle with ice water, you stop and think for a moment. “Should probably get him a bucket or something just in case..” You mutter under your breath while you tightened the lid on the water bottle. Maneuvering around the kitchen, you begin to look for something that you could give him just to make sure he had cover on his way to the bathroom. Ultimately not really finding much, you decide on one of the spare dish pans and coat the inside with paper towels. It would have to be enough.. for now, at least. You can go to the store in the morning to get something else if you have to, but for the moment, you think this will work. He’s probably not too picky right now, anyways. Returning to the bedroom with the water bottle and dish pan in your grasp, you notice that John had actually managed to fall asleep. Sighing, you set the drink and the makeshift bucket on the bedside table, then take a good look at your sleeping beauty. He always looked so sweet when he was resting. You run a hand through his somewhat curly brown locks with a subtle frown on your face. “I really wish you felt better, J…” You whisper with furrowed brows.

Neither of you really got much sleep that night. With John being up and down vomiting, and you having to take care of him, there really wasn’t much opportunity to rest. Eventually, it got to a point where you both just gave up and decided to watch a movie. You let him pick, since he was the ‘poor baby’ of the situation, and he ended up picking Wall-E. In the middle of the movie, he turns his head to look at you. “Not to be a burden or anything, but.. Do you think you could maybe get me some crackers? I… I wanna at least try to eat somethin’...” He mumbles, then looks down at his lap, where his hands were resting. He fidgets with the blankets a bit. You pat him gently on the back and nod, getting up to head to the kitchen. Just as you were about to head back into the bedroom, you notice the bathroom light is on, and you hear the undeniable sound; your boyfriend retching once more. You set the pack of crackers down on the accent table in the hall and enter the bathroom, kneeling down beside the man. Placing a hand atop his back, you begin to rub careful circles into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, reassuring him every now and then with your soft words. It was disgusting, having to witness this, but you knew you had to be here for him; after all, he was always there for you. When he finally gets a moment of peace, he lifts his head and looks at you with what you could only describe as puppy dog eyes. He looked utterly pathetic, and all you wanted to do was make him feel better.

This was going to be a long week.

[breakyourrxles]

❥between two breaths (m) | 𝟙𝟜

𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐡

↳ Revenge tastes so sweet.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader (side lee juyeon x reader) — idol!sunwoo, fan/trainee!reader. forced proximity, forbidden love, friends to lovers, angst, slow burn, idolverse-typical themes regarding; dating, image, public perception, etc. happy ending, plot-heavy!! reader thinks she's nonchalant about it but she rly isn't. smut. [4,8k wc ongoing] cws: heavy themes of wanting-but-can't-having, mild jealousy, explicit sexual content, a little alcohol consumption, dancing on the edge of career suicide, poor decision making because of The Wanting.

❥ masterlist | ao3

"So, that's what this is," he says, "Payback."

Whatever this is, you're not dressed for it. Maybe you have preconceived notions of what a scenario such as this one might entail, maybe your idea of what a situation such as this one might actually look like in reality is entirely off base; or maybe it's the nagging feeling inside of your stomach that really, you shouldn't be here, at all.

Little effort had been made upon your exit from the dorm. You did not hide the fact that you were leaving, neither did you care for the fact that Miyoung and Kaia would know. It's a dangerous game to throw all caution to the wind; to disappear into the night, crawl into the back of an unmarked vehicle sent by someone else and drive off to a place that you don't even particularly know. The building you're inside now is a large one that offers numerous different places for passersby to enjoy, and at the very least, you figure that this particular spot is the one least traveled by people looking for a good time.

The van had pulled inside of the building—private parking. Private entry for people who cannot take a risk of being spotted. The chain of events leading up to the affair make one thing you had always known all the more clear: Juyeon is no novice in matters such as this one.

MVNE's popularity is a sort of intangible thing to you, something that you don't quite understand the weight of, and so you wonder how far out you are from the ability to engage in escapades such as these. Have you already passed that point? Are you already too recognizable to be taking risks such as these? You don't know the answer to those questions, but more than anything else right now; you don't care.

You owe the girls and the guys on the other side of this at least the minimum amount of effort and respect to remain lowkey in your treacherous endeavors, but beyond that? You wouldn't mind if this whole thing burned to the ground right before your eyes.

Confirmation from the company be damned, Sunwoo has not messaged you since the story broke. As far as you're concerned, that's all the confirmation you need.

The hotel room isn't fancy but it's above standard quality. It doesn't need to be, all things considered, because you probably won't be here long. It's clean and unscented—unnervingly so—making you feel as though you are trapped in the liminal space between somewhere previously untraveled and nowhere, at all.

You finish your drink and wince as you swallow it down. Looking at the bed from the table where you are sitting, it seems so inviting. Perhaps it would be nice to spend the evening here and then shuffle off to where you are supposed to be early in the morning. Enough people know that you are not where you are meant to be right now, what difference would it make returning later in the evening?

The inevitable knock on the room door comes, you can hear the keycard being pressed into the slot and the loud click that follows as the lock unclasps. Everything feels as though it is in slow motion when the door cracks open and your companion for the evening slides inside.

With chilled air outside, Juyeon's long, black coat is apt. He wears a mask covering half of his face and a hat atop his head though you cannot fathom that stares do not accompany him regardless of these things.

Though the door has long since shut behind him, Juyeon lingers in the entryway as if a barrier stands between himself and this place. You watch him tug the mask away and pull the hat off, his hair a mess of black strands with styling products still clinging to them. His coat remains on though, and rather than motioning to begin its removal, he stands in place and leans his shoulder against the wall with arms crossed over his chest.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks.

The question is remarkably strange to you, and with that fact evident on your face you reply, "What do you mean?"

"We both know exactly why I'm here."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

Juyeon hums as he mulls over the question for a moment, but before he has a chance to respond you double down and continue the thought. "Are you worried about how it might look if it were to get out?"

"Public perception is not a concern, because this is solely between you and I," Juyeon reasons. "My being here at all is skirting the line of 'morally reprehensible' a little too closely for my liking." He pauses for a moment to think, but then goes on to say, "But I think you're a smart woman with a good head on your shoulders, and I also think your feelings are hurt and you're lashing out because of it. Suppose I'm here in an effort to make sense of that."

"What's there to make sense of?" Your eyes pull away from him, staring down at the empty glass still clasped in your hand. "You've seen it. Everyone has seen it. If there's anything that doesn't make sense it's…" You stop, shake your head and change the trajectory of the topic slightly. Looking at Juyeon again, you ask, "Did you know? Did anyone else know?"

"No, none of us knew."

"Then I guess I can at least take solace in the fact that we all found out the same way."

"So, that's what this is," he says, "Payback."

"And what if it is? You didn't have to come, you seem to have known precisely what I intended for our meeting when I called you, but you're apprehensive now that you've arrived."

Juyeon huffs out a laugh from under his breath. "Anyone not apprehensive in this situation is no one you should be here with, I can tell you that much. They certainly wouldn't be someone with your best interest in mind. Look…" 

You watch as he begins to slowly shrug off his coat, broad shoulders beneath a smooth, immaculately fitted black button down shirt. He has just come from a photoshoot and the aftermath of it still clings to him in minute, easily overlooked ways. Dark shadows that elongate his sharp eyes, and a barely remaining tint to his lips that might suggest them having been freshly bitten by another.

"I'm fine with being your revenge-fuck, but you need to be sure about it. Because you're the one that's going to have to deliver the news to him, and that day will come."

Those words send a chill across your skin. "And why would I need to tell him anything about it?"

He takes a few steps forward to cross the room and makes his way towards you. Upon his arrival, Juyeon does not extend a hand to touch you, does not move to urge this event along. Instead, he stands ahead of you and looks down as if affording you the time to recognize that all of this is very real, and should you decide to go forward with it, impossible to ever undo.

There is gravity in all of this, and Juyeon is sure to make you aware of that fact.

"This could all be temporary," he says, "But this? Right here, right now? This is very much permanent."

The weight of that sinks your heart inside of your chest. You swallow hard, shrug slightly and then say, "There's pictures. The company didn't even deny it. So, why shouldn't we?"

"He's going to find out about it. He's going to know. I just need you to make peace with that and not make a decision based on what you think you can get away with. You can't play both sides. This isn't a situation where we're dealing with the public." Juyeon's eyes are intense as he stares down at you, a look that makes you nearly tremble in your seat. "Sunwoo is my bandmate, he's my friend. He's also crazy about you, and I can't make sense of the way all of this fits together either, but those are things I do know for a fact."

With your eyes locked onto Juyeon's, you inhale slowly and deeply and then say: "I know them, too."

Leaning down, Juyeon's hands each find an arm of the chair you are seated in, effectively boxing you inside of it. His face inches closer to yours—something you have experienced once before—only this time, you are fully willing to let the cards fall where they may once his lips finally find yours.

The scent emanating off of him is light, yet intoxicating. Juyeon kisses you gently, tentatively; not at all like his appearance on stage might suggest him to be. There is still apprehension lingering in his motions, awaiting the moment where you might eventually come to your senses and decide not to go through with this. However, the more of him you taste, the further from your mind the possibility of this falls.

You reach up, curling your fingers into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him further down against your mouth. 

Finally, you begin to feel some of the tension in his form melt away.

Once chaste kisses quickly transform into needing, wanting open mouth desire to taste and consume. You pull him towards you even more despite the way his body is bowed and his inability to be felt against you as a result of that, and having grown tired of this, Juyeon's frustration seems to hit a breaking point as he shifts away, brings you up to stand and swiftly works to rid your body of the sweatshirt hanging against it.

With your head spinning, you want nothing more to taste more of him, feel more of him beneath your fingertips; but before you have a chance to make a move to do so, Juyeon is pressing your back into the mattress and slipping himself between your thighs.

Your mouths connect again and this time, the urgency is white hot atop his tongue.

A soft hand smooths over the flesh of your side, though he does not immediately search for the front of your chest. Juyeon's evident desire for you is dizzying; gasping for air between unrelenting kisses and the firm press of his hips at the aching point between your legs. His lips eventually leave your own, smoothing down your jaw and making their slow journey with teeth accompanying to the sensitive skin of your neck. No other thoughts exist in your mind now beyond the hedonistic desire of where this all may lead; your flesh hot and damp with a light sheen of sweat, heart racing, and the aching throb of need pooling at your core.

Where his mouth meets your neck, hot breath wafts over it soon after. You could stay like this—do nothing more than this—all night and be perfectly content. 

But you do want more.

Juyeon pulls off of you and kneels between your legs to begin pulling the buttons of his shirt apart. You watch as he does; each one falling away and more skin becoming no longer hidden underneath. He shrugs the fabric away from his shoulders, easily pulls his lithe but toned arms from the sleeves and discards it somewhere on the floor beside the bed as if it is representative of something else, entirely. This thought comes to mind but you discard it just as swiftly in favor of the fact that his hands have now begun to find their work at his belt.

With the leather binding stripped just as quickly, he leans down towards you again and slips his hands behind your back. You aid in his endeavor, leaning up and once again finding his lips with your own.

Now that you can feel him, you waste no time in doing so. Juyeon rids your torso of the only remaining garment keeping the flesh of your bodies apart and the two of you fall against the bed all over again with hands desperately feeling for every dip of muscle and supple, plush offering that they can find. One hand slips down between the two of your bodies, Juyeon's last ditch effort at unfastening the button to his slacks before they are to be removed entirely in the future, and though you anticipate the warmth of his touch after the fact to once again find its way to your chest, rather than doing so, you feel his fingertips breech the top of your leggings; sliding down slowly past the elastic band and curving down to dip where you most need them.

His touch coaxes out a gasp from you, which he easily tastes off of your tongue.

Back arching and chest pressed against his, you melt into the feeling of thick, long fingers dragging slow, firm circles against you. 

"Good?"Juyeon asks, whispering the question against your nipped lips.

But the answer of yes is barely comprehensible, and most of it dies in your throat.

"Good," he says again. Shifting himself from between your legs ever so slightly, his face drops from yours and instead he begins to kiss down the front of your chest to make for different use of his sinister tongue. Juyeon looks up at you as his lips clasp around the waiting bug, tongue swirling over it in ways that make your toes curl only to then break away and say, "You're so wet. I want to fuck you, but I need to taste you."

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you all but melt into the mattress beneath you as he goes back to working you from top to bottom.

Slipping down further against you, Juyeon slips his hand out from your pants and makes easy work of pulling the displeasing fabric from your legs. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you, regaining his position between your thighs but much further down than before. A single finger slips up the seam of your folds, you sigh into the teasing feeling of it, and then Juyeon wastes no more time; hot, wet tongue following the very same path his finger only just did.

The once free hand finds work in different ways, a finger slipping inside and gently prying you open for him. For the first time and unexpected even to you, a moan escapes from your lips; unable to be fought away any longer.

And Juyeon knows what he's doing—has certainly done this many times before. Every movement he makes into or against you is expertly crafted and delivered with intent to unravel you before him. Your back arches, body writhing beneath him as he undoes you thread by thread. Sliding a hand down, your fingers tangle into the hair that sits atop his head as if waiting to be touched, and worst of all, Juyeon groans into the feeling of your nails gently digging into his scalp.

His fingers sink deeper inside of you, his tongue firmer at the place that has you whining and gasping for more. Your muscles tighten in your thighs and abdomen, warm with the feeling of a mounting release.

You gasp out, desperate to speak but the words get lost in the dryness of your throat. The grip in his hair tightens, inadvertently so. You don't intend to cause discomfort, but when Juyeon groans even louder as you do, the realization of the fact is far too much for your weary body to overcome. Your hips grind against his mouth as your body is wracked by release; jaw clenched tight and head pressed back into the pillow below. 

By the time your awareness finds you once more, Juyeon is already making his way back up the length of your body and lining the path with light presses of his lips along the way. He does not immediately go to kiss you—as if unsure of your willingness to do so—and thus you take it upon yourself to arch up and find his mouth once more.

"Need a minute?" he asks in a broken whisper, but you shake your head and make it clear that you intend to do no such thing.

Juyeon smiles devilishly against you, and after stealing another kiss, he pulls himself away from you and begins the final removal of the last remaining pieces of clothing that still cling to him.

Once removed, he digs into one of the pockets… and then this all becomes so very real.

You think about his words from earlier all over again: 'This is very much permanent.'

And incredibly attuned as he is, Juyeon's gentle hand finds the inside of your thigh. It is not a touch meant to entice, but rather, to soothe.

"We don't have to do this," he says. "This is something, but it's not everything. We both know that, it doesn't have to go further."

"I know, but I want it to."

Without pressing the issue further, Juyeon busies himself with readying for this. You are thankful for his emotional aptitude and his willingness to trust you and believe that the words you say to him really and truly mean what you're feeling. He does not push, he does not pry; he asks you the question and then takes your answer for precisely what it is.

Craning over you again, Juyeon kisses you and then whispers against your lips, "Tell me what you need from me, I want to feel you come around me."

His hand slips between your bodies, reaching down and carefully pressing himself inside. Once the initial push is made, the very same hand reaches up to cradle your head and the other grips your thigh to hold you open for taking him.

With a sly smirk pulling at his lips, Juyeon appears perfectly happy to drink down the gasp that escapes you as he inches deep inside.

Giving you time to settle into the feeling, he remains still inside of you for a few moments, instead focusing on tasting the way your wetness still lingers on your lips.

You're drunk on wanting him, hips subtly grinding against where you meet in an effort to find the friction you so desperately seek. Juyeon is happy to accommodate the desire, and takes it as his opportunity to slowly, shallowly make his drives.

Hands smoothing down his chest, you revel in the dips and curves of the muscle there. Once he finds rhythm in his motions, your hands wrap around to his back and shoulders; fingernails digging deeper and harder as each stroke becomes faster, harder and more intentional against you.

When it all culminates just right, you clutch his flesh and laboriously moan his name.

Juyeon's eyes find yours, glazed over with lust; makeup that has begun to warp and smudge still clinging to his eyelids and lips that are far redder than his first meeting you here. Captivating and beautiful. His mouth sits slightly parted as he focuses on the task at hand, and more than anything else you know that the task is you.

The excitement of a first time paired with the devilish inclinations that neither of you should be here—a surefire way to have this all quickly coming to an end.

You moan. "Harder," you plead, though it's quiet and bitten back. Juyeon takes the direction well, gives you exactly what you've asked for, and just as quickly the tact you've once had melts away in favor of desperation and unrelenting requests for more.

Then, Juyeon's face presses down and with his lips against your ear he says, "I want to have you on your knees."

Arousal immediately washes through you and pools in your gut. The shift is fast—your head spins as you're easily flipped onto your stomach and large, strong hands grip your hips and yank them upwards. Once in position, his palm smooths down the center of your back as he carefully fits himself back inside; bigger, thicker, harder than before. Juyeon is gentle and mindful with the repositioning, but it is merely seconds before you're pushing back against him and so, he happily takes the hint with longer, fuller drives once again.

However, now your hopeful composure is nothing in comparison to the way he feels inside of you. You whimper and moan unabashedly with every purposeful drive, hands clutching the bed sheets beneath your body. It's overpowering; his hands gripped tightly at your waist, your hips, sometimes leaning forward to grip at your shoulder for even more leverage than before. Juyeon pants lightly as he fucks you, the occasional hint of a groan rippling in his chest as he sinks inside. You twist to change the position of your face as it remains pressed against the pillow, but what finds you upon doing so comes to be your ultimate undoing.

Staring back at you is yourself, the reflection of a mirror you'd not noticed before standing tall on the wall and perfectly offering vision of every movement that either of you make. You're able to see the veins in Juyeon's arms shift beneath his slightly tanned flesh and protruding on account of the strenuous physical work. His eyes remain fixed on the place where he stretches you open to accommodate his size, now easily taking all that he has to offer. Black hair sits wet and pressed against his forehead, his fingers carve indents into your flesh as he holds you in place; Juyeon is kind, but there is nothing gentle about the way that he takes you now. His drives against you are hard and fast, chasing release for the both of you, the sound of his hips finding your skin reverberating throughout the otherwise empty hotel room.

You feel yourself tightening around him, and a groan from him follows as a result. You can't stop watching, you're drunk with the sight, sound and feeling of him. You're so close, nearly painfully so. Desperately begging for something that you know is soon to come.

"Good?" he asks again, voice broken off and barely audible. The growl residing within the tone travels down your spine and settles right between your legs.

"I'm gonna come," you say. And you sound utterly pathetic as you do so.

"Take that as a yes then."

The following drives are even more purposeful than before, seconds that feel like a lifetime of steady strokes inside of you until you are whimpering and writhing beneath him with no actual words to offer as a response. In mere moments you're coming undone around him just as he had hoped for, incomprehensible nonsense falling from your parted lips as he shows no signs of slowing in chase of his own release.

Juyeon's hands grip around your waist, repeatedly pulling you along himself until his jaw tightens, a visceral, animalistic groan gritted out between firmly clenched teeth until finally his mouth falls slightly slack, he offers one, final hard press of himself as deeply inside of you as he can manage and he spills into the unfortunate barrier that must exist between the two of you.

As the moments following begin to settle and your heart begins to find a more normal pace, you hear Juyeon huff out a heavy sigh from behind you, slowly pry the try of you apart, and then unceremoniously lobs himself to lie on the bed beside you. His eyes are closed, chest heaving in the aftermath of his rather impressive work, and surprising even to you; you smile.

"Good?" you ask, cheeky.

He cracks a single eye open to look at you and says, "Yeah, good."

"Is it going to be weird now?"

A little late to broach the subject, you realize. Better late than never, you suppose.

"It doesn't have to be," Juyeon says, breaths still laborious as he makes an effort to engage despite it. "Was it weird with Sunwoo?"

"That's different."

"Is it, though?" Turning himself on his side, Juyeon faces you fully with messy hair and even messier black smudges circling his eyes. He says, "It's different because if Sunwoo weren't in the picture, then maybe this might have a shot at being more than what it is." A smile curls into his lips in spite of your heart beginning to sink. "But your heart isn't in it, and that's okay. You're not hurting my feelings. If it was going to be weird, I'd be the one making it that way, and I have no intention of doing so. We both knew exactly what this was when you made that call."

His eyes narrow mischievously and then he adds: "Really glad I'm the one that got the call, actually."

You swat at his shoulder. "Shut up, don't make me regret this."

"I'm not the one that's at risk of doing that," Juyeon says through a sigh, "You are going to have to tell him. Eventually."

"Why? Are you going to tell him if I don't?"

Juyeon appears as though he flips the question over in his mind a few times before he makes any motion to answer it. All things considered, you couldn't exactly blame him for landing on the side that you would be far less pleased with.

"No, I think it's far more appropriate if you do," he says. "You seem to believe that there's a version of this story where he never has to find out, but I assure you that's just not going to be the case. I know you don't see it now, but I'm fairly confident there's a future where you're going to feel compelled to do so."

Staring at him, you allow a few moments of silence to buffer and then you say, "You think we're going to make up."

"That's what your heart's in, isn't it?" Juyeon shrugs then inches a bit closer to your body, a hand timidly smoothing over the flesh of your thigh. "This was fun—wouldn't mind fitting another one in for the road—but once we leave here we both know this is never going to happen again."

Glaring, you shift away despite not entirely hating the idea.

"Both groups have to go overseas in a week, talk about an exciting secret getaway."

"The damage has been done," Juyeon says, reaching up to gently push stray strands of hair away from your eyes. "There's really no need to double and triple down. Don't call me when we're abroad… Call Sunwoo."

"And if I don't?" you reply, petulant.

Juyeon rolls his eyes, sighs again and simply says, "You will. For some reason, you're the only one who doesn't seem to know that yet."

Dragging himself out of bed, Juyeon hauls himself off to the bathroom to clean up and as he strides past you, you can't help but think that he wears the afterglow of sex exceptionally well. His skin seems to shimmer with a glow that hadn't quite been there before, and upon this realization you cannot help but wonder how it is that you look right about now. Not particularly well, you figure. In more ways than one, at that.

You wonder how Sunwoo looks with the very same afterglow. You wonder where he is, and if he is wearing it right about now.

There's a lump that forms in your throat at the thought, in spite of everything that has just transpired. You don't know if that's fair—the way that thinking about it makes you feel. Playing tit-for-tat games that have no clear victor crowned at the end. Have you won? Is the victory yours? And why, above all else, does it not taste so sweet?

The inhale that follows is sharp and unsteady. Juyeon can be heard in the bathroom with the faucet on, but not much else making his movements known.

"Do you think he'll be mad?" you say, hopefully loud enough to be heard over the running water. Unsure if you have the strength to dare utter the question again.

But he does hear, and his head pops around the corner without bothering to shut the faucet off. His hair is wetter now, pressed away from his forehead and a few droplets still clinging to his skin. The look on his face is one that you can't quite decipher; some mixture of emotions that don't quite equate to pity, but rather something more akin to compassion. 

"I don't think he's going to be mad," Juyeon says, and it's evident through his delivery of the words that he is choosing them with immense care. His lips thin into a line, one corner dipping downward ever so slightly and he says, "If he's going to be mad at anyone, really, it's only going to be at himself."

And maybe that's worse, you think in response. 

[beatrixst0nehill]

"Guys, I am so excited but I need to keep my voice down," a woman whispered as she recorded. "I just overheard my trans daughter Kylie, she's the blonde one, talking to her new girlfriend, Lexi. Oh my god, just listen!" Kylie's mom parted the curtain, turning up the mic volume through a crack in the doorway.

"For real? I've been thinking of detransing for a while now," Kylie said, brushing aside her golden hair.

Lexi smiled, her erection pressing against her bikini. "I'm so glad you feel the same way. Like being a girl was fun for a while, I'm glad I got to live as a girl through my teens and stuff but I just think it's time to be honest and start living as a guy!"

"Mmmm, it's so refreshing to hear you say that. I feel like such a weirdo around the girls on my volleyball team. Like they're real girls, half of them are pregnant and lactating, showing off their bellies to everyone in the locker room and I have this huge, ten-inch erection I legit can't hide, and they just tease me about it."

"Oh my god, same! I play soccer and it's so humiliating not being pregnant, like I'm a total outcast. And of course they can see that I'm rock hard. They wind up giving me hand jobs and blow jobs before we play so I'm not falling out of my shorts, which happens constantly anyway because my college has a no bra or underwear rule."

"Yep, mine too! Worst of all my volleyball team wears miniskirts, sooooo my huge cock is just hanging out, so are my balls, which are really big, too. Sometimes I try to push it down and up my ass but it slides right back out."

"Yep, been there! I'm tired of my team swarming me and making me cum before every game.... and between classes."

"Lucky! My team just humiliates me and calls me a boy or a fakegirl, which I mean.... they're not wrong! The commentaters at all the college games call me 'he' when I'm playing....."

"Me too! It honestly just makes me rock hard. Like I should be nowhere near these sexy girls, seeing their breasts jiggle and fall out of their crop tops, their big pregnant bellies getting shoved into the ground or tackled."

"Yep, all game it's so distracting, and my breasts come out of my bikini top, too and I'm not given a time out to put them away because they're a guy's chest or whatever. So I have to play with a raging hardon bobbing every which was, slapping into my belly when I spike the ball, my tits totally out...."

"I'm surprised you haven't had them removed yet, I had top surgery a few months ago and I'm pretty much breastless now. It feels so good not having big tits anymore. I was a G-Cup from all the estrogen in my body!"

"Ughhh, that suck. I feel your pain, I had a reduction when I was 18, my boobs were like.... a J-Cup. Now I'm a DD and they're still way to big, they make insanely dysphoric."

"Right? Like every trans girl I know has huge tits but they all want them removed, like we're really just kidding ourselves, aren't we?"

"Totally!" Lexi walked over to Kylie, making out with her before climbing up on the deck.

Kylie crawled forward as Lexi got behind her, taking off her bikini. "Mmmmm tell me how much you want me to detrans and become a boy. It can be our little secret......"

"Fuck yes, fantasizing won't hurt. It's all in good fun, isn't it, my little boy toy?"

Kylie bit her lip, smacking her hips into Lexi as she plunged her footlong cock into Kylie's ass. They both started moaning.

Lexi pulled Kylie's hair back, and said, "You know your mom is filming this right?"

"Wh-What?" She opened her eyes, hair pulled back, getting fucked, with her mom recording.

Her mom stepped out, zooming on Kylie's flush face. "Go on, tell everyone how badly you want to detransition sweetie....."

Kylie rolled back her eyes as Lexi sped up, fucking her so hard it made loud, rhythmic clapping noises as Lexi pounded against Kylie's fat ass. "More than anything in the world! ❤️"

[vrathful]

permit office grian getting dicked down by scar. (ftm grian)

MORE BELOW THE CUT

scar's a gentle top, he always does whatever grian wants and more, his main goal to please. he only does what grian wants or asks of him, never punishing grian for any of his brattiness, only sometimes making him beg.

but, gods, grian has been getting on scar's nerves. that stupid 'on hold' music has been drilling into his skull, and that stupid form has been driving him crazy. even worse? grian's all smug about it, even with that dry tone he's been forcing while working.

all scar wants to do, as he waits for grian to find the correct form is just take that little black tie and wrap the length of it around grian's pretty little throat, just yank... but, he doesn't.

not yet.

but oh, if it isn't all he wants (other than getting that damn permit), to just bend grian over the counter and use that little tie as a pretty little collar, something of a leash, to keep grian behaved. to tug grian's trousers down and pull whatever he's wearing underneath aside, fuck into his tight cunt without a care for how grian feels, the burn and stretch of it all, because he's driving scar crazy, and it's time that scar gets what he wants.

he pays no mind to the fact that there are so many windows, that anybody could walk by or even walk in, and witness scar taking grian apart on his cock, driving into him from behind and muttering obscenities under his breath.

"fuck, so wet for me, such a, hng, a whore. this what you wanted? being so difficult, is this what you really--" he cuts himself off when grian tightens around him, tight and hot, because of course it's what grian wanted, "god, gri, take it-- yeah, good boy, doin' a-may-zin'..."

it's so different from what they usually do but scar can't help it, and grian loves it.

[conchiferrous]

various franky headcanons, real and fake, past and future. Notes I forgot to add: Is fully robotic from the torso down + rib cage looks like vents. Also by rubbery I meant elastic like but idc whatever

[ID: Multiple doodles of Franky from One Piece, pre time skip, with head canons about how he's built. First drawing is of Franky with his mouth open, internal view showing a gas tank in his chest connected to his throat via hose. Notes read: "The idea of him being homodontal is funny to me." "Bottom of mouth + bottom of tongue work like a flint sparker. Mouth is unusually dry / doesn't make enough saliva it's like gross." "Needs to stand upright a lot if he wants to use fire breath? (idk I'm having trouble finding information on flammable gas tanks that aren't acetylene or propane". A Franky squinting at a paper he's holding close to his face, noting: "camera eyes, comes with every problem you've ever had using a camera". There's also a doodle of Chopper pointing to an eye chart for Franky to read. Franky says "A" and fails. Franky with a normal nose with some of the skin peeled off, noting: "nose "skin" peeled off like a 2005 model furby's beak". A Franky with one of his hands torn up bad enough that stuffing is falling out, noting: "Doesn't bleed, stuffed with foam like a boxing glove? Not super thick, mostly for the appearance of muscle". There's also a doodle of him holding Chopper up, noting that his hand is comfy, and a doodle of Luffy wearing this glove hand and saying: "Franky's in the shower right now, who wants to play with his hand?" Chopper says "Cool" and Usopp says: "i know for a fact Franky doens't shower until he's really sweaty and gross, I am not fucking touching that, you are sick in the fucking cranium." A drawing of Franky pulling on his forearm, noting that it's rubbery with another note saying "ass area also rubbery." There's also an arrow pointing to his crotch with a note typed in tiny illegible letters. To the side are a Franky with both his arms and waist inflated labelled: "The scary mode" and a drawing of Nami trying to use a lightning attack but it gets redirected to Franky, noting: "rubber soles built into feet so he isn't a huge lightning rod". Rough doodle of Franky with his torso opened up in the front, showing that he has his heart in a tank hooked up to various wires, a vent like rib cage, and his tummy fridge is there too. Only note is "heart tank". Lastly, there's a doodle of Franky with a game controller hooked up to the side of his arm and Usopp is playing Doom, using Franky's star tattoo as a screen. Note says: "And yes, he can run doom." /END ID]

[mikkomacko]

How does Nico ask the reader to be his valentine and what does he get her?

Nico is a ‘lots of small gestures are better than one big gesture’ kind of guy.

He’s taking the day off of work, letting himself sleep with reader because he knows she only gets up early for him. On Valentine’s Day, she gets whatever she wants, starting with a late morning in bed.

Before she gets up, he’s placing a bouquet of her favorite flowers on the nightstand and one of those cheesy cards that has like a dinosaur on it and says “I rawr you” all lame.

And he’s picking out of the best flowers, waking her up with soft kisses and laying on top of her until his weight and insist lips have her blinking her eyes open, swollen and tired but lighting up with excitement when they realize what day it is and what he’s doing.

“Morning beautiful,” he greets, voice all rough and tired. She hums something that sounds like morning in return, moving to kiss him on the lips and tangling her hands in his hair.

Nico pulls back just enough to sneak the flower between them, the petals a little too close to her face but they smell good and her cheeks immediately flood with color.

“Is it too early to ask you to be my valentine?”

“Never.”

They’ll spend a bit more time in bed, sharing sweet and lazy kisses and she’ll giggle over the card from him and admire her flowers before thanking him a million times.

And they’ll take it slow getting ready for the day, probably shower together and Nico will talk her into wearing her hair all messy and natural today because he likes it so much. She’ll convince him to wear something red to match her, probably that quarter zip that’s really soft and snuggly but it’s funny because she’s in a cute, frilly top and a skirt so their outfits don’t really go together but it doesn’t matter.

Nico will take her to get her matcha that she loves and they’ll share a giant Valentine’s Day cookie or donut or something. They’ll take Moose on a walk along the waterfront, Nico holding her hand and the leash in his other.

While they’re gone he’d have Timo go into the house and setup the dozens of red heart balloons he’d ordered so that when they come home red strings hang from the ceiling where they’re floating, and she bumping into them and giggling. Rose petals are thrown in the entryway and the steps outside, and Timo has placed Nico’s little gifts (pre wrapped of course) and sets them up all nice.

Then they’ll come home and make lunch together, reader teasing him for doing so much with the balloons and petals. But halfway through cooking theirs a delivery at the door, one he insists she go answer. It’s a huge bouquet of chocolate covered fruit, not strawberries through because she’s allergic so it’s a lot of pineapple and bananas and marshmallows.

(Which is funny because when Nico goes to work the next day she too has sent him an edible arrangement and a box of his favorite Swiss candies. And it’s a complete coincidence.)

Anyway, they’ll hang out and eat lunch and he makes her open a couple of the gifts because they’re mini Lego sets and a puzzle to do together for the rest of the day.

Nico of course has a dinner planned, something private and intimate and classy so they can both dress up and take photos together. Afterwards they’ll go home and she’ll give him his gift (another stupid devils plushie for his office) and some kind of watch accessory or fancy sunglasses or a custom Valentine’s Day kith sweater with her initial on the cuff and a heart over his chest.

He gets her jewelry probably, nice earrings or a charm for her bracelet. And it’s tradition that he gets her something nice and expensive to wear whether it’s shoes or a dress or perfume.

Then of course he gets his real gift (her) in pretty red lingerie with silk bows and ties, and his name stitched into the band of the underwear.

[rarepairdumpster]

Pretty Woman AU Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: AGE REVERSAL, Sex Work, SW Discrimination, Sexual Assault, Minor Sevika, Happy Ending <3

But ohhhh that beautiful moment when Silco breaks his own rule.

When he comes to the bed and finds Viktor dozing, book resting on his chest and glasses about to fall off his nose.

And Viktor looks so soft and handsome and perfect and oh god Silco's already in love oh fuck oh crap might as well fucking kiss him now.

Viktor opens his eyes and Silco backs away, but not too far. 

"I thought--"

"Well, stop," Silco demands before kissing him again. Viktor happily responds this time, wrapping his arms around Silco's waist and pulling him into his lap.

Silco is an exquisite kisser. Knows just how and when to use his lips and tongue and teeth.

Silco moans and starts to grind down on Viktor when one of those lovely, considerate hands slips up to wind into his hair.

Viktor doesn't realise Silco is wearing a simple silk negligee until Silco pulls back and reaches for the hem, pulling it up, up, up,  before tossing it aside

Viktor has never felt like this with anyone and he knows he's going to ask Silco to stay in the morning. To be his.

Imaging someone else's hands on Silco makes Viktor burn, and he kisses Silco as deep as he fucks him, refusing to allow Silco to forget him.

Salo is the colleague/lawyer/whatever that takes a fancy to Silco, that constantly watches him. Makes sly comments about him that Viktor half-ignores, half-scolds him for. 

And in the morning, before Viktor can ask him to stay, work drags him away. He just about manages to ask Silco to at least wait until he comes back, because he wants to talk to him before Silco goes.

And Silco sighs, but agrees, and maybe feels a little hopeful.

But while Viktor is out, Salo shows up to "wait for Viktor", and Silco is uncomfortable because the guy has always given him terrible vibes, but this is Viktor's place and it's someone Viktor knows, so he cant just tell him to leave because Viktor be pissed off about it.

When Salo starts to make advances, when he says that Viktor told him what he really is (instead of the story that Silco is his cousin, which he'd told to other colleagues), Silco is so hurt.

Hurt and angry.

Barks that he's not for sale today. 

"Why not? What does that cripple have that I don't?!"

"I don't have time for this --" 

"I'm talking to you, you stupid whore," Salo snaps, and Silco is surprised by the hand that strikes him, hits him hard enough to knock him down.

Viktor comes back in the middle of the struggle, to Silco crying and lashing out like a cornered animal.

Viktor has never felt compelled to hit someone with his cane before, but he hits Salo now. Just fucking belts him with it and yells.

When Viktor reaches for Silco, Silco lashes out at him in an angry panic.

Throws the money at him.

And just bolts.

Silco runs all the way back to the crappy apartment he shares with Sevika.

Viktor is stricken with guilt and regret and heartbreak, and so much anger that he wants to keep hitting Salo with his cane even though the man is properly unconscious.

All Silco has left of the the time he spent with Viktor are clothes he happened to be wearing when he fled.

And Viktor has everything else, every piece of jewelry, every fine piece of clothing, every shoe, and all the stupid snacks Silco kept buying for himself with Viktor's credit card.

Viktor doesn't even know where Silco lives, just so he could send him his things.

Viktor practically stalks the street corners, trying to find him. If he could just talk to him ----

Sevika spots Viktor one night. He bought a car like the one he had borrowed from Salo so that maybe Silco would see it and recognize him. 

Sevika runs back up to the apartment and lets Silco know that Viktor is out there. 

At first Silco is mad. "Clearly he's looking for a new whore."

"No, idiot, he's looking for you."

Silco looks away, muscle in his cheek twitching from how hard he's clenching his jaw. 

Why would he, Silco almost asks, but doesn't.

"You've been moping over this asshole for days," Sevika sighs, crossing her arms. "And he's right down the stairs."

When Silco doesn't budge, Sevika adds "Maybe he's trying to make sure you get the pay you earned. You know, the cash you left behind in a panic."

Silco huffs.

"Maybe."

He doesn't remember his escape from the penthouse. He only remembers Salo, and the feelings, and the fact that he showed up at the apartment with no money, and looking shit enough to give Sevika a fright.

Silco eventually sighs. He needed the money and he would make it quick. He grabs a long coat and throws it on over the hot pants and crop top he's wearing before walking out the door.

Silco ties the coat closed. Doesn't want to give Viktor the wrong idea. He's glad he's wearing his comfy shoes for once.

Viktor doesn't recognize him at first.

Silco has cut his hair in the time since the attack, no longer feeling comfortable with hair long enough to grab. 

And when Viktor does recognize him, those honey eyes start to fill with tears.

Viktor gets out of the car and moves as quickly as he can around it to Silco. He reaches out to touch him and Silco jerks away. 

"Why did you come here?" Silco hisses, not looking at Viktor because he knows how he'll be looking at him. With pity.

"I was looking for you."

"I'm not for sale today," Silco says harshly, hackles rising with the fear of being vulnerable again. "Just give me what I'm owed for services rendered." 

"That isn't what I meant." Viktor's voice is devastated. The tenderness between them is gone, and Viktor knows why, but God it hurts all the same. "I just wanted to...to make sure you were alright."

"Well, I'm fine. Clearly."

"You left so quickly, I..." Viktor sighs as he takes another look at Silco before bowing his head. 

"Your things are in the car," Viktor points his cane. "I understand if you don't want them but, I've no use for them. And if I stare at them any longer hoping you'll walk back through the door and claim them and me...I'm afraid I'll go mad."

Silco twitches, almost like he might kick him in the leg and bolt again. Almost like he might reach for him.

"My things," Silco says acidly. "You bought them. You own them."

"Yes, I bought them." Viktor huffs, tired and maybe a little annoyed himself now. "But I intended them as gifts. You know that."

"What I know," Silco answers, looking away, "is that men -- men who hold all the power, from wealth or otherwise -- hate me for what I do, but want me all the more for it. You were too ashamed to tell people I was a whore, but as soon as Salo made it clear he wanted to use me, you told him what I was."

Silco and Viktor essentially having a stand off by the car, both of them emotional and not really thinking clearly, before Silco  confesses, voice cracking, "I have never felt so cheap as I did then. That you would tell someone I don't even like that I'm fair game."

"I didn't think about what I was going to tell people about us," Viktor admits. "Salo thought you were some sort of corporate spy, so I had to tell him the truth. I would have never told him if I thought he would..." Viktor sighs. "I'm so sorry, Silco."

"Your penthouse....I felt safe there. With you." Silco looks away. "But that was before. I can't go back there now."

"Then I'll sell it." 

Silco looks at Viktor then. Looks at him like he's crazy.

"What?"

"I'll sell it," Viktor repeats, coming closer, close enough that he could try to touch, if he dared. "I would do anything, go anywhere, if it meant you could learn to feel safe with me again." 

Silco feels like he's been struck. 

Viktor bought a lot of things  for him during their week together.

But this?!

"The thought of staying there, without you..." Viktor shakes his head. "I wouldn't be able to bear it. Everything, all of this, the car, the gifts, the money," Viktor gestures then turns back to Silco. "All of it means nothing if I can't spend it with you."

Silco doesn't speak. Can't find the words. 

But the next thing Viktor knows, Silco is crushed against him, hands buried in Viktor's grey hair, and his mouth is hot and hard against his.

All Viktor can do is smile into the kiss as he pulls Silco close to him, not wanting to let go ever again.

When Silco starts to tremble from all that pent up emotion being released, Viktor pets his newly cut hair and murmurs, "Let's find a nice hotel room for tonight, alright? Just you and me."

Silco nods, not quite able to speak yet, but clings to Viktor, afraid to let him go. He nods at Sevika to let her know it's okay before Viktor gets him in the passenger seat.

Silco and Viktor don't have sex in the hotel room. The two just curl up together under the blankets, hands tangled together between their faces. 

They're quiet for a while and then Viktor says softly, "I like your hair." 

And he quirks this little smile that makes Silco's chest feel tight.

Arch + Woods

[doctor-bus]

I tend to have extremely vivid (sometimes lucid, though I don't have much control) dreams, but there are two that really take the cake for me. Under a readmore because they're long

The first one was a nightmare I had once while taking a nap. It was a really long dream, and most of it was just me going through my daily life, doing things like sitting at my desk on my computer, talking to my mom at home, attending class, ect ect ect. All super mundane and not scary at all. Except every so often my ex would call me, and I didn't want to talk to this ex so I was ignoring the calls.

Except later on, I was rushing across the university campus I was attending at the time and not really paying attention, so when my phone rang I answered it on reflex. Instead of my ex, it was a robotic, automated sounding voice listing off a description. Things like "He is: blonde. He has: blue eyes. He is: 6 foot 5. He is: 200 lbs." It was weird and creepy, so I quickly hung up before the message ended. I sent a couple texts to my mom and friends about this weird ass spam call I got and then just went to class.

The rest of the day in the dream, I kept getting the calls and ignoring them. I knew that it would be the same voice if I picked up, and I really didn't want to get involved in whatever weird bullshit that was.

Then it was evening, and I'd just gotten out of the shower. I remember the sensory detail of the steam in the hallway being extremely vivid (I think just because I was overheating under the blanket). I stepped from my bathroom into my bedroom (in nothing but a bath towel, as I hadn't finished drying off yet) and immediately grabbed my phone off my desk to check it, but my hands were still kind of wet so I fumbled it and accidentally called the number back. It fell on the ground and I had to kneel down to pick it up. By the time I did, it was already partway through the message

"He is: blonde. He has: blue eyes. He is: 6 foot 5. He is: 200 lbs. He is: right handed. He is: 15 ft away."

And at that moment I realize that I am supposed to find this person, and that this person is coming to find me.

My bedroom only had two possible points of entry, one door and one window. I was near the door, so I backed up a little and angled myself so that I could see both at the same time.

My closet door opened behind me.

I scrambled back from the closet towards my desk and window, and this guy slowly climbs out of my closet wearing a tattered, old, incredibly creepy dinosaur costume. It looked sort of like a cursed, hand-sewn doll, stained + faded blue fabric and black bead eyes. He has to sort of bend down to get the long neck and head out, but then he stands upright and is absolutely looming over me, and I'm still kneeling on my floor pretty much naked.

I know with full certainty that whatever the voice sent him here to do will not end well for me. So I quickly grabbed a dagger off my desk (one I'd looked at online right before the dream but didn't end up buying) and stabbed upward at him, right into his crotch.

And out of the wound came dozens and dozens of hands, all grabbing me and pulling me into the split seam.

Then I woke up and spent the rest of the day going "what the absolute fuck was that?!?!?" lol

The other one was less scary, but very emotionally moving.

I dreamed that I was an actor, and that I played the villainess on a power-rangers type show. It was kind of hokey and cheesy, but I was part of an evil power couple with another character, both themed after pollution (for the good guys to beat back, ofc). Like I think I was styled after oil and he was styled after industrial smoke or something???

Anyway, our characters are in evil love or whatever, and we were kind of flirting too. Nothing had come of it yet, but we had really good chemistry and spent a lot of time making flirty banter in between filming scenes at this park in my home town.

(Also at one point we, and a bunch of our coworkers, kicked the shit out of a truck with awful transphobic bumper stickers and ran away lol.)

Anyway, I wanted to keep things going with this guy, but he was really hesitant, saying things like how I didn't really know him and I needed to understand; it's not just his character, he really is toxic. Saying that it's better if we end it there and whatnot.

But then the show got cancelled and we all got fired. (Maybe partially bc of the truck incident. We didn't get caught, but there were enough trans people and allies in the cast and crew that we were suspected. The guy may not have had a name but he DID have blue hair and pronouns, and he was super understanding that I'm non-binary even though I was playing a femme fatale)

I said that was stupid, and that I wanted to keep seeing him, and he kind of relented and said he wanted to keep seeing me too.

Throughout the rest of the dream, we'd meet up periodically. I was doing some other stuff too (there was a weird nonsense segment where I was astral projecting to a Thanksgiving feast and my cousin spilled sprite on the stove and I couldn't clean it up bc I couldn't touch anything??? but that wasn't really relevant).

Anyway, I kept meeting up with this guy, but some things were off. Like, I'd try to call him one day and it'd say it was disconnected, but then he'd call me back from that same number a few hours later. There was another point where I walked the apartment building that I thought he lived in, only to see it burnt out and abandoned, but then later when I walked by again it was normal and I could see him in the lobby through the window. So I kind of assumed that maybe I was mistaken? Maybe I'd gotten lost? But then google maps also said the building was abandoned. But I was like, whatever.

And I had a really good romance with this guy, like, it felt like we had a very serious relationship for months.

Then out of the blue, he says we need to break up. I'm emotionally devastated, asking why, crying, saying that I really love him and I thought we were happy??

And he looks me dead in the eye and says

"Because I'm not real. And the closer you get to me, the closer you come to not being real either."

And then I woke up, feeling a profound sense of loss for the life we had together. I still remember him fondly sometimes, even though it was only a dream.

Anyway if you read all that, thanks for coming to my TED talk lol. I have a lot of cinematic dreams like this, but these two are def the wildest.

I’m so nosy what’s the weirdest, strangest, most insane dream you’ve ever had?

[hrspcter]

👓

[jackass-jones]

Honestly though I think it’s really a bad sign when I look at Shin Tsukimi and literally feel like he’s a self insert 😩

[pride-of-storm]

first day of work and :( my feet hurt :(

[r4spb3rr13s]

things they do that make your heart skip a beat

♱ bakugou, kirishima, midoriya, todoroki, kaminari, shinsou

fluffy and suggestive 😔

disclaimer this could all js be niche stuff i find attractive…

bakugou

♱ wears black compression shirts and tank tops that cling to his biceps, shows uncharacteristic patience helping you with schoolwork, blushes when he catches you looking at him, grabs your hips when he walks past you, cooks shirtless with a ‘kiss the cook’ apron on, chronic manspreader, reverses the car with his hand on your seat and looking over his shoulder yk exactly what im talking about

kirishima

♱ makes you sit on his back when he does press ups - will then proceed to do one handed press ups while grinning at you in the gym mirror, poses after a work out for you, wipes stuff off your face and (if edible duh) licks it off his thumb, has the worlds deepest morning voice, hugs you from behind CONSTANTLY - if he could glue himself to your backside you better believe he would

midoriya

♱ IS RESPECTFUL TO HIS MOTHER 😫😫, will hurl himself out the car to come open your door for you, gives you the most insightful opinions of clothes, makeup, whatever, rubs his thumb over your hand when he holds your hand, holds the door open for you without a second thought, the sidewalk rule <3, saves every. single. photo. you send him

todoroki

♱ pays for everything before you can protest, sends you flowers with little notes attached randomly, brushes/styles your hair for you, will sit for hours in changing rooms w you and make you do 360s for every outfit, takes candids of you and refuses to delete any of them, constantly leans down so you can speak in his ear and you get a big whiff of his fancy cologne, speaks diff languages 🥹

kaminari

♱ leans his hands on the tops of doorways when he’s talking to you, pulls you in by your belt loops to talk to you, leans over in the middle of serious conversations to whisper a stupid joke in your ear that you have to struggle not to cackle at, wears rings and lets you play with them, calls you “m’lady” and “ma’am” when you’re annoyed at him, whenever he zips you up in a dress or buttons you up he’ll kiss the back of your neck and your shoulders, is really good with his little baby and toddler cousins 🩷🩷🩷

shinsou

♱ “yeah?” “mhmm?” WHEEWWW SIR, plays guitar for you and sends u vids of him playing songs u request, stretches and his shirts always lift up to show off his happy trail 🙂‍↕️, drags you down to sit in his lap for EVERY activity he does - paperwork, video games, whatever, has constant bedroom eyes???, tugs on your hair to get your attention, had to lean back and adjust himself everytime he sits down bc he wears the baggiest pants in existence

do i need to start a taglist?