#if i could kiss him i would

[seventhcallisto]

LOVE ON SKIN

c.seungcheol. idol!boyfriend!cheol. Idol!f!reader. Mdni. soft smut. unprotected. Part of I-dol

Although the two of you have been inseparable for years, an accident that leaves you bed-bound for almost a month wounds up weighing on cheols consciousness when you two begin talking about it. Which leads to a night of confessions and soft touches.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You can't keep your hands to yourself. He can't, either. You've been on him as soon as you could be on stage - actually, he's been on you. Walking you across the stage and lending a helping hand if you seem to struggle with your balance.

You hate it. You should hate being helped and feeling like a weak girl. But it's cheol. You love cheol too much to feel upset about how his soft hands caress your elbow and guiding your hip in the right direction. Even when it could possibly get you two in trouble. He's going out of his way to help you in all the proper places, as politely as he can. Despite when you tell him you can do it yourself, stubbornly, he's still by your side.

Being the second eldest in the group takes it tolls on your health, but it seem cheol can stomach it all, can have all of it weigh on his back without flinching. You admire him for it, you always have. You love the leader, you love him so much it hurts to see the painful way he look in your eyes when you hiss in discomfort.

You tried to pretend the way your hip shifts on the bed doesn't hurt. That the performance didn't take its toll on you. You said you were fine, that you could do it. And maybe, yeah, you're equally as stubborn as cheol, but it's because you miss it. Miss performing. Miss the stage. Miss the fans. Miss your group. Miss your boyfriend.

"Baby, let me help" seungcheol softly reaches for your ankle, bending down on his knee to pull your shoes off. You thank him with quiet words, still attempting to lift your leg yourself to help. Cheol clicks his tongue, on the verge of chastising you for moving. He decides against it with a sigh.

"Do you remember when we were trainees, how we'd have to share our food?" You quietly talk, and like always, cheol hums to tell you he's listening, even as he focuses on untying your stubborn shoes.

"We went hungry most of the time cause of the diets" you continue, quietly. "I should of- I dunno, snuck some food. Maybe my bones wouldn't be as breakable as they were- as they are now." you chuckle as if its an inside joke. To kill the tension. Your hands fiddling in your lap. Cheol pauses for a second, head tilting up.

His lips curve into frown, his hands softly encasing your ankles, he rubs soothingly, helping your aching body. "Don't blame yourself." He whispers. Your eyebrows furrow in worry. "I-. It's just-" he cuts you off. "It wouldn't have happened at all if someone had double checked the safety."

he takes a harsh breath in, tossing your shoes to the side, his palms run over his jeans on his knees. "It looked worse than it was, but.." cheol glances to your hip, theres pain and guilt in his eyes as he stares. "It doesn't matter, atleast you're okay now." He adverts his eyes, pushing himself to stand up.

"Cheol?" Your hand on his wrist has him pausing, a short glance over his shoulder. He stills in your sight, eyes tired from working all day. Tired from the pain he sees you in. You knaw on your bottom lip.

"I'm sorry it was you who found me" your lip trembles, finally able to voice what you really wanted to. To get him to not feel guilty for your own doing. "I'm the one who stepped on the platform, and i- I'm the one who should have been careful" your voice cracks. You always took practice way too seriously, always checking the aquitment and helping where you were needed.

Like some type of guinea pig, you hung out on platforms and tall stages, as if you'd never get hurt. So when you told cheol you'll be testing things out for fun, he advised you not too. Like he had always done. But he really couldn't control you. No one could. When you stepped up and signaled for the crew to start lifting the stage, just as you were halfway- the tiniest thing- completely snapped, sending you flying forward into the stage beneath you. Almost two stories high.

You were fragile, sadly, from the amount of overworking you've done for years and the dieting you kept up with. So there wasn't much to cushion your fall except skin and bones. The first person you saw when you faded back into consciousness was no other than seungcheol. Stage lights around him like a halo when he called your name in a panic, fear lingering every part of his body, of his soul.

You could see it seep from his bones and consume him, just as he way pulled away to give you some space. No other figures face made sense, no matter how hard you tried. You could only see cheol.

"What?" Seungcheol wheezes out, his heavy eyebrows setting into an upset churn on his handsome face. "Y/n. Don't say that. Please don't say that." He bends down to take the seat next to you, careful of dipping the bed down too much.

"Don't say that ever. If i- if I wasn't there. It could have been worse" he trembles in your gasp, pulling your hand into his palm. "I told the crew to take the scale slow, I know- I knew you loved the heights and rising on the stage, you told me that before, remember?" You nod, soundless under his gaze.

"If I hadn't told them to take it slow, you'd be worse.. you could be dead." he shakes his head. "I don't want you to feel like you have to owe me, I just wanted to tell you. I love you, i don't want to see you like that. like this. ever again. I don't want to think about loosing you." Cheols head falls on your interlocked hands as he attempts to regain his breath. You lean your head onto his shoulder over his grey hoode, just to feel closer to him.

You haven't had time together at all, with awkward glances and silence ringing throughout every interaction. It was starting to feel like you did die from the grief drowning under cheols fingertips and trembling breathing whenever he would hold you. Too delicate. As if you were already a ghost.

His hands holding your own are firm, yet still trembling with unease. His whole body shakes with it. Only ever in your presence have you seen cheol shake like this. "Will you hold me? Please?" Quietly, You whisper. And he heads your call. His strong arms wrapping to interlock around your ribs, his hands flush against your clothed back when he pushes your head into his neck.

His palms smooth over you. Telling himself you're there, that you're alive and in his arms, telling you he's there. His head falls over your own, his chin bumping against your head when he gulps. You wrap yourself around him, cling more like. Getting as close to him as you can from the angle. "I love you, cheol" You remind him with a sorrowful mumble. "I'm not going anywhere."

Cheol pulls his head down to plant a heartfelt kiss on your lips, slow and consuming as he leans heavily into it. His lips are plump from moisturizer, his palms are heavy against your cheeks when he pulls you closer. Swallowing your quiet gasps with his own breathy sighs. Your hand skims over his sweatpants, reaching for the drawstring.

You're too eager to have cheol in you. You haven't touched in weeks. You could hardly care for foreplay, you miss being close to him.

He pushes your hand aside to strip his hoodie and shirt off in one go, leaning over your body so you're pressed into the mattress under him. "How're you feeling baby?" it's the cue to explain to him what you want exactly. When you both are too tired to tease each other. You wiggle when he presses his hot mouth against your neck, trailing kisses down your skin.

"Just want you cheol, need you inside me, no prep, no foreplay" you demand with prying hands, clawing your way under your own shirt to paw it off. He helps you along, gentle compared to your own hands. And when it's finally off, he stops and stares. Ears pink but that sorrowful look on his face again.

You're littered in bruises, deep and purple and contrasting against your skin, no matter what shade you are, there is no hiding how the bruises affect your body. Staining your skin in splotches, from around your waist, to your arms, along your shoulder, and your elbows, everywhere. The ones on your arms are clearing up, but the deeper ones on your lower body are evidence of a terrible trauma to your blood vessels.

The cogs move in cheols head, he kisses what he can, the bruises on your shoulder, on your hips, on your elbows. The worse of them all being on your ribs, his lips leave a delicate trail to not irritate your skin with pressure, his eyes pulled closed as he soaks your warmth in. His heavy hands caress over your neglected breasts, paying the nubs attention with a swipe of his thumb.

You sigh against his every touch, missing the way he feels against you. His lower abdomen above your own, with just a swoop of your leg, your pulling the rest of him down onto you.

Seungcheol stops his quick decent with his arms caging against your head. His eyebrows furrow, coming face to face with you now. "Inside please" you remind him again, a desperate tone to your voice. The beautiful and absolutely breathtaking man blinks down at you, eyes growing shy with a smile.

His hand trails down, pulling your hips to straddle his, adjusting comfortably when he pulls the rest of your clothes off. He slips out of his just as eagerly, only gone for a second before he's hoisting you up the bed quickly and gently.

His tip prods your entrance after a couple of swipes through your folds, slicking himself up with your own juices and his precum. He groans quietly, mouth falling slack from the feeling.

You always forget he's big, always forget you need atleast some type of prep beforehand. Your eyes stutter shut and thighs squeeze around his hips when he attempts to push the head of his cock in. "Baby- y/n- s'not gonna fit baby" he hisses, prodding himself through the tight band of your cunt.

You groan at the stretch. He stills abruptly, your eyes widen open, watching cheols concerned face beckon you to speak. "Don't stop! Please, keep going cheolie" you whimper, grabbing for his shoulder to bring him back over you again.

He bites into your shoulder to keep from just humping himself into you, he pushes as much as he can, as slowly as he can. Listening for your uncomfortable cues. You're so hot and warm and cheol hasn't touched himself in weeks, too caught up in stress.

Cheols fingers pinch your clit between the digits, circling them with your bud in the middle. You moan quietly, the feeling almost forgotten. "loosen up baby" he coos into your ear, sighing against your skin as he fits another inch in. "There you go, Just like that, just needs a little tlc huh?" he chuckles against your skin, groaning softly when he rocks his hips forward to slip into you some more.

Your slick pools around his length from his words, guiding him in easier. He sinks in with slow grinds, his hips stuttering every once in a while. You whimper at the sting, it leaves tingles down your spine. "Missed you so much cheol" you whimper with a moan "needed you so bad" he hums against your skin. Lingered kisses against your throat when he pulls your thigh to meet his own hip, trying to pull you onto him further.

"I know baby, needed you just as much, promise" he bottoms out with one last grind of his hips forward. You sputter, jaw falling away. He knocks the breath out of you in the best way. "Oh fuck" he swallows his grunts with his mouth against your sweaty skin.

With only a few seconds of adjusting, you're clenching around him wildly. His hips grind against yours smoothly with small jolts. Everytime he bumps your clit, you moan. It encourages him on, gentle compared to how he usually is when you two have sex.

The sweetness of passionate sex in the late night in your hotel room has your mind foggy, as if you're dreaming, the only light to cast any type of glow is the one on the bedside table, it blurs and bumps with every thrust from seungcheol, his breathing grounding you to the moment with him. His hips working the magic, the only guy who could make you unravel within a couple of minutes.

The sweetest torture is his pace, it's enough to have you peaking, lifting your own hips to meet his as you feel yourself grind closer to that aching high you haven't had in forever. Cheols hands push you back down by your thighs, his head lifting up from your shoulder to watch the way you suck him in. His breath fans against your chest.

Quiet groans of approval fall off his tongue, and suddenly he's pistoning at the new angle he moved his hips. You quiver, hips trying to lift from the bed. "There cheol! Right there- 'm gonna cum" you let go with a whimper, thighs shaking in seungcheols grasp, your eyes clenching closed.

The dark haired guy curses under his breath, hips griding to push you further and further, to reach his high with you as soon as he can. He bottoms out completely before spilling along your walls and womb, digging his head back into your neck along with shuddered gasps.

His thrusts are sloppy, finishing himself off with a few extra ruts of his hips, his base growing a string of mixtures that leaves him sticky, he stills when you begin to press your palm to his hip. Overstimulated with his movements. He presses soft kisses to your temple, breathing in the scent of your sweaty skin.

Seungcheols skin is dewy with a shine in the dim light, his hair is only the slightest bit damp. His stamina is amazing, libido just as much. But you know it took everything in cheol to cum with you no matter how overstimulated he's left you from hours in the night. You always come first, in every way possible to him. He's told you before.

His lashes softly caress your delicate neck, his body sinking half on you and half on the bed in the afterglow. You pepper his shoulder with soft pecks, hand rubbing along his bicep as you take heavy breaths into your lungs.

He shuffles to pull out, kissing your belly before he does so. He slips out without much tension, palming your knee comfortably as he goes.

He picks himself up to grab you both a towel from the bathroom around the corner, you watch him slip his sweats back on. He's gentle, different this time, like he knows he can't break you, but he knows you still hurt easily.

You mumble a thank you when he pulls himself over you, shuffling you into his large shirt. He kisses you softly. "You're my favorite person in the world" you mumble sleepily, hand threading through his hair. He hums against your skin, draping you over his side.

"Yeah?" He chuckles, smile pulling wide on his cheeks. "And you're mine."

[egophiliac]

still ruminating over Lost In the Book With Spooky Skeletons Part 1, so here's a selection of some of my favorite little bits! (...some more loosely paraphrased than others) (I just feel like Idia has no room to criticize in general, okay)

anyway, I'm sure we're just going to have a fun time celebrating Halloween and nothing bad is going to happen whatsoever! :)

[ariaste]

Me: [sees everyone talking about how Assad Zaman was "literally" coming up with RPF about himself and Eric Bogosian in an interview]

Me: ah, fandom's doing its little "interpret an innocent comment in Some Kind Of Way" thing again, let's go find the video and do our own critical thinking about what was actually said here--

Assad: What would happen if I said-- [words that cannot be interpreted as anything but RPF fanfic]

Me:

Me: ok fandom gets a pass on this one actually

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

as long as he leads the way . .

katsuki's childhood habits remain the same

katsuki still apologizes to you the same way he used to when you were kids.

he always makes a face whenever he knows he’s gone too far or when he’s done something he knows he shouldn’t have, his eyebrows are furrowed and his little chubby face contorts into a sad little pout. he tries to look tough but he can already feel guilty tears in his eyes so he looks away from you, little hands balled into fists at his sides and his head hangs low so you can’t see his red face through his bangs.

usually, he tries making it up to you by showing you something he thinks you’ll like or something he finds cool, and sometimes he’ll even let you hold his precious all might card, but only when he knows he really messed up. he’ll stiffly pet your head as an apology for pulling at your hair a little too hard earlier and if you ask him to he’ll kiss the pain away from when you scrapped your knee because he accidentally shoved you a little harder than he meant to when he was chasing you around.

but when you’re mad at him because he’s been really mean, in ways he knows his shiny holographic all might card won’t fix, he opts to simply sit next to you. with a little pout on his face and with his cheeks turning red, he’ll shove his head into your shoulder. he holds onto you tightly so he’s sure you won’t be able to escape him or his apology. you squirm around a little bit but he doesn’t let you go. you stop moving around but you still huff at him, calling him a big meanie. all he does in response is shoving his head against your shoulder and he mutters out a little "m’sorry." against it.

he hears you shuffle to look at him and he looks up at you, his eyebrows are still furrowed and his cheeks are so red because he’s really not used to apologizing and he doesn’t like to, but he does for you. and even at the tender age of seven, you really can’t stay mad at him when he looks like that, so you forgive him and you’ve already forgotten what you were even mad about when he grins at you boyishly, already back to his usual self as he drags you off to your next adventure who knows where, but even at the tender age of seven, you knew you’d follow him to the ends of the earth as long as he led the way.

he’s changed so much and not at all at the same time. he hates it whenever you get mad at him and he still does everything and anything to get your attention when you are. and just like before, whenever he hurts you in ways he knows his actions can’t fix, he opts to come up behind you and wrap his arms around your middle loosely, giving you the option to break out of his hold if you wanted to. his hold on you slowly tightens when you make no move to, his head is shoved into the crook of your neck and his chest is pressed flush against your back,“ i’m sorry.” he whispers.

it wouldn’t mean much if it came from anyone else but this is katsuki. you’ve known him for as long as you can remember, you know how he is : he’s unruly, headstrong and so stubborn it drives you crazy sometimes. but he casts all of that—all of him aside for you.

“i’m sorry.” he says again, his voice is low and a little shaky.“ shouldn’t have said all that to you. that wasn’t…cool” he fumbles around for the right words to say and you have to hold back a laugh as he does so, but you can tell he’s trying.“never wanna make ya mad at me..” he finishes quietly. he’s fiddling around with the ends of your shirt waiting for your response. then he hears you shuffle around to peek at him and he looks up at you.

he really hasn’t changed. he’s still got the same little frown, the same little crease between his brows and the same rosy cheeks. sure his features are less rounded, his cheeks are definitely less chubby, he’s gotten taller but he’s still your same katsuki who’s a little rough and a big meanie sometimes, but who also always makes sure to apologize to you when he knows he’s hurt you because that’s the last thing he wants.

you grant him a tiny smile. his eyes light up and he stands a little straighter and after a second he’s on you, pressing kisses all over your cheek, grinning boyishly at you and you still want to follow him to the ends of the world as long as he’s leading the way.

[cacaocheri]

uhhh just read love death and rollerskates by @spadillelicious . guess who's my favorite

[theballadofmars]

I think that we, as a fandom, should talk more about the fact that sqq thought at one point: "Thank god lbh is not a demon who eats decaying corpses because kissing him would be a bit uncomfortable" at the beginning of VOLUME 2!! My man is not "down bad" for lbh he's straight up admiting that he would kiss him even if lbh was a cannibal he has zero chill.

[queer-reader-07]

“i want aziracrow to have a proper kiss” this. “what about a sex scene?” that.

fuck it. i want these bitches to hug. just one really nice, really long, emotionally healing hug.

[14dayswithyou]

This angel has another question! \o

do you have a general idea of what renrens voice would sound like? like a celebrity, singer, or maybe just a general description?

i hope all is going well for you 🫶🫶

✦゜ANSWERED: Ren's singing vc can be found here (I misread the original ask and thought it said "sings like", not "sounds like" sdksdgjs), but it also includes what I think Ren's talking voice would sound like ^^

But!! if I had to give an example, I've always imagined Eve (from Nier) to be very similar to Ren's talking voice!! It's soft, timid, and has that curious lilt to it — but also has dat [REDACTED] edge as well >:3

[alchemistc]

i present my latest offering of an au first meeting: the poker game.

Big Blind

Tommy's been on plenty of bad dates in his time, but this one might actually take the cake for worst first date he's ever had. They're just -- not right for one another, and it's clear they can both feel it, but for some reason Jeff just -- keeps talking. About his border collie rescue, and his sixth fourteener (this year), and the his upcoming promotion and the Cybertruck he's thinking about getting wrapped in matte black --

"Jeff," Tommy cuts in, when he starts in on Tesla stock talk. "I'm gonna pay the check and head out. It's been..." he gestures. Considers calling Stout right here at the dinner table to tell him no more blind dates with his stock broker brother-in-laws friends, no matter how gay they are.

He's gonna get shit from Stout's wife the next time she stops by with a casserole, but honestly a half-hour tirade on politeness from Heather Alexandra Stout sounds better than learning how much of an Elon Musk fanboy Jeff really is. Jeff looks like he might be offended by the implication that he wouldn't have paid, but Tommy's already waving down his server and gesturing to the bar by the time Jeff even thinks to reach for his wallet.

"You have a good night."

Andrea slides his check under his elbow with a raised brow and doesn't say a word when he hands her his card immediately, but he can tell she's judging him. Third date in a month he's barely contained his disdain for long enough to pay up, although this is the first he's outright ditched before the bill was even paid.

Gary slides a beer across the bar to him and refuses the cash Tommy tries to give him for it. "Do I look that pathetic, Gary?"

Man of few words, Gary just taps his nose and tips his chin to his date, who is doing a terrible job of trying to sneak out the door.

"You're too good for him, anyway," says Andrea, back already with his card. He tucks an extra twenty into her folder and downs the beer in silence while they watch through the window as Jeff seems to get into an argument with the Uber pulling up in front of the restaurant.

"Maybe it's me," Tommy says, and Gary hums in commiseration. Or maybe he just has gas. "Maybe I'm the problem."

It's been a string of bad dates, and before that a relationship that'd gone up in metaphorical but nearly literal flames. Tommy's spent a lot of introspective time wishing he could kill Gerrard with lasers so that he doesn't have to blame himself for staying in the closet so long that blind dates and Grindr meetups were his real introduction to the dating scene.

"Someday, Tommy, you'll meet someone who can't get enough of your morbid humor and your pessimism and your obsession with haunted cars."

"One car," Tommy argues, although that's beside the point. "I think maybe I should give the search for love a break, Gary."

Gary hums, again.

Tommy drinks the rest of his beer in companionable silence and pulls up his phone to order an Uber himself. Jeff is, thankfully, long gone, and Tommy's halfway through confirming his home address when he remembers the invite he'd received last week that he'd hesitated scheduling a date around. He shoots off a text instead, and updates the address before he slides from the bar stool.

Gary shoots him a look. "Headed home?"

Tommy shifts on his feet. Shoots a look behind the bar. "Nah. Gonna try to hit up a work thing. Pour me a shot of Tullamore for the road?"

Gary accepts the twenty this time and doesn't make a comment about the way Tommy downs a sipping whiskey, which Tommy appreciates.

He's halfway to his destination, enjoying the chat with his driver, when the text comes in from Lucy.

Had to bail, but you should go if the date went that badly. Williams will enjoy slowly ruining the remainder of your night.

Tommy taps his phone once, twice, three times before he makes up his mind not to be the asshole who changes his destination halfway through the ride. Worst comes to worst, he'll tap out early and Venmo Mehta the rest of his stake.

Better than moping at home with the pint of freezer-burned Ben and Jerry's.

-----

He's fairly rushed down the stairs once he's in, because apparently Williams is on some sort of time crunch, or something, and he's fairly certain the drinks are catching up to him as he takes in the table. Mehta and Wilson are regulars, and he's seen Rosen around, but there are two new guys settling in across the table and Tommy has to take a long, long moment to remind himself this is technically a professional setting before he can look too closely at either one of them.

Yeah. Shit, he'd definitely drank most of that second pitcher by himself, listening to Jeff talk.

"Kinard. We weren't expecting you." Rosen's eyes glimmer with amusement. He'd caught maybe six months of her probationary year, but every time she sees him she likes to remind him of the first time she'd seen him post-transfer, at a gay bar in WeHo, and introduced him to the first guy he'd dated seriously in his entire life. Tommy returns the favor by reminding her exactly how terribly that had ended for all parties. "Poker night dress code usually includes more buttons than date night," she jabs, finger circling the olives in her martini glass, and Tommy contemplates tossing one of Mehta's chips at her. Her grin goes wide.

With the momentary distraction, Tommy feels a little more prepared to face the two men now eyeing him curiously.

"Tommy," he says, leaning over the table, hand out to shake. Turtleneck raises a curious eyebrow when Mr. Red Velvet Smoking jacket practically leaps across his lap to shake back. "I'm over at 217."

"This is Eddie," Red Velvet introduces, and Tommy's gaze dances between them, curious. "I'm Evan. We're with the -- wait, 217 -- Chimney's Tommy?"

Tommy's brows dance up the same time as Eddie's do. He is still shaking hands with Evan. Or - holding is more accurate, he supposes, but for the sake of his sanity and the possible date Evan and Eddie are on, if he's reading the introduction or any of the vibes right (they're both stunning and Tommy is smarting from another shitty date, so who knows), Tommy keeps it to shake in his mind. "Well I don't think Howie can claim ownership of my person, but -."

"Sorry, no, I just meant..." Evan's gaze drops to their clasped hands, still now over the felt of the poker table. He gives one more firm pump and drops Tommy's hand. "We're both at the 118. Pretty sure you helped save this guy's ass once." He tips a thumb sideways to indicate the man he'd introduced as Eddie.

Tommy's eyes drift. He's had a few drinks, and up until about halfway through the date he'd been expecting a very different outcome for his night, so he's maybe not keeping a lid on things the way he normally would in a work setting. He's guessing the ass he's purported to have saved would look great, if it weren't firmly planted in his chair and out of view. The rest of the view ain't bad, either.

And.

Shit.

Williams is giving him a look, which means he's not being even a little subtle. "The gas main explosion," Tommy finally gathers from the cobwebs of his brain, and wouldn't it be his luck to transfer out of the 118 just in time for two annoyingly attractive men who may possibly be boning each other to take his place.

Evan grins. Beams, more like, and Tommy slides firmly into his own chair and tries not to be blinded by it. Or entranced by it. God he needs to get laid. Get this - whatever this is - out of his system.

Tommy's cool. Tommy's calm and collected and he hadn't even had that much to drink, actually, so why is he having such a hard time behaving like he's had forty years of experience dealing with attractive men?

Tommy sorts through the memories.

Eddie he can pinpoint fairly easily -- he'd shot off a message to Chim the moment they'd learned one of the 118 had been shot, and had been happy to break the news of his recovery to an anxious Harbor station in the tense days after it had all gone down. Evan, though - he doesn't have a clue who that could be. He's still got a few buddies from B Shift he talks to on occasion, but he doesn't remember any stories about an Evan from them, and Howie hasn't mentioned one, either.

Of course, it's not like either one of them does a great job of keeping in touch.

The mystery is solved a moment later when Williams tips her head at him. "Feels like we're being overrun by the 118 tonight," she says with a grin, but her gaze slides to Evan, rather than Tommy. "And we've got an honest-to-goodness legend tonight."

"You know I still can't believe you survived that, Buckley," Mehta says, and the puzzle piece slots itself into place. "Uh, although we're all glad that you did."

Buckley. Tommy shifts. Reassesses. Eyes the glance between Diaz and Buckley like he's gonna figure out their deal while he's already four and a half drinks deep into the night and hasn't already heard the larger than life tales of this duo from half-a-dozen gossipy paramedics. According to some, there's a secret torrid love affair going on behind the scenes of their codependent friendship. According to others, the ones he more or less trusts not to stretch the truth too far, they're friends -- closer than most, and maybe a little weird about each other, but friends all the same.

Buckley's a shark. Or, if Williams is to be believed, a bit of a cheat.

As the game goes on, and the conversation drifts from the morbid details of Buckley's three-minutes-seventeen-seconds of lifelessness, past the special skills near death experiences are rumored to cause, past the time out where they'd all admired the pictures of Buckley's Lichtenburg scars ("They faded pretty quickly," Evan says, with a soft little frown like he's a bit disappointed not to have any physical proof beyond a few shots of his naked brick shithouse of a chest.) Tommy can't help but admire the shift from bashful to smirking and smug as Evan keeps racking up monumentally improbable hands. He's a bit of a brat, actually, and Tommy can feel Rosen's eyes burning into the side of his head every time he ups the ante just to watch the flicker of triumph aimed in his direction every time Evan wins a hand Tommy raised.

Tommy's no slob with cards, on a normal day, but he's too busy trying not to read anything into the way Evan's eyes keep drifting to the v of the shirt he hadn't buttoned back up just to spite Rosen, or the way he keeps licking his fucking lips every time Tommy takes a sip of the whiskey at his elbow to really care as his chips dwindle to nothing. Tommy can't be entirely sure, but it seems like maybe Evan pouts, a little, when Tommy pushes back from the table to join the rest of the losers crowded around to watch Williams, Mehta and Buckley battle it out.

He's trying to think of a subtle way to ask Howie if Evan Buckley is just like that with all the men in his life when Eddie slides in beside him with a refill on his whiskey. Tommy grimaces. "I shouldn't."

"Thought you were trying to drink away a bad date?"

Tommy shoots Rosen a glare over Eddie's shoulder, but she's too busy chasing her straw with her tongue to notice.

"He was a Tesla fanboy," Tommy intones, and the braces himself for the reaction. He's used to it, now -- the constant cycle of coming out and waiting to see which new acquaintances bow out of getting to know each other any better. This is... earlier, than he usually drops it, but he hasn't been in the mood to lie about it in years, and Eddie had asked. He gets a raised brow and a grimace.

"Don't tell me you didn't know ahead of time," Eddie says, and Tommy loosens the grip on his glass.

"Hazards of blind dating."

Eddie's look is commiserating. He tips his beer bottle against Tommy's rocks glass. "Yeah, my tia keeps finding reasons for me to run into the eligible daughters and granddaughters of all her friends." Which Tommy supposes is answer to half of the question that's been plaguing him since he sat down.

Buckley gets cocky a few times, but it's clear the night is going his way even before Jeshan Mehta's pot gets swept up in Evan's arms. Williams holds out as long as she can.

"Beginner's luck!" Buckley crows, when Williams' last chip is added to his pile. Eddie's been supplying him with a steady flow of drinks for the past thirty minutes, and his smile is crooked as he tilts backwards in his chair for a fist bump. His eyes flick to Tommy's once he's received his congratulations from Eddie, and Tommy pretends he's not a little bit fascinated by the pull of his jacket over his arms, or the way his closed hand lingers near Tommy's even after Tommy has smacked his knuckles against his as well.

Evan Buckley is frustratingly adorable. Tommy's had too many drinks for any kind of decent decision making. He bows out while Evan and Eddie are collecting his winnings.

-----

Tommy's eyes flick to the readout on his phone. He doesn't recognize the number, but it's a local area code, so he picks up on the forth ring. "Go for Kinard."

"Uh - hey, hi. Hey Tommy." The voice is familiar, sweet and low. "It's Buck - Evan. Evan Buckley. I uh -- I got your number from Chim, I hope that's alright?"

Tommy's got a solid fifteen minutes before he has to leave for work, a raging headache that has thus far refused to accept electrolytes or Advil as tribute to his overindulgence the previous evening, and a full understanding that he's going to spend his shift listening to Donato swear up and down she's the better option for finding him a man, but the voice on the other end of his phone might at least give the headache a run for it's money.

"Evan. Hi."

"Hey. So -- you dipped before I could ask -- which is fine, obviously, I'm not -- uh..." He pauses. Tommy can practically picture the way he wets his lower lip while he searches for the right words. "Anyway I was wondering -- would you maybe wanna grab a beer, sometime?"

Tommy spends about fifteen seconds rearranging his entire schedule in his mind. Says, cool, calm, collected: "Sure. When are you free?"

Evan's voice goes distant for a second -- he's putting Tommy on speaker. "I, uh -- I didn't expect you to say yes so quickly. Actually I didn't expect you to answer -- who answers unknown numbers, anymore?"

"Who calls expecting to get sent to voicemail?"

The brat rises up immediately. "Uh, literally everyone. The missed call is just an excuse to text. It's basic phone etiquette, Tommy."

Tommy likes the way he says his name. Soft, sweet and slow, rolling over his tongue like molasses. This feels incredibly like flirting, but he can't get a fucking read on this kid. "Clearly I've missed out on an important cultural shift. I can hang up and we can do this the right way, if you want."

"No!" It's sharp -- louder, like he's raising the phone back towards his mouth. Tommy can't hide the grin leaking across his face. "Uh -- no, it's fine. Too late, anyway, I already know you don't know phone rules."

"Hopefully that doesn't change your opinion of me too much."

"I could be convinced to ignore it, with the right incentive."

"I'll buy first round," Tommy says, and wonders if he's got any other shirts he can play off as fitting better with three buttons undone. The flirting should be enough, but -- Tommy's still not sure drinks isn't just drinks.

"Wednesday night," Evan says, voice further away again. Tommy has a sudden, desperate urge to see what his Google calendar looks like. For all that he'd cut loose at the poker game, Tommy bets it's color coded by type of activity. "If that works. Or Saturday, any time, really. I'm uh -- I'm free then."

If Tommy bows out of trivia on classic car week Cynthia will have a whole ass bitch fit. And it makes him seem a little less eager, to boot. "Saturday. I've got a shift early Sunday, though, so maybe something in the afternoon?"

"Yeah -- yes, th-that works." The stammering isn't something Tommy can get a read off of. He'd done it just as much with Eddie as he'd done with everyone else. "There's a new brewery just off Pico and Prosser -- Chim said you were a fan of craft beer?"

Sounding more date like by the minute, but -- some guys toe the line. Could be Evan Buckley just wants to know more about flight operations, for all Tommy knows. "Text me the details. Look, Evan, I'd love to stay on this rule-breaking phone call and chat but I've got to head in for a shift. Just -- let me know the plan." He's got five minutes to brush his teeth and rue the moment he'd asked Gary for his first whiskey of the night. He's also rolling back his last few sentences and cringing at how abrupt he'd been. "And yeah -- good to know Chim hasn't forgotten the three facts I ever told him about me."

Evan laughs, just a soft little huff but Tommy already knows the grin behind that sound is all sorts of knee-meltingly sweet. "Cool. So. Yeah, I'll text you."

"I'll talk to you later, Evan."

"Yep. Talk to you -- talk to you soon."

Tommy waits a moment in silence. The call doesn't end. "Goodbye, Evan."

Evan huffs out another awkward laugh. "Yeah. Bye, Tommy."

The call disconnects just in time for Tommy to press his forehead into the cool tile beside his bathroom mirror. He might be monumentally screwed if this isn't a date. He hasn't been this fucking charmed by a man since -- well, it's been a while.

Tommy's phone buzzes in his hand. It's a pinned address from a number he doesn't have saved. Tommy swipes into the contact and updates it before the next text makes it through. Saturday 3PM?

Tommy brushes his teeth, downs the rest of his preworkout in the hopes that it'll ease some of the nastier parts of his stupid decision to keep drinking liquor past midnight, and stares at the text all the way out to his truck.

See you then, Tommy sends back, and he has to toss his phone into his passenger seat when he gets a series of incomprehensible emoji's almost immediately in response.

He holds up a hand to Donato the moment she catches his gaze, halfway across the parking lot. The brow goes up, the hand slots to her hip, and she rolls her tongue over her teeth, clearly ready for her speech about how Stout doesn't have a clue how to find Tommy a proper date. Tommy has other problems.

"You worked with Evan Buckley, for a while, didn't you?"

Her head tilt rights itself. The second brow dances up to meet the first. Whatever she'd meant to say disperses behind her eyelids as she seems to work through something in her mind. "Oh, this is compelling," she says, and practically skips forward to loop her arm in his.

[mothlau]

brain filled with jegulus uni au where james walks into the wrong lecture, all tired and sleep deprived, with baby harry on his chest. cue regulus falling in love with the hot dilf that doesn't belong in his post modernism class and who he knows for a fact is sirius' best friend

first chapter is officially out :) 

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

We could have had it all...

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[generalsdiary]

drunk alhaitham who yaps about the improvements the sumeru education system should make & kaveh, also drunk, attentively listening- the literal most beautiful man in whole of sumeru, with sparkly red eyes, messy blond hair, and a soft blush across his cheeks, with his full attention on the autistic scribe. flustering alhaitham to the point he stops mid sentence, averting his eyes, "oh fuck."

[eerna]

me explaining why Will/Elizabeth/Jack love triangle was a perfect little one-movie arc that wasn't present in the final movie because it was never about choosing and instead just about dynamics and character development so they all outgrew it by then

[favoredspawn]

[moominsuki]

bakugou being shy while simultaneously being a hopeless romantic despite all the shoujo and romance he’s watched and consumed in media is exactly the reason why you initiated your first kiss together. when you break apart the kiss, his face is a mixture of shock, content and furrowed, annoyed brows.

when you ask him why he looks like that, he grumbles under his breath and you soon realise that he wanted to kiss you first!! and you can’t help but laugh at his expression, kissing it straight off his face and he can’t be mad for too long.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[OLD ART ALERT] A COLLECTION OF SCENES FROM THE GILLIONS CATSCRATCH ARC THAT BROUGHT ME GREAT JOY. i love fishy chips especially when its just gillion being delirious and violent and hostile