#weho times

[colferpics]

weho_times: The Wild is opening this Friday! Adam Lambert, Roger and Sarina Taylor, Bryan Patrick Franklin and Michael Solis officially announced what is already widely known, which that they have joined forces to open The Wild, an intimate and enchanting new bar located in the heart of West Hollywood, at 8945 Santa Monica Blvd. The official grand opening to the public is this coming Friday, November 17. Inspired by the lush, tropical jungles of Tulum, The Wild aims to craft unforgettable experiences through specialty cocktails, regional cuisine, and a sensual audio and visual ambience. Last night, The Wild hosted an exclusive VIP, invitation only opening celebration for family and friends. The entrance was walled off so that guests had some privacy. The guest list included Chris Colfer, Colton Haynes, Gottmik, Julian Morris, Shaun Ross, Violet Chachki and more who got a sneak preview into the bar’s offerings such as Casa Dragones sipping tequila and signature craft cocktails while surrounded by the sounds of DJ Mike Taylor. (Photos by Steven James @/stevenonthescene courtesy of The Wild WeHo) Click on the link in our bio, or visit wehotimes.com to read more. #wehotimes #wehonews #weho #westhollywood #wehocity #wehonightlife #westhollywoodnightlife #adamlambert #thewildweho @/wehochamber @/wehocity @/weknowweho_official @/adamlambert @/thewildweho [posted Nov 15, 2023]

[selfishpresley]

Pale pink button down. Eggplant tie. Linen warm grey suit. I’m afraid that he was too fashionable for his time.

[space-coupe]

Helloooooooo

[ddelline]

adsr update(s) in the pipeline everybody say weho

this is not a drill!!!!

no ok but lol, I expect to have a new chapter out there within the next few days! rejoice! first update in eight months incoming!!!

no wip excerpts bc I'm still wrangling the first draft into shape, but I thought I'd throw this on the dash. mainly bc in addition to working on updates (plus trying to wrangle my thoughts & aspirations for the overall fic into a semblance of an outline) I've also been quietly updating every chapter w its revamped, freshly edited sibling.

it's nothing major, it's rly just polishing it into something that reflects the writing I'll be putting out from ch10 and onwards. minor edits to make it read smoother, some fresh imagery incorporated here and there, elaborations on thoughts & feelings, what have you. first five chapters are updated already, and the remainder should be right up there with it tonight/tmrw.

tl;dr if yr following me for jjk fic/if you've read adsr and feel that you're about due for a reread in anticipation of new updates, this would be the time to do it.

adsr | ch 01* 02* 03* 04* 05* 06* 07* 08 09 *revised version published

[abelincolnsschlong]

Happy pride 😈

[ematthemoment]

another Stranger Things billboard (Sunset Blvd, West Hollywood, CA)

a Stranger Things billboard in Hollywood, CA

[tony-andonuts]

Manifesting this but I can't believe I get to go to LA twice a year

[rafesplaymate]

Introducing …

Pimp!Rafe Cameron x Vixen!Reader

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summary: The life of a cold-hearted Pimp and his man-eating Vixen. A libertine and debauchee, both completely sybaritic and in the same line of work. Two people who are one of the same with desires of luxury, wealth, sex and complete uninhibited hedonism.

warnings: prostitution / escorting. smut. substance use. power imbalances. dark themes / adult content.

a/n: yes ik irl pimps are terrible people (i mean it’s rafe) but just hear me out …

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Pimp!Rafe who makes his own version of the Playboy Mansion at Tannyhill. Tired of the stark emptiness that filled the mansion and looking into new business ventures. Quickly recruiting girls and buying the properties across Tannyhill to house his girls. Throwing parties and quickly building clientele through word of mouth to only those he deemed worthy.

Pimp!Rafe who hires mostly pogues who are looking to make a higher income and leave their lifestyles behind. Though he has a bit of kook girls who are more than willing for the fun of it and to up their income as well. He’s picky about who he hires, only desiring the top tier. Having rejected many girls with a stoic expression and flick of his wrist while he mutters a ‘you can go.’ Their eyes filled with tears as they run down the long driveway in embarrassment. Rafe is too cold-hearted to care.

Pimp!Rafe who makes his girls call him ‘master’ and wear gold chokers with the initial ‘R’ around their throats. Reminding his clientele, them and the island who they belonged to.

Pimp!Rafe who never gets shut down because the department is paid off by his hand and some of his best clientele. Indulging in the services his girls provide and protecting his reputation and image.

Pimp!Rafe who protects his girls vehemently and makes sure they’re always well taken care of and protected. Only putting them in place when they disrespect him. He often finds himself tangled within their various limbs on the ‘alaskin king’ he bought to accommodate his girls. His high-desire for sex satisfied completely.

Pimp!Rafe who is basically a libertine, a Don Juan if you will. He never falls for one of his girls and strictly views them as a form of satisfying his needs and supplying his income. His heart too cold to care and his only desire is to feed and satiate his hedonistic lifestyle. Setting rules and clarifying that everything is purely transactional from the start. Although most respect his desires, there are those who’ve tried and failed. So many times, he’s needed to kick girls out and rotate new ones in when they’ve fallen in love with him. Not willing to muddle or mess up his lucrative business.

Pimp!Rafe who only allows high-end clientele and ensures the safety and best interest of his girls by enforcing his excessive power. A sneer automatically setting on his face when someone from the ‘cut’ tries to reel in on his girls.

Pimp!Rafe who is adored by all his girls and excessively spoiled by genuine acts of affectionate to thank him. They do everything for him. Keeping him satisfied for taking care of them so well and suppling them with such great income. How could they not?

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Vixen!Reader who use to be a high end escort in Los Angeles. Specifically around Bel Air, Beverly Hills or Hollywood Hills. The highest playing clientele came from those areas. But WeHo night life was her preference.

Vixen!Reader whose staples are leather, latex, stripper heals, louboutins or stilettos. Chrome Hearts a staple jewelry alongside her valued diamonds and white gold. Versace’s Crystal Noir or Diors Hypnotic Poison always spritzed on her. Leaving a trail of intoxicating seductiveness everywhere she goes. Her fierce gaze always accentuated by either wispy lashes and glitter or a smokey eye that makes her look every bit like the vixen she is. Shimmery nude or pale pink glosses always slathered on her enticing lips.

Vixen!Reader who is a complete party girl. Hedonism runs in her veins. The life of the party, she always captures all eyes on her every where she goes and was the princess of LA’s nightlife. She’s practically a nymphomaniac; so unashamed about sex and nudity. It’s an art form in her eyes. A free spirit of pure shameless sexuality that would leave any conservative ready to throw holy water at her.

Vixen!Reader who is a total maneater. Only focused on her money, looks and internal desire to live the life she wants. She never falls for her clients and cuts them off when they fall for her. She doesn’t date, refusing to be tied down. She loves to mess around and have fun. She’s young, immensely sexy, desirable, making good money. She refuses to waste her best years committed.

Vixen!Reader is a local celebrity; her name infamous across the city and sought out all the time by wealthy men/women or industry celebrities. She’s been the muse of many musicians, writers and artist. Leaving them writing music or poetry about her fierce sexuality, hedonistic lifestyle and immaculate beauty or painting/photographing her gorgeous figure nude. Offered various modeling contracted she’s refused out of desire to keep the raunchy lifestyle she lives private. Satisfied with the influx of cash she makes; never settling for anything less than a rack and even that’s pushing it. She knows her worth. Other girls in the city trying to emulate her style and energy; always failing. She’s unmatched.

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Vixen!Reader eventually leaves LA. Tired of the clientele and negative stagnancy she started to feel in the city. Needing change, looking for new opportunities, people, experiences and more dirty cash. That’s how she finds herself moving to North Carolina, specifically ‘Kildare.’ Wanting to be around a beach environment she always enjoyed in California; yet so far away.

Vixen!Reader who realizes her savings were quickly running low, looking for work that paid her the income she became accustomed too. Hearing about Tannyhill by one of Rafe’s girls who was looking to scout her after being in complete awe seeing her at the market; knowing she’d make a perfect addition to their universe and please Master. Her desire for luxury and hedonism quickly making her accept.

Vixen!Reader who shows up to Tannyhill for the first time showing off her gorgeous figure in a tight black latex dress that barely goes over her ass. Her stunning legs accentuated by black “highness” louboutins; fierce gaze and beautiful eyes accentuated by a black smokey eye. Her sinful lips slathered in shimmery pale pink gloss and body slathered in oil/glitter; making her flawless complexion look so enticing. Vintage Chrome Hearts hanging off her delicate throat, around her wrist and decorating her pretty hands.

Vixen!Reader who walks into Tannyhill with an aura about her that exudes raw sex. Completely enigmatic and formidable, strutting across to the house entrance while other party-goers watch in awe. Ready to assert her reputation the way she did so all over Los Angeles. Quickly and easily succeeding.

Pimp!Rafe who feels that the world has stopped and his peripheral vision gets blurry the moment she steps into his line of sight. Making his body burn with the intense desire to own and dominate. She’s like nothing he’s ever seen on the island, a bewitching woman who he knew from the first glance was meant to be someone to him.

Vixen!Reader who struts up to Pimp!Rafe after being invited to the ‘VIP’ area by the girl recruiting her. Strutting in with a seductive sway of her hips, domineering steps and her gaze burning into his own. Gorgeous lips quirked into a small smirk as she stood confidently in front of him. Hands on both hips while she cocks one to the side. Letting Rafe run his gaze over her unabashedly as his legs spread wider and he adjust himself in his seat.

Pimp!Rafe who pats his lap and motions her over with a flick of his fingers. Draping his arms over the edge of the seat he sat on. Both of them holding eye contact with smirks on their lips and she walked over slowly. Some of the other girls strewn around watching in anticipation, gossiping, doing lines or shots. An energy of pure hedonism.

Vixen!Reader who plops herself with ease in Rafe’s lap, immediately looping her arm around his neck and legs crossing as she automatically runs her manicured nails over his buzzed head. Pimp!Rafe who purrs in satisfaction and shuts his eyes before looking back into her own. Undeniable chemistry and tension immediately fluttering around the area as they stared into each other’s eyes.

Pimp!Rafe who gives Vixen!Reader a soft peck on her lips. With a pinch of her chin, and a smirk on his lips he tells her, “welcome to your new home.” Satisfied with the way her eyes light up and the quick approval. Though she knew before she even came she would secure her position.

Vixen!Reader who rises to the top of the Tannyhill hierarchy very quickly, asserting dominance over the other girls as a former professional. Pleasing Rafe immensely with the huge influx of new clientele and dirty cash she was bringing him in. Not only praised by Rafe but adored by the other girls who view her as powerhouse. Quickly deeming her as the head of the group.

Pimp!Rafe who calls her his “little minx.” A nickname only reserved for her. She’s the only one he’s deemed allowed to call him ‘sir,’ or by his name. Quickly falling for her by the day, yet refusing to let his stone-cold heart thaw. Reminding himself what she was to him and where her position stands. Little did he know she was doing the exact same.

Vixen!Reader and Pimp!Rafe who constantly flirt and banter. Their energies matching each other’s own, chemistry constantly sizzling. Eventually the banter turns into late night talks that last for hours. Soft caresses and intense eye contact. Toeing the line they’ve both drawn. Building a bond they both promised to themselves wouldn’t happen in their line of work.

Vixen!Reader who is the only girl that doesn’t sleep with Rafe. She didn’t do it back in Los Angeles and she refuses to do it now. Her pride and professionalism overtaking her immense desire to fuck on him. Struggling to hold back when they’re inches from each other. She knows once she does her desire for him will increase; too afraid to admit how badly she wants him.

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Vixen!Reader and Pimp!Rafe who realize they’re one of the same. Desires for luxury, wealth, and freedom. Cold-hearted and shut off; domineering and formidable. Dark tendencies and raunchy lifestyles that could never be understood outside of their bond. Confessing the darkest depths of themselves to each other.

Pimp!Rafe who very quickly falls down a dark hole of infatuation, lust, possessiveness and burning desire for Vixen!Reader. His mind convincing him she was made for him, that she found her way here just to be his. That his decisions have led up to them meeting.

Vixen!Reader who feels exactly the same way. the two quickly growing possessive over one another. Toeing the line they refuse to cross, yearning for each other with fiery passion.

Pimp!Rafe who begins limiting Vixen!Reader’s clientele, assuring its for her safety rather than admit his body burns with blazing jealousy anytime he sees her near another man. She rolls her eyes at the ‘safety’’ excuse. He also stops sleeping with the other girls, preferring to spend his nights locked up in his home office to talk for hours with her instead.

Pimp!Rafe who gets Vixen!Reader a custom white-gold, diamond R.C choker so everyone knows exactly who she belongs too. The difference in design and material from the other girls a physical representation of her status and power in the little universe they live in.

Pimp!Rafe and Vixen!Reader who finally crack and cut into the suffocating tension they’ve built around them. Frantic kisses and confessions of infatuation. Hours of fucking in his office. On the leather couch, on his seat. Over the desk, on top of the desk. Against the window, against the wall. Taking each other apart in the little haven they’ve deemed the office as.

Pimp!Rafe who tells Vixen!Reader she’s his in a way the other girls aren’t. Refusing to admit yet what she is to him. Cutting her clientele to a complete halt and ‘promoting’ her as ‘mistress’ of Tannyhill. Guiding, protecting and taking care of the girls.

Pimp!Rafe who quickly moves Vixen!Reader into Tannyhill from the girls house. Making sure it was empty with no work and parties for a week. Sending away his staff and informing the girls to stay at the property he bought across from Tannyhill where they live.

Vixen!Reader who walked around Tannyhill naked most of the time, during that week. Opting for garters, crotchless panties, thigh-high stockings and either one of her various ‘pleaser’ platforms or ‘highness’ louboutins. Leaving Rafe hard constantly and pounding into her every moment with any chance he got.

Pimp!Rafe and Vixen!Reader who spend the entire week fucking each other’s brains out. Their matching staminas and dark desires being played out over every inch of Tannyhill. Even the luxurious garden. By the end of it their bodies are covered in marks. Both sticky from sweat, saliva and arousal. Rafe’s cum dripping out of both her abused holes and onto the soaked bedsheets of the master bedroom. Both quickly realizing they would never find the type of sex they have between them with anyone else.

Pimp!Rafe and Vixen!Reader who have a knack for substances. Snorting lines over each others bodies, popping pills into each others mouths, pouring champagne or cherry flavored vodka down each others throats. Rolling and blazing after their hours long fuck seshes and falling asleep tangled in each others arms with lines on the night stand, a roach in the ashtray and empty bottles strewn around with their clothes from their hasty undress they haven’t bothered to pick up. Too infatuated with one another.

Pimp!Rafe and Vixen!Reader who lay in bed panting after the latest round. Finally exhausted by the end of the week and tangled in each other’s arms while they mindlessly traced circles on each other’s skin. Soft kisses and sweet nothings whispered in each other’s ears along with soft caresses. Both quickly realizing they belong with one another. It must have been fate that brought them together; practically made for each other and fitting puzzle pieces.

Pimp!Rafe who finally after months of built up tension and a week of passionate love-making; tells Vixen!Reader she’s his woman. His mistress of the manor. She will rule alongside him, the empire he’s built for himself now hers as well. Admitting that his desire for her excels the physical attraction he feels for her. That the connection they have is a taste of hedonistic paradise he’s always yearned for.

Vixen!Reader who’s old desire to never be chained to someone now turned into a desire to only be chained to him. Confessing that never in her life did she think she would find herself in this position, let alone allowing him to be hers. Admitting that she feels that she’s finally found what she had come looking for. She won’t ever let it go.

Pimp!Rafe and Vixen!Reader who’s week ended with the beginning of an intense, passionate, volatile and all consuming relationship. A twisted love story that was only at its start …

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a/n: phew! that was lowkey long … i am so excited to put out this AU while i work on stepfather!rafe. i hope you all enjoy and any feedback is deeply appreciated. also …yall liking this new format i’m trying? i decided to stop being lazy with my work lol. much love, as always!

[dadbodbuck]

big feelings about tommy kinard this morning.... just. god. you are raised by the kind of man you never hope to become. a violent, bigoted, temperamental asshole who lives in your house. who will always live in your house. so you leave, and even when you're in the army, thousands of miles away from home, he's there. in your drill sergeants, in your comrades who are more excited for the violence than the service. so you leave. and you become a firefighter. and he's still there in captain vincent gerrard. and as you grow and learn about yourself, you start to think - maybe part of the reason i'm so afraid is because they're right. i do want to kiss a man. i want to hold him and fuck him and breathe in the soft tenderness of sunday morning together. and it terrifies you, because you've always known, somewhere, but you kiss a man in a weho club where you know your coworkers can't find you, and your father is there. he's not there, not really, but he will always be there, standing over your shoulder, waiting for the chance to strike. so you spend several achingly lonely years coming to terms with this; with being gay, being too old for the kind of sappy forever-love everyone else gets, with your rescue cats who remind you of yourself a little too much to dwell upon. and then you meet him. this absolutely radiant, joyful, sensitive, kind, awkward man. and you start to fall in love, and it's terrifying, but you think he might be falling too. and you realize somewhere down the line that he doesn't feel worthy of being loved, doesn't feel certain that you'll stay, and you kinda want to tear his parents apart limb from limb, but that's not what's important. what's important is evan, who cooks you dinner, who kisses you like nobody's around to see, who makes you laugh so hard wine comes out your nose. you stay, and you stay, because every time he holds you, your dad fades from the room just a little bit more.

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to ?? | fame au p2 | p1 p3 p4 p5 interlude p6

The picture itself is not incriminating.

In the five years since Eddie’s wet dog apology they have been cordial to each other. Eddie seemed to have finally grown up. Finally got the hint. He doesn’t bug Steve after that night. He stays in his lane.

After a few years it’s a nod at a charity event. A half-smile at the town’s trendy new restaurant. A card when Steve gets an Emmy nod for his HBO series. Steve tries to not mind it. Tries to not let it get under his skin. He doesn’t send Eddie anything when he gets his Grammy.

LA is a small town. Eddie moved back once he finished his first tour. Steve does his best to keep his circle separate but LA is a small town. He nearly ends up at Eddie’s 30th after his coworker tries to drag him to some “rager in Loz Feliz.”

Sometimes, after another break up leaves him feeling shit-all, Steve drives past their dingy old place in West Hollywood. Tries to picture the version of the story where Eddie wasn’t eaten by his monster ego. Lets himself imagine them happy. Lets himself cry over it again. Like it happened yesterday instead of a decade ago.

But then he blinks and it’s been twelve years and yeah, maybe he hasn’t felt home like he did with Eddie, maybe no one else has fit him quite so right. But maybe he was just young and everything felt bigger then.

He feels weirdly at peace about it all. It’s not forgiveness, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to stomach that, but it is acceptance. It took a long time to scar but it's finally just a faded pink line. He’s happy.

And then the photo starts to circulate.

The picture itself is not incriminating.

It’s their old WeHo apartment. Eddie’s hopped on the grimy kitchen counter, acoustic guitar in hand. He’s smiling at Steve and Steve is leaned against the wall and he’s smiling back. And it’s Them. And Steve thinks they’ve never looked so young.

He doesn’t know who took the photo. Maybe Robin or Nancy or Jon. They visited a lot in that first year.

He doesn’t know how it ended up digitized, posted to a random pop culture subreddit.

What he does know is that he and Eddie have never publicly acknowledged each other.

The internet treats the picture like a cute little chachki in the first few days. A buzzpop factoid #67. It’s “Did you know Tommy Lee Jones and Al Gore were college roommates?”

But then news outlets were picking it up. And Eddie was halfway through promoting his third album.

They’re dead lucky the picture is not incriminating.

Steve’s still not technically out– he’s had quiet relationships with men but his team preferred a starlet on his arm at the carpets.

Eddie’s out the way a rockstar is. He’d fuck anything as long as it made him a pervert.

Their teams move fast.

The official story is that they’d both moved to LA to pursue their careers. They roomed together because they knew each other from their small town. Then Steve booked his show and Eddie moved to London and they lost touch.

Eddie repeats it on talk show after talk show. He lies and says they’re still friendly now, but their schedules keep them both so busy. They haven’t caught up in a while. He goes wistful when he says it. Steve tries not to feel downright bitter. It does quiet the chatter down.

In November, his manager tells him he’s presenting at the Golden Globes. The studio had asked him specifically, still under contract to promote their animated movie. He agrees cause he needs eyes on the tiny indie he'd finally gotten made.

In December, he finds out who he’s presenting with.

Steve throws a fit. It’s uncharacteristic. It’s not at all in line with the nice-guy persona he’s spent years cultivating. But they’ve managed to get this far without him actually having to talk to the guy. He doesn’t ever want to have to talk to Eddie Munson again.

His manager lures him off the ledge. It’s too late to change the line-up. He's put in years of work to get his movie made. She reminds him that it’s Hollywood. Everyone has to deal with this shit. Not worth blowing it all up because he can’t handle 30 minutes with his ex.

So Steve plays nice but Eddie skips out on rehearsal. Of fucking course. Twelve years and he’s still so predictable.

Steve reads the teleprompter next to a random PA and decides then and there to say Fuck Healing. He did that. And now he’s being punished. Again. He’s fucking pissed.

He’s pissed that the photo got out. He’s pissed at whoever leaked it. He’s pissed enough to convince himself it was Eddie. He’s pissed Eddie’s shouldering his way back into his life even if it wasn’t him.

And yeah, he’s still fucking pissed that Eddie left in the first place.

Steve first sees him on the carpet. It’s from a distance, and he’s determined to keep it that way for as long as possible. He wishes Eddie dashed for the real thing too, but he knows his ego couldn’t take the blow. Eddie Munson loves attention too much.

Eddie looks great, cause he’s a celebrity & it’s a 10-person job to make him look great.

Eddie looks great cause he’s always looked great. Even when his hair was all frizz and his hygiene habits were questionable at best. And Steve hates him but his dick has never gotten the memo.

Steve deals with it by drinking a lot. It’s the Globes! He sits at his table and smiles and they give him alcohol and he drinks it. It’s stupid and it’s reckless and it’s the only thing that’s gonna get him through this torture. So he picks at his ugly velvet suit and he drinks.

The wranglers grab them 20 minutes before they’re set to present. It’s earlier than usual but Munson’s been known to dash.

They’re sitting on opposite couches in the green room. Eddie’s vibrating. Leg jittering nonstop. Steve’s starting to feel woozy. They’re not talking.

After five minutes, Eddie clicks his tongue and gets up. “Gonna take a leak.” His wrangler starts after him. “Follow me and I cut off your dick.”

Steve looks at the kid, weighing tearily whether his job was more important than his penis, “I’ll- I'll make sure he’s back on time.”

Steve stumbles riled down the hall, opens the door with a slam, “You leak the photo, Munson?”

Eddie’s already washing his hands. Steve catches his reflection in the mirror. He looks weirdly hurt.

“Steve,” Eddie says his name so... sad, “C’mon, man. I- I wouldn’t do that.”

Steve laughs cold, puts his hands in his suit pockets. “Sure, yeah, man. You’d just disappear for seven years. Come back with some horseshit apology because you finally got what you wanted. Cause your ego could finally handle being around me. But sure. You wouldn’t do that.”

Eddie steps back into the wall, looks at Steve with those watery brown eyes. They’re framed by crows feet now. “Steve, I–”

Steve boxes him in, makes it so he can’t slip away this time, “You know there was a week there where I thought you'd fucking died.”

He feels like a live wire. He feels every awful thing he’s felt for a dozen years bubble to the surface.

“Mike Wheeler told me where you went. Mike. Wheeler. I thought you were dead in a ditch, you asshole. Thought I’d lost you forever. But no. You just skipped town– Skipped town because I loved you and you fucking hated me.”

He doesn’t know when grabbed a fist into Eddie’s shirt. He wants to tear it. It’s probably insured.

“Stevie,” Eddie’s blubbering. Their faces are close enough that Steve can see his lip quivering. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Now Steve really wants to laugh. Baby. It’s such garbage. Total bullshit.

“I wish you’d died. It would’ve hurt less.” He says it dry, with his big wide movie-star smile. Then he spits, bullseye on Eddie’s cheek, “I fucking hate you.”

It’s so strange to see Eddie up close after all this time. He’s blurry in the memories but so vivid here, so harsh. Makeup cracking into nicotine wrinkles. Different. A mask of the person Steve knew.

He breathes, “I know.”

----

Eddie's tongue still tastes the same.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @homerforsure for the first wip Wednesday of the year! Here’s some of the buck goes home for the holidays fic i did not in fact finish during the holidays. Alas! Here’s to creativity and the time to peruse it in the new year!

“So you’re bisexual,” Philip nods, with the confidence of someone who watches a lot of vaguely progressive television shows with a lot of vaguely progressive plot lines and a couple of new vocabulary words for the middle aged. He drops the word so casually like it doesn’t still send a swoop of fear through Buck’s gut, because he doesn't live in a television show, and his life has never felt so cut and dried and definable. He thinks, as he so often does, a silent apology to Tommy, because he knows he was still kind of weird and nervous on dates with him six months in. Maybe he wouldn’t want to date himself either. Maybe he is bad at being- queer, bi, whatever. Maybe Hen was wrong when she said people come to this at their own pace, and he doesn’t need to find a label immediately or ever, and there’s no passing grade in homosexuality he has to achieve. He’s always struggled with things he wasn’t immediately good at, and it's throwing him off more than he’d care to admit to find out one of those things is, like, a whole part of who he is, and he kind of wants to call the whole “men” thing off and go find a pretty girl to date because it seems way easier and safer, but that makes him feel like a coward, and he’s spent a few embarrassing evenings since the breakup sat in his jeep for an hour or two trying to will up the courage to drive to a rainbow covered club over in WeHo, but the only one he knows is the one Tommy took him to and he always ended up shuffling back up to the loft for fear of running into him and his new, hypothetical, vastly experienced gay boyfriend who understands everything about himself perfectly.

But that’s all too much to explain to a man who’s been happily heterosexually married since the 70s, so. “Yeah.”

Tagging @colonoscopys @iinryer @bigfootsmom @shitouttabuck @wildehacked @butchdiaz @eddiesgaymustache @eddiebabygirldiaz @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @devirnis to share something from a wip or just an idea you want to work on this year!

[hgfictionwriter]

Maybe This Time - Part Four

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Confessions finally come to light and Jessie has the chance to ask you what she should've asked you years ago.

Warnings: Mild language. Outside of that - none. Just fluff, fluff, fluff.

A/N: I'm ignoring the most recent Thorns results in this story, btw lol. They're gonna rebound - I know it! Previous parts for this series can be found on my masterlist.

"Nice playing tonight. Congrats on the win."��

Jessie smiled to herself as she sat on the twin-sized bed of her hotel room and laid back, resting her head on the pillow.  

A few team members were still downstairs in the hotel restaurant, but she was beat and needed some downtime. She knew Janine would stay down with the group for a while, so this was her chance to get some solitude.  

"Thank you! I'm super happy with how the team was playing together today. And away games can be tough, but I'm stoked. Anyway, enough football talk lol how was your dinner?" 

"Well, you play Utah next – I'm no expert analyst, but as far as I can tell, your chances for 3 points are good lol. And dinner was delicious – thank you for asking. [Y/friend] and [Y/other friend] went out for drinks after but I called it a night. I'm exhausted after this week." 

"Lol I don't want to jinx anything, but yeah, you may be right about those 3 points. Sorry to hear you're so tired. You had a super stressful week though – I know work was crazy for you and then your brother showing up out of the blue. Yeah. That's a rough week. I'm sorry I'm not there to help more." 

"What are you talking about? You were so helpful. I bet you thought you were done hearing about my family drama, but here we are again lol. It's just a lot less common now – thank God. And anyway, what about you – what are you up to? Don't feel like you have to text me. I know you're with the team." 

"It's not a problem – seriously. Call me anytime. And it's all good – I've retreated to my room early. It's been a long day." 

"Okay, still, don't feel like you have to respond. I know you need your me-time; take it if you can get it." 

"It's alright. Really.-" 

Jessie stared at her phone for a few seconds as she contemplated continuing her thought. Screw it.  

"-I'm happy talking with you."  

She hit send and subconsciously held her breath for a second before remembering to breathe. She worked to dismiss any mounting anxieties, but had a hard time denying the way her pulse had quickened. It only got faster when she saw you starting to type. Her eyes remained fixed onto the screen until your reply came through.  

"Well that makes two of us." 

"As in I'm happy talking with you." 

Jessie chuckled, relief going through her body. She lifted a finger to her mouth and mindlessly chewed at her skin. Her brow creased as she contemplated her next move. Thoughts ping-ponged inside her mind before she threw caution to the wind – very intently so – and started texting. 

"Lol I understood." 

"Hey, are you busy next weekend? There's this pop-up exhibit in town for a few days. Maybe we could go and grab a late dinner together after?" 

"Are you talking about the CityScape exhibit? I wanted to go to that! Yes, that sounds amazing." 

Jessie beamed from ear to ear. 

"Okay, awesome. I'll get tickets." 

"Thanks, just tell me what I owe you." 

"Nothing at all 😊" 

"Stop it. Tell me what I owe you. Or I can just buy dinner, then. Whatever works." 

Jessie huffed. She was conjuring up a rebuttal when another message came in from you. 

"Okay, I have to confess something. It's been weighing on me for years and this just totally made me think of it again." 

Jessie frowned as she wracked her mind for any possibility of what you may be referring to.  

"Okay. What is it? Whatever it is, I'm sure it's okay." 

"Lol you say that now." 

"K. Remember when we went to that underground art show and then dinner and drinks in WeHo a few months after we first met? Or more specifically, remember when you asked me if I wanted to go to that?" 

Of course she did. You looked amazing that night. She was grateful that Teagan and Mia were there to distract her because if it had just been the two of you, she wasn't sure if she'd have been able to function.  

"Yeah, I remember. Why?" 

"So, full disclosure, I legitimately thought you were asking me on a date to that. When you showed up with Mia and Teags? DEAD. Let's just say it was a very humbling experience hahaha. So embarrassing! Enough time has passed that I can admit to it lol. It cracks me up now." 

Jessie didn't even realize her mouth was agape. Her mind was absolutely foggy and turned upside down as she reread your message again and again. She felt like she was having an out of body experience. Her mouth was dry and she started stammering even though there was no one to hear it.  

She needed to talk to Janine.

Before she even knew what she was doing, she found herself hauling open the hotel door and started padding down the hall until she realized she didn't have shoes on. She whipped around in a flurry to go back into the room and grab her shoes.  

"Shit!" She exclaimed as she more or less faceplanted into the door when it didn't open as she turned the handle. In her fluster she forgot she needed a key to open it. She stared down blankly at the lock for a few seconds before belatedly realizing she'd left the hotel key in the room. "Oh my god," she growled under breath. She spun on her heel and looked down the hall as she contemplated what to do.  

She looked back down at her phone and called up Janine. She let out another frustrated growl when the call went to voicemail. She texted her. "CALL ME. NOW." 

She paced back and forth in the hallway for a few seconds before looking back at the message you sent. Now anxiety around not replying to you was setting in. She didn't want you to think she was put off by what you said, but she also didn't know what the heck to say. This was too precarious a situation.  

She stood there motionless for a moment as she weighed her options and before she could start to overthink things she took off down the hall to the elevators.  

Once inside, she hit the 'M' button and the button to close the doors repeatedly in a vain attempt to move this journey along faster. She groaned when the elevator slowed at one of the floors along the way. She offered the joining guest a stiff smile and felt heat rush to her face when they glanced down at her sock feet.  

Once at the main floor, she took long, brisk steps towards the restaurant where she'd left the team and searched the remaining crowd for Janine. She spotted the blonde at a table towards the back and took a few steps into the restaurant – hoping not to get caught by the host. Thankfully, she caught Janine's eye. She waved the blonde over with uncharacteristically exaggerated movements and the blonde just frowned at her. Jessie's shoulders slumped in momentary defeat and frustration before she gave the girl another pointed look and gave a sharp wave. The blonde held up her hands in concession and got up. Jessie caught the curious looks the rest of her team gave her and offered a mere wave of 'hello' before grabbing Janine by the arm when she approached and dragging her out into the lobby.  

"I need your help." 

"What the heck!" Janine complained as she jerked her arm out of Jessie's grasp and shook it out for show. "What is going on? And why are you in your socks," she went on as she gave Jessie a disapproving look.  

Jessie bit back a sardonic, tense reply and instead just held up her phone to Janine's face. The blonde winced at the sudden movement and frowned as she read the message, before her jaw, too, fell like Jessie's had earlier.  

"Oh my gosh," Janine said in bewilderment. Jessie nodded repeatedly. "Oh. My. Gosh! Okay. So – what the heck – you left her on read?" 

"I didn't know what to say!" Jessie responded with a harsh whisper, gaze flitting about as she tried to not draw further attention to them.  

"Oh my gosh, Jessie. You're the worst," she said with an eye roll as she began to usher the smaller girl towards the elevators. Before Jessie could protest, Janine held up her hand in declaration, "Okay. We need a game plan..."

Jessie's mind was still racing as she stared vacantly at the elevator floor deep in thought as she pieced things together. Suddenly, she inhaled sharply, eyes growing wide as she lifted her head to look at Janine.

"She went on her first date with [an ex] like a month after that night! Wa-" She stopped herself momentarily, thoughts resetting before she started again, "Wait - do you think if we'd actually had a date that night that she wouldn't have dated her?"

Janine gave her a long stare that tapered into a look that was half sympathetic, half pointed. "Jess."

"Oh my God," Jessie groaned as she rubbed her face.

"Sorry - that was probably really awkward. That was a long time ago. And obviously it was all good in the end. Anyway, now I can die with an unburdened soul lol.”

“What do I say!” Jessie said, her voice rising while her heart beat out of her chest.

The elevator dinged as they reached their floor and the two looked at each other before exiting and heading to their room.

“Well, this could be your opportunity. Why not just tell her that you liked her? I know you aren’t comfortable telling her you like her now. But you can admit to it for the past,” Janine suggested.

Jessie’s eyes scanned around as she processed the different scenarios and outcomes that could arise. Her instinct was to say “no”, but she really couldn’t find a logical reason to deny it. She huffed.

“Okay. Well. What - I just say ‘Oh hey - speaking of funny stories, I had a crush on you for years. And I’m glad your exes hated me, cause guess what, I hated them because I was jealous’?” Jessie said moodily as she crossed her arms.

“Maybe not that,” Janine said with a sidelong glance.

The girls talked hurriedly, debating back and forth about what to say until Janine threw her hands up in relinquishment.

“I told you what I think. It’s your call. This is your relationship. Or - would-be relationship,” she relayed.

Jessie sighed heavily once more and sat down on the edge of her bed. She had to chill out. She reminded herself that this time things were supposed to be different. And that she was different, and not so scared.

“Sooo does that mean you would’ve said “yes” to a date? Wish I had known. I would’ve gladly taken you on a date.”

Jessie exhaled slowly as the message sent. She looked up to Janine and ignored how her ears were ringing.

She glanced back down and immediately saw bubbles come up.

“Lol! I’m sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“Jessie! Come on.”

“What? I’m dead serious. Question is if you would’ve actually said ‘yes’.”

“I wore my nicest dress and actually put in the time to do my hair and make-up properly. So I’ll leave that up to you to interpret.”

“Janine,” Jessie complained, her pitch rising as she rubbed her face in aggravation before bringing the hand down to slap against her leg. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Well I could’ve told you that,” Janine rebutted without hesitation before pausing and giving a small shrug. “For this situation anyway.”

Jessie exhaled in frustration again as she readjusted position on the bed, eyes still transfixed on your text. You know what? She might as well own it.

“Well, I’m an idiot. I truly thought I didn’t have a chance with you. For the record, you looked stunning that night. But also for the record, I liked you just as much in your everyday clothes and makeup or when you didn’t try at all.”

By now Janine was kneeling on the bed behind Jessie, hands on Jessie’s shoulders as she watched everything unfold. She was started to make a remark when she let out a loud gasp as Jessie’s screen lit up with a call from you.

“Oh my gosh!” Janine exclaimed.

“Shit!” Jessie said as panic began to rush through her. She was about to accept when she noted Janine’s head right next to her and she shook the blonde off of her. “Go!”

“Oh now you want me to leave,” Janine protested.

Jessie waved her off and took a steadying breath before answering and holding the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Jessie Fleming. You start off by giving me a heart attack - just leaving me hanging after I share my deeply embarrassing and humbling story. And now you come out of left field with - I think - a confession of your own? Are you fucking with me right now?”

Jessie choked and coughed at your wording. You didn’t sound mad at all. Bewildered? Yes.

“No. No I’m not,” she said much more tentatively than she’d intended.

The line was silent for a few seconds and Jessie was about to check if the call dropped when you spoke up again. This time you were the one who sounded tentative.

“Okay. Wait. Let’s recap. So-” Jessie could practically hear you thinking. “-you’re saying you would’ve wanted to go on a date together?”

Jessie pushed her hair back unnecessarily. “Um, yeah.” She shook her head out and spoke more confidently. “Yes. I would’ve.”

She heard you give a disbelieving chuckle. “But you didn’t,” you said slowly, but matter of fact. “I’m sorry. I’m just kind of shocked,” you laughed further. “You felt like you didn’t have a chance with me? Are you serious?”

Jessie exhaled, eyes set on the floor as she gave a shrug of her shoulders. “Dead serious.”

“Come on. The great, unattainable, Jessie Fleming, liked me? Impossible. I mean, yeah, we were close, but you never really showed any indication of it being more. I mean, at most it must’ve been short lived.”

Jessie tried to process your words that were coming at her a mile a minute. You gave her an out. She could say it was a fleeting thing. A curiosity. But, Janine was right, this really was the chance.

“Uh,” Jessie rubbed her face distractedly, feeling heat rushing to her cheeks, “if ‘short lived’ means all through uni, then sure.”

The call was silent again and Jessie could hear her pulse throbbing inside of her head until you finally spoke again.

“Now you’re really fucking with me."

Jessie's body continued to heat up and she tugged subconsciously at the collar of her shirt.

"I've said too much already. I mean, it was obviously short lived on your end - which is totally fine."

"Why do you say that?" You questioned.

Jessie frowned, making a face and ignoring how Janine was attempting to look occupied with her own thing, but clearly eavesdropping.

"What do you mean?" Jessie asked, careful not to sound argumentative. "You dated a lot of girls in university. Well, not a lot. You know what I mean."

She heard you give a short laugh on the other end of the call before speaking wryly.

"Well, maybe - no, never mind." You exhaled lightly. "Anyway - it's all in the past, but, consider me stunned." You gave a bit of a chuckle. "I hope you're more forward with girls now than you were then. I really didn't know you had any interest."

"I was shy," Jessie offered as she scratched her temple. "Like painfully shy. And you were so pretty, and smart, and charming - I just didn't know what to do."

A glare crossed Jessie's face as Janine hopped down in front of her and mouthed 'Tell her you like her!" as she gestured wildly in the air.

"Well, now I'm extra confused about why we didn't stay in contact after university. If you liked me that much," you stated without challenge.

Jessie sighed. She'd told you enough. She didn't need to get into how desperately in love she was that she needed to cut herself off from you altogether to even have a hope of moving on.

"I mean, we don't need to rehash it all. Anyway, recap, I liked you, you were open to a date, but I stupidly didn't ask you out." Jessie chuckled, trying to keep things light. She cleared her throat and the heat that had started to fade from her face came raging back and she began to fidget. "And, um," - she glanced to Janine for reassurance - "I don't know. If you're open to it, maybe we could finally have that date. When I pick you up next time, it could be a date - for real."

She heard you hum before speaking.

"That sounds really nice. Yes. I'd like that a lot."

Jessie's eyes lit up and her posture straightened immediately as she looked to Janine excitedly. The blonde gave a boisterous, but silent celebration.

"Okay," Jessie said, her voice growing tight momentarily as she tried to remain composed. She cleared her throat and relaxed her shoulders. "Sounds like a plan, then."

A/N: Part Five is available here.

[sugarpenchant]

Do it scared

M | 6k | bucktommy | making up in progress

Buck is trying to be ok. It becomes painfully clear he is not succeeding—like, at all—when he and Tommy lock eyes across a club and someone else is there to take Tommy home.

The thing was. The thing was. Buck was having fun. A few weeks (seven weeks, five days, probably about four hours) since the worst gut-punch of his adult life that made “fun” seem impossible, and there he was, in the loud technicolour dream of Hen and Karen’s favourite club in WeHo, on the right side of buzzed dancing like his heart wasn’t still broken... having fun.

There’d been a few dances with different people, Buck trying to let himself saunter into those well-worn steps of the kind of ‘exploring�� a certain asshole told him to do, but none of it really clicked. Sure, his ego was appropriately boosted, but they were too short or their hair not curly enough or their eyes too green... Buck gave it a chance each time but when the spark of interest failed to catch and ignite into anything else, he’d feign a bathroom run or go to the bar or catch Hen’s eye and get a good old fashioned rescue.

Despite his own recurrent pangs of heartache, Buck was having fun.

Which was, of course, the exact moment the universe decided to remind him of the pain he’d tried dancing around.

Keep reading on ao3

[yourdakg]

Donation Found!

Remember Ryder? The SoCal pretty boy who was depressed that his life was a vapid, superficial, and party focused existence? He contacted Turnaround Technologies to ask, nay plead for a new body and a new life. See his Donation Request Form.

If only it were that simple. Turnaround Technologies utilizes some of the most advanced science on the market. When a body is fully adjusted, it's a slow and sometimes torturous process! If it was as simple as switching brains, that would be one thing. But the subjects have to physically transform into one another, and then brainwaves are overwritten. Chemistry, genetics, biology, and psychology are all involved in this elaborate process.

So Ryder had to come up with the $325,000 fee. Luckily, he had money saved and he was able to sell off the red Mustang convertible and his yellow Yamaha Sport Bike to meet the target. The final straw was giving up the deed to his WeHo apartment. Don't tell him, but his donor bought the items! Isn't that funny? He covered the rest with personal loans! Well, a little bit of debt won't hurt.

Let's remind you of where Ryder is starting his journey:

And now let's the see information plate for his donor. I think he'll be very pleased! After this, he'll never have to worry about being surrounded by vapid, beautiful people and fending off pesky pool party invites! Yes, this is the ideal swap partner for Ryder.

Meet Dr. Pervus Fondler. And wouldn't you know it? Dr. Fondler was a doctor in Ryder's hometown! They actually know each other. The good doctor cares very deeply for Ryder and was pained when he heard about his current circumstances. He decided that his job as a physician meant he had to step up and give the ultimate sacrifice! You know what they say: First Do No Harm.

Donor Statement: While I am nervous about the process, I am confident that I will give Ryder a new future, one where he won't have to worry about all that vanity and his gym obsession. True freedom for the boy!

Thank you, doctor, for going the extra mile for your patients. Turnaround Technologies will prepare the Exchange Chambers. Both subjects will be stripped down and cleansed before being placed in metallic, moisture wicking bikinis while our technicians prepare for the process:

Now that Ryder is dressed and the drugs are injected into his system, it's time to introduce him to his generous benefactor. I hope he has a positive reaction to the kind of man he will become. Let's check in!

Patient Statement: No! Holy shit! No, not Pervus the Perv! You can't put me in that. Don't force me into that body! I'd be going from a perfect ten to a zero. Please! No... LET GO. Please, oh my God. No, I thought it would be another buff guy like me. I change my mind, I changed my mi--**UMPH HRRMPH**

It's not clear why Ryder objected so strongly to his partner. Maybe it was the shock of knowing who the doctor was from earlier in his life. At any rate, he paid the fee and signed the paperwork so there is, quite literally, no going back. Swaps of this nature are once in a lifetime and, of course, quite permanent.

Subject had to be forcibly gagged and sedated.

Add another $125,000 for the service. Ryder sure is going to pay a lot of money for his new life!

When he came to in the chamber, Ryder was pounding on the door. I think he was crying. His oversize genitalia were mashed against the glass in his silver pouch. It was quite the sight. When the whirr of the machine began and the paralyzing blue light hit, his eyes went crossed. He fell backwards and pumped his hips in the air. Well, the erection is to be expected. I've heard the process somewhat erotic, though painful.

It takes a couple days and the exchange unstable during that time, but I am happy to report the following:

Donor Report: I feel good. Very good. I'm probably going to move to SoCal, sort of take over Ryder's apartment. I'll probably start using his name now too. Don't wanna confuse people. I don't even have my old, perverted urges. I hope he's comfortable with the mental traits foisted on him. Oh... he wants to take picture of me? Ha, okay. I'll flex for $100. Recipient Report: What do you mean I can't go back *whimper* why do I feel so strange. I'm already out of breath. Give it back! What do you mean a name change is included in the package *sob* MY NAME IS PERVUS NOW??!?! Oh. I have to take his medical practice in my shithole hometown? Oh God! I just... oh goodness, seeing it from this angle it's such a fine body. So tight and firm! At least flex for me, my boy? A little. So I can snap a few pics and... use them later. Eehehe. Oh God, what have I become?

[kinardsevan]

as we all know, i haven't really been doing @bucktommypositivityweek because I've been busy working on other stuff. but I still wanted to contribute, and I was feeling inspired reading people's additions for 'outsider perspective'. this was also a character study for one of my OCs.

so have this: -

colors

Wilder Gray was born to be an artist. Color was quite literally in his name. He was also gay fresh out of the womb, and god bless the fact that his parents had accepted that from day one, because otherwise he never would’ve stood a chance. 

Life had been easy for him, mostly. He came from enough money that his parents sent him to semi-private school for he better part of his upbringing. When they’d discovered his ability to draw and paint towards the end of elementary school, he’d been promptly enrolled in the Los Angeles Academy of Arts and Enterprise for intermediate school. Growing up in that kind of environment had fed his need to create as well as be surrounded by other creatives. It also fostered a very accepting community where he never felt out of place or like he couldn’t be exactly who he was. By the time he was in his twenties, enrolled in UCLA, he’d had several serious relationships. 

He met one Thomas Kinard at the age of twenty-five, fresh out of his graduate program with an MFA in interdisciplinary arts. Tommy was just about to turn thirty-three and had looked extremely uncomfortable in his skin as he sat down at a gay bar in WeHo. It would be weeks before Tommy would admit to him that he was freshly out of the closet, and that up until a few months before, the most he’d ever engaged with the community was through one night stands and the boy he had shared a secret relationship with during his five and a half years in the military. 

To be clear, Tommy had rocked Wilder’s universe on its axis. When they first met, Wilder wanted nothing to do with a relationship with him. he knew Tommy was still figuring out his footing with his sexuality now that he was out, and as much as Wilder was willing to be a friend through that process, he didn’t want to play the part of the boyfriend who helped Tommy experiment and get educated. 

Which isn’t to say it panned out the greatest for him. He watched Tommy engage in multiple relationships over the next three years, and he was jealous as fuck every single time. He hated Mike, the forty-five-year-old man that Tommy met a few weeks after Wilder had met him. That relationship lasted four months. Mike was a domineering dick who did a damn good job at pretending to be sunshine. Wilder wondered if Tommy realized he didn’t have to date twice-divorced men in order to figure out what he liked, but it also wasn’t his place to speak. At least, until he and Tommy met up on a random Tuesday, three and a half months into the relationship, and Tommy tried to lie to him about bruises on his wrists. Wilder was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. He’d told Tommy that night that he was capable of doing so much better, that he deserved better. When Tommy had questioned him—over half a dozen beers—Wilder had kissed him about it. 

Granted, that didn’t lead anywhere, other than far enough for Tommy to be confident enough to end the relationship with Mike. They were both single for a few months after that, but whatever Tommy was waiting on, Wilder wasn’t sure. He was still firm on his position about not wanting to be the person to help Tommy gain experience. 

After Mike came Leo. Leo came with a million and a half red flags. Leo came with love bombs and grand gestures, with one thing on his mind. As soon as he got Tommy into bed, he was gone. Tommy never really talked about how everything with Leo panned out, but Wilder suspected that it wouldn’t have gone much further anyway. Another night over too many beers, all Tommy would say about Leo was that he was ‘rough. Way too rough.’ 

Either way, he bounced back. Ezra came along only a few weeks after Leo, and Ezra was so, so sweet. And so naïve. He was younger than Wilder, and clearly still trying to figure things out about himself. However, Ezra also seemed to have stars in his eyes about how things were going to work out, while Tommy had lost most of his rosy view on his sexuality. It wasn’t to say that they didn’t have fun together. But Wilder could tell that Ezra thought Tommy would settle down with him, while Tommy just wanted to work out the kinks he’d gone through in recent months and figure himself out more. 

Ezra lasted two months. 

Charlie showed up in the middle of October, almost as though he’d been swept through along with the Santa Ana winds. He put a smile on Tommy’s face that Wilder was positive he’d never seen on his friend. Charlie was the boy from Iraq. He was also Tommy’s first real love. Wilder liked Charlie. 

Wilder didn’t love Charlie. 

It wasn’t that Charlie was a bad guy. Charlie clearly cared about Tommy a fair amount, although it was questionable whether he actually liked Tommy as much as Tommy loved him. The deeper problem was that Tommy looked at Charlie the way Ezra had looked at Tommy. Except, Charlie had done the  ‘make my parents happy’ way. He had been married, was now divorced, and still half-living in the closet. Wilder had warned Tommy against doing that with him, warned him that it would only lead to him getting hurt, but Tommy swore to him that Charlie had promised. Promised one day soon they would be out together. Promised they’d get to tell people the truth. Promised the kids would know him as more than just Charlie’s army buddy. 

Those promises went on for a year before Tommy smashed what was left of his rose-colored glasses. Wilder was there with the alcohol and the metaphorical stitches to piece Tommy back together. 

The thing was, by that time, he’d promised himself that he and Tommy were better as friends. That they’d built something strong enough to withstand the passing glances and the hugs that lasted a minute too long, the pauses when they pullled away where he could feel Tommy’s breath on his lips and it stirred something inside him that he hadn’t felt since he was sixteen and dating Danny Coston, sneaking kisses behind the fieldhouse while they were skipping out on PE. 

He’d loved Tommy too much by then. As his friend. 

As more than his friend. 

And then one night, over beers and a pizza, Tommy was telling him this story about a rescue that Wilder still thinks was absolutely fucking stupid, rocking a helicopter between cliffsides to rescue a group of teenagers who thought rock climbing without gear in Griffith Park sounded like a fun idea. By some miracle, everyone had been saved, Tommy hadn’t crashed the helicopter, and it had made the news. What’s more, Wilder had been the first person Tommy had wanted to tell him about his suicidal save. 

Wilder had to kiss him about it, of course. That shattered whatever falsehoods Wilder was letting himself live in at that point in relation to their relationship. Tommy wasn’t experimenting anymore, and he didn’t need an education. He was out, he wasn’t interested in keeping secrets, and he wanted something real.

. . . 

The first year was amazing. Granted, WIlder never fell in love with the danger of Tommy’s job, but that was fine. He was in love with everything else about Tommy. He loved his personality, his face, his body, his hopes, his dreams, his willingness to be Wilder’s model on any occasion…he just loved Tommy. 

Year two wasn’t as easy. They were settled, talking about living together but not quite pulling the trigger. Wilder’s career was doing really well. He’d taken part in four exhibitions in less than a calendar year and there was a lot of attention coming his way. There were offers coming out of Chicago and New York for residencies and some teaching opportunities. 

There was a bad fire at a compound. Tommy got second-degree burns and had pretty bad smoke inhalation. Wilder hoped that after that, maybe he’d rethink his career. 

Things got worse. 

Still, somehow they found their way through. As they came upon their second anniversary, it felt like they were reaching the other side. There were still offers on the table for Wilder, and he had floated a few of them to Tommy. In return, Tommy had fully supported the suggestion for a three-month residency in Chicago. He would remain in L.A. during Wilder’s time away, but it was good for Wilder, and as Tommy had said to him at the time, ‘what’s good for you is good for us’. 

Except, the offers didn’t stop at Chicago. He was weeks away from finishing his residency when he was offered the opportunity to take part in an exhibition in Texas. What was supposed to be a two week trip there turned into four months, and their anniversary came and went with little more than phone calls and the occasional flight out for a twenty-four or forty-eight hours together. 

After Texas was Savannah, Georgia. Then Charlotte, North Carolina. Then a month-long trip to Florida with a few guest lectures at FSU. Eight months into what should’ve been the third year of their relationship, Wilder hadn’t seen Tommy more than fifteen days total. And the thing was, the love was still there.

But they weren’t in love anymore, and he knew they both felt it. Tommy loved his job just as much as Wilder loved his. Neither of them were going to give up their careers, and they weren’t going to ask the other to, either. 

It ended on a facetime call, just a few weeks before their anniversary. There were tears shed, although it was more a sadness at the loss of what they’d hoped they could be than it was at the actual relationship. There were ‘I love you’s. And then there was silence. 

. . .

The first time Wilder meets Evan Buckley, he’s barely been back in Los Angeles for a week. He’s set to start a residency for the summer and then take on a teaching position at UCLA in the fall. He’s supposed to be meeting some friends for dinner when the blonde man bumps into him at the bar, stammering out an apology with full hands as they turn to face each other. 

Evan looks at him with a weird expression that Wilder doesn’t fully understand at the time. He dismisses the bump as equally his own fault and then turns his attention back toward the bar. 

“Hi, baby. Sorry, I’m late.” 

That voice feels like someone just poured a shot of Jack Tennessee Honey down Wilder’s throat. All the heat with none of the burn. As he turns back around, he spots a familiar head of brown curls just as the blonde tilts up toward him, and then Tommy is kissing the other man. Wilder inhales a sharp breath. 

The thing is, it’s been more than a year. It’s been even longer since he and Tommy were something real. But something about seeing him kiss another man still stirs something in Wilder’s chest. 

Still, he decides it’s not his place. Not here, and not tonight. He steps away from the bar and moves down some ten feet, around the corner of it and in between a few people. 

. . . 

“So were you going to call me?” 

It’s been three days. WIlder is standing in the middle of an aisle at Blick, trying to decide between Golden and WIndsor Newton acrylics when he looks up. Tommy has a basket in his hand, half-full with small canvases and a fair amount of Liquitex. 

“Hey, T,” he greets cordially. Tommy smiles at him and then steps forward, offering him a side hug. Wilder accepts it, tucking his chin over Tommy’s shoulder. “Good to see you.” 

“I had to call your mom,” Tommy states when they part. 

“I was gonna call at some point,” WIlder states a bit sheepishly. 

“You always go with Windsor,” Tommy comments, as though he can hear the argument in Wilder’s head. “Forget Golden.” 

Wilder chuckles. “Sure.” He’s quiet for a moment, reaches out for a tube of Windsor Newton. As he stares at the unbleached titanium shade in his hand, he contemplates. He tilts his head after a moment, glances over at Tommy. “So. The new guy.” 

There’s a glint of something in Tommy’s eye that Wilder hasn’t seen in at least five years. Something he saw once, after their first drunken kiss. 

“His name is Evan,” Tommy replies. He lets out a soft sgh. “He thought I was introducing you two. Had a hell of a time explaining to him that I didn’t even know you were back.” 

Wilder nods. That familiar twinge of jealousy throbs in his chest, under his heart. 

“You sticking around,” Tommy asks him after another minute of silence. Wilder glances back up at him. 

“Got a residency downtown,” he replies. “And then UCLA in the fall. So I’ll be here, yeah.” 

Tommy nods. “We should get dinner. Evan wants to meet you properly.” 

“Sure,” Wilder says again. What else is he supposed to say? They’re not together anymore. 

“Give me call when you’re more settled. We’ll plan something,” Tommy says with a pat to Wilder’s shoulder. He’s walking backwards then, heading back down the aisle. He shakes a finger in Wilder’s direction. “Good to see you, Wy.” 

. . . 

The second time Wilder meets Evan Buckley, they’re in another bar. He’s been in the studio almost exclusively for the better part of a week and had been dragged out by a friend with the promise of carbs—his fridge might’ve been mostly empty, other than juice boxes and pepperoni slices—but carbs is apparently at a bar that doubles as a pizzeria. 

He’s not following them, he swears. But he’s been waiting for ten minutes on his pizza while his friend is on the phone with his girlfriend when Tommy strolls up to the bar with his boyfriend—Evan? Tommy has his arm wrapped around the younger man’s hip, head tilted in and listening as Evan prattles on with very animated expressions. Wilder isn’t even sure what he’s on about, but regardless, Tommy is nodding along, clearly invested. 

When they make it up to the bar, some five feet away, Tommy’s arm wraps around Evan, boxing him in. There’s a grin on his face and Wilder notices as Evan leans back into Tommy’s body, turns his head and says something into his ear. Tommy laughs, loud enough that the tinkling sound of it carries in Wilder’s direction. 

“Four for Buckley,” one of the barbacks calls out. Evan raises his hand and the man steps over with boxes of pizza. At the same time, someone from the kitchen yells out, “Veggie with mushrooms, light alfredo up.” 

Tommy lifts his head at that, leans back from Evan just enough to look around the bar before his eyes eventually fall on Wilder. He smiles at him. A few seconds later, he’s up next to Evan’s ear, and then Evan glances over in Wilder’s direction. There’s a half-second pause where Evan seems to be taking him in before he smiles affiliatively at Wilder. Evan picks up the pizzas and Tommy switches the arm he has around Evan’s waist as they stride over. As they reach him, another person is settling Wilder’s pizza in front of him. 

“So do you just hang out at all the best bars in LA,” Evan asks when they reach him. 

“Honestly, I’m usually locked up in the studio,” Wilder replies. He glances in Tommy’s direction, but Tommy is still looking at Evan. Still that look in his eyes. Evan moves a hand from under the pizzas and extends it. 

“Evan Buckley. Most people call me Buck though,” he states. Wilder extends a hand to him, shaking it. 

“Wilder Gray.” 

Evan nods. “I know.” There’s an expression on his face that’s caught somewhere between a multitude of emotions. A look that falls somewhere between curiosity, understanding, and skepticism. Wilder looks him over, spots the emblem on his t-shirt. 

“You’re a firefighter,” he muses. 

“And you’re a multidisciplinary artist,” Evan replies. 

Wilder nods. It’s interesting. It’s like they’re meeting for the most cordial duel of all time, but neither of them have brought guns; just clipboards and pens. 

A phone rings, and Tommy glances away from them. A moment later, he looks back up. 

“Hey baby that’s Eddie and Chris wondering why we haven’t brought dinner back,” he states, giving Evan’s hip a light squeeze. Evan nods, although his gaze lingers on Wilder for a few seconds longer. He turns then, leans into Tommy. Wilder watches as whatever tension is left in Tommy’s body seeps away. 

God damn. He really wanted to not be able to like Evan Buckley. 

“See you around,” Evan states after a moment, glancing in Wilder’s direction again. Wilder nods at him. As Evan and Tommy walk away, Tommy’s hand still on Evan’s hip, his friend strides back across the room 

“Hey, what’d I miss?” 

. . .

A few weeks go by without any run-ins. Maybe it’s because Evan and Tommy find other places to hang out. Maybe it’s because Wilder basically lives in his studio (it’s definitely not that). Maybe it’s because of wildfire season (it might be that). Either way,  Wilder doesn’t see much social interaction beyond his friends occasionally dropping by the studio and his parents stopping in to drag him into the sunlight. Once or twice he opens grindr, but nothing promising pans out. 

It’s mid August when Wilder spots them out together again. Another bar, another set of drinks. He’s been flirting with a guy who introduced himself three minutes after Wilder walked through the door when he spots Evan on the other side of the room. He almost thinks about going over to say something, but there’s a look in his expression. 

Something that looks curiously like defeat. Tommy is standing next to him—Wilder could place that mop of hair anywhere—talking into his ear much like he was that first night all those weeks back. He tries to look away enough to not make Evan look in his direction, realize he’s being stared at. But he sees the way Tommy’s talking calms Evan, the way he leans into him. The way their communication wipes out the defeat in Evan’s expression and replaces it with a small smile. And then a laugh. And then before long, Tommy has Evan half tipped on the barstool, their noses and foreheads pressed together as Evan straight-up giggles. Tommy is laughing with him, and fuck. 

Wilder really wanted to not like Evan Buckley. 

But Evan Buckley isn’t Mike, holding Tommy hard enough to hurt him (although the way he fists Tommy’s t-shirt before he kisses him makes a different kind of jealousy stir in Wilder, like these two probably throw each other around a bedroom with ease, and he wants to see that). Evan Buckley clearly isn’t Leo, just looking to fuck Tommy hard into a mattress and leave him behind. 

Evan Buckley might be a little like Ezra, and Wilder isn’t sure how he clocks that. Except, there’s an ease about him that Ezra never had. Evan Buckley clearly wasn’t looking for an education. The love in his eyes was obvious to the entire damn bar, whether they wanted to know or not. 

Evan Buckley definitely was not Charlie. He was openly making out with Tommy in public, hands all over the man’s body in a way that Wilder could tell was at least partially to tell the world ‘this is mine, and only mine’. 

. . .

It’s an early morning in September when they run into each other. Wilder is definitely not prepared for an eight AM class, and he’s questioning why he agreed to take this particular one on, but there’s no option to back out now. 

He stands inside the café wearily, waiting on his order, when the door chimes with ringing bells and he glances up. Evan Buckley. 

The blonde is in a hoodie Wilder recognizes as Tommy’s. The Harbor Station seal is on the back of it with his last name printed across the bottom. Evan yawns as he walks up to the counter and grabs two coffees. Knowing the kind of schedules they work, it seems Evan is heading home while Wilder is just starting his day. 

Except, Evan stops in his tracks when their eyes meet. 

“Evan,” he comments softly, acknowledging the other man. “Or, Buck. If you prefer.” 

Evan shrugs. “Evan is fine.” A pause. “Wilder. Its…convenient? To see you.” 

Wilder lets out a small chuckle. He nods. 

Evan walks forward a few steps, as though he’s not going to say anything further, and he makes it about a half-step past Wilder before he stops, leans back slightly, contemplating. He looks up at him. 

“He still talks about you,” he states. There’s no jealousy in his tone, no anger. Almost like he’s just putting the information out into the universe. Wilder nods again. He stares at Evan for a moment and then tilts his head slightly, almost like he’s letting him in on a secret. 

“And he’s in love with you.” 

Evan stares at him for a moment, and Wilder isn’t sure if Evan has realized that or not. His expression doesn’t let on one way or the other. 

Wilder takes a deep breath and the corner of his mouth pulls up a little into a small smirk. 

“Tommy never once looked at me the way he does you,” he states. “Not even during the best of it all. And me? I couldn’t ever fully accept the job.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating whether he needs to say more. Even if he doesn’t, he continues anyway. “I found him when he needed a friend. You founded him when he needed a partner.” 

A smile pulls at Evan’s face. If he has anything else to say, he doesn’t get the chance. His phone starts to buzz in the pocket of the hoodie, and he stacks the coffees together before pulling it out, answering the call, shooting only half a glance in Wilder’s direction before he speaks. 

“Hi, babe. No, I already got it. I’ll be there in like five.” 

. . . 

It’s the first week of December. Wilder is exhausted, maybe even a little burnt out, but riding high. His residency has panned out into an exhibition, and it’s the opening night. He’s been bouncing all over the gallery, trying to greet everyone and talk to them, see what they do and don’t like about the work presented. 

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he finally finds a few seconds to get a bottle of water, and he spins. Tommy. 

“Hey, T,” he greets cheerfully, if not a little weary. “Thanks for coming.” 

Tommy nods, and they share a quick hug. 

“How’d you hear,” he asks. Tommy gestures off towards one of the walls and Wilder glances over. 

“Evan saw the listing,” he states. “Told all of our friends we needed to come support. He’s really obsessed with that picture of your nephews.” 

WIlder glances over at the picture. It’s a large portrait, of two children facing away from the camera. One, old enough and tall enough that he isn’t even in the image aside from his torso and legs, with his hand resting on the younger one’s head. The younger child is a toddler, leaning into his sibling’s leg with his arm wrapped around it. 

“I’ve been tasked with getting your price list,” Tommy adds. 

Wilder lets out a soft huff as a smile tugs across his lips. 

He wanted to hate Evan Buckley. He wanted Evan Buckley to be like Mike. Or Leo. Or Ezra. Or Charlie. 

He wanted Evan Buckley to not be like him, not love and respect Tommy the way he did. But then…

Evan Buckley isn’t like Wilder. Evan Buckley supports the people his boyfriend cares about. Evan Buckley doesn’t care that Tommy is a firefighter or a pilot. Evan Buckley clearly likes art. Wilder barely knows him, and yet he already knows Evan Buckley is caring and selfless. 

He takes a breath and sighs, glancing back at Tommy, watching the way he watches Evan. 

“You’re gonna marry him.” It’s not a question. 

Tommy shifts his gaze back to Wilder. It’s the slightest movement, entirely imperceptible to someone who wouldn’t know otherwise. The twitch of the corner of his mouth, of his eyebrow. 

“Forever doesn’t seem nearly long enough,” Tommy says softly. 

Wilder can only shake his head at him as he smiles at his ex-boyfriend. 

“Well, when you start interviewing wedding photographers, I’d like to at least be consulted,” he states, extending a hand to Tommy. Tommy laughs at him but shakes his hand anyway. 

“Sure, Wy. But you should know, Evan’s seen your paintings and he wants one commissioned.” 

“I’ll take that payday,” Wilder says with a laugh. When Tommy lets go of his hand, he pats Wilder’s shoulder, and then he’s off again, heading back over to Evan and the friends they brought with them. Wilder stands in his spot a moment longer, both hands on the waterbottle he still hasn’t had a drink from. He watches as Tommy’s arm loops around Evan’s waist, and as Evan leans into him. The way Evan points at a portrait and talks to Tommy earnestly about whatever it is he sees. The way Tommy is completely enraptured by Evan’s words, nodding and smiling at him with interest. 

The way Evan puts his hand on the back of Tommy’s head as he leans into him, whispers into his ear. How, when Tommy turns into him to answer, Evan looks at him like he’s the only person in the room. 

The way jealousy still lives inside Wilder, but not the way it was that first night. No, this jealousy is from the way they look at each other, the way Wilder only hopes someone will hopefully look at him one day. He finally looks away when the two men kiss, cracking open his water bottle. He manages to get a sip off of it before someone else is walking up to him.

“You’re the artist, right?” 

[wannabanauthor]

Official Unhinged BuckTommy Thoughts

This is your official distraction from whether or not Tommy is coming back for Season 8. The premier date ain't here yet, so do what I do and procrastinate your anxiety. If you have ADHD, it's possible.

Anyway, onto the list.

Buck occasionally likes to top, so he created a sex calendar for him and Tommy, almost like a custody schedule: MWF Tommy is on top, TTh Buck has the option to top, and for the weekend it's anything goes. This is just an example from me, not what the actual calendar looks like.

Buck discovers he's a power bottom.

Tommy flies Buck to Palm Springs (aka desert WeHo) for a vacation, and they have a blast.

One time someone asks them if they're interested in threesomes, and Tommy says "Of course not, Evan is more than enough to satisfy me." at the same time Buck says "I refuse to share his dick and ass, and hands, and lips, and-" they start kissing.

One day, Gerrard makes Buck remain at the station during a call, and so Buck and Tommy have sex in his office when he's not there. Later on, Buck overhears Gerrard complaining about a weird smell in there.

I'll add to this as I think up more crazy things.

Before you even "this is all sexual, there's more to gay men than sex", look, I am literally an erotica author so this is what I do. Just saying.