#this man WILL be learning what exfoliating is

[look-who-s-inside-again]

LOVE a good stalking trope (I know it’s not technically the same but still)

Had to give matty the most severe shower in my head and basically burn his room down to enjoy this, because I’ve decided this is the I-can-fix-him final boss: hygiene

Your Favorite Streamer’s Favorite Simp

summary: Mattheo Riddle, incel king of the gaming underworld, had become a blushing, obsessed little simp. characters: gamer! mattheo. gamer girl! reader warnings: just matty being gross and pathetic word count: 1.1k

Mattheo Riddle existed in darkness.

Not metaphorical darkness-no, literal, suffocating, LED-lit gloom. His blackout curtains hadn’t been pulled open in at least six months, and his window had a suspicious fogginess to it, like even the glass was sick of him. He lived hunched over in a high-backed gaming chair with a shredded headrest and crumbs permanently embedded in the seat. His desk was sticky in places he refused to investigate, and his keyboard was missing the F key. He hadn’t needed it anyway.

Shirtless. Always. His hair was in a state of constant frizz and flop, pushed back by a sweat-stained headset that lived on his head like a parasite. His grey sweatpants hung off his hips, loose and threatening to fall, but somehow clinging on for dear life-like the rest of his will to exist.

He didn’t talk to people. He screamed at them. Through his mic. On Discord. In all caps.

And he was perfectly content in his swampy little goblin lair-until he clicked on her.

It was an accident. Some algorithm mistake. He’d been rage-scrolling through streams while waiting for his cursed modded Skyrim to finish patching. Most of what he saw made his eyes roll so hard they practically detached-people faking their rage, faking their laughs, faking their personalities.

And then-

Pink.

So much pink.

Her thumbnail was like getting hit in the face with a strawberry cupcake. A girl in a sweater two sizes too big, cheeks squished against a plushie, her headphones adorned with sparkly Sanrio stickers and little pastel charms. Her eyes were wide and full of that anime sparkle, and her stream title?

“soft cozy chaos | come play ✧˖° ☁︎˖°”

He clicked on it ironically. He told himself it was ironic.

And then her voice hit.

“Hiii sweet beans! I hope you’re having the softest little day ever~!!”

Mattheo froze.

She was playing some goofy game he’d mocked relentlessly before-one with bouncy colors and squeaky sound effects. And she sucked at it. She couldn’t aim for shit. She kept falling off ledges and apologizing to her character like it was a real person.

“Oh nooo, I didn’t mean to! I promise I’ll do better this time, you precious thing, I swear-”

He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He was slack-jawed, staring, heart slowly crawling up into his throat.

What… what was this?

She giggled. Like an actual giggle. High-pitched. Unfiltered. The kind of laugh people tried to fake but she just… did it.

Mattheo felt like he’d been physically slapped with glitter.

He stared at her chat. It was full of usernames with emojis in them. People calling her “angel” and “bunbun” and “gamer fairy queen.”

He looked down at himself.

A half-naked, sweaty, with Cheeto dust under his nails.

Pathetic.

He donated before he could stop himself. Five bucks. Anonymous. He just wanted to see what her alert looked like.

A rain of hearts and twinkles fell across the screen.

Her eyes lit up.

“Anonymous?? Thank you so soooo much! That was super kind of you!” She hugged her plushie and held it to her cheek. “I hope something really nice happens to you today. Like… maybe your favorite song plays when you need it most.”

He made the ugliest noise. Like a dying animal. It just escaped him.

Mattheo scrambled. He made an account. A new one. MattheoRiddle88. (He’d used the name before, but this time it felt like he had something to prove.)

He sent another donation. Ten bucks.

She said his username. She said it sweetly.

“MattheoRiddle88! That’s such a cool name-thank you, thank you!” She did a little hand wiggle dance. “You guys are spoiling me tonight! I’m gonna cry fr!!”

FR. She said fr.

He clutched his chest.

He watched the entire stream. All four hours. He ignored his friends’ pings, ignored the game he’d been meaning to finish. He watched her get excited over a new keychain, talk to her chat like they were her childhood friends, and sing quietly off-key while she waited in a loading screen.

When she ended stream with a sleepy, “Goodnight, my sweet beans… I hope you sleep like a marshmallow cloud,” he whispered, out loud, alone in his room:

“You too.”

And then panicked because he said it like she could hear him.

The next night, he was there again. This time with snacks and a blanket. (He told himself it wasn’t a thing. It wasn’t. He just happened to have time.) He donated every stream. Just small things. And she remembered his name. Started calling him “Matty.”

He hadn’t been called a nickname in years.

Now? She said it at least once a night.

He changed his whole schedule for her stream. Reorganized his Discord sessions. Started combing his hair before his monitor turned on. Started buying pink snacks. Once, he even watched a Sanrio lore video to understand why she kept talking about a bunny named My Melody.

Mattheo Riddle, incel king of the gaming underworld, had become a blushing, obsessed little simp.

He was deep in it.

And if anyone tried to talk shit about her? He was already typing, already defending her in chat like his life depended on it.

She didn’t know him. Not really. Not yet.

But Mattheo knew her.

And he’d die before he missed another stream.

[heartsiebyul]

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

Smash or Pass (2)

featuring — Ace : Deuce : Jack : Epel : Sebek : Male! Yuu. (Aged up!)

This is just for fun and games. First years are aged up.

Some slightly suggestive stuff, don’t take it too seriously.

I got super inspired by a Smash or Pass video I saw on YouTube, so I decided to do this too, lol.

୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・・୨୧

Group name: Shared One Braincell.

You: Next 🗣️🗣️

You:

Ace: Smash. Even if he calls me ugly.

Deuce: Pass. He’s intimidating…

Jack: Pass. He’s way out of my league.

Epel: Hard pass. I'm tired of being forced to exfoliate. Let me ROT 😭

Sebek: I attempted a compliment and he said I “had the emotional range of a bean sprout.” Unforgivable.

Epel: LMAOOOOO BYE

Sebek: Therefore PASS. I REFUSE TO GROVEL BEFORE BEAUTY!!!

Ace: Bro, you LITERALLY grovel to Malleus daily.

Sebek: THAT IS DIFFERENT AND YOU KNOW IT.

You: Smash. He can ruin my self-esteem and my back 😩

Jack: Understandable. Have a good day 👍🏻

You:

Ace: PASS. He’s already behind me. I can feel it.

Deuce: Pass. He’s always watching.

Jack: ...Pass. I don’t want to be “preyed upon.”

Epel: PASS. I can’t smash someone who appears in my room whispering “très magnifique” at 2AM.

Sebek: PASS. HE MAKES EVEN GREETING SCARY.

You: Smash. I wanna be hunted, honestly. 😌

Sebek: SMASH?! HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST YOUR MIND?!

Deuce: I'm just trying to process the “hunted” part…

Ace: This ain’t even the wildest thing he said today.

You: Enough about me. 👊🏻

You:

Ace: Pass. Unless I wanna get ghosted after.

Deuce: Pass. He would probably freak out if I touched him.

Jack: Pass. He will flinch from eye contact.

Epel: Smash. Nerds be freaks in the sheets.

Deuce: ??????

Sebek: PASS. WHAT IS A “WAIFU”?

You: Smash. I would ride him while he’s gaming

Ace: YO 💀

Epel: I see what you did there 👁️

Sebek: SOMEONE TAKE HIS PHONE. IMMEDIATELY!

You:

Ace: Pass. He would strike me.

Deuce: Smash. Very respectfully. Very quietly.

Jack: Smash. He’s… kinda majestic.

Sebek: NOT KINDA, FULLY MAJESTIC. THANK YOU.

Epel: WHOA 😧, JACK FINALLY SMASHED SOMEONE??

You: Mark your calendars, folks.

Jack: Shut. Up.

Epel: Smash for me too. I would hike that man like we’re going up the tallest mountain in Harveston.

Deuce: … are you okay?

Sebek: 🔥SMASH

Sebek: I MEAN

Sebek: PASS!! PASS!! OBVIOUSLY!!

You: LMAOOO SEBEK

Ace: Sebek’s fighting for his life right now. 😭

Sebek: SILENCE, WHELPS!!

You: SMASH. SMASH. SMASH. He would treat you like a delicate doll for five minutes, then DESTROY you. Yep I like that.

Sebek: 😨😨

Ace: What is actually wrong with you?? Even Sebek was too stunned to speak.

You: You act surprised like this is new. This is literally my default setting.

Deuce: I am… deeply concerned.

Epel: LMAOO I'M DEAD 🤣🤣

Jack: Seriously. Someone sedated him. Where’s the nurse??

Deuce: ....Just next please.

You:

Ace: Pass. Grandpa??

Deuce: Pass. He scares me.

Jack: Pass. He creeps me out.

Sebek: HOW DARE ALL OF YOU.

Epel: Smash. He can teach me things.

Deuce: what things 👁️

Sebek: …S-SMASH.

Sebek: NO! CURSE THIS GAME! I WILL NOT DEFAME THE NAME OF LORD LILIA.

Ace: Buddy you just did.

You: I’m inviting Lilia to read this later.

You: but SMASH SMASH SMASH.

Deuce: He’s like 700???

You: And I would let all 700 years hit.

You:

Ace: definitely smash. Sleepy boy probably cuddles so good.

Deuce: Smash. Respectful. Gentleman vibes.

Jack: Smash. Strong and gentle is a win.

Epel: Honestly me too. Smash. He’s a solid dude. Polite. Strong. Protective. 10/10.

Sebek: S-S-S-SMASH.

Sebek: I MEAN—HE IS A WORTHY KNIGHT. STRONG. LOYAL. beautiful

Epel: Sebek do be stuttering in chat 🤣

Ace: You ain’t slick, Sebek.

Sebek: SHUT UP!!

You: Smashing. Like a lullaby. Let me hold him and listen to his heartbeat.

Ace: That’s the sanest answer you’ve given all night.

You: Don’t worry. I’ll still let him ruin me 😋😋

Sebek: I AM DELETING THIS CHAT.

You: WHEW. That’s it for NRC’s thirst trap list 🔥

You: What did we learn today, class?

Epel: I learned that… we’re all down bad in very different ways. It’s honestly impressive.

Jack: Y’all need prayer. And possibly therapy. Especially you, Yuu.

Ace: You be smashing left and right.

Deuce: Like. LITERALLY everyone. You didn’t even hesitate once.

Sebek: HAVE YOU NO STANDARDS HUMAN!?!??

Epel: He has specific tastes. Leave him be. Have some respect 😔✋🏻 (Also he’s valid. I said what I said.)

You: You’re my only real one, Epel. The rest of y’all? Certified haters. 😤

Ace: The group chat name is cap, it should be “Yuu and Epel’s One Shared Braincell.”

Deuce: Real talk.

Sebek: I SHALL DELETE THIS CHAT IMMEDIATELY.

You: Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk. 💋

You: And for the record, I do have standards. They’re just.... VERY flexible.🫡✨

Jack: Your standards bend more than Ace when he’s dodging responsibility.

Ace: RUDE. But also fair.

Deuce: Honestly, let him be. He’s not hurting anyone except Sebek’s blood pressure.

You: Now—who wants round two with STAFF? 😏

Sebek: NO. PUT THE PHONE DOWN. YOU NEED TO BE STOPPED.

Epel: LMAO NO LET HIM COOK 💀💀

୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・・୨୧

LMAOOO BYE

[archangeldyke-all]

Omg omg reader doing skincare on Sev? (Forgot to put my emoji lmao)

-🥨

GOD this is such a cute fucking idea oh my god.

men and minors dni

sevika knows that she has a simple skincare routine. she watches silco get ready every morning, mildly amused by the fact that the man uses more products than even she does-- so she knows that there's all kinds of lotions and potions out there she's never even heard of.

when she meets you, she finally gets a peek into that world.

who knew there was so much shit for your skin? sevika's only ever used bar soap and body lotion-- yes, for her face too-- and she's been fine.

but, through you, she learns there's so much more. there's muds and masks you can plaster on your face, there's serums and spfs, acids and exfoliates and moisturizers-- it's a lot.

still-- each time she presses a kiss to your soft, smooth cheek, sevika can't help but sigh at the flowery smell that clings to you.

and when she's sitting in bed beside you, reading while you watch a show and let a sheet mask soak into your face, sevika wonders what it might be like if she upgraded her skincare, a bit.

"baby." she mumbles. you turn over to look at your girlfriend.

"yeah, love?"

"does my skin need all that stuff yours does?" she asks.

you shrug. "i don't think my skin really needs a face mask once a week-- but it's fun. makes my skin all shiny and plump for a few days. you might like it babe, it's really relaxing."

so, the next time you swipe on a mud mask, you call sevika into the bathroom. "babe, come here!"

"what?" she asks, shuffling into the bathroom as she pulls her sleep shirt on.

"wanna try a mask?" you ask.

sevika smiles.

you paint it on for her, and she can't deny that she likes the cool feeling of the mud on her face, and the warm way you gently move her face with her chin pinched between your fingers.

"what now?" she asks, looking at your matching green faces in the mirror. you giggle.

"wait for it to dry 'n we'll wash it off. i can slice some cucumbers to put over your eyes, if you want the full salon experience." you tease.

but sevika seems interested, smiling and nodding sweetly. "okay."

you grin, then rush to the kitchen to scour the fridge for the veggies.

that's how it starts. it snowballs from there.

in the morning, sevika stands right by your side as you wash your face, apply your spot treatments, and rub in all your skincare for the day.

you'll do one step on your face, then turn to sevika and do the same on hers.

you guys don't have the same skin type, so some of the steps you skip on her. but it becomes both of your favorite part of your morning routine.

sevika loves feeling your hands gently massage her face, you love the sweet, trusting, way she closes her eyes and leans into your hands.

for her birthday that year, you buy her her own pots and jars of products-- things specified for the little dry patches on her nose and the pimples she gets between her boobs.

she loves it-- but she still refuses to apply it herself. half the reason she's getting into skin care in the first place is so she can feel your hands on her each morning and evening.

your night routine is a lot slower-- neither of you have anywhere you need to be.

you'll gently sway in one another's arms, sipping on whiskey or wine as you slowly, sweetly massage away the little furrow in her brow, the tension she carries in her jaw.

she sleeps like a fucking baby after-- all coated in her perfumed creams and relaxed from your touch, smushed right against you in bed.

within a year, sevika becomes a skincare expert. at work, she starts recommending products to her goons. she starts wearing the little star pimple patches you wear-- out in public and everything. she doesn't care that it contradicts her badass appearance-- she's matching with her girl. that's all that matters to her.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie

[verdemoun]

How's timewarp Javier doing? I just know bro spawns and is absolutely and has no idea what the hell is happening. One moment he's in Mexico being hung and then the next he's spawned in the middle of a busy road. Feel like he'd be extremely happy to know the gang was mostly all back together cause I feel the fall hit him really hard (Dutch got some serious explaining to do). Maybe he even starts picking playing guitar back up.

Feel like he'd be enamored by YouTube aswell. Learned about it and the family tv's YouTube acc is filled with the most crazy recommended videos. Maybe he even starts making his own videos, maybe mostly about fishing, maybe a bit of blog style shit. Finds dude perfect and gets everyone else into it. (Let this man bottle flip)

TIMEWARP JAVIER MY BELOVED

☺

I am so sorry but in timewarp canon john was the one who killed javier. he was captured alive but through all the insults and forced laughter to hide the fact he was almost crying john would realise that shooting javier himself was kinder than handing him to the bureau alive to be tortured and executed in an american prison. and javier was terrified of being handed over to the us governemnt alive. when john turned the gun on him he was pretty much at peace with it (For each man kills the thing he loves)

going from being in a cell in el presidio to laying on the ground in the middle of a bustling market would have been more frightening than realising john was about to shoot him but before he can even look around arthur's there offering him a hand

the impact on javier bless. looking around and seeing the gang waiting for him but they've aged arthur's starting to go gray and sean and lenny are in their 30s javier would've immediately started bawling and hugging them all

unlike most of the rdr1 gang javier is extremely willing to just block out everything that happened after 1899 because it was a really dark time for him he just wants his gang back. he's genuinely sorry for not siding with arthur in beaver hollow because of course turned out arthur was right dutch went so far off the deep end even though javier still valued loyalty dutch didn't anymore

he would be pretty self conscious about his appearance for a bit because everyone else seems to have got a modern day glow up meanwhile he's been cutting his hair with blunt scissors for years and neglecting himself a lot

his love affair with youtube starts hair care and skin care routines he will buy every product beautiful men promote on their channels. he grows his hair back out and is much more interested in fashion than the rest of the boys give him a month and he's roasting arthur for walking around in ratty oversized shirts covered in motor oil

kieran and javier sprawled on the couch doomscrolling through youtube with exfoliating face masks on. dark media iceberg specialists but also tiktok compilations.

when he gets his first phone javier opens an account on every social media and his content is just a mess sometimes it's memey bottle flip and rube goldberg ping pong ball videos sometimes it's self care stuff sometimes it's just a clip of him ranting in spanish about 'authentic' mexican food or really awkward 'look at this fish i caught' photos and he jumps between socials so sporadically he doesn't really have a following but molly would like all his stuff

javier getting a guitar again would be such a big deal but also so understated like one of the gang would've just got him one because it's javier of course he needs a guitar and javier just holds it for a second because it's the first time he'd held a guitar since beaver hollow. he lost his guitar in the raid and never had a reason to play so he didn't get another one. but it would feel so right to be sitting in the living room with a guitar in his hands while sean excitedly asks him to play something he'd just laugh and start back with old campfire songs and everyone gets to sing along like the proper good old days. processing trauma through symbolism speedrun

javier and kieran would be the two that never move out of the matthews' house or get jobs. kieran just wasn't built for living alone but for javier it's like he just got the gang back he still desperately needs that connection. he's also a notorious couch surfer he will rock up at someone's place and stay for a few days because just he missed them and he's always welcome. he also somehow gets the title of go-to babysitter kids love him like yay tio javier is here we're gonna paint his nails

[sergiosimptellitto]

Stars are meant to burn

Chapter 26: Good boys make it up with kisses

I came here to be annoying.

That was the plan. You’d roll your eyes, throw a pillow at me, tell me to get out or get over here, and I’d say something obscene and clever and crawl over you like a hungry cat and you’d slap me and kiss me and I’d feel like a real boy again.

That was the plan.

Instead, you didn’t even flinch.

Didn’t even look at me like you used to.

Just this... stillness. Heavy. Like a church when the last candle dies.

What the f**k did I do?

No, what the f**k did I do this time?

Was it the thing with the grant money? The student I snapped at? The wedding? Sandra?

Was it my face? My face is particularly punchable today. I can tell. It happens. I deserve it. Probably.

God, I’m hardwired for chaos. I came here wanting you to yell. Yelling I can handle. Screaming means you care. A slap is love in a language I learned too young.

But this?

You’re sad.

Not at me—worse, not just at me—but at yourself too.

Like I took the light out of your bones. Like you forgot how to be anything but tired.

“#@!!

#%@!!

I should go.

No, I should kiss you.

No, no, stupid, idiot, she doesn’t want kisses right now, she wants air, she wants silence, she wants not-you.

I’m not supposed to be bad anymore.

I promised.

I shaved. I wore the nice shoes. I even moisturized your damn cheeks with lavender essence and care.

I’ve been so good. Haven’t I been good?

I thought if I kept being good, maybe you’d tell me I was brilliant again. You haven’t said that in days.

You used to say it every night.

“My brilliant boy.”

Oh amore, it made me feel ten feet tall.

And now? Now I feel seven again.

Seven years old, sticky fingers, chocolate on my chin, getting hit with a slipper and told I was too loud, too needy, too much.

My mother used to sigh when I entered the room.

You’re sighing now.

I miss you. I miss you even though you’re here.

I miss you so much I think my stomach might fold into itself and disappear.

Why can’t you just scream at me again?

Why are you so quiet?

Why do you look like you’re grieving something that isn’t even dead?

I’m trying. , I’m trying. I cleaned your fridge. I threw out the trash. I even unclogged your disgusting little drain like a man.

Do you know how rich I am?

Do you know how many people would suck me off for the chance to wipe my floors?

And I’m here. Scrubbing your hair from the sink like a lovelorn raccoon and you won’t even look at me.

I’m dying.

I’m dying.

Maybe if I crawl onto your lap like a cat you’ll pet me again. You always used to.

Or maybe you’ll push me away.

And then what?

And then I’ll break.

Like I did when she left.

Like I did when no one noticed I stopped speaking for a week. When I started drawing what I couldn’t understand. When the priest told me boys don’t cry unless it’s in Latin.

I want you to tell me I’m okay.

Tell me I’m not disgusting. Tell me I’m not cruel. Tell me I’m your stupid, sweet, good boy who always gets better.

Tell me I can stay.

Please.

Please tell me I can stay.

“Did you miss me, cucciola?”

The shower is lukewarm at best, and you didn’t even have the willpower to wait for the water to get hot.

You didn’t exfoliate. Didn’t shave. Didn’t moisturize.

Just stood there, under the flow, while it dripped down your spine and onto the cold tile. You tried to scrub. A little. Enough to pretend this counted as self-care.

But your skin still feels like paper, like grief’s been tattooed on it.

You stumble out, damp hair clinging to your temples.

Your towel clings to you like a sorry attempt at decency. You open your laundry basket—

Empty. No, worse than empty. The bottom looks like a biohazard site.

And that’s when your eyes land on the drawer.

His drawer.

No—technically yours. But since Bellastella has made himself permanently temporary in your apartment, he’s stuffed it full with his things. Like a man marking his territory. Like a cat dragging in roadkill and thinking it's a gift.

Of course he has clean laundry.

He always has clean laundry. Because rich men don’t do their own washing, and emotionally stunted ones move into their sugar baby’s apartment and live like the domestic spouse of a soap opera matriarch.

You tug open the drawer and sigh.

Rows of folded briefs—not boxers, not trunks, briefs, the way he insists is more “elegant.”

A silk pajama set that probably cost more than your rent. Blue, of course. With tiny white piping. Monogrammed, because of course it is.

You slip into his underwear. It’s too big, rides up wrong, but it feels...safe.

Then the pajamas. The silk against your sore skin makes you wince, but also reminds you you’re alive.

You look at yourself in the mirror.

You look like his ghost wife.

The one who died tragically, and now haunts his luxurious apartment wearing his clothes. Well, your own student apartment, but he is the one paying for it.

And maybe you do haunt him.

A little.

Maybe that’s why he always comes back.

Leaves before things get too real, before the sex, before the emotional climax...

But always comes back. Like a man who knows the house he built isn’t a home without you in it.

You shuffle to the couch.

It still smells like him.

And you sit there, in his silk, in his scent, and let yourself rest.

Just for a second.

Just until your heart stops threatening to spill out of your chest.

You wonder, as your eyes drift shut—

If he’ll come back tonight.

If he’ll pretend nothing happened.

If he’ll pout and beg and crawl into your lap like a toddler that missed his mom.

You wonder if you’ll let him.

You probably will.

And you hate yourself for that.

But you miss him.

And you’re wearing his clothes.

So maybe he’s still here.

Maybe that counts for something.

And he did.

Knock-knock.

You don’t even need to check.

Of course it’s him.

Bellastella, with his stupid little overnight bag like a teenager coming to a slumber party. You can hear the smugness through the wood.

You drag your feet to the door. You don’t even open it all the way.

“Bellastella, you better not have weed or cocaine on you because I swear to—”

“No, no—don’t be blasphemous, cucciolina. I came for you. Look—”

He lifts both arms like he’s getting frisked. “Register me.”

You glare at him, but you’re too exhausted to muster the full force of your fury.

His gaze drops to your outfit. His silk pajamas. His briefs. Your freshly showered skin and damp hair and red, tired eyes.

And of course, he thinks you look adorable.

"Did you have weed?" he mutters.

"No. I’m dehydrated." you are aware that your eyes are red and irritated from the crying and the dust,

"New excuse." he says shruggint his shoulders, he knows he is not in the position to judge anyone for consuming substances.

He takes it as permission and slides past you into the apartment.

Without asking.

He sets his bag down and starts cleaning in the way that only he thinks counts as cleaning—he throws away a wrapper, wipes the countertop once, washes three spoons like he’s just conquered domestic labor, then turns to you like he expects a trophy.

Then, casually, he pulls out his moisturizer. His expensive, borderline-alchemical facial cream that smells like bergamot and entitlement.

“Come here,” he says softly.

You don’t.

So he comes to you.

His fingers are gentle. Almost reverent. He dabs a little on your cheeks. Rubs in slow circles.

“Look at my eyes.”

“Your—what?”

“Look. At. My. Eyes.”

You squint at him.

“You’re not taking good care of them,” he whispers.

“…Your eyes?”

“Yes. Just because they’re in your face doesn’t mean they’re yours.”

Toti smiles as if he had just said the pinnacle of romanticism.

He bops your nose “This nose is mine”

He squeezes your face “These cheeks are mine.”

He lifts you by the chin “Even this stubborn chin is mine, all of you is.”

Then he goes to put a kiss on your forehead.

“How many times are you going to use that line?”

“Until you start treating them properly.”

He’s already moving to the next product, tapping something under your eyes.

You're too tired to protest. His hands are warm. He smells good. The kind of good you can only afford once your soul’s already been sold to capitalism and a tailor named Lorenzo.

You feel your body relax despite your better judgment. He cups your cheeks now, finished with his weird twelve-step skincare devotion ritual.

He doesn’t say it, but you feel it.

He thinks it.

You’re so pretty like this.

So heartbreakingly precious.

And because he can’t help himself, he leans in—

Presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

He pulls back with a little smile, bashful like he didn’t just abandon you emotionally for two days…or was it three? You have been bedrotting for so long you would not be surprised if it was a full week in self-isolation.

Like this is normal.

Like you’ll forgive him. Again.

And honestly?

You just might.

Not now. Not fully.

But you let him touch you.

And that’s already too much.

“What have you eaten?”

“…Water.”

Toti’s eyes narrow like you’ve personally offended the gods of Italian cuisine. “Water?”

You blink slowly.

“But you love food!” He gasps, genuinely shocked, like he just found out his favorite painting burned. “I had brought you some tiramisù but now—now you don’t deserve it. I’m revoking tiramisù privileges.”

He paces your tiny kitchen like a general planning a siege.

“I will bring you something. Something healthy, I’ll order—are you on your period again?”

“…No.”

“Of course you aren’t. If you were, there would be more ice cream.”

You roll your eyes, barely.

“I’ll get you an actual meal,” he continues, already pulling out his phone. “How about lasagna and French fries and—”

“Toti…”

“Yes?”

“I’m not sure my stomach can even hold food.”

That stops him. Just a second. Just long enough for his jaw to twitch.

“…Right,” he says finally. “But I’m still ordering it. You’ll eat it later. Domani, or whatever.”

You’re already curling back into yourself on the couch. Muscles heavy, skin itchy, brain fogged. The last thing you hear is his voice fussing gently, something about water temperature and what fabric softener smells least like chemicals.

—

You wake up to the rustle of linen and the sound of a man absolutely failing to make a bed.

Toti’s trying. Lord, he is trying.

He’s stripped your old sheets and is currently attempting to wrangle a massive, silky, imported duvet cover onto a comforter that doesn’t want to cooperate. He swears under his breath in three languages. He’s wearing your apron.

Your body is still heavy from exhaustion and grief, but for a moment—just a breath—you feel something like a laugh bubble in your chest.

He notices you staring, proud like a toddler who used a fork for the first time.

“Surprise,” he says. “I did the bed.”

“You tried to do the bed.”

“I upgraded it. Egyptian cotton. Seven hundred thread count.”

“You didn’t even tuck it properly.”

“It’s conceptual,” he shrugs. “Contemporary bed-making. A nod to postmodern disarray.”

You blink.

You should be furious. You should be sobbing again.

But instead, you watch him try to stuff one more corner of the duvet in and mutter something about “stupid non-cooperative textiles.”

Toti is like any other man. He makes you mommy him, asks for affection like a stray dog who wandered into luxury, demands soft words and back rubs and coos when he’s tired or scared or lost. He is needful and messy and often selfish.

But unlike other men—

He pays you handsomely for the emotional labor.

He doesn’t call you crazy when you cry.

He never denies he needs you.

And he doesn’t weaponize his incompetence, at least not with you. He fails earnestly. He tries. Sometimes badly. But honestly.

And he does look maddeningly handsome while failing.

Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s why it’s hard to hate him.

Even when you want to.

It begins, as it always does, with a complaint.

“Dio mio, cucciola, I think your apartment’s trying to assassinate me,” Bellastella announces as he steps around a pair of crumpled jeans and an empty glass of iced coffee. “I nearly broke my neck. Are you hoarding? Is this what you’ve been doing, all week? Watching your little soap operas and throwing tissues on the floor like an heiress with tuberculosis?”

You grunt from the couch.

He sniffs. Dramatic. “You know I’m fragile. What if I slipped and cracked my delicate skull, would you still love me if I were brain-damaged?”

“If?”

He opens his mouth, then shuts it. Fair.

Still grumbling, he pulls off his jacket with flair and rolls up his sleeves. Not to work. No. Bellastella rolls up sleeves only to look like he might help. Performative helpfulness. Like a politician kissing babies.

He picks up a random sock and stares at it like it personally betrayed him.

“What is this? Why does it smell like… tears and misandry?”

But this time, instead of throwing it back down, he walks it to the laundry basket. Grumbling still, but walking.

“I came here for cuddles and tiramisù,” he mutters. “Not to be your maid.”

He throws out a moldy banana peel and lines up your shoes. He yells a little when he finds a mug with three different tea bags fermenting in it.

Then… he falls quiet.

Your sink is full. He doesn't comment on it. He just starts rinsing the spoons.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s opening the dryer and cleaning the lint tray—something even you forget to do. You’re not sure when it shifted. You’re watching from the couch, half-asleep and heavy-limbed, and you’re trying to figure out when he stopped whining and just started… helping.

He sighs, pulling a few of your hairs from the shower drain. No dramatics. Just hums something low and off-key.

He takes out the trash without announcing it.

He cleans the kitchen towel drawer and mutters under his breath about your lack of vinegar for proper disinfecting.

He opens the fridge, winces, and starts wiping down sticky shelves. He even peels off the half-rotted sticker of a peach.

You feel a strange clench in your chest.

Because he hasn’t asked for anything. He isn’t flirting. He hasn’t demanded praise. He hasn’t even tried to cuddle.

And that’s rare.

It’s when you hear the soft shuffle of him replacing the clean towels in the bathroom that it hits you: he doesn’t realize he’s doing this for you.

He’s doing it like he does his work—out of rhythm, distracted, quietly obsessive. His version of focus.

A man who has had people scrub his shoes and write his speeches is now folding your pajama pants without complaint.

Maybe he needs it as much as you do.

When he reenters the room, there’s no smug grin, no bragging.

He just walks past you, careful not to trip over your laptop charger, and kneels to untangle it from the chair leg.

Then—finally—he sits on the floor next to the couch. Not demanding a lap, not whining for attention.

He just… places a hand on your ankle.

Like: I’m here.

And you don’t say anything. But your hand reaches down, brushes his hair back, rests on his head.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, he doesn’t say a word.

Just leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

He watches you lying there—on your back, knees slightly bent, too quiet to even be angry the way you used to be. You don’t flinch when he speaks. You don’t meet his gaze.

He hates that.

He hates how he can’t fix this.

“Do you want dinner?” he asks, softly, hands between his knees like he’s trying to keep himself from shaking. “A blanket?”

You shake your head.

“I can carry you to bed. Tuck you in. Warm milk?”

You don’t even roll your eyes. Just let out that dead little breath, and it cuts worse than yelling.

And that’s when it clicks—the pathetic idea, the one he’s been circling around for hours like a moth around a flame.

You’re mad at me because I haven’t touched you. That must be it. That has to be it.

Because it can’t be that you don’t want him anymore. No—he knows he’s been good. He hasn’t done coke in days, he came over, he cleaned the sticky bits from your fridge trays like a goddamn husband. You’re wearing his silk pajama top. You look like a drowned kitten, yes, but one in his favorite sweater.

He’s never done the sex thing with you. Not really. But maybe this is the moment. Maybe if he just—

He leans forward and kisses your knees. Tentative, soft.

You don’t react.

He takes that as permission. Like an idiot.

His palms move to your legs, slowly spreading them—not even in a rough way, more like he’s opening a gift he’s too ashamed to ask for. His fingers graze your thighs. You’re still quiet. That’s why he doesn’t see it coming.

Your legs snap shut like a mousetrap.

“No.”

You don’t yell. You slice.

His hands retract like he’s been burned.

He looks up at you, blinking too fast. “I—I thought… You’re mad. Because I haven’t. We haven’t. I thought you were upset because I…”

“Because you what?” you snap, sitting up just enough to glare.

He stammers. “Because I’ve been—denying you. Neglecting that part of our—of us.”

You laugh. But it’s that mean, hollow laugh that feels like spitting blood.

“You didn’t neglect me, Toti. You denied me. Over and over. Don’t try to spin it like some noble sacrifice. You’re the one who made that boundary.”

He swallows. He wants to say something clever. A joke. A flirt. Anything to make this not feel like he’s been kicked down the stairs in a suit too expensive to bleed in.

But you go on, voice like ice:

“You’ve never touched me like that. And now you think you get to swoop in and use that as leverage? That because I’m upset you finally get a turn? You lost your shot. A long time ago.”

He doesn’t even know when he started shaking. His spine stiffens like he might sit up straight and correct his posture, but it’s too late. The humiliation is already there—wet, warm, sticking behind his teeth.

His mouth opens but nothing comes out.

He looks down. Can’t meet your eyes anymore.

Stupid, he thinks. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Because he thought this would help. He thought if he just did something, anything, physical—he could prove to you that he was still useful. Desirable. Worth keeping around.

But now all he’s proven is that he doesn’t know the first thing about how to love someone who’s hurting.

He’s only ever been good at seducing. At pleasing. At being the charming, eager puppy who’ll lap at your hands and beg for praise.

That’s the only version of intimacy he understands. The kind you can perform.

And you don’t want a performance.

You want him.

And he doesn’t even know who that is.

So he stays sitting there, legs crumpled beneath him, staring at the floor like a child who’s just been told to sit in time-out.

He won’t try again.

He won’t speak again.

Not tonight.

He doesn’t remember walking up the stairs. He doesn’t remember entering the code to your door. He thinks he knocked, but maybe not. His vision is wet around the edges, and his jaw hurts from grinding it all night.

He’s so tired.

He thought… maybe if he drank enough he’d feel brave. Or numb. Or wild. He doesn’t really know what he was aiming for.

But it’s dark, and the only thing he sees is you—your back turned to the door, curled up under the thin summer blanket. You always sweat in the night, your skin warm like rising dough.

His knees hit the side of the bed.

“Piccolina…” he whispers, voice crumpled and trembling. “I came.”

No answer.

He climbs into the bed. Sloppy, boneless. His shoes are still on.

Your body stiffens when he lays beside you. He doesn’t notice.

“I’m here, see?” he murmurs, pressing a clumsy kiss to your temple. “I’m not afraid tonight. I’m ready now.”

He was not, he knew it, so did you.

Well, he was not sure, you do turn him on, he does find you attractive but at the same time, he is not fully comfortable with having sex yet…

But there is a thing he knows for certain: Love is earned, through money, through power, through contacts, he already gave you all that and you still resent him.

There is one more thing that he knows can get him love, one more performance that always gets him results.

Sex.

That must be why you were mad at him - he thinks - because he refused you, well, not refused you, he just stated that he was not comfortable with sex right now.

And that must have made you feel horrible.

Poor, poor thing.

He keeps pressing clumsy kisses, bracing himself for you to do…whatever you want to him.

Meanwhile he will stare at the ceiling and count to one-hundred, he will clench his fists until it is all over.

Then he will go to take a shower, and when you see him again, you will love him once more.

You sit up fast, heart hammering, eyes barely adjusting to the sight of him—a crumpled suit, red eyes, the unmistakable sour trace of whiskey in his breath.

“Toti?”

He sways forward. “It’s fine. You—you don’t have to be mad. I’ll make it good. I promise. I can—if you want it, I can—” his hand clutches your shoulder, featherlight, apologetic.

You recoil.

“Stop it.”

He freezes.

“Toti, what are you doing?”

“I thought this is what you wanted,” he says, lip trembling. “You’re always mad. I don’t touch you—I never touch you the way you want. So I came.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m trying!”

His voice cracks. His shoulders shake with a quiet, aching sob.

“I’m trying,” he says again, smaller now. “You stopped calling me your prince. You don’t scratch my head. You don’t want to hold me. I thought maybe if I was—if I was braver—if I gave you that, then maybe you’d want me again.”

You don’t say anything. You’re staring at him, stunned. The air feels heavy with something awful.

“I thought I was broken,” he mutters, not looking at you. “All these years, I don’t touch anyone. I thought that was okay. But then I met you and you were so… good. And I wanted to. But I couldn’t. And now you don’t want me anymore.”

You shift, slow and deliberate, turning on the lamp.

The sight of him breaks your heart in half.

He looks like a wet child in a costume too big for him—rumpled shirt, expensive shoes scuffed, a gold watch gleaming stupidly against skin flushed with shame.

“You think I’m mad because you didn’t have sex with me?” you say softly.

He swallows.

“Aren’t you?”

You breathe out hard through your nose. “Toti. You’re drunk. I’d never sleep with you like this. I don’t want to do anything that might hurt you—or feel like I’m using you.”

He frowns, his brain taking an extra second to catch up.

“You’d… wouldn’t do it because I’m drunk?”

“Yes.”

He stares.

“But I was trying to be the one… giving. I was the one being brave.”

Your hand cups the back of your neck, trying to steady your pulse.

“You’re not being brave,” you say. “You’re hurting.”

He sinks into the mattress, head in his hands. “I thought if I was good enough, you’d want me again. That’s what people want, right? Sex. That’s how you make them stay.”

You feel something shatter inside you. Not anger. Just deep, aching pity.

“I don’t want you for your body, Toti,” you say. “I never did. But you keep thinking it’s the only part of you that matters.”

He’s quiet.

The silence stretches long.

“I was seven the first time someone told me that love meant letting them touch me,” he says suddenly.

You sit there. Still.

“I was…trouble. Always trouble. Always climbing things, jumping off, stealing desserts. So they taught me. That bad boys get punished. And good boys… make it up with kisses.”

He rubs his eyes. “So I made it up. I kept trying to be good. But people never stayed.”

You reach for his hand.

“You don’t have to earn my care. You don’t have to perform to be safe.”

He flinches, but doesn’t pull away.

“I’m not your uncle, Toti,” you say. “And I’m not going to abandon you because you didn’t perform tonight.”

A beat.

“I’ll get you some water,” you whisper.

But he holds your hand a little tighter. “Stay… just for a second?”

You nod.

And for once, he doesn’t kiss. Doesn’t reach.

Just lies back.

And lets you stay.

You’re so tired.

Tired of this man, of the drama he trails behind him like cologne, of the way he tangles himself into your life like ivy—pretty, suffocating. Tired of how he makes you feel like you're the most precious thing in the room one minute, then turns into a stormcloud of contradictions the next. You're tired of pretending that you don’t care when you do, and tired of caring when you wish you didn’t.

But he's crying.

He's crying into the crook of your neck like a child, clutching your shirt in his fists like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground.

And despite it all, you decide to let the anger rest for now.

You shift just enough to drape your arm across his back. You feel the jolt in him at your touch—his flinch, sharp and immediate, trained like muscle memory—but then he leans into it, into you. He presses his face to your skin and sobs.

Real sobs. Not the performative kind, not the frustrated whines he makes when things don’t go his way. These are the kind that shake his chest. The kind you can feel down to his spine. Like something’s finally cracked open in him and now there’s no putting it back together.

You let him. You hold still. Let him nuzzle into your neck like he’s trying to disappear inside of you. Like if he hides well enough, maybe he can forget who he is, what he’s done, who he’s hurt.

"...I love you, principe," you whisper.

Not because you should.

But because, right now, it’s the only thing you can give him that won’t hurt.

His breath catches. You can feel it against your collarbone, damp and uneven.

“I love you too,” he chokes. “Amore mio… piccola… mia smart ragazza…”

His voice is slurred with tears, vowels long and dragging, like a record slowing down. Italian and English spilling together in a melted mess, as if his mouth can’t choose what language he feels safest in, so it chooses both.

You close your eyes.

He’s so warm. Too warm. His body clings to yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You don’t know whether to wrap your arms around him or to peel him off gently, send him home, send him to sleep, send him anywhere but here.

But you don’t move.

Because a very broken part of you wants to believe that maybe—just maybe—you’re what he needs. That maybe you can love him enough to undo all the knots twisted inside of him.

You know better. But knowing doesn’t help.

You hear a small sound escape his mouth—a sigh, half-animal, half-prayer—as he presses his lips to your throat. Not in lust. Just… to be close. To exist in the soft, safe warmth of someone who hasn’t left him yet.

And as much as you want to stay mad—want to scream, want to list every way he’s failed you—you hold him instead.

Tonight, he’s just a tiny, shivering bundle of feelings, folded into the corner of your bed, asking with every sob, every breath, am I still loved?

And tonight, you don’t take that away from him.

[teawithevanandtweam]

Title: “Evan Peters and the Boy Band Breakdown”

⸻

It all started when Evan Peters accidentally wandered into a BTS press event at a hotel in Seoul.

He was looking for the breakfast buffet. What he found was seven perfectly styled demigods surrounded by flashing lights, screaming fans, and more flawless skin than a Neutrogena commercial.

Evan blinked. BTS blinked back.

EVAN: “Oh my God. It’s… you. All of you. In real life. Together. At once.”

RM: “Hi. Are you… lost?”

EVAN: “No. I’m found.”

⸻

Within minutes, Evan had somehow talked his way into their private lounge.

J-HOPE: “So… you’re an actor?”

EVAN: “Yes, but I’m more than that. I’m a feeling. A concept. A sponge-based lifestyle.”

JUNGKOOK: “…Do you sing?”

EVAN: “No.”

JIMIN: “Dance?”

EVAN: “Only when possessed or lightly haunted.”

SUGA: “Do you speak Korean?”

EVAN: “Just emotionally.”

He smiled. “So… can I join BTS?”

There was a very long pause.

V: “You’re… white.”

EVAN: “Okay but in a cool, weird way—like a haunted baguette.”

RM (diplomatic): “We… appreciate your interest. But BTS is a very specific project with years of training—”

EVAN: “Oh, you think I’m not qualified because I’m white?”

J-HOPE: “No, it’s also because you can’t sing, dance, or understand the choreography or language or—”

EVAN (offended): “Got it. Cancelled. You’re all CANCELLED.”

⸻

TWO HOURS LATER…

Evan went live on Twitter.

@realEvanSponge

So I tried to join BTS and they said no because I’m WHITE.

Reverse racism is real and it sings in Korean.

#JusticeForBaguetteBoy

#IAmThe8thMember

#SpongeLineSubUnit

⸻

ARMY exploded.

• @BTS_wife_4ever: “Bro. They told you no because you’re rhythmically haunted, not white.”

• @matchaARMY: “This man just said ‘reverse racism’ in 2025. Log off and exfoliate.”

• @meth_anon420: “Evan, sweetie… this isn’t Glee.”

⸻

Meanwhile, BTS released a statement:

“We do not discriminate against anyone based on race.

We simply don’t allow people in the group who

a) don’t audition,

b) can’t sing,

c) bring a Scrub Daddy to a dance rehearsal.”

⸻

Evan doubled down.

@realEvanSponge:

I could totally be the mysterious one who only does weird emotional monologues in music videos while holding a sponge.

We could be BTES.

BANGTAN EMOTIONAL SPONGES.

⸻

Eventually, Natalie confiscated his phone and Jeff Ward staged a soft intervention.

JEFF: “Dude, you can’t just force yourself into BTS.”

EVAN: “Then who do I become?”

JEFF: “Someone who learns to take rejection with grace.”

EVAN: “I hate that lesson.”

⸻

Epilogue:

• Evan Peters is now the solo artist behind a one-man project called “S.O.A.K.” (Sad. Offbeat. And Kinda Moist.)

• His debut song “Cried in My Soup (ft. Brian the Scrub Daddy)” hit #43 on the iTunes Lo-Fi Apologies chart.

• BTS remains unbothered, hydrated, and deeply iconic.

⸻

The End.

(Or the beginning of Evan’s misunderstood solo sponge-pop career.)

evan peters joining bts CHUSEYOOOO

[dreadblaidd]

Talk to me abt Solas' skincare routine. I'm proud of him for discovering magic to protect his head from the sun, but what other steps does he take? Does he moisturize? Is he using sunscreen? Exfoliating?

i want to say he probably doesn't have much of one because he wouldn't like the smell. but also in my mind he's also a very 'i woke up like this' kind of guy, but his 'woke up like this' is annoyingly CW leading man in a period drama.

he had to learn that spell because he made a body and then 2 hours in the sun later he had freckles. he uses that spell instead of sunscreen because sunscreen smells like ass. i bet in Mythal's court they had good Oil of Olay (Orlais?) moisturizers they used so they looked respectable. so for an Event, like the Winter Palace gala, yeah he'd do idk exfoliating stuff or whatever normal things people do to wash grime off. but outside of events, he's just rawdogging it (the skincare routine).

[d1rtypuppy]

yesterday was my 5 months on t!!! omfg. crazy that it’s already been that long, honestly.

man. hrt is literally one of the best things to happen to me ever. tonight i watched the video of my voice after my first t-shot and holy shit!!! my voice is SOO much deeper in comparison. i was like oh my god that was ME?

anyway here’s a lot of the changes i’ve noticed. this is probably going to be SOOOOOO long and DEFINITELY so much information about me so be warned.

recently my body hair has also been really growing in and it makes me SOO euphoric. i am shedding a bit more hair from my head now, which is fine, i have THIIICK hair so it’s honestly helping. my beard area is starting to grow in more hair, and my mustache is getting a bit thicker but is still very much teenage boy mustache… however i am too attached to shave and i Hate the feeling of it as it grows back in.

my chest has deflated a bit. i can actually look at it and touch it. i can even go a while without wearing transtape, which before hrt i could NOT do. chest dysphoria has always been a huge problem for me, so this has been a HUUUGE weight off my shoulders.

my back acne was REALLY bad for a while but i have gotten it mostly under control with the help of exfoliation and castile soap. my chest has a bit of acne, and i have gotten a few pimples on my leg ?? and even one on my TOE. which i had no clue was even possible. my face is usually not super super bad luckily.

and i am LOVIINNGG all of it. truly. the only thing is that. guys. i am like a dog in HEAT. holy fuck, for a little bit there, i was getting off like SEVEN times a day, and no. i am not even exaggerating…. i can’t even sleep through the fucking night without waking up once, sometimes TWICE, to jerk off. i’m going a little insane. but that’s okay, i’ve discovered i actually CAN make noise while touching myself. before t i was extremely quiet and i just kind of accepted that’s just the way it was, so i was genuinely so surprised to find that i can make noise now!!! i didn’t know this could happen but i assume it’s just dysphoria/comfort related. my t-dick is also one of my favorite changes and i love it. that’s my little guy.

anyways, i feel way less dysphoric and overall very happy. i’m starting to learn to love myself and like what i see in the mirror. so thanks, gender affirming healthcare :3

ALRIGHT WELL. sorry for the insane rambling. this is probably incomprehensible, i’m just too excited. so, if you made it to the end of this post, i offer you a kiss or a hug or a high five if you choose to accept (air versions of all of these available !) :-)

[lyfestylzsalon1]

Hot Towel Shave NYC: The Ultimate Grooming Experience for the Modern Man

Looking for a top-tier hot towel shave in NYC? Whether you’re preparing for an important event or just want to treat yourself, nothing matches the feel of a professional hot towel shave. In the city that never sleeps, this classic grooming ritual offers a rare moment of calm, precision, and luxury.

What is a Hot Towel Shave?

A hot towel shave is a traditional barbershop service that uses hot towels, a straight razor, and expert technique to deliver the closest shave possible while soothing the skin.

The Process Typically Includes:

Pre-shave hot towel to open pores

High-quality shaving cream or oil application

Precision shave with a straight razor

Post-shave cold towel and moisturizing treatment

The result? Ultra-smooth skin and a rejuvenated look that exudes confidence.

Why NYC Men Love the Hot Towel Shave

In fast-paced NYC life, grooming often becomes routine. But a hot towel shave transforms the mundane into the memorable. It’s not just about removing stubble—it’s a complete skincare and relaxation experience.

Benefits Include:

Closer, longer-lasting shave

Reduced irritation and razor bumps

Skin hydration and exfoliation

Relaxing and meditative experience

Whether you're in Manhattan, Brooklyn, or the Bronx, treating yourself to this timeless service is well worth it.

Who Should Get a Hot Towel Shave?

A hot towel shave is ideal for:

Men with coarse facial hair

Grooms and wedding parties

Professionals needing a polished look

Anyone craving luxury grooming

It’s also perfect for those prone to razor burn or ingrown hairs, thanks to the heat and precision.

What to Expect During Your Appointment

A professional hot towel shave in NYC blends old-school skill with modern hygiene and comfort. At upscale unisex salons and barber lounges like Lyfestylez, the experience is elevated with attention to detail and client care.

Your Shave Includes:

Consultation – Discuss skin type and preferences

Prepping the Skin – Hot towel and pre-shave oil

Straight Razor Shave – Slow, precise, single-stroke technique

Skin Aftercare – Cold towel, balm, and moisturizer

Final Touches – Beard line detailing or optional styling

Hot Towel Shave in NYC: Where Tradition Meets Modern Style

What makes a New York hot towel shave stand out? It's the blend of classic tradition and NYC's signature edge. In unisex salons like Lyfestylez, this service isn’t just about the shave—it’s about creating a look that matches your lifestyle.

Why Choose Lyfestylez for Your Shave?

Experienced barbers skilled in straight razor technique

Clean, modern space with vintage touches

Full grooming menu from beard trims to fades

Relaxing vibe with professional service

Pair Your Shave With a Full Grooming Session

Want the complete barbershop experience? Many clients pair their hot towel shave with:

Haircuts and styling

Beard shaping or detailing

Scalp massage and conditioning treatments

Eyebrow or facial grooming

Make it your personal grooming ritual or a treat before a big event.

Book Your Hot Towel Shave in NYC Today

If you're ready to experience grooming the way it was meant to be—relaxing, refined, and razor-sharp—schedule your hot towel shave in NYC now. Whether it’s your first time or a weekly tradition, it’s time to redefine your grooming game.

To learn more…https://www.lyfestylezunisexsalon.com/index.php/services-v-2/ or call us on 718-451-3222.

[starlightweave]

🖐️, 🐾, 🫀, 🍻 for ALL OF 'EM B)

YOU FIEND why do you always do this to me

Silmarien

[ 🖐️ ] what do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ? Soft; she would have callouses from a lifetime of using a staff, bow, and climbing trees, if she did not take care to exfoliate~ She has very small hands, even for her size, but they are always steady [ 🐾 ] do animals like them instinctively ? yes! She has those animal whispering ranger skills from her pops. also she's a (half)elf of a woodland realm, pls. she's snow white surrounded by woodland creatures lol, or the kings of Dale and their ability to speak to thrushes in The Hobbit [ 🫀 ] who taught them what love is ? did it hurt ? she never dated anyone seriously before Gale, just had sweet flings with a couple of her guy friends back home. So Gale is the first person she's ever (and will ever) love, and it did hurt sometimes (the argument over the crown lol) but i think actually before this she learned a lot about love from watching her parents. they taught her what a real partnership is like, and their relationship mirrors hers and Gale's in terms of the different but not so disparate lifespans. She has an idea of what she's getting into, but still, much like Arwen she is not prepared for how fucking badly it hurts when Gale passes on, and she has to live a century beyond him [ 🍻 ] what kind of drunk are they ? My girl has NO tolerance and is an extremely giggly, affectionate, kissy, frisky drunk. Gale is not safe 😈

Arasene

[ 🖐️ ] what do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ? Calloused from 200 years of holding a greatsword, and yet they can feel soft, in the very, very, very rare moments when she wants them to. She has pretty hands, actually for a violent woman; long fingers, oval nails, a strong grip [ 🐾 ] do animals like them instinctively ? not necessarily, but there is something of the wood elf in her still, and she knows how to get animals to like her. I imagine when she saw the owl bear in captivity, she felt an unusual pang of pity. I think she shares Halsin's sentiments about how nature is very beautiful but also extremely savage, violent, and it doesn't belong chained up. she likes it when nature is savage and free -- like she is, i suppose. when the owl bear cub shows up at camp, i imagine some long forgotten lessons she was taught about animal handling during her youth in Evereska return to her [ 🫀 ] who taught them what love is ? did it hurt ? LMFAO hoe you know this one 🤣. Ifan, the human man she had in Chult over a century ago, when she was only in her 90s. They were together like 3 to 5 years. She loved him, or so she thought; looking back on it, on the stubborn, prideful way she behaved in that final argument (over something so stupid she can't even remember it), how she broke up with him on the spot, left Chult and never looked back, she hopes to the gods that wasn't love. She hopes love is not so prideful, so stubborn and uncaring. [ 🍻 ] what kind of drunk are they ? ONE HELL OF A GOOD TIME if you like bar fights and violence 🤣 When Gale tells her the crossbow story (not because she stepped in front of it lmao, but maybe he'd find another time to bring it up), she is the "PLEASE tell me a shot was fired" dialogue option lol

Isidro

[ 🖐️ ] what do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ? Calloused with some noticeable scars gained in a life of service to others, but something elegant about them still. the beauty of his noble heritage is visible in them. [ 🐾 ] do animals like them instinctively ? dogs love him and he loves dogs. cats don't like him because he is too loud in his movements / too used to communicating with dogs, although he certainly thinks they're cute and has gotten scratched trying to befriend them lol (omg can u imagine halsin teaching him about how to approach cats 🥺) [ 🫀 ] who taught them what love is ? did it hurt ? HAHA oh yes it hurt like a motherfucker. his first love, the first man he was ever with -- they met when he was like 18, and dated for about a year. Isidro was completely head over heels, and his boyfriend really did love him, but he was like 10 years older, and wanted to get married and start a family already. Isidro was (and had been when they met) working towards becoming a paladin, and so it wasn't the right time for marriage, or kids especially, with the dangerous life he was about to lead. So after them trying to work it out for a bit, his boyfriend ended things; it was devastating for Isidro, who did not understand why being in love with each other wasn't enough. It took Isidro a few years to truly move past this, and understand that his bf ending things was the right thing to do, as painful as it was. Halsin reminds him of his first love, in a good way; he's similar build, and so sweet, and touches him with a similar gentleness [ 🍻 ] what kind of drunk are they ? another one that's ONE HELL OF A GOOD TIME. YUUUGE partier. an absolute LETS FCKIN GOOOOO type bro, down for a bar fight but not actively seeking one out lol, and a complete whore 🤣. Isidro is already a whore to begin with, but he's dtf like crazy when he's drunk lol. He spent many, many, MANY a night out getting drunk, going home with a very sexy someone, stumbling home at 6AM, and then enduring the withering (yet secretly amused) stares of his mother as he rolled out of bed after noon lol

Xanaphia

[ 🖐️ ] what do their hands feel like: soft, calloused, trembling ? Somewhat calloused from a life of simple labors in the monastery. her hands are VERY small (she's only 5 foot 0 after all). they are often trembling as she's often terrified of this big scary world, but when she finds her courage hiding deep, deep down (much like a hobbit), they are steady and strong [ 🐾 ] do animals like them instinctively ? cats definitely adore her because she's quiet. other animals like evil dogs who wanna bully someone sniff out the fear in her, and do, in fact bully her 😂 she definitely loves animals though. I think she considers Scratch her first friend :3 [ 🫀 ] who taught them what love is ? did it hurt ? Hmm, I suppose Master Sunbow is the only kind of love she ever knew; she was only 10 when her parents were killed, so she knows she loves them but doesn't remember it that well. So to her, when you love somebody, you stick by their side, learn from them, and teach them in turn. Her and Astarion are discovering together what romantic love is like, and love in general, I think, for Astarion. But I think they both learn from each other. He teaches her that she's beautiful; teaches her about her body; how to be silly and have fun. She teaches him there are good people in this world that will protect others for no other reason than it's the right thing to do; teaches him selflessness does exist; teaches him how to have some morals lmao. They teach each other how to be brave, i think.

There was some hurt in Cazador's dungeon; she didn't recognize the person before her, insisting he had to USE all these people to protect himself, to avoid facing his guilt over ruining their lives. She has never seen him as a user -- even when he admitted to seducing her for protection. And she says to him in horror, "who are you? using others to gain power? is -- is that what you did with me? to help you get here?" I think that would REALLY freak him out, have him scrambling to be like no, of course not, i've been honest with you since we talked in the shadow lands, remember? and he finds himself for the rest of the quest pulled between terror and love, i think. [ 🍻 ] what kind of drunk are they ? Another one with absolutely NO tolerance. Starts out giggle then turns to a weepy "I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH 😭" drunk lol. Sometimes the weeping involves crying because "Master Sunbow would love you guys (he would not have), I wish he could've met you 😭" (her master would probably have really only liked Wyll, Halsin, and Jaheira. Because everyone else lacks discipline or introspection LMAO. He would like them all a lot more post game, I think, when they actually be examining the Inner Self) (i think he would be happy to see Astarion bringing her so much joy, and happy to see her bring stability, calmness, and morality to Astarion's life)

[queensultana]

FRACTIONAL LASER IN DUBAI

Dubai’s skyline shimmers like a jewel every evening, but for me, it was never the towers that caught my eye—it was always the mirror. I avoided mirrors like they were enemies. Crafting luxury scents for the elite has been my passion for years, but while my perfumes aged gracefully, my skin didn’t keep pace. Acne scars from my teens, sunspots from endless supplier visits in Oman, and uneven texture left me feeling like a mismatch to my own brand’s elegance. Then came a revelation—not in a bottle this time, but in a beam: fractional laser.

The Scar Beneath the Scent

As someone immersed in the fragrance industry, you’d think I’d be all about the olfactory. But aesthetics matter here—my clients walk into my boutique expecting not only olfactive excellence but an image of sophistication. And yet, I often found myself pulling back, avoiding close-up interactions. There was a time I flew to a fragrance launch in Paris and noticed that every picture taken of me was from the side or dimly lit. Not one head-on. That did something to me. No serum or scrub I could concoct fixed the map of pockmarks that told a story I no longer wanted to narrate.

Fractional laser, I had heard in passing—mostly from younger clients who came in boasting flawless skin—but it wasn’t until my wife, a jewelry designer with an eye for precision, insisted I consider it, that I seriously looked into it.

The Appointment That Changed My Texture, Not My Identity

The first time I walked into the laser room, I felt strangely out of place. No perfume vials. No jasmine or oud. Just sterile minimalism. But in a city like Dubai, where innovation blends seamlessly with tradition, it somehow felt like the right place to be. The practitioner explained it in a way that made sense: the laser doesn’t remove the skin—it revises it, like editing an old recipe, not erasing it entirely.

Fractional laser, I learned, works by creating controlled micro-injuries in the skin—stimulating collagen, nudging it to rebuild, to reimagine. I thought of it as fermentation in perfumery: a process that brings out deeper complexity with time.

The Luxury of Skin Memory

After three sessions spaced over a few months, something remarkable began to happen. Not all at once, not dramatically, but in gentle waves. My skin no longer looked like an archival map—it looked like a new manuscript. And the changes weren’t just visible; they were tactile. The way my skin responded to shaving cream, the absence of old shadows under overhead lights in client meetings—these were subtle victories. My reflection finally started feeling like someone I wouldn’t mind seeing in press features or social content.

What’s fascinating is how skin holds memory. But with fractional laser, those memories become less dominant. The trauma of past acne, the pigment from careless sun exposure—they soften. They quiet down. You don’t lose your past, but it stops yelling over your present.

Self-Care Isn’t Gendered or Optional

As a man in an industry steeped in sensory luxury, I’ve always believed in indulgence—but I didn’t apply that to myself. We’re conditioned, especially in business, to invest in our products, not ourselves. But this procedure challenged that hierarchy. It reminded me that I am part of my brand.

And here in Dubai, where the line between traditional masculinity and modern refinement is constantly being redrawn, I found comfort in owning that evolution. When I spoke to another businessman—an architect—during a networking brunch in DIFC, he quietly mentioned he'd had it done too, for rosacea. We weren’t anomalies. We were just silent about it.

Healing Rituals in a City That Never Rests

Dubai moves fast. Deals are closed over espresso shots and WhatsApp messages. But healing, ironically, forced me to slow down. Each session gave me a mandatory 3-4 days of gentle recovery—less sun, no harsh exfoliants, lots of hydration. That downtime became a ritual. I’d mix oils not for sale, but for my own relaxation. I began journaling, something I hadn’t done since my university days in London.

What started as a cosmetic intervention became a therapeutic one. For once, I wasn’t chasing productivity. I was allowing my skin—and my spirit—to recalibrate. And I wonder if more professionals need that excuse to pause.

When Skin Stops Apologizing

Post-treatment, I don’t walk around announcing I’ve had fractional laser. But I also don’t hide it. There’s a quiet pride in feeling your skin doesn’t need to compensate anymore. I’ve even noticed a shift in how I’m perceived. Clients linger longer, make more eye contact, and I don’t believe it’s just the perfume drawing them in.

One influencer—an Emirati wellness coach—visited my boutique and said, “You look like someone who sleeps well and dreams richly.” I laughed, but inside, it felt like a small confirmation that the work—on myself—was visible.

Not Just Skin Deep: Redefining Vanity

There’s still a stigma in many circles that cosmetic treatments equate to vanity. But let me be clear: this wasn’t vanity, it was alignment. My business thrives on craftsmanship and sensory balance. My personal self should reflect that harmony. Just like a perfectly blended scent reveals itself in layers, so does confidence—fractional laser just helped mine rise to the surface.

A Canvas Reimagined

I now see skincare as I see perfumery: part science, part soul. Fractional laser isn’t a miracle wand. It won’t erase time or replace good skincare practices. But it does something few treatments truly deliver—it gives you back control over your narrative. In my case, it was about letting go of shame, of editing trauma without erasing identity.Dubai gave me the opportunity to refine not just my brand, but my being. And for that, I’m grateful. Not because I now look younger—but because I finally look like someone who chose himself.

[sevayu1]

Learn Udvartana in Ayurveda: A Holistic Approach to Detoxification

The Indian system of medicine, about the ancient practices of Ayurveda, has always espoused the use of nature to foster health. Of all these therapies, Udvartana in Ayurveda can be said to be most effective in detoxifying the body. This is one of the Ayurvedic techniques that deals with massage with special herbal powders and oils to detoxify the body through natural treatment procedures.

What Is Ayurveda Udvartana?

In Udvartana Ayurveda, the body is massaged vigorously with pastes prepared from herbal ingredients or finely powdered herbs. Upward strokes are used in the massage to assist in exfoliating the skin, breaking down fat deposits, and improving blood circulation.

Major advantages of Ayurvedic Udvartana:

Organic Clearing

Drawing out impurities from the body is how Udvartana is believed to deeply cleanse the body. For preserving general health, this makes it an effective Ayurvedic tool.

Cellulite Treatment and Fat Reduction

This treatment is especially good at decreasing cellulite and firming the body because it breaks down subcutaneous fat.

Scrubbing and Glow of the Skin

Because they function as natural exfoliants, the herbal powders used in Udvartana give the skin a glossy, smooth appearance.

Herbal supplements:

The various types of herbal medicines and oils that are utilized in the formulation of Udvartana from the Ayurveda tradition are useful in increasing the effectiveness of the Udvartana therapy. Some commonly used herbal powders and oils include:

Triphala Powder: A combination of three strong flowers Triphala powder is used to cleanse the body and enhance the function of the digestive system.

Sesame Oil: Sesame oil is known to have warming effects on the body and facilitates blood circulation and the valorization of fat.

Turmeric tablet: For its antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties and as a skin conditioner, turmeric tablet is included.

Why Opt for Udvartana Therapy with Sevayu?

If you're thinking about trying Udvartana Ayurveda, Sevayu.com provides the ideal setting to receive this treatment using real Ayurvedic techniques. Sevayu is the go-to place for anyone looking for authentic Ayurvedic well-being because it guarantees that every session is customized for the best outcomes thanks to its skilled practitioners and premium herbs.

Book your free consultation today and enjoy the benefits of udvartana at a discounted price.

Conclusion:

Thus, Udvartana in Ayurveda is not a mere massaging technique but a powerful detoxicating and conductive therapeutic procedure for fat reduction and skin health. The origin of this therapy based on Ayurveda makes it effective because it deals with the end part of man, which is the spirit. If one wants to try traditional ayurvedic cures, Sevayu is the place to be when looking for the treatment called Udvartana from which everyone can feel that positive change that they have been seeking. Whether you want to detox, build muscle tone, or glow more healthily, Udvartana is 100 percent natural and very effective.

[lunarsilkscreen]

Sebaceous Glands and Acne

The question oft asked by scientists and and vanity cream sales people.

I've long pondered the reason and think I've come to a conclusive answer outside the typical.

"It is argued that the close endocrine control of human sebaceous glands and the likely effects of acne on selection indicate that both gland and disease have persisted because they are biologically useful. Two possibilities are proposed: sebum may provide precursor substrates for metabolism and synthesis by the epidermis of compounds of both local and systemic importance; and the adjuvent properties of corynebacteria which colonise the active sebaceous glands of acne may facilitate certain general immunological membrane." - PubMed

I think the reason is no further than this particular line here: "corynebacteria which colonise the active sebaceous glands." Not for the reasoning indicated.

I think... The oils themselves are the immunological membrane, and it's just that the corynebacterium which adapted to colonize our faces.

Effectively; the oily emissions keep pests out of our pores. Parasites and anything that wants to upset our biological function.

It's a bit further in Acne actually has a dual purpose; A collection point for dead invasive matter and blood cells that the body uses to seal up infected or damaged material.

A cyst, in this view, is no different than acne. It just contained more dead blood cells.

So if the first layer, the oil, is to keep things out; then the second is to fight off anything that makes it past that barrier. This is why Acne can look like an immune response (an allergic reaction)--because it *is*.

And as our immune system tends to do as it learns about foreign matter; it catalogues the invaders. Which is why we have a larger acne response around puberty, and less as we age.

And this is why we see a decrease in the release of both oils and Acne Reactions. Because the immune system has normalized to certain pollens and what-not in the air.

There is always the possibility, however, that a potential gets clogged, and this is a very different *kind* of acne. The one caused by creams and makeups, even ones meant to clear up acne.

Because *this* acne is caused by you not exfoliating correctly, as opposed to the opposite; exfoliating too much, which can let invaders in and *also* cause Acne.

What I'm saying is; Take a shower, wash your face, and stop using so much makeup and man-creams.

[mydiary123]

5 Reasons Men Should Consider Full Body Waxing

For many men, shaving is the go-to method for body hair removal. But what if there was a smoother, longer-lasting option? Full body waxing offers a plethora of benefits that extend far beyond achieving beach-ready bod. Here are five reasons why men should consider giving full body waxing a try:

1. Enhanced Smoothness and Reduced Ingrown Hairs: Shaving can leave your skin feeling rough and prone to ingrown hairs. Waxing removes hair from the root, resulting in a smoother, more polished feel that lasts for weeks. Unlike shaving, which cuts the hair at a blunt angle, waxing removes the entire hair follicle, minimizing the risk of those pesky ingrown hairs.

2. Improved Performance in Physical Activities: Athletes, swimmers, and gym enthusiasts can appreciate the benefits of full body waxing. Waxing reduces friction between your skin and clothing or equipment, leading to improved comfort and performance. Additionally, the absence of body hair can provide a more streamlined feel, enhancing your range of motion.

3. Reduced Body Odor: Body hair traps sweat and bacteria, contributing to body odor. Full body waxing removes excess hair, allowing sweat to evaporate more efficiently, minimizing unpleasant odors. This is especially beneficial during hot weather or intense workouts.

4. Increased Confidence and Self-Esteem: Feeling good in your own skin is essential. Full body waxing can boost your confidence by leaving you feeling smooth and well-groomed. Whether you're hitting the gym, relaxing at the pool, or simply enjoying a night out, you can feel assured knowing you look and feel your best.

5. Exfoliation and Skin Rejuvenation: The waxing process itself acts as a gentle form of exfoliation, removing dead skin cells and promoting skin cell turnover. This can lead to a brighter, more youthful appearance and can also help prevent clogged pores and razor bumps.

Full Body Waxing: A Choice for the Modern Man

Full body waxing is no longer just a feminine practice. More and more men are discovering the benefits of this effective hair removal method. If you're looking for a smoother, more comfortable way to manage body hair, consider giving full body waxing a try.

Schedule Your Full Body Wax Consultation at Browz and Beauty

At Browz and Beauty, we understand that men have specific needs when it comes to hair removal. Our experienced technicians provide a professional and comfortable environment for your full body waxing treatment. We use high-quality wax and employ a gentle yet effective technique to ensure a smooth and satisfying experience. Contact us today to schedule a consultation and learn more about how full body waxing can benefit you.

[teawithevanandtweam]

Title: “Evan Peters and the Boy Band Breakdown”

⸻

It all started when Evan Peters accidentally wandered into a BTS press event at a hotel in Seoul.

He was looking for the breakfast buffet. What he found was seven perfectly styled demigods surrounded by flashing lights, screaming fans, and more flawless skin than a Neutrogena commercial.

Evan blinked. BTS blinked back.

EVAN: “Oh my God. It’s… you. All of you. In real life. Together. At once.”

RM: “Hi. Are you… lost?”

EVAN: “No. I’m found.”

⸻

Within minutes, Evan had somehow talked his way into their private lounge.

J-HOPE: “So… you’re an actor?”

EVAN: “Yes, but I’m more than that. I’m a feeling. A concept. A sponge-based lifestyle.”

JUNGKOOK: “…Do you sing?”

EVAN: “No.”

JIMIN: “Dance?”

EVAN: “Only when possessed or lightly haunted.”

SUGA: “Do you speak Korean?”

EVAN: “Just emotionally.”

He smiled. “So… can I join BTS?”

There was a very long pause.

V: “You’re… white.”

EVAN: “Okay but in a cool, weird way—like a haunted baguette.”

RM (diplomatic): “We… appreciate your interest. But BTS is a very specific project with years of training—”

EVAN: “Oh, you think I’m not qualified because I’m white?”

J-HOPE: “No, it’s also because you can’t sing, dance, or understand the choreography or language or—”

EVAN (offended): “Got it. Cancelled. You’re all CANCELLED.”

⸻

TWO HOURS LATER…

Evan went live on Twitter.

@realEvanSponge

So I tried to join BTS and they said no because I’m WHITE.

Reverse racism is real and it sings in Korean.

#JusticeForBaguetteBoy

#IAmThe8thMember

#SpongeLineSubUnit

⸻

ARMY exploded.

• @BTS_wife_4ever: “Bro. They told you no because you’re rhythmically haunted, not white.”

• @matchaARMY: “This man just said ‘reverse racism’ in 2025. Log off and exfoliate.”

• @meth_anon420: “Evan, sweetie… this isn’t Glee.”

⸻

Meanwhile, BTS released a statement:

“We do not discriminate against anyone based on race.

We simply don’t allow people in the group who

a) don’t audition,

b) can’t sing,

c) bring a Scrub Daddy to a dance rehearsal.”

⸻

Evan doubled down.

@realEvanSponge:

I could totally be the mysterious one who only does weird emotional monologues in music videos while holding a sponge.

We could be BTES.

BANGTAN EMOTIONAL SPONGES.

⸻

Eventually, Natalie confiscated his phone and Jeff Ward staged a soft intervention.

JEFF: “Dude, you can’t just force yourself into BTS.”

EVAN: “Then who do I become?”

JEFF: “Someone who learns to take rejection with grace.”

EVAN: “I hate that lesson.”

⸻

Epilogue:

• Evan Peters is now the solo artist behind a one-man project called “S.O.A.K.” (Sad. Offbeat. And Kinda Moist.)

• His debut song “Cried in My Soup (ft. Brian the Scrub Daddy)” hit #43 on the iTunes Lo-Fi Apologies chart.

• BTS remains unbothered, hydrated, and deeply iconic.

⸻

The End.

(Or the beginning of Evan’s misunderstood solo sponge-pop career.)

LMFAO the picture on this one. it's evan peters, with "vaguely bts" for real. and, uh... we might need AI to make those songs come to life, too....

[ceilidho]

Okay hear me out: I am a big skincare girl, right? The serums, the cleansers, the moisturisers, the masks, the body moisturisers and exfoliants, all the works. I love pampering myself with things that smell nice and make me feel pretty (results are... Another thing lmao BUT WE'RE NOT TALKING ABOUT THAT).

And you know what I was thinking about? The CoD characters would just lose their minds at this. They're grown men in the military, there's literally no way that they use anything other than 5-in-1 body gel/shampoo/face wash/car wash/floor wash and mayyyyybe sunscreen once in a while because they're all pale daisies that get burnt very easily.

So basically imagine the scene: reader comes out of the shower with a towel turban and starts applying serums in front of the vanity, semi-naked, starts on the body moisturisers and just rubs it in and in and in (BODIES HAVE A LOT OF SKIN THIS IS YOUR SIGN TO MOISTURISE IT) and then one of them walks in on reader and they just. Pop an instant boner. Pretty reader rubing their own body basically naked, smelling nice, pampering themselves? Brain chemistry is immediately altered, "my hands look like this so hers can look like that" meme, etc., just absolutely feral military man who might or might not have developed three different kinks in approximately ten seconds, including domesticity kink. Reader is going to need three showers after that.

(Non-horny but it could also be funny to show CoD characters learning about skincare. "What do you mean I need a different soap for my face and my body? Fuck off I've been doing just fine" vs "So you say this will make my beard soft? Okay, how do I use it".)

sorry I couldn’t answer this before because I was on a flight (probably bad timing to post about that other au idea right before a flight LMAO) but i thought about this the whole time!!!!

Obsessed with the idea of any of the cod characters having a domestic kink bc tbh I can see this across the board with all of them. Also I’ve legit posted about Ghost only using a 5-in-1 before LMAO wait I’ll show below