#5 panel pocket doors

[warriorocteivia]

Shaker Dallas Inspiration for a sizable transitional dressing room renovation with shaker cabinets and gray cabinets in a medium tone wood floor and brown floor.

[beta-isaac-lahey]

Dressing Area Closet

[operationslipperypuppet]

Home is Where the Hearth Is - Emily Axford (2024)

they made a pact. they broke the pact. they spent tens of thousands of years alone. and now, perhaps, they can start to be whole again.

image description under the cut:

[ID: two images that are show comic panels.

the first image is 16 comic panels showing words and drawings to correlate with the words.

from left to right, top to bottom, they are:

1: a light green background with the words "they say the" and then a gold circle with a cross stitch inside it, with the words "home is where the hearth is" stitched in, with a roof above "home" and a fireplace between the i and s of "is".

2: a light yellow panel showing a gold dragon breathing fire and a large yellow divine heart with blue and green veins with a humanoid with yellow hair, yellow skin, green pants, a brown tunic, and brown boots, (Telaine, the gold dragon) reaching out to touch it. there is a green and gold overlay to both so they appear to be glowing. the words over it say "and fire heals the soul".

3: a light blue panel with darker blue footprints moving through the panel, as though walking through snow. the words read "but you've been trudging through the cold".

4: a wintry scene with a humanoid in a green cloak with yellow pants and green, leaf-covered boots (Melora), cloak blowing in the wind. the sky is gray and the ground in front of her shows a blue patch of ice. blue snow overlays the entire scene. the words read "you have been traveling through ice and snow".

5: a light green panel showing a teal pocket watch and a green arrow with green, yellow, and blue feathers. the words read "'cause time isn't an arrow".

6: a light blue panel with a dark blue man, Aryox, with his chin tilted upwards, a blue knife pointing at his throat, lifting his chin upwards. the blue knife is inscribed with runes. the words read “it’s a dagger at your throat”.

7: a light blue panel showing two figures, frozen statues, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and you are numb from head to toe”.

8: a light yellow panel showing a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it. the words read “and all your blood has turned to stone”.

9: a light green panel showing a log cabin with one side blue, one side green, a yellow roof with a green chimney, and a green window and door. below it is a green hand reaching out to the right as though to take another hand that is not there. the words read “so come home to me”.

10: a light green panel with a small fire on two logs and a purple and white tea pot with leaves as part of its design and steam coming out of the spout. the words read “the fire’s warm and I am making tea”.

11: a light green panel showing an image of the sun with an orange center and yellow rays surrounding it and a cream yellow crescent moon below it, surrounded by stars. the words read “the day has turned to night”.

12: a light blue panel showing a blue hand turned downward and blueish gray snowflakes extending down from the hand. below it is a smaller image of the frozen statues from panel 7, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and all the snow has hardened into ice”.

13: a light green panel with an image of a pair of green boots with leaves drawn into them that have green laces, the boots Melora is wearing in panel 4. the toes and bottoms of the boots are speckled with light blue water stains. the words read “your boots are stained with slush”.

14: an outdoor scene with Melora, clad in her green cloak and green boots which are blowing in the wind approaching a light blue cave with a different blue interior. in front of the mouth of the cave is a light blue arctic fox, Lumi, who is glowing with a blue aura. the wall of the cave immediately inside of it is carved with an image of a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it, from panel 8. the sky is a grayish blue and snow overlays the entire image. the words read “and the northern winds ain’t letting up”.

15: a light yellow panel showing an image of an intricate gold cloak with a hood and many shades of yellow to create shadows and an intricate pattern. the words read “and your best coat can’t compete”.

16: a light green panel with a wooden window showing a purple night sky with the cream yellow crescent moon and stars from panel 11. in the foreground is a dark wooden table with two pairs of arms and hands on it, one pair is yellow and the other pair is green. the arms are resting on the table and the people are holding hands. the words read “with an evening in good company”.

the second image is 15 comic panels showing words and drawings to correlate with the words.

from left to right, top to bottom, they are:

1: a light blue image showing the teal head and torso of the frozen statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image. halfway down the torso, the color changes to the dark blue color he is in panel 6 of the above image (when he was alive). the dark blue is giving way to the teal. the words read “frozen half to death”.

2: a light blue panel showing an image of a pink bowl of hot soup on a matching pink plate with a spoon resting on the plate. the broth in the bowl is tan and has green onions floating on its surface. there is gray steam coming out of the bowl. below it is an image of a bed with a brown wooden frame. the made is made with purple sheets and pillows under a royal blue blanket. the words read “you need a hot meal and your bed”.

3: a light blue panel showing an image of a cushioned purple armchair. draped over the chair is a flannel blanket, the majority of which is yellow but has dark blue vertical stripes and dark green horizontal stripes. there is a fringe at the edge of the blanket that is alternating with the blue, green, and yellow of the rest of the blanket. the words read “you need a blanket and some rest”.

4: a light blue panel showing an image of a small purple teacup with brown liquid inside and steam coming off the top. there is a lemon wedge on the rim of the cup. below it is an image of a piece of brown bread with a layer yellow butter covering its surface. the words read “you need a toddy and some buttered bread”.

5: a panel that is twice the size of the other panels, separated into three triangles by gray lines. the left triangle shows a gold dragon flying upwards with its mouth open with a light green background. the center and largest triangle shows a temple with dark and light green stones constructing it, and large columns at the front. the top of the temple has a craving of a wavelike swirl at the center, the symbol of the goddess Melora. the right triangle shows a gray divine heart with golden veins. three hands; one blue, one green, and one yellow, extend toward the heart, as though to take it, the image from panel 8 of the above image, on a blue background like the cave wall in panel 14 of the above image. there are a pair of blue hands in front of it, holding a chisel and mallet, carving that image into the cave wall. the words across the top of the three triangles read “wear the mantle like an albatross” and across the bottom read “and never take it off”.

6: a light blue panel showing an image of the teal torso and head the frozen statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image, with the light blue sword of Raedak overlaying his head, as it does in the statue. the words read “you let yourself grow numb”.

7: a light blue panel showing a green hand reaching out to the back of the frozen teal statue of Aryox from panel 7 of the above image. between the statue are layers of blue and purple energy, keeping the hand away from being able to touch the statue. the words read “‘cause you’re too proud to need someone”.

8: a light yellow panel showing a log cabin with one side blue, one side green, a yellow roof with a green chimney, and a green window and door. below it is a yellow hand reaching out to the right as though to take another hand that is not there. the words read “so come home to me”.

9: a light yellow panel with a small fire on two logs and a purple and white tea pot with leaves as part of its design and steam coming out of the spout. the words read “the fire’s warm and I am making tea”.

10: a light yellow panel showing an image of the sun with an orange center and yellow rays surrounding it and a cream yellow crescent moon below it, surrounded by stars. the words read “the day has turned to night”.

11: a light blue panel showing a blue hand turned downward and blueish gray snowflakes extending down from the hand. below it is a smaller image of the frozen statues from panel 7 of the above image, one teal (Aryox) and one a different shade of light blue (Raedak). Raedak’s arms are extended and he is holding a sword, which has intercepted Aryox’s head. Aryox’s elbows are bent and shards of ice, the same color as him, extend into Raedak. the words read “and all the snow has hardened into ice”.

12: an image showing the blue cave wall with an icy blue floor and the feet and legs teal statue of Aryox. there is an additional layer of blue ice overlaying the feet of the statue. the words read “the cold has got its claws in you”.

13: an outdoor scene of two figures walking together through the snow up a light blue hill. on the left is Melora, in her green cloak, green boots, and yellow pants, braid peeking out from the cloak which is blowing with the wind. to her right is Telaine, with a golden yellow cloak, brown boots, and light blue pants. the sky is a slightly darker blue than the ground. snow overlays the scene. the words read “oh, the weather she can be so cruel”.

14: a light blue panel showing the torso of the teal frozen statue of Aryox. on the part of his leg that is visible is a pair of snowdrops, white bell shaped flowers drooping off of green stems. at his back are two hands, a yellow one above a green one, both of which are touching him. dark blue emanates from both hands, spreading throughout the rest of him in concentric circles. the words read “but home is where the healing starts”.

15: a light yellow panel with an image of 4 arms and hands, one yellow and one green each holding the hands of the two blue arms, as though to guide them somewhere. below that is an image of a fireplace, with brick walls, a stone border, and wooden mantle and baseboards. there is a fire at the center with two logs, the same one from panel 9 of this image. the words read “so come in from the dark and find the hearth”. /end ID]

[hamsterclaw]

Heist

Bangtan Christmas 2023 drabble 5 - read the rest here.

You know you can't trust Kim Taehyung from the moment you set eyes on him, he's a rogue through and through. So why do you agree to work together?

Pairing: Taehyung x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 4.2k

Genre: Con artists Taehyung and reader, smut, fluff

Warnings: Sex, swearing

It takes a con artist to know one, and you clocked Kim Taehyung as soon as he sauntered into the room with an insouciance so natural you knew it had to be practiced.

Even if you weren’t a con artist, just like he is, you’d have been able to work it out.

The preternatural beauty.

The elegance of his movements.

The exquisitely tailored clothing.

He’s too perfect to be real, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned in your time on this earth is that when something or someone is too perfect to be real, that it’s because they aren’t. 

Real, you mean, you’re not arguing that he’s perfect.

He works the room, charming, oozing sincerity, all artfully tousled dark hair, boxy smile and dark eyes. 

You’re watching, amused, as he collects influential people like they’re his friends instead of pawns in his game of confidence.

You’re so distracted that your own companion for the night, a dull but fabulously wealthy man called Seongho, comments on it, bringing you back to your present.

You’ve got your own game to run tonight, you remind yourself.

You put the beautiful man out of your thoughts and get back to it.

***

The hotel room door closes behind you with a quiet, discreet click, and the lush carpet muffles your footsteps as you tiptoe to the elevators.

The silver panels are about to close in front of you when a man enters hurriedly.

Speak of the devil.

It’s the beautiful con artist from last night.

He eyes you, then holds out his hand.

‘Kim Taehyung,’ he says.

His voice is deep, smoky, reminiscent of campfires, of toasted marshmallows and warmth.

You shake, introduce yourself in turn.

‘I noticed you last night,’ he says.

‘Yeah?’ you hum, non-committal.

‘Yeah,’ he says. 

At first you think he’s going to leave it at that, but then he laughs softly and asks, ‘Want to get breakfast?’

***

You’re a pretty pair, you have to admit, when you catch a glimpse of yourselves in the glass at the 24 hour cafe you’re eating at.

His physical attributes complement your own.

You could be siblings, friends, lovers. The possibilities are endless. 

You catch him eyeing you over his waffles, assessing you like you assessed him last night. 

He forks a mouthful of waffles into his mouth, chews, swallows. Washes it down with a swig of coffee. 

You cut your pancakes into squares, small, even. 

‘Want to work together?’ he asks. ‘The Black and White Ball is in a couple months.’ 

You flick your gaze at him. 

‘You’ve got an invite to the Black and White Ball?’ you ask, genuinely curious. 

The Black and White Ball is the society event of the season. It’s annual, the week before Christmas, and an invitation costs upwards of 50 million won. You’ve never had the stomach to find out how much a table costs. 

It’s attended by a veritable who’s who of powerful people in the city. A con artist’s dream. 

Taehyung shrugs, slides his phone across the table at you. 

‘I have two.’ 

You glance at the invitation, the familiar branding, but you already know it’s legitimate. 

You’re pretty good at knowing when people are lying, it helps that you’re so good at lying yourself. 

‘Why do you need me?’ you ask, hedging. 

Taehyung takes his phone back, slips it into the inside breast pocket of his exquisitely cut jacket. 

‘You’re like me. Think what we could do if we worked together.’ 

The offer is as irresistible as his stunning smile. 

This time, it’s you who reaches out your hand. 

***

Taehyung’s waiting outside the office building where you work when you finish. 

He glances over your neutral work outfit, your sensible flats, smirks a little. 

‘What do you know? Turns out your legs are as beautiful in couture as they are in cheap-ass polyester.’ 

You roll your eyes. ‘Yeah. What are you cosplaying as today? A broke college student?’ 

You tilt your head at his baggy jeans, casual tee under his oversized coat and beanie, the wire-rimmed glasses you know damn well are an affectation rather than a necessity. 

Taehyung laughs, holds out his arm. ‘Come on, let’s get noodles. I’ve got a party to get ready for tonight.’ 

At the noodle bar, you work on your cover stories for the Black and White Ball in between slurps of ramen. 

‘So your business is an exclusive boutique eco-hotel in Northern Costa Rica,’ you say, clarifying. 

‘The views of Nicaragua Lake are stunning at sunrise in the early morning,’ Taehyung offers. He sips his drink. 

‘How much truth is in that, Taehyung?’ you ask. 

‘Does it matter?’ Taehyung asks. ‘People love to invest in something sustainable.’ 

At your expression, he relents. ‘My mother loved Costa Rica,’ he says. ‘We went on a family holiday there once when I was a kid. I’ve never forgotten it.’ 

Using a grain of truth to make the lie more believable. You have to admit the man is clever. 

‘And you —’

‘My father worked with Starck, in Tokyo and Saint-Tropez,’ you tell him. ‘He set up his own architectural firm and I worked for him before the firm closed down a couple years ago.’ 

‘Family heritage,’ Taehyung muses. ‘I like it.’ 

You wait for him to ask how much of your story is true, but he doesn’t, simply hums and takes another slurp of noodles. 

The truth is, it’s all true. The only bit you left out was that your father was as crooked as he was brilliant, and when the biggest con of his career collapsed, it took your family’s reputation in the architectural world and your entire fortune with it. 

‘If we do this right, we’ll be set for life,’ Taehyung says. 

‘Or until we get bored,’ you say. 

Taehyung stretches. ‘Bored? I can see myself on a beach in Costa Rica. Sun, the rainforest, fish so fresh you can taste the ocean.’ 

He shrugs. ‘The only thing that would make it more perfect is you in a bikini, with me.’ 

You can’t deny the picture he paints is tempting, but you can’t let him have the last word. 

‘I prefer to sunbathe topless,’ you say, haughty. 

‘Even better,’ Taehyung agrees. 

He waggles his dark brows at you over his noodles. ‘Eat up, heiress. We have more work to do.’ 

***

You walk into the gym and look around for Taehyung. 

You spot him, flat on his back, near the weights. 

You march over to him. ‘Was this really necessary?’ you ask, exasperated. 

He grins up at you. ‘I like the view from under you like this.’ 

You give him a stern look as you try to suppress your reluctant smile. 

‘Spot me,’ he says, arms folding under the barbell. 

‘I won’t,’ you say, turning your back, crossing your arms. 

Taehyung laughs, grunts softly as he lifts the weight and places it back on the rack. 

He sits up, swats at your ass with the towel around his neck. ‘I gotta take a shower, wanna join me?’ 

‘You owe me dinner for making me wait on your ass,’ you say, sourly. 

Taehyung stands. You’d forgotten how tall he is. 

He tilts his head at you. ‘I’d wait as long as you wanted me to, for your ass,’ he says, the smoke in his voice making your toes curl. 

Thank god you’re wearing sneakers so he can’t see. 

‘Stop flirting with me and get showered. I have a date with a mark,’ you tell him. 

‘Ah,’ he says, softly. ‘That’s why you look so good.’ 

Heat passes between you as you lock eyes. 

‘Wouldn’t want to keep you from the hustle,’ he says. His voice has dropped so low you can barely hear him. 

His mouth is so close to your ear if you turned your head your lips would meet. 

You stay completely still. 

‘Like I said, you’re buying. I want sushi.’ 

His laughter echoes in your ear as he saunters away. 

You stare at his ass as he leaves. You can’t help it. 

Damn, the man looks good. 

***

There are two men in the room at this charity dinner who have seen pieces of the real you. 

One is Kim Taehyung, who you’ve not known for long but in some ways knows you better than some of these shallow acquaintances. 

One is Kim Namjoon, an artist and sculptor who’s just had shows in New York and Berlin, a renaissance man, a scion of an already prestigious family of publishers and artists. 

The man you’d dated for five years until you realised he was too good for you. 

Honest when you were duplicitous. 

Behaving with integrity when you were getting down and dirty. 

A man who recognises his own worth, secure in his position in the world, when your own world broke apart when your family company turned to existential rubble. 

Potato, potahto. 

Taehyung, beside you as your official date for this charity event, hands you a flute of champagne. 

‘Drink up,’ he says, brisk. ‘Then tell me why you look like you got slapped across the face when the Kims entered.’ 

You do as you’re told, downing the entire contents of the glass in one. 

Taehyung takes the empty glass from you and hands you his own. 

‘We have a job to do,’ he says, quietly. ‘So tell me if I need to keep Kim Namjoon away from you.’ 

His firm tone reminds you that it’s not just your own livelihood at stake, that you have an agreement and you depend on each other now. 

‘We dated. For a long time,’ you say, deciding to stick to the facts. 

‘And?’ Taehyung prompts, turning you gently to steer you away from a collision course with the Kims. 

‘But nothing. We broke up. He was —’ your voice wobbles unexpectedly. 

‘He was too good for me.’ 

Taehyung snorts, and his obvious incredulity makes you look up at him sharply. 

‘No one is too good for you,’ he says. ‘Also, you’re with me now. If you need out just say.’ 

‘I can’t leave you here.’ 

‘Who said I’d stay?’ Taehyung asks. He shrugs. ‘The food at these things is always shit. Let’s go get pizza.’ 

You stare at him, aghast at his casual attitude. 

‘We can’t leave, Taehyung, we need to be seen together. Extra credibility and all that. The Black and White Ball’s weeks away.’ 

Taehyung looks at you, dark eyes serious, patient. ‘No con is worth something that upsets you this much. You’re pale, and you look like you’re about to pass out.’ 

Your back straightens, and you take another gulp of champagne. 

‘I’m not going to pass out on you, Taehyung,’ you say, firmly. ‘We need this and I’m not going to let us down. Besides, I know him. He’d rather eat his own arm than behave inappropriately at an event like this.’ 

‘Like this?’ Taehyung asks, mildly, just as his hand settles on your ass over the silk of your gown. He cups and squeezes, firm.

You stumble a little, and your grip on his arm tightens. 

‘Are you wearing a bra? I think I just made your nipples hard,’ he says. 

You can’t help it. The giggles burst out of you, and with them, the biggest part of your anxiety over coming face to face with Kim Namjoon. 

Taehyung leans down, brushes a kiss over your parted lips. 

‘That’s my girl,’ he says. ‘It’s your call. We can work the room, or we can forget this and go and get pizza.’ 

‘Lee Seongho is over there,’ you say. ‘Let’s get to it.’ 

***

Taehyung’s with a group of well-known hoteliers, whilst you’re speaking to an up-and-coming tech entrepreneur who seems to be spending more time looking down the low neck of your dress than listening to what you’re saying. 

You summon what remains of your patience, look over at Taehyung again, who’s looking at you, brow raised inquiringly. 

He side-eyes the tech entrepreneur, Jacques, you think his name is, with a barely hidden disdain. 

You stifle a giggle and give Taehyung what you hope is a quelling look. 

A moment later he’s by your side, nodding politely at your companion. 

‘Apologies,’ he says. ‘My fiancee and I have a prior commitment.’ 

You walk away on Taehyung’s arm. 

‘When did we get engaged?’ you ask. 

‘I asked you to marry me when we were in Bruges,’ Taehyung says, mock-affronted. ‘How could you not remember?’ 

‘Why Bruges?’ you ask. 

‘Because you looked so beautiful as we walked along the Zwyn,’ Taehyung says. 

You’re still laughing as you round the bar and come face to face with Namjoon. 

The only visible reaction he displays is a slight tightening of his jaw, only evident to you because of how well you know him. 

‘Namjoon,’ you say, pleased that your voice is steady. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’ 

He introduces you to his companion, a very tall, stunning blonde dressed in green. 

As she offers you her hand, you notice the emerald ring on her engagement finger. 

Your heart jumps into your throat, and Taehyung steps in smoothly. 

‘I’m Taehyung,’ he says. 

You exchange niceties, the rest of the conversation is a blur but you’ve never worked so hard to not let any emotion show on your face. 

Then it’s over, and you’re grateful for the warmth of Taehyung’s arm around you as he walks you away. 

He leads you back to the cloakroom without you having to say a word, collects your coats, places yours around your shoulders, taking care with the buttons. 

Outside the hotel, a light snow’s falling, catching in his dark hair as he hails a taxi, gives the driver instructions. 

You don’t ask where you’re going. 

The journey isn’t long, probably twenty minutes or so. 

He holds your hand the whole time, helps you out of the taxi and into a building that is now dated but would have been stunning back when it was first built. 

He pushes the door to his apartment open, flicks on the light. 

It’s small but it’s warm, eclectic and so terribly him that you smile. 

Taehyung says, ‘I knew the food was going to be shit.’ 

His tone is disgruntled on the surface, and so, so, kind underneath that you reach up and touch his cheek. 

He stills under your fingers. 

You run your fingertips lightly over the faint stubble over his jaw, and he sighs, leaning into your touch. 

It’s more intimate than a kiss. 

‘I don’t want to make you do anything you’re not ready for,’ he tells you. 

Here, in his cosy apartment, you curl your hand around the nape of his neck and pull him closer to you. 

‘You never have,’ you agree. 

He looks like he’s about to say something else, but your lips meet his and it never gets said. 

Taehyung is a consummate liar, just like you, but you sense the truth in the way he touches you. 

Fingers sliding down your back, unzipping you so that your dress falls into a shining puddle on the floor. 

Hands over yours when you can’t get his shirt buttons undone quickly enough. 

He unbuckles his belt one handed, the other hand cupping your breast as he kisses you deeply. 

His tongue licks into your mouth, and the heat of him makes you shiver in his arms.

‘C’mere,’ he says, low, turning you around, walking you into his bedroom.

The hardness of him pressing into your ass makes you arch back into him.

The sheets of his bed would be cool against your heated skin if you weren’t pulled tight against him, almost on top of him.

‘Told you I like the view like this,’ he murmurs.

You settle on top of him, his torso between your thighs.

He drinks you in with a gaze so intense you can’t meet it, choosing instead to run your hands down his bare chest.

Underneath you, his cock lies against his flat abs, so hard that when you tug his briefs off he curls his hand around himself so he doesn’t hit you in the face.

‘I’m big,’ he says, almost bashful about it.

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

You lean down and take him in your mouth, letting saliva pool around him to ease the glide.

The blunt head of him nudges the back of your throat, making you tighten around him.

He’s still watching you intently, eyes aglow as you curl your fingers around the base of him.

His lips part, and instead of the teasing comment you expected, he says, ‘I can’t believe you’re here with me, like this.’

It’s unexpectedly sweet.

You can’t answer, not with him in your mouth, but you lick along the underside of him with the flat of your tongue, guided by the way his breathing quickens, the low groan he utters as you swirl your tongue.

You taste the salt of his pre-cum, swallow like you can’t get enough, and he says, ‘Wait.’

He tugs your hand. 

‘Come sit on my face.’

‘Don’t you want me to —‘

‘Hell yeah, I want it all,’ Taehyung says. ‘But we have time to do all that, any time you want. Any day you want. Come sit on my face first.’

He tugs you up, kisses up your thigh. His warm hands slide around to curl around your ass, holding you to him as he presses his open mouth to your core.

He licks at the arousal at your entrance, tongue delving in between your folds. Your eyes close involuntarily as he laps his tongue against your clit, flicking back and forth in a slow, maddening rhythm.

You’re wet, so wet, between his mouth and your own arousal.

Taehyung grunts, tugs you closer still, buries his nose and mouth between your spread legs. He licks, swallows, and your hips move involuntarily.

He hums his approval into your cunt, and your hips move again. 

‘That’s it,’ you think he says, but he’s muffled, mouth and tongue working to get you off.

The heat low down in your lower belly ignites into a flame as he presses his lips to your clit, sucking, flicking with his tongue.

You realise you’ve got your hand pressed to your mouth so you don’t scream.

‘Ngh, fuck, Taehyung!’

His eyes meet yours, the intent in them so blatant you’re catapulted into your orgasm, the need for release flipping into a burst of pleasure so intense there are stars behind your closed eyelids.

Taehyung tugs you down under him, floppy like a rag doll from your release.

You can feel his hand working between your bodies, stroking himself frantically, and you part your legs.

‘Inside, fuck, inside,’ you say, your voice hoarse, husky.

Taehyung groans, positions himself at your entrance.

‘This what you want?’ he asks.

In response, you reach around his ass and pull him into you, both of you gasping as he fills you, sinks in to the hilt.

‘Move,’ you cry, but he’s already doing it, slow thrusts that fill you almost all the way, dragging himself out, panting in your ear.

This time it’s you who reaches down between your bodies, fingers spreading over where you’re joined, stroking over your clit.

Taehyung looks down, groans and shudders. ‘Fuck, you’re so hot.’

You can feel him getting harder, thicker as he moves.

‘Gonna —-‘

If he finishes his sentence you sure as hell don’t hear it because you’re coming again, pulsing around his cock as he fills you with his warmth.

He keeps moving, hips circling like he doesn’t want to stop, kissing your face, until you can feel him softening inside you.

Finally, he collapses next to you, flat on his back.

It’s a moment before either of you speak.

‘Did you mean what you said about doing this again?’ you ask.

The question hangs in the dark between you.

Taehyung rolls over onto his side to face you.

His smile is blinding. 

‘I’m going to need time to recharge before we go again.’

It’s not the question you asked, and you think he knows that.

For the first time since you met him, you’re not sure how truthful he’s being, and you’re not sure you want to ask.

***

It’s been three weeks since you and Taehyung fucked, and if you’re being partially honest with yourself, things between you are the same as they always were before you fucked.

He’s still flirty and suggestive and makes you laugh.

He’s as beautiful as he ever was.

If you’re being completely truthful?

Everything’s changed.

He’d never answered your question properly, and you haven’t talked about what happened that night.

You’d woken in the morning to the lingering scent of sex and his cologne in the sheets, but he’d been gone.

You’d left too, there hadn’t been any messages on your phone and you’d felt like a stranger in his empty apartment.

You’re at a final fitting for your dress for the Black and White Ball when your phone rings.

It’s Taehyung.

‘Can I see your dress?’ he asks.

‘You’ll see it tonight,’ you remind him.

‘I’m bored, come hang out with me.’

‘I need to get ready.’

‘You could walk in there right now and still be the most beautiful person in the room,’ he coaxes.

You roll your eyes at his over the top flattery. 

‘I have time for coffee,’ you say.

Taehyung ends up coming to meet you at your apartment. 

‘What are you going to do after tonight?’ he asks.

You shrug. ‘I’m going to go away for a bit, see what happens. Visit my mum for Christmas, maybe. Travel. You?’

‘Same. Get out of town for a while, whilst the heat dies down. I’ve always wanted to be somewhere hot at Christmas.’

You’re distracted by a tiny scuff on the heel of the shoes you’re wearing tonight.

There’s a studied casualness to his tone when he says, ‘Costa Rica’s great this time of year.’

Your eyes meet his.

‘It’s rainy season, I heard,’ you reply.

You sense the question he hasn’t asked, but the memory of being in his bed and the uncertainty you felt floats into your head.

You need to hear him say it.

He’s still looking at you.

In the end, neither of you say anything.

Maybe it’s for the best.

***

The Black and White Ball is exactly how you envisioned it would be. 

You’re on Taehyung’s arm as you walk into the ballroom. He’s wearing all black, and he looks devastatingly handsome. 

You catch him staring at you, more than once. 

‘Something on my face?’ you ask. 

‘Just your face,’ Taehyung answers. He grins crookedly at you. ‘You’re perfect.’ 

You’re greeted by the Phans, an influential media family, as though you have every right to be here. 

Like the two of you are legitimate members of high society instead of two confidence tricksters, two con artists about to perform the heist of the century. 

Taehyung nudges you like he knows what you’re thinking. 

‘Four hours, and we’ll have pulled it off. Want a lift to the airport?’ 

‘I always wanted to fuck in a limo,’ you say, thoughtfully. 

Taehyung nods at a prominent hotelier in greeting. ‘I’m down with that,’ he whispers into your ear. 

You laugh, but it’s bittersweet. 

You have no idea what you and Taehyung will be after tonight, you’ve been working together and planning this for so long that you’ve only got the vaguest plan beyond it. 

‘There’s a beach in Guanacaste with white sand and a horizon that feels like it stretches to the end of the world,’ Taehyung tells you. 

He says, ‘I’ll be there on Christmas day with a Mai Tai.’ 

‘Just the one?’ you ask, teasing, smiling at the old-money contingent of elderly ladies who are beckoning you over. 

Taehyung waits until you’re looking at him. ‘One for each of us,’ he says. 

Then he smiles, and you don’t have time to reply before the Cousteaus are upon you, eager for someone who can speak French like you do, courtesy of your time in France when your father was working with Starck. 

Taehyung helps you work the room like he always does, and if there’s an added reverence to the way he’s looking at you tonight, you can’t dwell on it now. 

You both have a job to do. 

It’s only when people start to leave that you turn to him again. 

‘I like mojitos,’ you say. 

Taehyung’s smile could light up the room. ‘Yeah?’ 

‘Yeah. Want to go get pizza?’ 

You end up in some tiny hole-in-the-wall pizza joint sharing a bottle of Merlot Taehyung took from a table as you left the ball. 

It’s the best pizza you’ve ever had. 

***

The blue of the Pacific will be blinding later, but just after sunrise, it’s beautiful in a way that makes your heart ache. 

You turn your head as Taehyung approaches, chest bare, towel slung low round his hips. 

He offers you one of the cocktails he’s carrying, and you burst out laughing as you accept. 

‘It’s a little early for cocktails, Tae.’ 

Taehyung smiles. This close, you can see the dusting of freckles on his shoulders, the golden gleam to his skin from sunning himself. 

He smells like sun, and sex, and you. 

‘It’s Christmas,’ he says. ‘There are no rules.’ 

‘This definitely beats the cold,’ you say. ‘Merry Christmas, Tae.’ 

Taehyung leans back on his hands as you climb on top of him, tilting his head up for a kiss. 

Underneath your tiny bikini his cock stirs, and you feel a throb of arousal even though it’s been barely hours since you last fucked. 

‘Again, Tae?’ you ask, as his hands go to your hips. 

‘Again,’ he agrees. ‘As long as you’ll have me.’ 

©hamsterclaw 2023

[awoogayanderes]

CHAPTER ONE : LET THE SHOW BEGIN

➪ sypnosis : you start to trust the process that has been laid out for you, beginning with nine cards.

➪ warnings : mention of sex work, very small mention of starving if you squint, small mention of death

➪ other notes : just a repetition statement from the prologue - the lower numbers of 1-5 are all the same but y/n is 6, so actual 6 in the show will be 8, and the 8 in the show will now be 9, 7 stays as 7, i hope that makes sense, anyways back to the story !! ALSO, i’m mainly writing this for myself BECAUSE THERES NO FICS ABOUT IT, but i also wanna share my imagination with other people :3

➪ prologue | chapter one

the drive felt almost eerie, your leg lightly bounced as time went on. the driver hadn’t spoken a single word, not that you could see them through the panel of blackout glass between you two. your stomach churned, from hunger and from nervousness. maybe you were walking right into sex trafficking rink ? you had no weapons on you, not even a pocket knife but you had some type of concept of self defense you were taught when you were younger.

that’s when the limousine came to a sudden stop. a second later, the door on your side opened by itself once again. from what you could see, it was some type of warehouse…? maybe an old factory ? now you were confident you were going to be prostituted. regardless, you got out of the limousine, a red carpet awaiting you. slowly, you walked inside.

a theatre ? now you were extremely confused, there was no one in the seats, yet the stage was bright with overwhelming lights, a single small table in the middle of it. you walked up to the table, there were nine cards with the range from one to nine. beside it was a red envelope…and 20 million won on the other side. you opened the envelope, and read the contents.

“hello, and welcome to the 8 show. this show doesn't require any skills or previously acquired knowledge. all that we ask of you is the time you were willing to throw away.” what the hell was this ? “all necessary food and accommodations will be provided to participants, and the available prize money will accumulate as time passes.” so the more time spent, the more money, after all, time is money.

“when the allotted time is over, the show will end itself automatically. in the case that any participant expires during the process, the show will immediately come to an end then, regardless of how much time may remain.” expires…? that was more morbid than you’d like to admit. “therefore, we ask that you pay special attention to your safety. if you do not wish to participate, please take the cab fare from the table and exit the premises.” your eyes turned to the 20 million won, contemplating it.

“however, if you do wish to continue with the show, please select one of the numbered cards. you may then step into and through the drapes,” your eyes flickered back to the cards. all nine cards were there. that meant that no one else had been here right ? or did it mean that every other person had the same options as you when they came in ? were there even other people who were going to participate ?!

you looked around, yet you couldn’t see anyone in sight, then there has to be cameras right ? obviously, if not, then anyone would just come in and take the money and leave, who wouldn’t ? well, apparently you. fuck it, you’ve gotten this far, it’s probably better than death, you try to reason with yourself as you look at the cards again. they mean something, they have to or what would the point be.

the median of one through nine is five, right in the center. you hover your hand over the five card. but higher could be better, switching your hand to nine. but isn’t one a good option too ?you could get an advantage as one, you’ve seen it in game shows before ! your shaky bandaged fingers pick up the one card. you held it for a few seconds before your eyes flickered to another card at the bottom left.

six. just above average. just above middle ground. just above middle class, like your family was when you were little. you dropped the one card, picking up the six, now a bit more confident with your choice. “this better not be a prank…” you mumbled to no one in particular. you walked into the red curtains behind you, it led you to an area of darkness with only a few stairs being illuminated in front of you.

when you climbed the stairs, your lips slightly parted in shock. it looked almost like…an apartment complex…? nine different rooms, so that’s what the cards meant, you knew they were significant. the common area, if you could call it that included an artificial pool, a playground, a merry go round, and what looked like an ice cream and hot dog street vendor…? the rest was just open space.

overwhelmed by the bright colors, you marched your way to the sixth floor, sliding your card on the door lock reader, it almost felt like a hotel. the room was completely empty and dark. you sighed, at least it was pretty spacious. you could get used to a place like this, it was comfortable in an odd way, just four walls and you, everything was fine after all, you’d be fine, you were at peace with the silence.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Hi. I hope your day is being kind to you. 🙂

For the sentence Ask?

"My ears miss your heartbeat."

With Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) please? If you want.

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

A/N: Sorry, this went well over an extra 5 sentences. I guess I really just needed to write.

Warning: Tooth rotting domestic fluff

Word Count: 1.1K

Astarion didn’t make a sound as he slipped through the front door, stilling the bell with his hand before it could alert anyone to his presence.

The shop was completely empty, which would not be unusual at this time of night were it any other shop in town. The owner kept odd hours, not opening until well after sunset, the exception being when his wife managed to stumble down the stairs past noon to take orders. An odd set up, but nobody could deny the craftsmanship and so there was little to grumble about.

Astarion moved through the space with practiced ease, not bothering to light a candle as he moved towards the back room and up a small flight of stairs. He did not so much glance at the rolls of golden thread, or dig around the drawers for where he knew a small fortune of gems and finery could be found and easily pocketed. Such treasures were far from his mind at that moment.

Jumping the last few steps, he easily avoided the small creak of the second to top panel before deftly maneuvering his way through the waiting door.

The barest breath of relief escaped his lips. The entryway was completely dark, only just illuminated by the street lanterns peaking through the barest sliver of heavy curtains. Once again his dark vision proved a blessing as he took a quick look around.

The room was empty of anything other than comfortable but undeniably stylish furniture and the lines of bookshelves full bear to bursting along the walls. He slipped off his boots, placing them gently near the door making it almost comical how silently he could move along the beautifully embroidered rug. It felt like cheating, but then again, since when was he above cheating.

One final door lay in front of him. At his feet he could see the smallest flicker of candle light peaking out from below the door frame. Somebody was still up.

With a grin, he turned the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open.

It was moments like these that cause Astarion to lament not having a more artistic hand. The being before him deserved to be preserved in oils and canvass, marble and stone.

She did not notice him come in. Her clear blue eyes were focused intensely on the page in front of her, her finger moving slowly under the words while her soft lips mouthed them in time. Her hair lay loose about her, a few strands tucked behind her ear. Astarion could just catch the barest hints of white hiding in the field of black, something she would no doubt deny the existence of if he pointed them out. Her dark olive skin seemed to glow in the firelight, but the final detail that make his unbeating heart stir was the fact she was dressed only in his shirt.

On second thought, maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t a painter. He didn’t much like the thought of anyone else gazing on this image but him.

“Hello darling,” he said, softly.

Evie’s head snapped up, her eyes going wide in alarm as her hand gripped the book in her hand as of to throw it. As soon as he caught the quick progression of fear to recognition to annoyance slip across her face he let out a laugh.

“Milil’s tongue Astarion,” she grumbled, snapping her book shut. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“Just be happy I’m the one doing it,” he teased, setting down his bag beside the door. “You’re getting slow my love.”

She gave a small pout, but still rolled onto her back, opening her arms to him.

He didn’t need further incentive, launching himself onto the bed causing them both to bounce and his love to laugh. Gods he missed that sound. However, he decided he missed her lips more, kissing her soundly as they both sunk into the too soft mattress.

“Good trip then?” she asked in between his attentions to her mouth.

“Tedious,” he corrected. “Better if you were there.”

“Well if it was so tedious I’m glad I skipped it.”

Astarion gave a huff of annoyance moving his lips across her face and jaw and down towards her neck. He took a deep breath in, the musk of her skin mixing with the perfume of her blood pulsing just below. He could drown in that scent.

“Hungry,” she asked, turning her neck slightly in invitation.

He shook his head pressing a kiss against the fading scars.

“No need darling, just enjoying being home.”

He didn’t need to look up to know she was smiling. He could feel it in the way her hands rubbed up and down his back and brushed the stray hairs at the back of his neck. All the same, he decided to look anyway.

This was his home. Even all these years later, he still had a hard time believing it. He and Evie had all but hung up their adventuring gear and settled in a town just big enough to justify a fine tailor shop. The occasional helpless damsel or bandit gang causing trouble could pull them from their daily routines, but little else. They were both getting older and ready for a place to call their own, something that was denied to them for so long. Even stranger and more wonderful still, Evie had agreed to marry him.

She brushed a stray hair back from his forehead, her fingers tracing down his face before teasing the edge of his ear.

“I missed you, too,” she said, her full love only just tempered by a hint of humor.

He didn’t have the strength to pull away from that perfect touch, and settled kissing her sternum in response.

“I did plenty more than just miss you darling,” he confessed. “There are too many parts of me that miss too many parts of you.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “For example, my lips missed your lips quite a bit.”

“I gathered,” she said with a barely contained laugh. “What else?”

“My hair missed your fingers.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement as her hand moved slightly up, allowing her fingers to comb slowly through his hair.

Astarion sighed in contentment, settling his head to rest comfortably on her chest.

“Go on my love,” Evie encouraged. “Don’t stop now.”

“My arms missed your warmth,” he said, wrapping himself tighter around her for emphasis. “My nose missed your smell. But if I really had to name it, my ears missed your heart beat the most.”

“And you say you’re not a sentimental,” she teased.

“Exceptions are always made for you my heart.”

She hummed in acknowledgment settling into the sheets, her fingers still running soothingly through his hair.

Astarion feel asleep in her arms as he had done for countless nights and hopefully countless more; safe, loved and truly home.

[dwtdog]

fem dnf week day 5 🎶

“No,” George says, crossing her arms. It’s certainly not a first for her to be shooting down her management’s ideas- but she all but spits it this time, a sharp contrast to her usual cool indifference. “No way in hell.”

Her manager gives her a pained smile, the fight already draining from his eyes, and George relaxes incrementally. 

Until someone new enters the room. George glares at her, turning fully in her chair to do so. Her manager’s office is small enough as it is, and a third person coming in is far from comfortable. Especially when that third person is the head of her label.

“George, “ she greets pleasantly, holding out her hand for George to shake. George does so, but only begrudgingly. “I take it you’ve heard the plan?” she tilts her head toward George’s manager, effectively kicking the man out of his own damn office. George can’t help but be a little impressed by the ballsiness of it all. 

But that doesn’t mean she likes this plan. “I heard. And I’m not doing it,” George says, uncrossing her arms and relaxing back in her chair, even as she has to make a conscious effort to not grit her teeth.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the lady- Tiffany, damn it- says. “But we’ve already sent the contract to our other artist, and she’s been advised to sign it. As I am advising you to do the same.” “Well I assume she’ll say no, so this doesn’t really matter,” George responds. “Thank you for your time and all that, but I’ve got rehearsals-”

“She signed the contract,” Tiffany cuts her off, her smile entirely plastic. “And I am assured that she will be fine with you doing the same.”

George blinks at her, entirely taken aback. “She- What the hell do you have over her?” She cringes as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but Tiffany only laughs.

“It’s a good deal, for both of you,” she explains, like George isn’t getting it. “I know you two have had some difficulties-”

“That’s putting it lightly,” George grumbles.

“-But this will help her PR. And it’ll get you some added attention, just in time for the tour and the album drop. And the label would appreciate if you two could be more cordial to each other, both in public and private,” Tiffany says the whole thing like it’s a matter of fact, like George’s fate has already been decided. And, she supposes with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that it has.

--

“Dream.”

“George.”

“Great to… See you. Here. In my studio,” George grits out, gripping the thumb of her left hand in the palm of her right. Dream appears similarly uncomfortable, as she continuously brushes her hair out of her face, shifting on her feet. “Make yourself comfortable,” George adds, throwing her arm out to gesture to the small space. “Probably smaller than you’re used to.”

Dream grimaces, but takes the chair in the corner. George’s favorite. The bastard.

“It’s cozy in here,” Dream says, and George glares. “What? It is.”

“You can just say it sucks,” she says as she flops down in one of the other chairs, mourning the loss of her favorite one. Surely she’ll have to burn it now. 

“You think you’re own studio- that you had the final say on designing- sucks?” Dream asks with a raised eyebrow. “That’s- interesting.”

George snorts. “No, I fucking love this place. But I’ve seen the studio they’ve got you in. This shit looks like a damn barn compared to that.”

“Why are you-” Dream starts, cutting herself off with a shake of her head. “Whatever. Moving on. How the hell are we going to make this work?”

“We’re not,” George says, wriggling so she can pull a stick of gum from her pocket and pop it in her mouth. “We’re going to tell them to fuck off. Find a loop hole in the contract. Make them regret it, if we have to.”

Next door, there’s a loud banging of drums, followed by muffled chatter. George doesn’t react, but Dream frowns, looking at the meager sound panels in the studio and the wall the noise is coming from. “Uh, no, sorry. I can’t- I need this. I need to do this.”

“You want to PR date me?” George is standing, before she even realizes she’s moved. “That’s- That’s so- You’re so- What the fuck?”

“Listen,” Dream waves her hands, motioning for George to sit back down. George does, but she hates it. “Let me be clear. It was not my idea.”

“Okay,” George growls. “But you agreed to it. You want to follow through.”

“I do,” Dream says, nodding. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this- I think we could have done something else, but the label is really pressuring me to clean up my look. And this was their solution.”

George flinches. It hurts, to be dismissed like this. To have her feelings dismissed by her employer, her coworker- who she hates, admittedly- all for the sake of a relationship that half the damn world will be able to see through. She says as much, leaving out the bit about her feelings being hurt. She doesn't think Dream would give a single shit about how she feels when her precious career is on the line. 

“It’ll work,” Dream says, with an unearned amount of conviction. “People- People want it. They’ll overlook the obvious PR move. Trust me George, when I was unsigned, marketing was my thing.”

“Dream. This isn’t your fucking Tiktoks. This is the damn music industry. The world.”

“It doesn’t matter, George,” Dream shoots back, raising her voice for the first time. “Don’t you get it? This is my career, my dream on the line. For- For no reason.” the anger drains from her, the last sentence said with the deep sort of sadness that makes George squirm, to hear it coming from Dream- eternally optimistic Dream, friendly, open, kind-hearted Dream. To everyone but her, of course, but she’s had years to get used to that.

“What the hell did you even do? I know you suck at PR but- even I know you’re in deep shit this time,” George asks it to distract herself from the flicker of sympathy growing in her chest. “Was it the- the cheating thing again?”

That gets a startled laugh out of Dream, and she seems to relax a bit. “First of all, don’t say it like that. It wasn’t cheating. Me and him had been broken up for ages, but no one ever seems to listen when I say it.”

“Fair enough,” George says with a shrug. “But this time-?”

“It’s because I cam out,” Dream looks away when she says it, like the wall opposite George has suddenly become very interesting. “The label they- They told me not to do it. Said my music was about a certain experience, and if I came out it would ruin that.” “And you want to go along with their cash grab PR shit?” George asks, astounded. “That- What?”

Dream screws her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her hands into them. “I know. I fucking know. It- It feels like shit. I feel like shit for agreeing to it.”

“And for dragging me into it,” George says sardonically, long past accepting that Dream couldn’t give a rats ass about her. “We all make shitty choices, I can understand that. I guess.”

“Fuck,” Dream breathes. “Fuck, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Only just now figuring that out?”

“No, shit George, I am so fucking sorry,” when she lifts her head, her eyes are rimmed with red. George’s stomach drops. “I was so caught up in my own shit that I didn’t even think of how this would feel for you and- I’ll get us out of the contract.”

“What?” George yelps, looking at Dream like she’s lost her damn mind. “But you just said-”

“I know,” Dream cuts her off, again. “But I can’t do it if you don’t want to. And I don’t eve know- how I wasn’t thinking about how you would feel. God, I really am sorry.”

“Okay, stop apologizing,” George says. “You can drop the fucking- act. I know you hate me. It’s fine. Look, we can do this damn PR shit.”

“You know I- What?”

“Stop. Whatever. We can fake date or whatever the hell. As much as I hate it, it’ll be good for me. For my fucking album. So fine,” George feels her self-respect diminishing as she says it, but fuck. What the hell else can she do?

“We can?” 

“Yes. Stop asking or I’ll take it back,” George fidgets with the hem of her shirt, fingers aching to hold a guitar, to let her building emotions out in a way that makes sense.

“I- Thank you. But we should really talk about-”

“You two done in here?” a voice calls, before the door to the studio opens. And in walks Tiffany, her usually pomp securely about her. “Dream, you’ve got a photoshoot in half an hour. George, you have a meeting with your producer.”

George nods, holding back every bit of vitriol that crawls at the back of her throat. She’s surprised to realize some of it is on Dream’s behalf- not a feeling she wants to get used to.

“Of course,” Dream says, standing. “Uh- see you around George.”

“Bye baby,” George calls as she’s leaving, taking note of the way the muscles of her lower back twitch, visible due to the cropped shirt she wears. There are worse people to fake date- few as they are- she supposes, as the door shuts with a click.

--

The first week is fine. 

It’s meant to be by design, of course. They can’t just jump straight into a public relationship- they have to lay the groundwork, as George’s manager repeatedly says. 

Groundwork involves being seen leaving the studio together, making appearances at the same party, and liking each others tweets. It’s almost laughable, really, but people do pick up on it.

There’s a whole thread on George’s subreddit by the end of the week, of people discussing the possibility of them being friends. She feels a bit of vindication at the amount of comments pointing out that there’s far more evidence of the two of them disliking each other- an oft shared YouTube video of George walking straight past Dream at an event, Dream shaking hands with everyone in George’s group but Georgem and other various social faux paus they’d made toward each other over the years is posted more than once.

The second week is much the same. George is busy with album prep, and Dream seems to always have a million and one things going on, so they aren’t even seen together that week- but George is told to follow Dream on Instagram, and like some of her older posts. It’s fucking ridiculous, and George has a good laugh at the ensuing thread with her best friend, Gia.

“Can you believe they buy this shit?” she asks as she sips at a flute of champagne, her loft filled with the quiet sounds of music. The loft is one of the few perks of her label- it had been written into her contract, and is far outside of what she’d be able to afford otherwise. “Like, it just seems forced, right?”

Gia laughs. “Oh George, you just wouldn’t get it.”

Things fall apart three weeks in- they’ve got a date.

It’s at a cafe in New York, and both George and Dream are flown out for it- on the private jet, of course. The label couldn’t stand the idea of people picking up on the date being staged- so they can’t be seen before they arrive in New York.

Dream has legitimate reasons for being there- some sort of meet and greet at a record store, but George doesn’t. She asks her manager if she should come up with one, but he tells her its better if it seems like she went to New York just for Dream. Which, in her opinion, makes the whole private jet thing pointless, but what the hell does she know.

Which means Dream and George are stuck on a jet together from LA to New York.

They have plenty of room to sit far apart, to mind their own damn business, but Dream’s manager has other plans. 

“You two have to get to know each other,” she explains. George thinks it’s unfortunate that the woman is stuck with Dream as a client- she’s always liked Sylvee, and her dedication to her work. But she’s quickly becoming an enemy the more she talks. “So. Talk.”

“Isn’t this what first dates are for,” George grumbles, swirling her cup of tea. “The whole- getting to know each other shit.”

“Real first dates,” Dream says cheekily. “Ours is fake.”

“Thanks, captain obvious,” George takes a swig of her tea, hissing when it burns her tongue. “What happened to you being all apologetic?”

“Is that coffee?” Dream asks, distractedly. 

“Uh- No?”

“Oh, good. I don’t think I could fake date someone who likes coffee,” Dream takes a sip of her own drink, blanching after. “Ow.”

“Nice going, genius.”

“I just watch you do the same thing,” Dream protests, taking the lid off her cup and blowing on it like that’ll do shit. 

“Whatever,” George shrugs. “Should have learned from my mistakes.”

They’re silent for a beat after that, and the plane feels uncomfortably small. George wishes, for a moment, that they could just fall from the sky like a puppet with its strings cut. At least that would save her from this damn conversation.

“So uh,” Dream starts, squirming in her seat. “Do you have any hobbies? Besides music, I guess.”

The rest of the flight is spent making awkward small talk- they go back and forth like a tennis match, asking inane questions until they run out. Then they talk about the weather. George wants to die.

When the plane touches down, George is on the verge of collapse. She misses her studio, her apartment, her friends. She hates New York- just because it’s the city that’s causing the current bullshit. She thinks she’d like it under normal circumstances.

Their ride into the city is a nice car, the windows tinted heavily. George claims the front seat, and Dream seems content enough to take the back and stretch her legs across the entire span of it. The driver plays shitty pop- one of Dream’s songs comes on, which makes George laugh- and they make it to their hotel.

George thanks her lucky stars when she gets confirmation that they have separate rooms. She wouldn’t put it past her management to pull some shit, or for some sort of error to make things somehow worse, but she gets the satisfaction of collapsing into her own bed, even if there is a door connecting her room to Dream’s.

--

She gets the whole first day to herself- she has instructions to visit popular places, to let herself be seen, but she can handle that. 

George’s music is relatively niche, so only a few people approach her. She has security, of course, hovering only a few paces behind at all times, but it’s easier to forget they’re there as she wanders Times Square, entirely enamored with it. There’s something about the way everything moves that draws her in, a city that feels entirely alive by its own power. It reminds her of London, in a way, and homesickness makes her chest ache. 

When she returns to the hotel that evening, she can barely make it through her shower before she’s falling asleep, muscles aching from the thousands of steps she’d taken.

She’s awoken by a knock, and a sense of unease falls over her when she realizes that it’s not coming from the door to the hallway. Of course, that unease quickly turns to frustration when she registers who it is that could be knocking at the door connected to Dream’s room. 

“What do you want,” she says when she swings it open, finding Dream’s golden eyes waiting for her. Her hair is different than she’s ever seen it, curly instead of straight, and it’s a bit distracting- only because of the unfamiliarity. 

“Sorry,” Dream says, shuffling her feet. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you woke me up,” George deadpans, yawning. Dream does the same after a moment, face twitching in a small smile when it’s over.

“Yeah, sorry. I uh- I thought we could talk. Like- for real.”

It sounds- fucking awful, honestly. George just wants this to be over with. Her opinion of Dream isn’t going to change because she suddenly wants to have a heart to heart. “Did the label put you up to this?”

“No,” Dream answers quickly, shaking her head and making her curls bounce. “This is all me.”

“Will you go away if I say no?” 

“Uh-” Dream bites her lip, and George groans.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with,” she swings the door open, abandoning it to plop down on her bed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest.

Dream follows after a moment, leaving the door open behind her. She sits next to George on the bed, pulling her legs up and crossing them beneath her.

“So,” George says, drawing the vowel out.

“Right, yeah. Uhm. I’m sorry,” Dream says, eyes downcast.

“For what?” George prompts, the list expanding in her mind. “You can go in alphabetical order, if you want.”

“Uh- For waking you up? For getting you into this mess? For not thinking of your feelings.”

“Good start,” George says with a small nod. “And?”

“And- What?” Dream asks, and the tiny amount of goodwill she’d built up instantly vanishes. 

“Do I need to spell it out?” George grits her teeth, digging her nails into the pillowcase. “Because I don’t think I should have to.”

Dream finally meets her eyes, and her expression is- conflicting. It’s all confusion, furrowed eyebrows and a tilted head, lips quirked, eyes wide. “I really have no idea, I’m- sorry, I guess. That I don’t know what I’m sorry for.”

George snorts. “Fine. Say I believe you. Say I said that the reason you should be apologizing is how you’ve treated me since the start. Like I’m nothing. Like because you got signed so quick, blew up so fast, you’re better than me. I’d say hey, that kind of really fucking hurt- hurts.”

The silence that falls over them after that is one George isn’t used to. The sounds of the city are entirely shut out by soundproofed walls, and Dream’s breathing is unsteady, billowing to fill the room in the absence of anything else. 

“But you have ‘no idea’ about any of that, so. Not sure how you could apologize,” George adds, because she can. Because it feels fucking good, to get this shit off her chest.

But then something in Dream’s demeanor changes. Her face rapidly shifts from confusion to retaliatory anger, eyes going from wide to narrow. 

“That is not fair,” she says, and her voice breaks a bit on the last word. “I- You treated me like shit first!”

And now it’s George’s turn to blink, searching Dream’s face and realizing that she completely believes what she’s saying. 

George’s first instinct is to deny, to tell Dream that she’s wrong. But Dream holds up a hand when she opens her mouth.

“Wait. Just- wait. Okay. Can you- tell me. What you think happened between us? From the beginning,” Dream says it with more authority than George has ever heard from her, and it should piss her off- but in the moment, it feels good to have guidance. So she talks.

“The first time we met. You ignored me. It was that fucking- party. The one the label through for you. I came up to say congratulations or whatever, and you- You totally blew me off!”

“Okay,” Dream says, nodding. “Okay, that does seem pretty shitty of me. But that wasn’t the first time we met,” she says it with all the finality of a falling gavel, the lynchpin in her defense. And George- Is lost. 

“Uhm- Yes it was? I would have remembered meeting you,” she blushes as soon as the words are out of her mouth, which is fucking stupid. Because, sure, Dream is objectively her type. To the damn tee. And she sings. Well, as much as George is loathe to admit. “I mean- Whatever.”

“Oh,” Dream says, and it’s an oh sort of oh. George is blushing still. “Uh- Okay. But we met way before that.”

“When,” George demands, leaning forward. “Just fucking- tell me.”

“At a party. New Years? I think? You were siting at the bar and I thought, fuck it, we’re both in the same industry now, it’s as good a time as any to shoot my shot,” Dream explains in a rush, like George will stop her. “And you weren’t into me. Totally fine, obviously. But when you were at my signing party- I just felt so damn awkward. I didn’t know how to talk to you so I just- didn’t. And I am sorry for that.”

“You- What? Asked me out?” George asks, the puzzle pieces floating in her head, waiting to fall into place. 

“Just for drinks. If you wanted one, I mean.”

“And I- said no? To you?”

Dream taps her fingers against the comforter. “You hardly looked at me. It was like- I didn’t exist,” she huffs out a laugh. “Ironic, I guess.”

“Oh fuck,” George groans, dropping her head into her hands. “I’m an idiot.”

“So am I,” Dream offers. “I probably could have just- been normal, at my party. But I couldn’t be, so you thought I hated you. And then I thought you hated me. Mostly because you were always so- standoffish.”

“It hurt,” George admits, curling in on herself. “To see how fucking nice you were to everyone else, and you could never even look at me. So I built this image up in my head, of you like- hating me. Thinking you were better than me.”

Dream laughs, short and sharp. “I uh- went to your first ever official show. If that means anything.”

“In that shitty venue with half the lights broken?” George asks, entirely taken aback. “That was- I wasn’t even signed yet.”

“I know,” Dream snorts. “It was so- I think that was my sexual awakening, honestly. Your voice and the way you sang-”

“Dream,” George gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “You’re- You’re Claire.”

“You remember me?” 

“Fucking- Yes. Oh my god. Holy shit. You came to like, half of my shows,” George wants to slap herself. It all makes sense now- she can see it now, Dream with her hair in its natural curls, looking so similar to George’s memory of the girl who had been barricade at her first few shows.

The rest of the night slips away- Dream and George talk until the sun comes up, about how Dream had found George’s music, about the label, everything. 

George thinks she’s a new person under the morning sun. And she can see Dream for who she really is- and she doesn’t think she’ll forget again anytime soon.

--

The fourth week is George’s favorite. The rumors are in full force, after their very public New York date. George is kind of floored by just how famous Dream is- she knew objectively, of course, but experiencing it is a whole new beast.

But none of that is what makes her love that week. It’s something that’s entirely private, kept from the newly prying eyes of the public, from the greedy hands of their label.

It’s a night spent in George’s loft, Dream sneaking in through the fire escape. It’s barely restrained giggles and shared drinks, small touches and and closing space.

It’s George’s couch, and Dream’s hand on her waist, and the sound of the city around them. It’s stories of Dream’s family, of George’s love for London.

It’s a moment of quiet, a break in the conversation. It’s George leaning in, and Dream gasping softly into her mouth, lips impossibly plush against hers. It’s hands and lips and noses brushing, kisses that drag on and on until their horizontal on the couch, George’s hands holding her over Dream, Dream’s hands in her hair. It’s the promise of more, as they fall asleep tangled together right on the couch.

And it’s giggling together as they read the tabloids and the Reddit posts, as George’s manager sends her articles about getting along with people you dislike. It’s everything.

--

George loses count of the weeks. She asks Dream out during one of them, to be her girlfriend. She releases her album in another, with a song featuring Dream charting higher than anything else she’s released. 

(People ask, often, if she’s bitter about it. ‘Why would I be?’ She says. ‘My girlfriend is the best- but I wrote the damn thing’)

Her tour is in one of the weeks after. It sells out, and they get frozen fruit to celebrate. And somehow, during her first show, there’s a beautiful girl watching her, cheering her on.

And at her last show, she pulls Dream on stage, grins wolfishly at the cameras. Mine, she thinks, when she kisses her under the lights.

[justira-creates]

their backstory during Water 7 killed me. old comic from 2008.

tumblr absolutely murdered the image quality, much better quality on my AO3!

ID under the cut

[ID: A vertical, wordless comic without panel borders depicted entirely in blue ink on a white background, titled “Franky’s First Cola” with a small cartoonish speedo under the title.

Image 1 contains one large panel.

Panel 1: Iceburg and Franky are depicted at ages 12 and 16, respectively, in their workshop at Tom’s workers. Franky’s desk is scattered with doodles and blueprints for Battle Frankys. He is asleep on his drafting table, his pen in his hand, drooling, snoring loudly, depicted with a speech bubble of a log being sawed. Iceburg, his work area pristine, is glaring at him. The paper in front of Iceburg is blank; he's been completely unable to work due to Franky's loud snoring.

Image 2 contains four panels.

Panel 2: Iceburg, in profile, looks like he’s attempting to concentrate, head propped on one hand.

Panel 3: Franky continues to snore loudly, this time depicted with a speech bubble showing a buzzing bee.

Panel 4: Closeup of Iceburg’s eyes from the front, glaring to the side in Franky’s direction.

Panel 5: Overhead shot of their workstations, Franky still snoring at his messy desk. Iceburg’s neat desk has its chair shoved away, empty.

Image 3 has five panels.

Panel 6: Iceburg is checking the fridge, hand on one hip.

Panel 7: Iceburg yells to the residence in general that he’s going shopping, indicated with a speech bubble showing a stick figure of Iceburg receiving a bag of groceries in exchange for money.

Panel 8: Franky, miraculously and suddenly awake, pops around the corner, eyes wide.

Panel 9: Tom calls out that they need fish (cartoon fish in his speech bubble). He is holding a hammer, mid-job.

Panel 10: Kokoro says there’s a shopping list (speech bubble of a piece of paper indicating various food items). She is chopping carrots.

Image 4 has five panels.

Panel 11: Iceburg is on his way out the door, one hand on the doorknob and the other hand holding the shopping list in front of his face as he inspects it. Franky, much shorter, tugs on his shirt and says he wants to come with (speech bubble with a cartoon Iceburg with horns and a pitchfork and a grocery bag plus a cartoon figure of Franky)

Panel 12: Iceburg looks annoyed.

Panel 13: Franky looks stubborn.

Panel 14: Iceburg hunches his shoulders with a frown, looking put-upon.

Panel 15: Iceburg calls over his shoulder that Franky’s coming with him (speech bubble with non-devilish cartoon Iceburg and shopping bag plus a cartoon Franky with horns and a pitchfork)

Image 5 has three panels.

Panel 16: Kokoro, offscreen, yells that Franky needs to put on shorts (speech bubble with an angelic cartoon Franky plus a pair of shorts). Franky is still holding onto Iceburg’s shirt, looking in Kokoro’s direction. Iceburg, one hand still on the doorknob, is looking down at where Franky is holding onto him and frowning.

Panel 17: Franky yells back at Kokoro that he’s going in his speedo, shaking his fist (speech bubble with speedo and multiple exclamation marks). Iceburg has put the shopping list in his mouth and is attempting to detach Franky from his shirt.

Panel 18: Kokoro, still offscreen, throws a pair of shorts in Franky’s face (speech bubble with shorts and many exclamation marks), causing Franky to fall over, still attached to Iceburg’s shirt, and take Iceburg down with him. Iceburg yells an drops the shopping list from his mouth as he's falling.

Image 6 has a divider followed by three panels

-- a divider of alternating cartoon speedos and shorts --

Panel 19: Iceburg is carrying a bag of groceries. A little behind him, Franky is kicking a rock, wearing shorts and looking dejected, hands in his pockets.

Panel 20: Iceburg frowns back at Franky, looking thoughtful.

Panel 21: Closeup of Franky pouting, in profile, hands in his pockets.

Image 7 has three panels.

Panel 22: Closeup: Iceburg’s gaze slides to the side.

Panel 23: A wooden hanging sign saying COLA, read vertically, with a dark bottle of cola next to the word.

Panel 24: Closeup of Iceburg’s lower face, just visible above the bag of groceries. He is smiling ever so slightly.

Image 8 has two panels.

Panel 25: A faded wider shot of Iceburg, facing away from Franky, handing a cola back to Franky, behind him. Franky’s body language indicates he’s taken aback. In the faded style, they lack facial features.

Panel 26: A faded closeup shot of Iceburg’s hand, holding the cola, and Franky’s hand reaching for it, about to grasp it and take it.

The word "End" is at the bottom.

/end ID]

[starysky1289]

Captian!Vanessa X Rookie!Reader. City Patrol

“ Alright, Alright. Settle down. Johanna, David, Andrew, you three will be driving through the eastern side of town. Mike, Steven, Henry, you’ll take the western side. Every one else is on active standby. Dismissed. “

Vanessas voice boomed through the meeting room, her gaze meet yours as you began to pack up for standby.

“ YN. Can I have a word? “

“ yes, Of course Captian. “

You waited for everyone to file out, and you approached Vanessa. You gave her a gentle smile, and she returned it.

“I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me on a patrol though the city. Write tickets, investigate sights, whatever the day gives us. “

“ oh! Captain I’d be honored! “

She smirked, heading towards the door.

“ get your gear, meet me by the car. “

“ yes captain. “

She nodded, and walked away. You hurried to your locker, grabbing your utilitys. Then you tossed on your jacket, the jacket she had given you.

You rushed to meet the by her car. She had an older model, but it still ran just as good as any other corvette.

“ ready rookie? “

“ yes captain. “

You both stepped into the car, buckling up. You watched Vanessa mess with some of the panel buttons, before watching her click off her body camera.

“ turn your body cam off yn, it messes with my radio. “

“ oh- yes captain. “

You clicked your camera off, and with that Vanessa drove off. The snow blew hard against the car, as Vanessa clicked the heat on.

“ tell me yn…why did you want to become a police officer. Pretty face like yours…could have been a model easy. Why waist away here. “

“ because I wanted to make a difference. To bring positive influence to my community. “

“ that’s what they all say…”

Vanessa muttered, her gaze focused ahead. You twiddled your thumbs, glancing away. Did you upset her? Was she in a bad mood.

“ here, let’s get a drink. “

When the two of you got to the city, Vanessa pull the car over. You looked up to see a Starbucks. Vanessa stepped out and walked over to open your door.

“ oh my, t-thank you captain. “

“ shh..so formal yn…you know you can just call me Vanessa~ “

“ w-well…thank you, Vanessa “

She smirked, as the two of you walked towards the door. Vanessa opened it for you and followed after you to the counter. She ordered first.

“ morning, I’ll have a venti signature dark roast. Yn what do you want, I’ll pay. “

“ oh no Vanessa i- “

“ cmon, I insist. “

You blushed, stepping closer to the counter.

“ I’ll have a venti dark roast aswell, but with 5 pumps of vanilla. “

“ oh, and two buttered croissants. “

“ Captian please that’s too much. “

She only smiled at you, swiping her card through the reader. The two of you shuffled to the pickup counter and waited. Vanessa was so sweet, when she talked her voice was heavy, but still soft. She made you feel so warm…so comforting. And this peace was perfect, until there was a crashing through the doors.

“ PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR AND EMPTY YOUR POCKETS. THIS IS A ROBBERY- “

The masked criminal froze when he saw the two of you. You tried your best to remain professional, but Vanessa burst out laughing.

“ did you not see the cop car outside?? Moron. Drop the gun, hands behind your back. “

“ Step closer pig! I’ll blow your brains! “

The criminal raised his gun to Vanessa’s face, and in a second you both pulled out your guns.

“ I can shoot faster than you can think. Drop the gun. Now. “

The criminal hesitated, before dropping the gun. You quickly rushed to him and put him in cuff, instantly reading Miranda rights out. Vanessa called for back up to take the guy away.

“ we’re gonna put this guy away, can you hold into our order? Thank you “

Vanessa tipped the barista, before carefully taking the gun from the ground, carrying it outside.

“ good one YN. Backup should be here to take him away any minute now. “

“ thank you captain. “

Vanessa nodded, and the two of you waited only a moment more, and the car pulled up. They took him and the gun away, leaving you two.

“ you get in the car, I’ll get our drinks. “

Vanessa walked back into the Starbucks, and you settled into the car. She came back a few moments later, sitting in the drivers seat and handing you your drink and croissant.

“ enjoy dear. Let’s go. “

Vanessa started the car, and drove off. The way the lights bounce off the snowy side walks looked like heaven, and the warm presence of Vanessa made everything seem…perfect.

Vanessa suddenly turned into a one way street. It was off the usual patrol route. You glanced around, your stomach fluttered but you trusted Vanessa. She backed down an ally, and parked the car, leaning back in her seat.

The two of you quietly drank and ate, before Vanessa finally broke the silence.

“ so…you’ve got a girl at home yn? “

“ huh- o-oh! No n-no I don’t….”

“ really? Thought the girls would be chasing you down…a smart, pretty, strong, gorgeous girl like you….id be Chasing you if i could~ “

You blushed, burying your face in your hands. You felt Vanessa’s hands gently pry them off your face. Her gentle eyes stared right into yours.

“ the cameras don’t affect the radio at all, do they~? “

“ not at all rookie, no they do not~ “

And with that she pulled you into a kiss, you gave in, pressing against her. Her tongue pressed against your lips, as if asking for entrance, and you happily let them in.

“ a-ah…Vanessa…what about the c-cars camera….”

“ i deactivated it. Im captain, I know how to work my car~ “

The two of you continued your make out sessions, Vanessa’s hands dragged across your body before she pulled back and chuckled.

“ go in the back, I wanna try something~ “

You giggled, quickly stepping out into the cold and back into the back. Vanessa sat down first, then pulled you onto her lap. The two of you continued your make out, Vanessa’s hands trailing up your back and cupping your clothed breasts.

“ fuck….i want you yn…i fucking want you- “

“Captian, come in. We’re having an issue with the system, can you come check it out? “

Vanessa’s radio on her chest buzzed, as she picked it yo and answered it snappily.

“ yeah yeah I’m coming. Give me a few…”

Vanessa turned off the radio, sighing and looking back to you.

“fucking morons….we have to go back, I need to teach them how to do there job “

“ but we were just having fun Vanessa…”

“ I know, I know. But…maybe I can take you on a date sometime soon? And we can make out some more then~ “

“ I-I’d love that Vanessa~! “

The two of you pressed your heads together, kissing one last time before stepping out of the car, and back into the front seats.

Vanessa started the car, and the two of you drove off. As she drove, your mind wandered. How muscular her build her, how strong she is…before you landed on another thought.

“ Vanessa…”

“ yeah baby? “

“ isn’t this…wrong. Us having a…relationship….”

Vanessa stiffened, like she had been avoiding the question. She sipped her coffee again before turning down the street.

“ yeah…it’s risky for both of us…but I..I don’t wanna ignore this YN…”

Vanessa placed a hand on your thigh, as you gently placed your hand ontop of hers.

“ I think,….we could try to make this work…and if it doesn’t then it doesn’t….but I want this…”

You smiled at her vulnerability. You picked up her hand and kissed it gently, interlacing your fingers in hers.

“ I think…I want this too…I wanna make this work. “

The two of you smiled, keeping hands held for the rest of the drive to the police station. As you pulled into the garage, Vanessa stepped out and opened the door for you again.

“ so polite Captain “

“ of course. Anything for you~ “

You chuckled, walking back into the station. Vanessa went the own way to help the others, and you turned to your locker to look at your phone quickly. You’ve never felt so…so seen. So wanted. You’d do anything and everything to make this work.

You…loved her.

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

Sugar Crash Void Bash: The Fanfic!

The direct sequel to: The Sapphire Heartverse

Chapter One: Candy Coded

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6 chapter 7 chapter 8

Last entirety edit: 9/04/2024

“Ramón!” The brunette man calls from the kitchen, “Your breakfast is going to get cold, Foofy!” Ice sighs and places a paper towel over the two freshly cooked, fluffy pancakes dolloped with butter, and a side of over easy eggs. 

“Need any help, Vans?” Tippy asks zeir husband. Vanilla pouts a little bit, 

“Go get your son.” He points.

In his room, 15 year old Ramón is on his computer chair listening to music and doodling a little in his sketchbook. Tippy opens the door,

“Mi hijo,” Ze knocks on the panel. Ramón turns around a little startled, then takes his headphones off,

“D-daddo! Good morning! I was just about to uh… yeah.”

“Get your cotton-candy-headed self in the kitchen before your pops sends you to the void.” Tippy teases Ramón. Ramón gets up from his computer chair and looks down at his dad with a chuckle. Tippy looks up at him,

“When did you get so tall?! I swear, we might have to get you a bigger doorway,” ze follows Ramón to the kitchen, “or a bigger house, heheh!”

“What’s this about a bigger house, sweetie? I’m not making any more renovations to this place until you give me a garden.” Vanilla points a spatula and gives his husband a warm chuckle and a smile.

“Papa, do you have to wear that apron every time you cook?” Ramón sits down at the table with an exaggerated eye roll as he takes the paper towel off of his plate.

“Yes, I do, young man. Eat your food so you can get taller and annoy your dad even more.” Vanilla dusts some pancake flour off of his purple apron with violet hearts on the pockets. He adjusts his hair bun and brushes his long left bang behind his ear. Ramón notices this and remembers something he’s been wanting to say for years. Vanilla pulls off his apron, getting ready to eat breakfast with his family. The teenage boy finishes chewing and swallows his pancake, then lightly points his fork at his papa,

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you, pops. How come your right bang is so much shorter than the left? It’s been like that forever.”

Vanilla looks at his son, frozen. His mouth is open a little and his eyes are just a bit wide, Vanilla is stuck in place for a moment. The brunette looks to his lower left then his upper right,

“Uh… ah. Well…” Vanilla daintily folds his apron, fidgeting with it, “I… I’ll have to tell you when you’re older.” 

“Huh? How come?” Ramón asks before drinking some orange juice. Vanilla sits next to Tippy and kisses the top of zeir head.

“Well, Foofy… It’s a long story. A very long, boring story that you might not want to sit through.” Vanilla fidgets with his hair and doesn’t make eye contact with his son. Ramón has a feeling something is up, but leaves it alone.

After Tippy leaves for work at the art studio, Vanilla drops Ramón off at his high school.

“Alright, Foofs, have a wonderful day at school. Don’t cause trouble now!” Vanilla smiles at Ramón. He leans over and kisses his son on the cheek, much to Ramón’s dismay.

“Papa, don’t!” The pink haired boy turns around to look out the window in case anyone might’ve seen. He whips his head back around to his father, “I’m not a little kid anymore, you can’t just… kiss me like that, man.” Vanilla’s brows frown,

“I’m sorry…” Ramón opens the car door and Vanilla speaks, “You’ll always be my little boy. No matter how old you get.” 

Ramón sighs,

“I know, pops.”

“Ramoooooooon!” One of his friends playfully howls at him.

“Gotta go! See you at home!”

“Okay, Foofy, I lo-” Ramón closes the door on Vanilla. The brunette is stunned for a moment. He brushes his longer bang behind his ear and drives away with a very hurt expression.

“There he is!” One of Ramón’s friends, Jared, pats his back. Jared is a tall, lean yet muscular teenage boy with a box fade hair style, gold dangling earrings with stars at the end, and very dark brown eyes, “Are you still gonna hang out after cheer today?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan anyway, but it’s subject to change.” Ramón smiles and playfully shoves his friend. They both walk inside the building. Alex, another one of Ramón’s friends walks besides the two boys. She is a chubby teenage girl with straight blonde hair down her back, light blue eyes, and braces,

“Did you see the new episode of Space Train Violence last night?! It was the best one yet!”

“You say that about every episode! Even the one where they stood on the moon and didn’t do anything.” Jared tells her with a laugh. Ramón opens his locker and sets his backpack inside. Jared leans up against the locker next to Ramón about to say something. Suddenly his eyes widen and he smacks Ramón on the back a few times to get his attention.

“Dude, what?” Ramón turns around to see Cobie, his crush approaching the two of them. Cobie is a goth teenager with spiky black hair, blue lipstick, dark eye makeup surrounding their dark purple eyes. They walk towards Ramón, causing his heart to pound. Jared suppresses a laugh. He stretches and speaks,

“Oh yeah, I just remembered I have to be over here or whatever. Hi, Cobie.”

“Hey.” Cobie waves gloomily at Jared. “Hey, Ramón.”

“Hi. Uh, ahem, hi. Cobie.” Ramón clears his throat.

“I found these rat bones behind my house. I was lucky enough to find the skull too. I was thinking about adding it to my collection.” Cobie tells him, showing him the skeleton in a shoe box. Oh man, they are so cool.

“Y-yeah, that sounds awesome. Uh… so how is your half of the project coming along?” Ramón asks them.

“It’s going well. I hope you don’t mind that I put a spiderweb design on some parts.” Cobie closes the box.

“I think that’s really cool.” Ramón smiles at them. They look at him with a blank expression, but it’s still obvious that they enjoy his company. Cobie is about to speak, but suddenly, the box is smacked out of their hands. The box and its contents spill all over the floor. The person who did that also slams Ramón’s locker shut,

“Ew! There were bones in that thing!” 

“Ryan…” Ramón grits his teeth. Ryan is a tall, muscular yet chubby and pale, strawberry blonde teenage boy with blue eyes.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than be a douchebag?” Ramón sighs with a scowl.

“Wow, so hostile for no reason!” Ryan laughs. He tries to intimidate Cobie by pretending he’s going to attack them. When they flinch, Ryan laughs even harder. He turns back towards Ramón, “What? What?”

Ramón grits his teeth, and winds up his leg about to kick Ryan in the face. Unfortunately the headmaster walks down the hallway. Ryan gives her a fake smile and bows to her,

“Good morning, Miss Lewis. You look lovely today.”

“Good morning, Ryan.” She smiles at him, then sneers at Ramón, “Morning, Mr Ice.”

“Good morning, Miss Lewis.” Ramón says.

“Mhm. Have you been getting control of that menace of a stand?” She narrows her eyes at him. Ramón is about to speak to defend his stand, but suddenly she turns to see two other teenagers attacking one another, “HEY!” She sprints over to them at lightning speed, “No stand fighting in the hallway!” She grabs them both with her stand’s mechanical arms and pushes them away from each other,

“If I catch you using your stands to fight again, you are both getting detention!”

Ramón, Ryan, and Cobie watch this happen. Ryan turns back to Ramón and flips him off as he walks away. Ramón angrily bites his teeth and shakes his head. 

After school

Ramón and Jared head to the gym to cheer practice. The cheer captain Lillie, a teenage girl with long lavender box braids tied into a ponytail, bright pink lipstick, and dark brown almost pitch black eyes, blows a sparkly pink plastic whistle,

“Alright, everyone!” She claps her hands, “Let’s get this party started! Ramón! Have you been practicing those backflips?”

“You know it.” Ramón tells her. Jared elbows him in the shoulder,

“Hey, ask her about the thing- actually I’ll ask her about the thing- Lillie!”

“Yeeees?” She asks with a cheerful smile. Ramón tries to get Jared to stop talking, but he persists,

“Ramón’s stand can glitch people in and out of existence. Can he use it for our next performance?” Lillie taps her pen with a fluffy pink end against her cheek,

“Hmmm… I don’t know. Is it a destructive stand?”

“U-uh,” Ramón looks around at the other cheerleaders, “Well… I don’t actually know. I mean- uh… Sugar Crash-”

“Ooooh, Sugar Crash! I like that name! Sorry, go ahead.” Lillie giggles.

“Uh… well… like I said, I don’t know what else he does. The only thing I know how to do now is uh… well… uh, okay okay,” Ramón steps in front of everyone, “Let me show you.”

The teenage boy takes out his stand Sugar Crash. Sugar Crash is a pastel pink robotic looking stand. He has an angular helmet on his head, right-triangle eyes with blue scleras and black pupils, a soft angled cube torso, with teal, pink and green beams connecting his purple mechanical hands. The torso has a heart shaped hole in the middle with a swirling pink vortex with a light blue singularity. The torso is also connected to a spiked and more sharp angled cubic bottom. Sugar Crash levitates with small pink, teal, and green rings coming out of the bottom cube. 

Lillie smiles as Ramón continues to introduce them all to Sugar Crash. Ramón leaps into the air to perform a backflip, and Sugar Crash causes him to glitch out of existence. The other cheerleaders ooh and aah at what happened. Suddenly they hear his voice, which sounds just as glitched and distorted as he once was,

“I’m still here,” Ramón speaks and they all look around the gym for him, “But at the same time I’m not. It’s hard to explain… down here.” Ramón’s voice is normal now. His head and torso are coming out of the floor. The matter around him is glitched and looks distorted, Ramón is also just a little distorted, his image is jerking around as if he is a corrupted video game character. One of the teens covers their eyes because it’s difficult for them to look at. Lillie frowns her brows and smiles,

“That’s so cool! But I don’t know how we could incorporate that into our cheer. Especially if it could be harmful to other peoples’ eyes.”

“O-oh, no no!” Ramón floats up quickly and goes back to normal, “We wouldn’t have to do the floor thing, but phasing in and out of existence could be part of our routine.” A few of the other cheerleaders look at each other. One of them gets a worried look and speaks,

“I-I dunno… it seems, like, kind of dangerous…” Another one chimes in,

“Yeah, what if one of us gets stuck in the ground or a wall?”

“Yeah! And what if we get stuck in the void forever?!” Another speaks up. Ramón tries to settle them down. They all start talking about stand users with void powers and how they’re always dangerous,

“I had a cousin who had a void type stand. He went crazy and ended up sealing away half of his family into the ether! Never to be seen again!”

“That’s awful, I heard there are some people who can call the void at will and destroy everything in their path.” Another says.

“That’s horrible!”

“In my opinion, people with stands like that shouldn’t be allowed to-”

Lillie blows her whistle, getting a little upset,

“Alright!” She claps her hands, “Let’s get back to practicing our cheers for the game!” She gives Ramón an apologetic look. They all practice their original routine until it’s time to go home. 

That night

Ramón has his cheek pressed up against his palm, playing with his dinner with a fork. 

“Foofy?” Vanilla asks his son sweetly. Ramón looks up at his papa with a small,

“Mmm?”

“Is everything alright? Did something happen at school, Foofs?” Ice asks his child.

“Yeah, you okay, chiquito? You look kinda sad.” Tippy asks, joining in with a warm expression.

Ramón looks at his papa, then at his dad, then back at his papa. Ramón grimaces a little then leans back in his chair,

“Uh… it’s uh… you know, like…” He waves his hand around, “puberty.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” Tippy nods, while Vanilla has a feeling something else is going on. Ice tightens his lips into a line with worried brows and scratches his jaw a little bit,

“You know you can always come to us if there’s anything bothering you.”

“I know.” Ramón tells them, “Uh… I need to do my homework. Big test tomorrow, so I have to get on that.” He gets up and heads to his room.

“W-wait! Foofy, you didn’t finish-” Vanilla picks up the plate and tries to bring it to Ramón, but his son closes his bedroom door. His shoulders drop and he brings the plate back to the table. Ice sighs deeply and slumps down into a chair.

“Hey…” Tippy walks over and wraps zeir arms around zeir husband, “He’s just going through a phase where he wants to be independent. Let him have his space for now, okay?”

“I…I know, sweetie.” Ice touches Tippy’s hand which is resting on one of his shoulders, “He’s growing up too fast. I remember when he could fit in my arms. He was so tiny. I would look down at him while rocking him and he would look at me with those big brown eyes…” Vanilla smiles, fondly remembering his son as an infant, “I would smile at him and he would smile back… I used to fall asleep with him in my arms on the couch.”

“Yeah, and you spoiled him rotten to the point he couldn’t sleep without you!” Tippy playfully pokes zeir husband’s nose, “Ramón would cry all night until you would hold him. He sounded so pitiful, he just wanted his papa…”

“He needed me, Tippy.” Vanilla covers his mouth. Tippy touches Vanilla’s cheek,

“I know and now you need him.” Ze pats Ice’s cheek.

“Hm? What do you mean by that?” The brunette asks. Tippy chuckles,

“You don’t want your little boy to grow up just yet.”

“Well, what parent wants their baby to grow up?” Ice pouts, making his husband laugh,

“It’ll be okay. Maybe you and Ramón can hang out one day. Maybe take him bowling or something and have a Papa and Foofy day!”

“I would love that so much, but…” Ice’s eyes are downcast, “I don’t think he wants to be seen in public with me.” He adjusts his hair bun and tucks away the loose strands, “He pushed me away when I kissed his cheek…”

“Listen here, Lucky Charms,” Tippy wraps his arm around his husband’s shoulders, “I’m serious when I say just let him have his space. Go ahead and wait until Sunday, that way it’s after the game, then ask if he’d like to hang out with you.” Ze kisses Vanilla’s cheek, “You know! Just get to know your kiddo all over again.”

“Maybe you’re right, Termite.” Ice gives zem a small smile and kisses zeir forehead. 

Sunday

“Foofy?” Ice gently opens Ramón’s door. The teenage boy is sleeping soundly in the top bunk of his desk-bunkbed. Vanilla hears his son peacefully breathing in his slumber, this makes him smile. The brunette thinks back to when he would watch Ramón sleeping in his crib, so worried and so protective of his child. The man clears his throat and speaks a little louder,

“Foofs?”

“Snrrrkkk- huh? What?” Ramón stirs awake. The teenage boy leans up a little too fast and bonks his head on the ceiling, “Ouch!” He rubs his head. 

“Oh! Are you alright?” Ice leans forward.

“Y-yeah… uh, hey, good morning, papa. You need me for something?” 

“Hmhm, well… I was thinking,” Ice leans on the door pane with a warm smile, “You and I haven’t had any ‘papa and son’ time together in… hm… a long while. Perhaps you and I could…” Vanilla’s voice trails off as he notices his son’s wincing face. This hurts his feelings quite a bit, however he continues, “Could, er, go bowling. If you’d like. Just you and me?”

Ramón grimaces and looks at his papa for a few uncomfortable moments,

“Uhh.. oh, dang, uh… I don’t know, man. I’m a little sore from cheer yesterday.” Ramón stretches, rubs his neck, and nonchalantly looks away. 

“I see…” Vanilla’s eyes are downcast. “If you ever need anything, Foofy, please let me know.” Ice’s honey sunset eyes gaze up into Ramón’s.

“You got it, pops! I’ll be fine. Honest.” 

“Mnh.” Ice nods at his child with a small smile as he gently closes the bedroom door.

Ramón waits a few moments after his papa leaves before breathing a sigh of relief,

“Glad that’s over…” The pink haired boy rips off the blankets from himself and slides down the ladder and sits down at his desk. Ramón puts on his headset and starts up his computer. After a while, he hears his other friends and speaks,

“Heeeeyy! So, are we still on for the mall today?”

Unbeknownst to Ramón, his papa stayed right outside the door and could hear everything.

“What? No, no I’m free. Yeah, my fathers said it’s okay… cool, I’ll meet you both around 2.”

Vanilla twirls his left bang around in a vain attempt to comfort himself. Ice sighs softly and gives one last glance at Ramón’s bedroom door, before finally walking away.

To be continued…

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme Post #95

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 6, Every Day, enough

...

Sideburns Check

The sideburns are long and longer than the last time we saw them. It's hard to be sure if the left sideburn has reached longest-length during Crowley's walk toward the bookshop and his last touch for The Pocket Trick. The right sideburn might not be fully lengthened yet.

I thought the idea was to have the first three completed Threshold Tricks not have longest-length sideburns.

But perhaps I was wrong or that is part of the special nature of The Pocket Trick with it being the last of those three Threshold Tricks completed before the Final Fifteen.

...

Brighter Red Streak Check

The more saturated red streak of hair can be found.

...

Hairstyle Changes

The sideburns lengthened. The curl isn't as strong in its indent for where the hair is curving upward near the streak in Crowley's hair. From behind the window, the hair looks to be more saturated in red. It looks a little more fluffy.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects | The Pocket Trick Touch #5 - Single - Between Door Windows) | Bookend Buddies - Crowley and Muriel (Part 2))

The scene starts with something I think of as a Pocket Preamble to the last touch, the Single, of The Pocket Trick.

Beelzebub and Gabriel are on screen with Gabriel having a pocket touch. Meanwhile, demons and angels bicker, creating a pocket between each other with the floor circle in the middle.

My play goes with saying that Beelzebub and Gabriel have a shared Pocket Frame that is Standing Chandeliers.

Here is the cut of that pocket touch with that Pocket Frame:

...

Here is my guess for that cut's Touch Point:

This Pocket Frame is the second of three special instances with Pocket Frames that have Touch Points and do not have Crowley on screen. The first was Muriel with Angel Arms. The third will be a combined instance of Aziraphale with Elevator Edges and the Metatron with Doorknobs, as part of The Door Catch.

...

Aziraphale uses a bell to grab the attention of the bickering angels and demons down.

He even catches Muriel's attention, and Muriel has been keeping themself busy with a book. They are shown to still be holding that book.

Crowley is seen behind Aziraphale through a window with a simple window look. This look is the third of three that he does over the course of episodes 5 and 6 after he confronted Gabriel in episode 5.

He actually stays at the window for a bit and eventually smiles.

Then he performs the last touch of The Pocket Trick, the Single, with Muriel's silent assistance.

So, I'll cover that next.

As in other touches, I will cover some of that touch but not as thoroughly as its main post, which is linked for reference above.

...

Tied Hands

There is a possible word puzzle of, "bell, book and candle," to assist with retying the Tied Hands early on in the scene. The bell is the bell Aziraphale rings. The book is the one Muriel is holding. The candle is the candles symbolized on the standing chandelier featured during the Single of The Pocket Trick.

...

Here is my best guess for the Touch Point:

...

Here is the findable rainbow:

...

The Rainbow Connection switches from Red to Orange (possibly Red #1 to Red #2, then Orange).

A Rainbow Connection Reflection probably happens here:

...

Pocket Chain

The previous touch had a Pocket Frame of Car Windows, so that's the most recent link in Crowley's Pocket Chain.

The Pocket Chain has a big role here as what probably allows Crowley to touch the door in the way that he does with his left hand. A car window is visually behind him.

He does not touch only the door panel. His left thumb and its shadow touch the astragal. His left fingers touch the astragal and panel with his index finger managing a touch on a push plate edge in the process.

...

Muriel

Muriel is shown on screen. I suspect Muriel is silently assisting with their all-white uniform though sadly, I cannot figure out exactly what their assistance does. They could be holding the Red for the Rainbow Connection until Crowley's aligned with part of his incoming Pocket Frame. Or, they could be holding something about the Pocket Chain with the car window.

Muriel ends up bookend-ing both sides of the Single of the The Pocket Trick while also being in it. That means Muriel is pocketed into the last touch of The Pocket Trick.

...

Multipliers

Due to how Crowley manages his fingertips on the door panel, he might have earned two Triple multipliers.

...

Story Commentary

Crowley is approaching the window from a different direction than I would expect, given the angles of when he seemed to be going away from both his car and the bookshop in the previous scene.

...

That's it for this post. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hi Wendy!! I had a birthday recently and I was wondering if I could request bday sex with Suguru Geto?

absolutely!

Happy belated birthday!

At Midnight: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.1k

tw: smut, mentions of weed

masterlist

11:57 pm.

It's 11:57 pm, and your doorbell is ringing.

Fear isn't the first thing on your mind as you drag yourself from your bed to the foyer of your home, staring at the wooden panel before you with a twinge of resentment.

"Coming, coming," you yawn when the doorbell rings once more. "I heard you the first time." The porch light flicks on and illuminates the cast of bugs now awakened by their personal sun. You want to stop and stare at the moths dancing around and celebrating the return of their beloved light, but you have to silence the doorbell ringer first.

One sleepy eye peeks out at the figure standing alone on the porch, and then - upon realizing who's there - you unlock and open the door. "Suguru," you mumble. "What're you doing here so late at night?"

Suguru - standing in your doorway with a sly smile and wearing only a t-shirt and joggers - opens his mouth to answer but then opts to step inside first. You let him in instinctively, but something about his demeanor is off. He's never come around late in the evenings just to hang out - your college days are long over, and he'd stopped the late-night rendezvous with Satoru years ago.

"I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday," Geto offers, shrugging. "You know, you're turning twenty-six... and all that."

You frown as you close the door behind him. "That's it?" Your inquiry leaves Geto slightly shocked, but you brush past the black-haired man without much thought. "It's almost midnight," you grumble. "You should be in bed."

"But it's midnight on a Friday," he retorts, pulling something out from his back pocket. "And I've got two Take 5 bars I want to share with you."

"You should've just called." You stand in the kitchen, a few paces away from the jovial man, as the clock turns to 11:59 pm.

"Where's the fun in that?" You pause, sobering up finally.

"What'd you really come here for, Su?" The man lowers his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek before placing the candy bars on the breakfast bar. "I know you didn't practically ring my doorbell to death just for shits and giggles." Suguru fumbles around in his pants pocket and produces the final offering. Without words, you eye it carefully, measuring the length before sighing.

"Share it with me?" Suguru wonders, and you sigh before nodding.

"No funny business, though."

"God as my witness," he murmurs, hands in the air and the joint pinched between his forefinger and thumb. "I won't pull anything silly."

"This is something silly," you're humming against his mouth thirty minutes later. "This is funny business."

"Nah," Suguru replies, his fingers rolling his shirt over his abs and then his head. "I don't find anything funny right now."

"The last time we hooked up, it was just like this." Your head is swimming with lust, just like the last time.

"Yeah, just kiss me." The groan Geto emits is ungodly, you think as you roll over his hips. He smells like a fresh shower, some type of musk you can't place, and the faint aroma of saltwater. You can't stop kissing him, not when he smells and looks and feels this good.

Suguru allows you a few seconds of air as he pulls back, undoing the tie of his joggers and pushing them down his hips. He's apparently gone commando - no underwear in sight - and his girthy cock angles up against his stomach.

You know his curves and dips and the ridges around his skin by heart; every scar, every chewed fingernail, every hair is stored away in your memory. You're sure it's the same for your hookup, but the thought slips from your mind as he fiddles with the robe around your body and shoves a hand down your underwear.

"Shaven," he notes, raising his brows. "That's new. Seeing anyone special?"

"No," you admit a little too freely. "No one."

"That's what I thought." Suguru angles his chin at you while slipping a finger past your folds and discovering the ocean that awaits his touch. "And you're telling the truth, I see."

You pretend to squirm away, but Geto flips you around so your back is on the couch cushions, and he's above you, taking your wrists in one of his hands before trailing his thick fingers down your skin. "I'm going to give you your birthday dick tonight. Then, I'll leave. And should things remain the same," he continues. "I'll be here regularly to give you a little tune-up."

"I don't need to be maintained," you bite out.

"Your cunt says otherwise," Geto teases, slipping two fingers into you. You clench up and moan, shivering violently. "And your mouth says so, too."

"I hate you."

"You just hate that you love me." Geto's fingers disappear but are replaced with his cock. He slips into you easily, his cockhead breaching your walls for the first time in years. Suguru can't seem to fathom that he hadn't fucked you in so long, calling it "a major lapse of judgment" to let you go without "regular dick appointments."

"I don't need servicing," you retort once more as he rocks into you. But the look on his face tells you he doesn't believe you. As you're getting dicked-down on the couch, your head is fogged up like a windowpane in winter with the memories of all the amazing orgasms you'd had with Suguru.

Now...

"You're going to make me cum fast if you keep squeezing my dick like that; you know it's been years since I've had you."

"Who's fault is that?" you utter, holding your legs back for him as he drills deeper into you.

"Not mine," Suguru deflects, sinking balls-deep. You both moan simultaneously, feeling every inch of your body relax under the spell of weed and lust. "Fuck it. I'm definitely going to cum inside you."

"I've got an IUD; you're fine." Suguru grunts, "good girl," without stopping, gripping your ankles for leverage. He continues to plow into you as the minutes tick past midnight, seeping right into your birthday and reinforcing the idea that you'd be on your back for the rest of the year.

"On your back and taking my cum," Suguru mutters in your ear, the sound making your insides tremble with excitement. "New year, new you, huh?"

"New year, new us," you proclaim, much to Suguru's pleasure.

"Yeah," he whimpers, thumbing your clit and mentally drifting off into his own world of endless pleasure while he fucks you. "New year, new me, too."

[ask-the-becile-boys]

Story. No Other Options

Previous | Next

[ID: Eleven digitally sketched panels in black and white.]

[Panel 1: Close up of someone's pocket, with a smartphone ringing (SFX: ring four times) in it. The person says, "Huh, pretty early for a telemarketer."]

[Panel 2: The person is revealed to be The Spine. He answers his phone cheerfully, smiling with his eyes closed, saying, "Howdy! This is The Spine, from the robot band Steam Powered Giraffe! I won't be buying anything today, but if you quote me a price I will pass it along to one of our human employees!"]

[Panel 3: Over the phone, Hare says, "Christ, Silver, you answer the phone like that every time?" The Spine slouches forward, immediately grumpy, and asks, "Hare? Who gave you my number?" Hare responds, "Rabbit, remember?" The Spine says, "Right. Well, goodbye." Hare yells (all caps) "no wait I need help"]

[Panel 4: Shot of Qwerty the computer (a monitor screen with an ASCII smiley face and two claw hands) playing with plastic bricks while The Spine, with his back to them, talks on the phone. The Spine says, "You need my help?" Hare responds, "Not you, the Walter brat (em-dash) I mean, kid, the one what runs the joint. Our friend is dying of Green Matter poisoning and (ellipses, then in smaller text) and we got no other options."]

[Panel 5: Same shot. The Spine turns to Qwerty, who swivels over and displays a question mark. The Spine says, "Green Matter? (ellipses) Qwerty, find Ms. Vivian while I go get Peter. And tell Norman to hide."]

[Panel 6: The Spine's hand knocking (SFX: knock times three) on a door. In overlay, The Spine says, "This better not be a prank." Then, in the present action, he says, "Peter? We've got trouble incoming."]

[Panel 7: Peter the Sixth's wooden mask, sitting on a while a hand reaches for it. Peter the Sixth (AKA Six) says, "What kind of trouble can't wait until after breakfast?"]

[Panel 8: Shot from behind Six's shoulder as he puts on his mask. The Spine says from off panel, "Becile trouble. I'll explain on the way down, but they said they'd be here (em-dash)"]

[Panel 9: All caps SFX: screeeech crunch in Riker's font. The Spine and Six turn toward the noise, The Spine lowering his eyelids halfway, unamused. The Spine continues, "(ellipses) aaaaany minute now."]

[Panel 10: Annie Walter (Six's mother) standing in a doorway, looking shocked. She holds a mug of coffee and says, "(italics) My goodness!"]

[Panel 11: The front lawn of Walter Manor, as seen from the front door. The gates have been smashed open by the Beciles' van, which has also torn through the grass and run over a plastic lawn flamingo. The Jack and The Skull are carrying Scratch between them, his arms around their shoulders, while Hare is taking Dee out of the passenger seat. Riker stands at the front door, shaking slightly, and says, "Yeah, sorry about the gate. It's been a hell of a morning. Is there any more of that coffee?" End ID]

[magniloquent-raven]

enough of you to dull the pain

HEY it's been a minute since i put any writing out there lol how yall been

tag list: @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you 💕

(read on ao3)

**

If it was anyone else Billy would have said no. Immediately. No question. He's got rules, and staying in familiar territory is a big one. Doesn't matter how good the money or the dick is, he doesn't let johns choose the location. As much for his own safety as Heather's peace of mind. He always tells her where he's going before he leaves the apartment. 

Until tonight.

Until Steve fucking Harrington.

He figured Steve was a fake name at first. It's generic as hell, and the deer-in-the-headlights rapid blink he did before it fell out of his mouth that first night seemed like the look of someone scrambling for an answer. Usually isn't that hard for people to just tell the truth when someone asks their name. 

But no. 

He tossed Billy his wallet once. Still naked and sweaty and stretched out in questionably clean motel room sheets, a rosy glow on his cheeks and not a care in the world, like he hadn't just handed some random street walker every piece of ID he owns and $600 more than he's worth. 

His driver's license was tucked into a clear plastic pocket on the inside flap. A faded picture, his hair neatly combed, the corner of his mouth pinched like he was trying not to smile. Harrington, Steve. No middle name. 5' 10". 175 lbs. Eyes, brown. Hair, brown. 

He's a year or so older than Billy. Born in the fall.

"Harrington, huh," Billy drawled out, liking the way the name fit into his mouth. 

Steve shrugged, lounging, beautiful even in the dim light of a dirty lightbulb. The tiny smile that tugged at his reddened lips set something aflame in Billy's chest. Something that had been burrowing its way inside for weeks and had no business being there.

Something he's long since accepted isn't going away any time soon. They're months past Heather jokingly calling his weekly appointments date night and not thinking anything of him nervously brushing it off. Weeks past her dawning horror, growing concern, slammed doors and three rounds of a shouting match. He's tired of her going quiet every time he tells her where he'll be on a Friday night. Her judgemental eyes and pitying frown. Her chastising and talking in circles about how much of a moron he's being, like he doesn't fucking know already.

He always knew he was in over his head. It's been blindingly obvious from the start. Even when they were on his turf, Steve in his pressed slacks, unclipping his shiny fucking Rolex so he could carefully lay it on the scuffed-up table next to their rented bed, too clean, too bright, too good to be sitting on wrinkled sheets next to Billy in a dingy motel. The home field advantage should have kept him grounded but Steve's presence alone—his touch, his taste, the way he laughs, the way he looks at Billy like he's an actual person—kept him falling so far out of his depth he didn't know which was was up anymore. 

It's so much worse here. He's unmoored. Blind and struck dumb, nothing to hold onto but Steve but clinging too tightly hurts.  

He should have said no. He was prepared to say no. But that's not what came out of his mouth, and now here he is, in some ritzy fucking hotel, worlds away from anything resembling a safety net. He's pretty sure the floor his grimy boots are clomping on is actual marble, smooth and glassy and probably worth more than his first car. 

His reflection stares back at him in every surface he looks at. Shiny golden columns, lacquered wooden panels, crystal light fixtures sparkling on every wall, everything's so fucking polished and pristine he can't stop seeing his own face, flushed cheeks and barely concealed nerves, sticking out like a sore thumb even in his nicest shirt. 

It shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter. He's here to do a fucking job, the thread-count of the sheets he ends up between doesn't change that. All he needs to do is keep it together 'til he's there. Then he can forget about the concierge and his pressed suit glaring down his nose at Billy's cheap rings and butchered haircut. And the lady with her ankles crossed, eyeing him up from over her newspaper. And the man at the front desk with his bushy mustache, its edges curled with disdain. And the air in the room pressing in on all sides, thick and perfumed, catching in his throat like he's fucking drowning.

A familiar sickly feeling bubbles in his gut. His fingers twitch, curled into fists in his jacket pockets, sweat gathering in the creases of his palm. Ten years ago he'd have been giving in to the urge to break shit and run. Pick a fight, any fight, smash a window, knock over a stupid goddamn vase, anything to not be the only damaged thing in the room. 

Hell, he still might. He hasn't grown up that much.

Steve's hand lands on the small of his back, and he jolts, tensing, heart in his mouth. 

"I already checked in, just wait 'til you see the room," Steve says in a low voice, breath warm on the side of Billy's neck. 

Thank Christ, at least he doesn't have to stand around in this gilded hellscape attracting stares while Steve rents a room, totally fucking oblivious to how this looks to everyone in the foyer. 

There's a crude remark on the tip of his tongue. Some kind of innuendo he'd normally make in this sort of situation. It's expected of him. He's got a very specific role here, no matter how many idiotic fantasies he has about the what ifs. 

But he chokes. The thought of someone hearing him, the idea of leaning in and making it even clearer what they're here to do, it's all too much and his throat goes dry. 

Neither of them speak until they're alone in a third floor suite with the Do not Disturb sign hanging securely on the handle of its locked door. 

It's a nice room. Obviously. Well-lit. Plush carpet. There are at least six pillows on the bed, and none of them look drool-stained. 

Billy kicks his boots off, letting them land lopsidedly next to the coffee table. 

Damn, the carpeting really is fucking ridiculous. Might be easy on his knees for once. 

He bounces on his toes a little, trying to be subtle about shifting his weight around. Reminds him of walking barefoot on the beach, the warm give of sand shifting under his feet. But cleaner. 

"Nice, right?" 

Billy freezes, caught. Steve shed his jacket while Billy wasn't looking, and he's absentmindedly loosening his tie, eyes warm, watching. 

"Uh." Great. Good job. Steve's really getting his money's worth with all this witty banter. "...Yeah." Jesus fucking Christ.

Steve hums, seemingly content with Billy's answer, and continues to undress.

Now would be a good time to get it together. Like, right now. Say something cool, or offer to suck his dick, or…

"So, plans fall through with your wife or something?"

Not that. Idiot. But he can't take it back now, no matter how much he wants to. Steve might not wear a ring, but that doesn't mean Billy isn't about to hear something he never wanted to know.

He busies himself with taking his jacket off and laying it carefully over the back of the nearest chair. When he chances a peek at Steve he catches a glimpse of a furrowed brow and parted lips.

"Dude, I'm not married."

"Girlfriend then."

"No."

Billy lets out a silent breath, relief he has no right to feel washing over him. 

He doesn't ask why he's here if not to fill some void in a pre-existing plan. It won't be what he wants to hear, 'cause he's gotten too lucky already. Best to quit while he's ahead. 

It's probably just a kink thing.

Because he's here to fuck and that's it.

Every time they meet up it gets a little harder to remember that.

Which isn't entirely his fault, to be fair. It's not all on him and his incredibly inappropriate crush. Steve's started to linger, longer and longer after they're finished, he'll just…hang out. Asking Billy questions. Telling him little things about his life. 

Maybe they're sort of friends. In a fucked up way.

"How do you want me tonight?"

"Oh, uh…" Steve's shirtless now, thick mat of chest hair on full display. He's got good shoulders. Well-muscled. Broad, even if he doesn't hold himself like they are. He puts his hands on his hips, standing like a suburban dad who can't find his reading glasses while he eyes Billy up. Somehow this does not make him any less hot. Mostly it's just stupidly endearing. "What are you in the mood for?"

Billy blinks at him. 

It's not out of the ordinary for Steve to be mindful of Billy's needs when they have sex. In fact, he's very consistently been a generous lover, but he's never outright asked like that before, because…that's just not how this goes. Even when he gets clients who prefer being more submissive it's just a game they play, and they both know he doesn't make the rules. It's always about what the johns want. He's providing a service.

But Steve loves to come in and change shit, doesn't he. 

Billy used to let clients kiss him. He likes kissing. He likes having someone's tongue in his mouth. He likes the heat on his lips and the pressure and the softness. Not all of them are good at it, but a bad kiss can still be kind of fun. 

And then he met a client that he wanted to kiss more than anything else. Steve Harrington's mouth fucking haunts him. He dreams about kissing him. Lazily. Sloppily. Hungrily. Laying in bed for hours and just pressing their mouths together. He wanted to kiss him the second he saw him, and he knew it would ruin his fucking life.

So he lied. When he was giving Steve the run-down he told him he didn't kiss, and he pointedly ignored the puppy-dog eyes and the way Steve's gaze drifted south with poorly concealed disappointment.

And to make matters worse, he hasn't kissed a client since. Because none of them are Steve, and Billy's a fucking idiot. 

"C'mon, anything. What d'you wanna do?" Steve coaxes gently, so gently, like he's approaching a stray cat he wants to pet. 

Billy shakes his head, hoping it'll dislodge all the dumb rosy thoughts of sunlight in Steve's hair and petal pink lips trailing up his chest.  "That's not how this works."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?"

Steve just looks at him. Just fucking looks. His expression is fairly neutral, but his jaw is set. He's not going to just let this drop. Of course he isn't.

"Because. You're the one paying, man. Your wish is my command and all that shit."

"What if my wish is to do what makes you happy?"

That pulls a laugh out of Billy, a tiny, surprised noise burbling up out of nowhere. "Jesus Christ," he mumbles, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. The tips of his ears are warm, and it gets worse when Steve beams at him. "Yeah, yeah. You can't sweet-talk yourself a discount y'know."

"Not what I was after." 

Steve really needs to stop looking at him like that. Before Billy does something even stupider than agreeing to come here in the first place. 

He doesn't stop. It gets worse, actually. His delight softens into something fond, eyes crinkled at the corners and honey-sweet. And he comes closer. Close enough that Billy can smell his shampoo, an outdoorsy scent, clean and sunshiney. It's familiar by now, but still hits him right in the chest. 

"What're you after then?" Billy asks. He meant to sound light and flirty, dripping with enough innuendo to get this back into safe territory, but instead his voice is barely a whisper, straining with his failed effort to keep his feelings out of it. 

Steve toys with a button on Billy's shirt, tracing circles around it with a fingertip. "Told you already." He keeps running his thumb along the seam, teasing, a hair's breadth from the bare skin peeking out of the low dip of Billy's neckline. "I wanna make you happy." 

It's too much. Everything, the tone of Steve's voice, low and earnest and soft as velvet, the lump in the back of Billy's throat, his heart squeezing painfully, his lungs seizing, the cold sweat on his back, and the tiny point of contact between them, just…

He can't do this. 

He pulls away, stumbling back, shoulders hunched, hands frozen mid-air because he doesn't know what to do with them. "Don't do that." 

Steve's expression drops, his eyes wide, lips parted. He shuffles a step away from Billy, arms wrapped around his middle. "Shit—sorry. Sorry. I…uh. Are you…okay?" 

"Stop."

"What?"

"I'm not your fucking boyfriend, stop treating me like…" Like there's a chance this might go somewhere? Like hoping isn't a dangerous waste of time. Like there aren't hundred dollar bills burning a hole in the pocket of that jacket on the floor. 

Billy rubs his eyes, pressing with the heel of his hand until he sees stars.

"Sorry," Steve says again, quieter. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." 

God fucking damnit. 

"Why are we here, Steve?"

He's just a good person. He's just considerate and kind and it's not his fault Billy can't stop seeing signals that aren't there. The hotel was just a friendly gesture from someone with too much money. Or it was a sex thing. Or what the fuck ever. Billy doesn't want to hear it, but he fucking needs to.

So, he waits. And waits. Steve blinks at him, opening and closing his mouth silently. 

"Steve."

"I don't want to make you more uncomfortable!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I—" Steve bites his lip. "It's been a year."

"What."

"A year ago today. Since we met. It's dumb, alright. I got a little drunk and booked a room, and I wasn't sure if you'd even say yes but I figured I'd ask, 'cause I'd already done it, and then…well, I mean, and now we're here. Because I…" He runs an agitated hand through his hair. "I want you to have nice things."

That wasn't what Billy expected. He was vaguely aware that they met this time last year, but he hadn't marked the day. And he definitely didn't think Steve had. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking. "You…" He trails off, at a loss. 

Steve's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze dropping from Billy's face. "Yeah, I know, I'm a pathetic cliche. Miserable trust fund baby falls in love with a hooker. Shock, surprise. I'm sorry, okay, I…" He freezes, seeming to realize a second too late what he just said, but instead of back-paddling he just winces and looks apologetic. 

He's not taking it back. 

He's not taking it back. 

But he can't mean it, right? 

Billy's pulse roars in his ears. His ribcage feels hollowed out, full of hot air and champagne. Steve's words echo in his head, repeating over and over and over, but no matter how many times he hears it, it doesn't quite sink in. Doesn't feel real. 

His whole body is jittery, wracked with terror like he's never felt in his fucking life. 

He's been trying so hard to keep Steve at arm's length. Not that he's been doing it well, but he's tried. For Steve's sake as much as his own. Their relationship should've been simple. Easy. Just a business transaction. And Steve wasn't paying for Billy to get his dumb selfish feelings all over the place. 

Billy somehow never stopped to consider the flipside in all of this. He was too caught up in his own shit to notice that Steve was…Steve is…

Fuck, he has to say something. The right thing, for once. Hopefully.

He pushes a hand through his hair, fingers catching in tangles behind his ear, and he wastes a moment fiddling with the curls caught on his shirt collar. Stalling does nothing to settle his nerves. The rise and fall of his chest is still stilted, shallow, lungs burning as he tries to even out and can't quite get enough air. He opens his mouth. Closes it. And…

"At least we're a pathetic cliche together?" He manages to push out a wobbly exhale that's almost a laugh. 

Steve blinks at him. 

Another long moment passes. Silence.

"Are…you saying. What I think you're saying?"

"What do you think I'm saying."

"I…" Steve looks unsure, shifting his weight around. It's almost too much to bear, his kicked puppy-dog face, downcast eyes and contrition a weight around his shoulders. 

"Steve," Billy says softly. He pauses, chewing the inside of his cheek. The words are there, stuck. It feels like a physical thing, a lump in his throat that he can barely breathe around. It takes effort for him to whisper, "I want you to kiss me." 

Which at least gets Steve's attention. His head whips up, cheeks flushed pink, and he locks eyes with Billy. "You do? Right now?"

"What—yes, obviously, right n—nmm—"

Kissing Steve Harrington is better than he imagined. 

It's overwhelming in the best way. How suddenly Steve is just there, in his space, a gentle hand cupping his jaw, warmth radiating off him, his bare chest, his thigh pressed to Billy's, and his mouth, god, his mouth. Soft lips and a clever tongue. Billy's never wanted so badly to be devoured, aching more with every teasing scrape of teeth along his bottom lip. 

The room could be on fire and he wouldn't notice. 

Eventually they come up for air. Billy's not sure when his hands ended up on Steve's shoulders, fingertips pressing white marks into his biceps, but he's glad for the support, because his knees sure as hell aren't holding him up on their own. 

"Jesus Christ, we should've done that a long time ago," Billy chuckles breathlessly.

"Been wanting to for a year." 

"Mmn." He sighs, and rests his forehead against Steve's. "Yeah. Same." 

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Now kiss me again."

And he does.

[foster-the-moths]

exuvia (septendecim au)

warnings: some descriptions of body horror (much tamer than emergence) and some implied suicidal ideation

jonah starts his journey back to the house. they find adam, but not in the way they expected.

2,411 words. sequel to verify

it turns out jonah did not need to walk for an entire mile, after all. after walking for about 5 minutes, he had noticed a car with one of its windows rolled down on the side of the road. it wouldn't have been his first choice, a forest green car with the license plate 'TCHGEEK' was pretty recognizable, and if a missing report went out then jonah was fucked. but he really didn't /have/ a choice, and besides, he could just ditch it after he and adam found another one to steal.

it was a tough squeeze, but they manage to fit their arm through the gap and unlock the car. nice. now he could just hot-wire it. hopefully. they fish a screwdriver out of their jacket pocket and crouch down to unscrew the panel under the steering column, setting the screws in the center console cup holders. the panel comes off easily, and reveals a few bundles of wires. he makes quick work finding the battery wires, and stripping them down to twist them together with a pair of pliers. he holds his breath as the radio crackles to life, but relaxes as it just plays some news station, and not the voice of an alternate. they move on to finding the starter wire, and it was taking him a bit longer than he would've liked to find it with how badly his vision was swimming, but he wasn't about to quit now. if he could get the car up and running he could get to adam faster and they could have a quick escape. they weren't sure if the alternates from the house would follow adam outside or not, but better safe than sorry.

they held their breath as they connected the starter wire and nearly hollered in joy when the engine started up. thank god the wires on this car were the same as the last one. he's not really sure what happens if the wrong wires are connected, and he really doesn't want to ever find out. he slams the car door shut and puts his hands on the wheel.

…and then realizes he is probably in no condition to be operating a vehicle. fuck. he could barely connect the wires together, how on earth is he going to drive? god, they were never going to make it back to that godawful house, adam was still good as dead. they were useless. they should just give up and-

wait. no.

he presses his hands against his eyes, using the pressure to ground himself. they couldn't spiral. not right now. it was just the MAD talking, they were fine. he's driven short distances while high before, he can make it three-quarters of a mile with a concussion. they would be fine. adam would be fine. they were not useless. adam was still alive, they were not going to fail him again by offing themselves before they could even get to the house. they grit their teeth, and eased a foot onto the gas pedal. he was going to make it to that house or die trying. he sets the radio on the center console, and starts to inch the car forwards.

---

jonah counts his blessings as he pulls the stolen car up to the worst house in the world. they might've swerved and slammed the brakes the whole way there, and run over the curb as they parked, but hey! he wasn't dead. he thunks his head against the steering wheel, relieved. they grab the handle of the car door, yanking it and pushing outwards to stumble out into the street.

they leave the car running and the door open as they scan the front of the house for adam, squinting into the dark. this part of the neighborhood has no streetlights, and he wouldn't be surprised if the whole block was abandoned. whatever the reason may be, the lack of illumination proves to make searching for adam very difficult, especially when jonah is nursing what is most likely a concussion. maybe they should have angled the car towards the house so that the headlights would hit the face of the house.

instead he calls out, "adam?"

a beat of silence, then-

"jonah?" a crackling voice replies.

jonah looks towards where the sound originated, and finds a huddled mass on the front lawn, obscured by the dark. he carefully approaches, and stops five feet from where the figure lays.

he clears his throat, and then speaks, "when- uh- when is your birthday, and what do we do to celebrate?"

a shift, and then a voice. "january 18th. we… we go to the grocery store, buy whatever's in the bakery's reduced price section. nothing above seven dollars. or we just steal something. last year it was half of an apple pie," adam rasps, his voice hissing with an undertone of static.

jonah sighs in relief, unhunching their shoulders and throwing their head back to the sky with a grin. the static is strange, but he brushes it off. everything has sounded like that since he woke up, it makes sense that adam's voice is affected as well. he's found adam, and now they get the hell out of here.

"oh thank god," jonah laughs. "come on, man, i hot-wired a car on the way here, we can-"

"i can't get up," adam interrupts.

"you- what?"

"i… i think my legs are broken… or something. i can't walk right. my arms are broken too. i had to crawl out," adam confesses, his voice sounding small. he always did hate asking for help, and it appears that remained true even now.

"ah." christ, what did those things do to him? jonah thought alternates relied on mental anguish for their attacks, not breaking bones. "that's… not great. i don't think i can carry you. i'm pretty sure i have a concussion, and- uh- yeah," explains, cutting himself off sheepishly. they weren't really sure how to get adam to the car, and they couldn't just sit out here waiting for one of those alternates to come out of the house and maul them. they swallow down a tinge of fear at the thought, they had already spent too much time here. he felt like there were eyes on them, were they being watched? maybe adam was bait, maybe-

"oh… i- i think that if you put my arm over your shoulder i could walk. to the car, at least," adam suggests,

jonah blinks, dispelling the thoughts stinging their brain like a cloud of hornets. "okay, yeah… yeah i think i can do that," they assure, bending down to try and figure out how to get adam to his feet.

"okay. my left arm is… less broken than the other one. here," adam states, offering a limb and, yeah, even in the dark jonah can tell it is very much broken. he grimaces, dropping into a crouch and carefully laying it across his shoulder.

"does that… hurt at all? i don't want to make it worse," jonah murmurs, glancing at the dark shape of adam's shoulder like his entire arm might fall off if they jostle it too much.

"…not really," adam admits. "it's uncomfortable, but it doesn't hurt."

jonah swallows, making a mental note to read up on shock in the first aid books at hq. "okay, that's… concerning, but we'll deal with that once we get out of here. are you ready?" they look to adam, unable to make out more than a vague shape and a small amount of light bouncing off of his eyes and hair.

"yeah."

jonah stands slowly, supporting adam's weight as he flails his legs, trying to catch his balance. jonah's head screams in protest, but they grit their teeth and push through it. they stand still for a moment, before jonah coaches him through walking in unison, adam lurching along like a newborn deer. it definitely seems… strange, to say the least, adam's weight shifting in ways completely different from expected, but they make it work. soon, they are in front of the car, and jonah hoists adam into the passenger seat, stepping back to give him space.

jonah looks up to adam, and the words on his tongue die as his blood runs cold.

in the bright glow of the car light, jonah can finally make out adam's face. two fissures tear down his face from his eyes, lined with two perfect rows of pearly teeth. where his mouth would be, should be, is a smooth stretch of skin. something that looks like blood runs down his face, crimson streaming down his face in dried-up rivulets . jonah rips his gaze from the gruesome sight, but his eyes catch on the rest of adam's body. their eyes flit frantically, taking in ribs poking out of his chest from where they seem fused to his hoodie, raw flesh visible towards the middle, a grisly wound that ripples with his breath.

this is not adam. the thing in front of him has tricked him. they were such a fool to believe they hadn't left adam for dead, and now they were going to pay for it. this poor imitation of his friend would deliver him to death's doorstep, and he deserved it. a small part of his brain whispers in adam's devastated voice, "my body is wrong, i am not the real me."

"jonah?" adam croaks, "are you okay?"

jonah's gaze snaps to his eyes, the pupils of which seem to be spiking outwards across the whites. "yeah! yeah-yeah i'm- i'm fine! just… spaced out for a second, ha," jonah sputtered, his words a bit too rushed as he tears his eyes from adam. he was hallucinating, that's all. adam was fine! he was alive, and human, and everything else he should be! hell, if jonah looks at him out of the corner of his eyes then he looks normal enough! he's fine, but if jonah tells him what he's seeing, then he'll freak out. he just has to keep this to himself.

he strengthens his resolve, and rushes to close the car door, but adam throws out a hand to stop him, looking down. jonah follows his gaze, and just about keels over when he spots a leg with far too many joints spilling out onto the asphalt. adam brings the 'knee' to his chest, and the rest of leg slithers inside the car, pooling into the floor of the passenger side. adam does not look at them as he shuts the car door, a dull clunk leaving jonah the only one outside the car.

alone. in the dark. possibly with alternates waiting to gut him like a fish.

he scrambles to clear the front of the car, passing the headlights and grabbing hold of the driver's side door in a frenzy. they yank the handle with desperation, expecting for a hand to materialize out of the dark at any moment. he throws himself into the car seat, slamming the door behind him, and immediately fumbling to lock the car with the buttons on the door handle. after a series of reassuring clicks, he grasps the wheel and exhales, not realizing he had been holding his breath.

they avoid looking directly at adam, afraid of what they'll see, but in their peripheral they can see him facing them, teeth still running down his face like tear tracks, that's not him, that's not him-).

"jonah," adam starts warily, "are you... are you sure you're okay?" jonah spares him a quick glance out of the corner of their eye, before focusing on the dashboard.

"yeah, man! i'm fine, i just... uh... well," jonah stammers, floundering to find an explanation for his behavior. "um... you know how i said earlier that i didn't think that intruder guy's face could show up on the gps? well, uh, funny story, um. he did. that- that's why i crashed the car. so um. i think i might have MAD?" they stretch their mouth into a grin, hoping adam bought what was admittedly the truth, just... omitting some details.

"what?" adam blurts, disbelief in his tone.

"yeah, i've been, uh. seeing stuff out of the corner of my eyes and... um. yeah," jonah swallows, "it's uh, a bit hard to think."

"okay... fuck, i mean- can… can you even drive right now? you said you also have a concussion," adam inquires, a touch of worry lacing his tone.

jonah freezes, and then sobs out a laugh "shit, man. probably not… i mean, i barely got here in one piece. i don't think i could make it back to hq… ha, we're fucked! god…" he thunks his head against the steering wheel, and is rewarded with a spike of pain through his skull. what on god's green earth were they going to do now? they were doomed. they were doomed, and adam was not adam, and they might as well just-

"i… think i might be able to drive. just… crawl into the backseat, you probably need the rest anyways. i can handle this," adam remarks, his confidence betrayed by the waver in his voice.

jonah turns to look at him, and beyond the horrible illusion of his monstrous face, he sees a spark in his eyes. the same spark adam's normal eyes have, that says he isn't going to give in easily. and, well, jonah likely can't drive, and he certainly can't win an argument with adam right now. so they relent.

"…okay, yeah. sure. but if you kill us in a car crash, i'm never letting you live it down," they tease half-heartedly, moving to climb over the center console. he plops himself into the backseat with a huff, and adam slowly clambers his way into the driver's seat. he sets one hand on the wheel, which jonah notes is jutting out of his side above his hip. he forcefully bars the image from his mind. its not real. they don't what to think about what it means if it is. they don't want to think about what adam said over the radio. he fastens his seatbelt, and closes his eyes as adam slowly steers the car back into the road, the car jostling a bit as it goes over the curb jonah had run over before.

he doesn't sleep, but he lets himself drift off in a haze, only somewhat aware of his surroundings as adam takes them to hq.

[docwritesshit]

One Small Change

Blurb: After years of forgetting, you finally bit the bullet and got new glasses, which your SO took notice of very quickly

Authors note: Tooootally not based on me getting new glasses after 5 years, what are you talking about?

ALSO: I am taking requests, just send them in and I'll see what I can do. I reserve the right to refuse any and ignore you if I dont

Pairing: Redson x Reader

You weren’t surprised to find yourself hauled out of bed by Mei, you were confused about the trip to the optometrist though.

“You have tortured yourself for far too long, get yourself examined and I’m paying for your new glasses!”

You tried to fight, honestly! You had promised that you would get yourself an appointment, but she had pointed out that you have had the same pair of glasses and prescription for 3 years now, and she caught you squinting way too many times to realize that your prescription wasn’t working.

After the exam, you persisted in paying at least for the medical part, you and Mei were now in the main room of the building, looking through the frames they had to offer. You found yourself drawn to one specific pair, but paled at the price tag. Mei noticed your look of dismay and shoved the pair onto your face.

“Don’t even think about it! I’m paying.” She announced. You rolled your eyes, but turned towards the mirror.

You scrutinized your reflection, before smiling and looking at your friend who gave you a thumbs up with a grin on their face. You faced the attendant at the counter and placed your new pair of glasses down on the table. She smiled, taking your insurance and prescription, measured your glasses, and informed you that they would arrive in 2 weeks.

In the meantime, you went about your daily life. You went to work, hung out with your friend group, and occasionally texted your significant other who was in the desert regaining her family reputation and status through the construction of their new fortress.

Was getting with a demon with you being a mortal the smartest idea? Maybe not, but it wasn’t exactly your fault either. But that’s another story.

While at your desk at work reading the weather patterns that should be generated in the next few weeks, you got the notification that your prescription was ready. You texted Mei to grab it and drop it off as you had to work on the weather generator a bit because of some safety concerns, and Buddha knows that you would want your vision to be top tier and not get blasted with a tsunami.

You met her by the door, taking the glasses from her and turning to go inside before she caught your arm.

“And a special delivery from a certain red boy~” She handed a brown paper bag to you. You could smell all the spices emitting from it, causing you to chuckle

“Lamb?” You asked. Mei nodded, and handed you your favorite drink as well. You sighed, taking out your phone from your pocket.

You spoil me far too much.

Only the best for my dear, so don’t even dare think you deserve less!

You scoffed, but stuffed your phone back into your pocket in defeat. There was no point in trying to argue when you knew they had the money to spare to get you some nice things, or cook you good food.

You replaced your glasses, placing your old pair in their case, and widened your eyes at the difference it made. You moved on though, shoveling the food down to get back to work, chugging down the drink when the spice built up too much. You quickly moved on to actually working, rolling up your sleeves and reaching over to zyour work table and rolling it closer to the problem place.

You unscrewed the panel, and groaned. This was gonna be a long night.

Two hours later, you staggered up to your apartment, unlocking the door and dragging yourself to the kitchen to get some much needed sweets after that whole ordeal. You dug through your freezer for some ice cream, but froze yourself when you felt a sudden heat wave from what felt right behind you in the living room

“I don’t get why you insist on not bothering me when you get home, nor text me when you get off of work, but I know for a fact that you should have been home two hours ago when I had dragon horse girl drop off the food-“ The heir to the demon bull lineage continued to spew out his frustrations at you working later than normal as he made his way to your bedroom door and knocked.

“Hello? Are you in there?” She stood cross armed, tapping her foot on the ground. You let out a snort, catching the demon off guard. You smiled, walked up to your partner and offered a spoon while gesturing to the two containers on the kitchen counter with your and theirs favorite ice cream flavors.

“I would have sent something, but it slipped my mind because I had a massive problem with the weather generator. The cloud synthesizers were almost used up, and made sparks which ate the wiring-“ You continued on ranting about the long list of problems the generator went through as you grabbed your ice cream and plopped yourself down on the couch with Redson following suit, full attention on you. Well, kinda on you.

“- and don’t even get me started on the sun warmer, I- Reds?” You stopped your rant when you realized Reds regular heat they emit cooed. You looked over to them, noticing the slight tilt of their head, their pursued lips, and the raised eyebrow. You furrowed your brow and waved your hand in front of his face, causing him to blink a few times.

“You there pops ?” You teased. Reds scoffed at the nickname. She regretted drinking wine that night, causing her to slip out how poppies were her favorite flower because of how her mother decorated the house with them on her birthday.

“I’m here, just… did you get new glasses?” He asked. You raised an eyebrow, then remembered the drop off Mei did. You smiled, adjusting them back up your nose bridge.

“Yeah I did! Mei and I picked them out a few weeks ago. Do you like them?” Red continued to stare at your face for a uncomfortable amount of time, before cupping your cheeks and kissing your nose bridge. You froze, processing the sudden affection while Redson smirked.

“You look good, but I would have preferred you to come to me for a new upgrade. I could have fitted you with night vision and infrared, only the highest quality of course!” They declared. You chuckled, reaching up and running your hand through their hair/ ears, trailing your fingers over the ridges of the horns sprouting from their head.

This was your favorite activity to do when you guys were alone, as no matter what, Redson could not hide the blush when you coo over their appearance like this.

“Thank you for the offer, but I like them the way they are.” You determine. Redson chuckled, taking you in their arms and resting their chin on your shoulder. You could hear the faintest whisper of so did he.