#then you are going to be woefully disappointed

[convexicalcrow]

Hermittober Day 5 - Sand

what came before: day 1: frost - day 2: time - day 3: fortune - day 4: bound

-

Doc grumbled as he realised his compass was pointing at that cursed artifact location in Pearl's area. He wondered idly if Tango had fixed it or not yet. If he hadn't, well. This would be another wasted run.

He didn't exactly run up the stairs. Doc didn't really run per se in the dungeon. At times he did, when it was needed. But mostly he carefully picked his way through, aware of a need to not dawdle while also not caring enough to run through like a ravager in a museum gift shop. He was careful, methodical, his demeanor calm and focused in spite of any internal panic that might set in from time to time.

The berry bush hadn't regrown. Doc cursed it out too. The dungeon was feeling a little grumpy today, it seems. A lot of berries were not regrowing quick enough, or so Doc thought.

He sighed and threw the compass at the right location. It didn't go in. It sat on the sand, its needle spinning pointlessly around it. Hem ight have kicked it into the berry bush in annoyance.

"Goddamnit, Tango. Fix your stupid game, already!" Doc muttered as he picked it up, scratching himself on the berry bush as he did so. "Stupid bushes. Stupid compasses. Well. Might as well go find a ravager now, hmm? Nothing else to do at this point."

He didn't leave just yet though. He checked the compass one last time and threw it in a slightly different spot, and this time, the compass went in, and the dungeon boomed with ringing bells. Doc didn't have time to take in much else before the floor collapsed underneath his feet and he was falling through sand into a deep, dark pit that seemed to have no end.

-

He hit the ground with a hard thud, landing hard on his cybernetic arm. He heard a couple of awful crunches; he'd definitely damaged it somehow. And then, he felt sand falling on him, and he scrambled to his feet, trying to not get buried. He backed up until he was against some kind of solid wall. There was only a glimmer of light now, though his redstone eye could see just as well without it if he switched it to night vision mode.

"Man, this must be some troll right? Tango fixes my broken compass spot and turns it into a trap. How am I even meant to get out of here? I can't climb up that sand pile, it'll collapse under me! Hmm. I wonder if there's anything down here, though. Maybe Tango would be helpful here?"

Doc started looking around, but there wasn't much to find. Bare sandstone walls, an empty chest or two, some sticks, and a piece of coal. Well, at least he could make some torches. That was allowed, right? Doc didn't care about the rules at this point and set them around the room, lighting it up. It didn't help ease his sense of foreboding, but at least he could see better.

But now he could see some carvings on the back wall that hadn't shown up in his night vision as they'd needed the shadow cast from a torch to appear.

"Oh, do I have to do a puzzle, hey, Tango? Is that how I get out of here?"

There was no response, of course. Well, none save for what Doc could only describe as the dungeon laughing at him. A low, cackling kind of laugh that did sound a little like Tango, but also very much not. Doc scowled, but didn't let it get to him. Maybe if he just...

-

Doc didn't see the skulk veins closing in around him until it was too late. They had his legs, and pulled him down sharply, submerging him into the skulk until he was nothing. Doc didn't even have time to protest. But when he realised, he panicked.

-

Tango found him easily as he was writhing in the skulk, unable to escape. He didn't show his form, though. Instead, he travelled through the skulk to whisper in his ear as the hunger in his stomach roared.

"Don't you ever insult the dungeon, my dear Doc, or I will turn against you," Tango murmured.

Tango imagined Doc might have screamed at that point. He didn't know, not really, though. The skulk simply dissolved him and Doc respawned elsewhere, ready to die again to feed the hunger that was never satisfied.

[acapelladitty]

Astarion x Reader: Nightmare

Summary - A short, fic in which Astarion has a very familiar nightmare and has to deal with the fallout. (tw: past abuse/impl. nc)

No, no, no. No! He had escaped. He was past this terrible life.

This couldn't be happe-

"He's yours to use as you see fit." Cazador laughed, his harsh grip of Astarion's coiffed hair burning his scalp with its sheer ferocity and strength. "And he'll be as pliant as a whore. Truly, there is no task which he is unfit to endure because he understands not to disappoint me."

His mind under the utter control of his master, Astarion could only scream his anguish internally as he nodded his consent against his will; his blank expression even going as far as to smile invitingly as his knees pressed into the cold stone of the floor with enough pressure to hurt.

It was a scene so woefully familiar that he could already feel the pains which he would endure over the coming hours. The stretch of his limbs, so overwrought that the slightest tension would snap the strong bone. The agony of being ripped apart, again and again as he were used as a common whore, a plaything for his masters whims. The tearing of his abused throat as it welcomed whatever was to be thrust within in as his lips unwilling fluttered with lustful encouragements and desperate pleas for more.

Always more.

With his masters open blessing, the small envoy of men descended upon him like ravenous wolves set loose upon a particularly defenceless sheep. They did not fear his strength, nor his fangs, as they saw him for what he was. Truly, he was unaware of which master they served but whatever news they had brought to Cazador was enough to please him into providing his favoured pet for their free use as thanks.

Besides, he had dared to question a direct order from his master and a transgression like that, a crime so great could not go unpunished.

Something raw snapped free of his throat as one of the men pushed his knees apart until the bones creaked and ached; the cadence of the noise was one which could easily be mistaken for the lust he was being forced to perform, like a marionette with its unseen strings toiling away, but as Cazador met his eye, Astarion could feel his masters glowing satisfaction at his hidden distress.

His cock moved involuntarily, growing hard under their rough strokes and calloused hands as scalding bile rose in his throat before being forced back down with desperate swallows. Naked as a babe, his pale skin was dull in the dim lighting as his hands remained pinned uselessly by his side.

In a blink, he was forced backwards the strength of the throw knocked the wind from his lungs. The livid scarring which encompassed the pale skin of his back pressed roughly against the stone, every small movement which disturbed it making it feel like he was being flayed alive anew as the first of the men reached for the latch of their trousers.

"Astarion." A sharp voice pulled him from his terrors with a violent start as his anxiety spiked at the sudden intrusion. Without thought, his mind still fighting against the violent ghosts of his past, his clawed fingers lashed out, finding instant satisfaction in the sensation of tearing flesh as he thrashed against the fabric of the thin bedroll which housed him.

He would never go back.

He would endure a thousand deaths before being brought to heel once more.

It was only when a familiar scent hit him, the sweet allure of the blood that had recently become his only ongoing source of sustence that his eyes snapped open in an instant, banishing his tormentors fully to the shadows of his mind.

In that same moment, he was confronted with the blurred face of his beloved as they gazed down at him, their body kneeling off to his side. A hand was messily clutched at their face, palm only just able to stem the trickling blood which flowed from the fresh set of gashes which his sharp nails had scored through them.

"Astarion!" They called again, voice urgent as a soft hand pressed against his chest to both center and calm him down. "It's me. Only me. And you're safe - you're safe here with me." The words were familiar and hushed, a respectful desire to not alert the others in camp to the situation at hand fully at war with their obvious desire to make him see reason before he could harm anyone further.

"My love?" He muttered, his hands retracting to his own chest as though scalded by what they had clearly done - the harm they had brought to the one who had only shown him kindness. "What in the hells- what ha-"

"You were having a nightmare." Pulling their hand from their face, shame lanced Astarion's heart like a spear as he surveyed the extent of the damage his enhanced strength had carved through their lovely skin. Even through the allure of the spilled blood, fresh bile rose in his throat as the tension in his body refused to dissipate.

"I was? Oh, that seems unlikely. Probably an overreaction on your part, darling."

Even to his own ears, his voice sounded strained and at least an octave higher than it should have as he quickly deflected from his own perceived weakness. His chest felt painfully cold as his body attempted to curl in further on itself, phantom pains ghosting along his skin like a thousand tiny needles piercing him all at once with his many weaknesses and failings.

Refusing to rise to the bait, he couldn't bear to look his love in the eye as guilt stole the breath from his lungs. Not that he had never drawn their blood before, but like this? Something hot tickled at his eyes and he rapidly blinked away the onset of shameful tears which threatened him.

He was better than this.

"Would you like a story?"

A gentle hand placed itself on his forehead, allowing him to adjust to the touch as he tilted his head almost imperceptibly into it. It was an unspoken acknowledgement of his struggles, an acceptance that he didn't quite understand but found himself depserate to cling to in his weaker moments.

Eyes clamped shut, Astarion refused to open them as his head nodded in one swift, sharp movement.

In an instant, a warm body slipped down to join him on his bedroll, their side touching his enough that he could initiate as much contact as he could accommodate or tolerate while he settled in to listen to the offered story with deep, steadying breaths.

"A few years back, I was travelling by a little village very similar to the one we just passed through-"

[gfmima]

category : 米哈游 原神 work title : sleeping on the couch post-lovers’ quarrel add. note : modern!au

he was a prideful young man, and not a lot needs to be said about it. he had a penchant for reminding you he was still his own person. he took no issue in doing things by himself. he can eat, sleep, and breathe in your absence; meaning no, he didn’t grow “soft” after meeting you.

though, it does beg the question, what is holding him from getting enough sleep while you camp out on the couch?

kunikuzushi lays restless. he flips his pillow for the nth time to prop his head in the right position to soothe him in peaceful slumber, yet nothing happened. in the end, he sets on lying on his back, face front towards the ceiling above. in his heart of hearts, he knows what’s wrong, his body seems to know as well.

throughout his tossing and turning, his arm would slither to the right side of the bed in search of the familiar warmth of your body to greet him. it was disparaging, similar to a rude wake up call and he resents every second of it.

your decision to sleep on the couch was unplanned, a result of a previous argument. it was his fault for letting his frustration get the better of him, his fault for taking it out at you by saying cruel words he didn’t mean, and his fault you were too upset to exist in the same room as him.

should he follow after you? he considers, shaking his head. no. he refuses to come across a massive idiot by proving to you he couldn’t last a night alone… or so he thought.

“fuck it.” kunikuzushi sits up and runs his hand through his locks. 

breathe in…

breathe out.

he gathers his pillow then quietly stomps to the living room. standing over where you rest on the couch, his eyes narrow at your peaceful face. you didn’t appear the least bit affected by the impromptu change in sleeping conditions. a small voice in the back of his head was urging him to whack you with his pillow for it right now as petty vengeance.

“idiot.”

were you always a messy sleeper? he asks himself, cringing at the way you lay sprawled over every crevice and space on the couch. he scoffs, turning you on your side to make room for his body.

squeezing himself next to you, he shifts in place for a sharp second to ensure he wouldn’t fall off the edge. wrapping his arm around you, his cheek situates itself on top of yours with his chin hooked on your shoulder. if any person were to enter in the middle of this irregular sleeping position, they’d say it was as if he was trying to meld his body with yours.

it comes to no shock he slept well for the rest of the night.

you, on the other hand, woke up wide-eyed and freaked out at the feeling of arms enveloped around your torso and face smothered in the crook of your neck.

“what the hell?!”

“stop following me.”

“not until you tell me where you’re going,” he laments aloud and woefully, following you, “what are you doing? where are you bringing the pillows?” he studies the set up on the living room couch for a minute until it clicks inside his head. “huh?! you’re making me sleep here?”

if he had dog ears, they would’ve laid flat against his head in disappointment over the thought of sleeping alone. he knows he deserves it. he was the very reason for your latest argument after all. he never meant to drive you crazy, to act so inconsiderately towards your feelings and concerns.

work has been moaning at the back of his mind for days on end, towering over him with more and more duties pending and in line to be fulfilled. it wasn’t your fault his job was straining him; it wasn’t your fault you were eager to see him after a long day at the office; it wasn’t your fault he couldn’t cope under the surplus amount of pressure.

it was his, and it was beginning to weigh down on him.

“not you. me.”

your curt answer, void of any emotion, and pass to look him in the eye worries him further. he didn’t know what to think, what to say! first, you were too upset to face him and now, you were too annoyed to sleep in the same bed as him? can it get any worse?

“but, babe!” heizō cries.

what did you want from him? do you want him to apologize again? go on his hands and knees? because he can, if that’s what you want. to his dismay, he was too late. you had your mind set on dozing off on the couch for tonight.

you barely allot him any time to respond, promptly shutting off the lights while inadvertently shutting him down as well. there was no other way to go about it besides returning to your once shared bedroom and praying your mood changes tomorrow morning.

it was all easier said than done. to him, sleeping without you by his side at night was hell on earth. it was agonizing, excruciating; a horrendous experience he’d never pray other people to undergo. was he being dramatic? very. will he ever stop? never.

he was tossing and turning the whole time, tried everything to get some shuteye but nothing worked! 

his body aches to feel you in his arms and it didn’t take long for him to stand up and shuffle to the living room with his pillow in hand and blanket lugging across the floor. he sulks to where you lie on the couch, snoring and fixes a makeshift bed for himself next to you.

heizō must admit, it was super uncomfortable to rest on the floor. he was sure he was going to wake up with a stiff neck or an aching back tomorrow, however, if it means he gets to sleep beside you at night then so be it.

he reaches for your hand, thumb tenderly caressing it as he guides it to his lips. planting a gentle kiss, he whispers, “i’m sorry,” and leaves it in his clasp for you to wake up and spot the obvious sign he couldn’t survive eight hours without you.

[virune]

If you're still accepting prompts, then I've got one for the Puppet AU:

Shadow, despite claiming he was indestructible, finally gets a tear in his fabric, and it's on the back of his shoulder, which he can't reach.

Sonic then offers to help him [You can decide how it goes].

Ever since Shadow had been brought into the studio, Sonic couldn't take his eyes off him.

Sometimes it got distracting. He was grateful that he didn't really have to do anything while a human was controlling him, so he could zone out and think about how pretty the other puppet was. Deep, rumbling voice, piercing red eyes, glossy, velvety fur...

Sonic was infatuated.

But then when the humans left and the puppets could finally be themselves, Shadow would vanish. Every time. Sonic would try to catch him after their show, but Shadow always separated himself from the group to disappear somewhere. Sonic found himself never quite being able to figure out where Shadow was going, and why he was so adamant about being alone.

On this day, however, the routine seemed to change.

When the last human left the studio for the weekend, the puppets rose to their feet as usual. Sonic praised Tails for his great performance in the Tornado before turning to watch Shadow leave, as he always did.

But he hadn't.

Shadow's lingering presence caught Sonic off-guard, but he didn't want to squander this opportunity to finally talk to him.

"Nice work today, Shads!" he called, waving a plush arm to catch the other's attention. He just hoped that Shadow wouldn't suddenly realise he hadn't left and get away before they could have a proper conversation.

Instead, Shadow folded his arms over his - woefully soft-looking - chest. "I don't need your approval. I know that I'm good at my job."

Despite himself, Sonic couldn't stop the dopey smile that stretched the cotton lining of his mouth. "I hear ya. Just wanted to extend an olive branch, so to speak."

"I'm not interested."

Sonic tried not to visibly deflate with disappointment. "Why not? If we're going to be working together, we may as well --"

"Not interested," Shadow reiterated harshly, and then he skulked out of the room to go… who knows where.

Sonic felt half-inclined to follow him, if only to sate his own curiosity. He glanced behind him; the others were busy stretching out their limbs and chatting amongst themselves to notice him slip away down the corridor.

The courtyard was Sonic's favourite place in the entire studio grounds. It was spacious, calm, and best of all, outside. He liked being outside. Except on rainy days when the rain would make his fabric smell like mildew and he'd be tossed into the dreaded washing machine.

For a while, he'd been unable to get to the courtyard outside of work hours; somehow a human had found the key that Sonic had swiped and relinquished it from him. 'Who left their key with the puppet?' the human had asked. The other humans shrugged their shoulders. Sonic tried his best to remain inanimate.

To see the door slightly ajar on this particular evening was a surprise. And it could only mean that Shadow had found a way outside, unbeknownst to everyone else. Had he also gotten a key? Was the courtyard where he was disappearing off to, after all this time?

Sonic had worried about rain, but the weather was clear and balmy. Crickets chirped in the grass. Streetlights cast a warm glow against the vermilion sunset. It was pleasant.

He looked around for a moment, soaking in the relaxing atmosphere, but he didn't notice Shadow immediately. That's when Sonic remembered a particular little corner tucked away just off to the side, where there was a swinging loveseat he liked to sit on sometimes. When he made his way over, he found Shadow sitting on that same loveseat, faced away from Sonic and fiddling with a box beside him.

"You come here often?" Sonic joked, and Shadow flinched, whipping around to glare at him.

"Why are you here?" Shadow growled.

"I like to come here sometimes," Sonic explained. Shadow seemed tense, his body moving in front of the box to obscure it from Sonic's view. "I used to come here a lot, but I lost the key…"

"Unsurprising," Shadow said, and then hesitated for a moment. "Did the humans take it?"

"Heh, yeah. I was never really good at hiding it. I tried hiding it in my head - y'know, the little space where they put their hand." Sonic tapped the little opening on the back of his head for emphasis. "But they found it pretty quickly. I was never able to get the key again after that."

He realised he was rambling and quickly shut his mouth. Shadow had his hand on his shoulder and a strange, disgruntled look on his face. Well, more disgruntled than usual.

"Hey, uh, is everything OK?" Sonic chanced, taking a step closer. Shadow bristled, the hand clasping down firmer as he leaned away slightly.

"I'm fine. If you've got nothing important to say, I'd like to be alone."

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"None of your business."

"What's that box next to you?" Ever stubborn, Sonic ignored Shadow's warnings and approached the loveseat, peering over the other puppet to inspect what he was trying to hide.

A sewing kit.

Shadow shot to his feet and pushed Sonic away harshly. Sonic stumbled, but the fence behind him caught his body before he could fall. He grasped his fingers into the chainlink, getting his bearings. Shadow looked mortified, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Don't misunderstand," he spoke, voice wobbling just a little. "I'm taking stock of my sewing supplies. That's all."

Sonic's eyes fell to the shoulder that Shadow continued to protect with his hand.

"Do you have a tear?"

Shadow tensed, his free hand curling into a fist. He bared his teeth at Sonic, a warning, but Sonic refused to leave. Not if Shadow was damaged. Not if he could help.

"The humans can't find out. My - my material is far too expensive to be damaged. I have to fix it before they come back."

"So, what's stopping you?"

Shadow faltered. He looked down at the grass, and then flopped back down onto the loveseat.

"I can't reach it."

Sonic blinked, stepping closer. When Shadow didn't try to push him away this time, Sonic sat next to him and softly urged him to remove his hand. The tear was small, almost unnoticeable - but it was on the back of Shadow's shoulder, an awkward spot that he definitely could not mend by himself.

Sonic offered an encouraging smile. "Well, it's a good thing you taught me how to sew, then, right?"

Shadow turned to stare at him and Sonic couldn't help but laugh at how incredulous he looked in that moment.

"You're messing with me."

"I'm not!" Sonic said through his laughter, reaching out to take Shadow's hand in his own before the other could leave. "I'm not, I promise. Do you want me to help?"

"I…" Shadow paused, as if considering the offer. He stared down at their connected hands. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Not if you're adamant about the humans not finding out."

Shadow sighed. "Alright. Fine. There's some thread in the kit."

Sonic moved to Shadow's opposite side to rifle through the box, fishing out a spool of black thread (that Shadow specifically picked out; apparently the others weren't the correct shade, although he personally could not discern the difference) and threading it through a needle.

"Remember the stitch I taught you?"

"Yeah, don't worry." Sonic sat behind Shadow and gently poked at the tear in his fabric to make sure he got the right spot. "I'm gonna start. You ready?"

"You better not do a poor job," Shadow grumbled, but didn't move. "Let's get this over with."

Sonic wished Shadow would trust him a little more, but the puppet's pride had always been a big part of him, a part that Sonic found himself adoring, despite how snappy it made Shadow sometimes.

Sonic carefully pushed the needle into Shadow's fabric and pulled the thread through. Shadow didn't fidget or tell him to stop, so he kept going: again and again, in a steady rhythm, just as Shadow had taught him. Sonic weaved a zig-zag stitch along the seam, closing it up little by little. Shadow's stuffing had poked out, so he pushed it back in with his finger as he went.

He hadn't gotten much practice, and the stitching was just a bitwonky, but Sonic reckoned he'd done a good job. Besides, with how dark Shadow's fabric was, and how small the tear had been, the stitching was barely noticeable. He knotted the thread once, twice, and then snipped it free. With an "All done!" and an encouraging pat to Shadow's shoulder, Sonic returned the items back into the sewing kit.

Shadow moved his arm around to test Sonic's work, rotating his shoulder and stretching his hand towards the sky. Sonic peered back at the stitching to check, and to his delight (and personal pride) it hadn't budged at all. It looked pretty dang secure.

"I think I did a great job, if you don't mind me saying!"

"That remains to be seen." Shadow clicked the sewing kit shut and picked it up. "As long as the humans don't find out that I got damaged."

"Why are you so worried about that, anyway?" Sonic asked, following Shadow as he got up and began heading for the studio door. "We've all gotten ripped plenty of times, but the humans always take care of us."

"Of course you have," Shadow sneered, but his voice was weak, quiet. "I am made of high-quality materials. If the humans found out, they would surely be upset and flounder about as they figure out how to fix it. I was not made to be easily broken."

Sonic hummed thoughtfully as they stepped inside and Shadow locked the door behind them. "I don't doubt it, but you're a part of the family, y'know? They would want to look after you."

"…Thank you," Shadow said after a pensive moment. "For assisting me."

"Of course, Shads." The nickname came out softer than Sonic had intended.

"If you tell anyone I was damaged, I'll put you out of commission."

Despite the threat, Sonic found himself beaming. He'd long since learned that Shadow was all bark and no bite. Well, sometimes he bit. Those teeth were not to be messed with. Even so, Sonic nodded in agreement as they made their way back to the others.

Maybe Shadow needed a little more time to settle in, but he still had a place in the group. From the day he was lifted out of his box, he was welcomed with open arms, even if he didn't see it that way. Sonic made sure to remind Shadow as many times as it took that he was wanted. That he was loved.

And, well, since Shadow had trusted Sonic to help him with such a delicate problem, maybe Sonic's words had finally gotten through to him.

Sonic sure hoped so.

[ihrtsevyn]

Can you please write something about Johnnie getting jealous🫶🏼

— JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY . . . 𖤐 | j.g x reader

synopsis small scenario + headcanons of johnnie being jealous !

warnings slightly aggressive behavior?, cursing, lowercase intended, no specific race/gender/age specified. use of gender neutral terms. reader is intoxicated in the scenario. talks of insecurity.

wc 1.3k

masterlist | main page <3

. . .

SCENARIO:

johnnie would like to think that he isn't a jealous person, but undeniably he is. there's not a worse feeling than seeing the person you love fawn over another.

the feeling that grows in his stomach is unsettling, it makes him want to throw up. do you always scrunch your nose up when you laugh? is this guys jokes really that funny? the way you throw your head back and let out a loud cackle makes it seem so, but johnnie fully believes you're putting on a show. johnnie's funny too. you would know if you weren't so busy cuddled up under...brian? brad? whatever his name is, it doesn't matter. that should be him.

jake had been talking johnnie's ear off for the past 15 minutes about a small brawl that happened between two girls, or was it two guys? johnnie couldn't remember, his eyes had been laser focused on you the entire evening, his ears only picking up bits and pieces of jake's story. the sight hurt him, truthfully. it really shouldn't have because you two weren't dating but he did believe there was something going on between you two. an unspoken mutual attraction.

"dude, you haven't blinked once in the past twenty minutes i've been talking to you." jake worriedly mentioned with raised eyebrows.

jake's small comment easily caught johnnie off-guard. he rubbed his eyes with his free hand before rapidly blinking. his taller friend was joking but it was comical to see the emo get red in the face from embarrassment.

"just go talk to them." jake muttered, following his friends gaze. "they're busy, can't you tell?" johnnie mumbled bitterly before finally tearing his eyes away from your form for the first time that night.

he looked down at the solo cup that he maintained a loose grip on, woefully swirling the alcohol in choppy motions. he couldn't even remember what he was drinking at that point. ever since he laid eyes on that familiar face it's all he's been thinking about. you. you. you.

as well as the fact that all of your attention was on some other guy when it should be him.

jake scoffed before taking a quick sip of his drink, head shaking in disappointment. "just go talk to her, i can't stand to see you looking like a kicked puppy all night."

he tapped johnnie's shoulder a few times before escaping off into another conversation.

johnnie's gaze followed jake's form until he was fully out of sight, turning his full attention back to you. what he didn't expect was for your eyes to already be settled on him, making him freeze in the spot.

you offered him a kind smile before waving him over. he hesitated in his steps before taking quick strides over to you. what happened to that guy you were talking to?

"hey." he quietly muttered with a tight lipped smile. "hey, are you enjoying the party?" you asked. from that sentence alone, johnnie quickly came to the conclusion that you were fucked up. your smile was wide and blissful, eyes glossy and spaced out, not to mention the drunken drawl in your voice.

"sure, are..are you okay?" johnnie asked, a worried tilt in his voice. you nodded your head with closed eyes. the way your head lolled to the side and the cheshire grin on your face made johnnie think that you weren't fully aware of how drunk you had gotten.

"have you met my new friend brandon? he just went to go make us some more drinks. but he's so funny, i swear you'll love him." your pronunciation of words was all over the place and you could barely keep your eyes from closing.

oh, right. brandon was his name. johnnie rolled his eyes at the simple mention of the man before sighing and taking the seat next to you. even with your dazed state you could see the clear annoyance on his face. "i think it's time we get you home, hm?" johnnie muttered, eyes softening at your doe eyed stare.

"you don't like him, do you?" you asked quietly, completely ignoring johnnie's last statement. his eyebrows furrowed at your comment, slightly caught off guard by your question. "what? what do you mean? who don't i like?"

"brandon. you've been staring knives at us the whole time we've been talking."

shit. you saw him? "i-i dont even know the guy enough to hate him." johnnie nervously croaked out, his smile fell weak as he avoided your gaze.

"if i didn't know any better id say...you're jealous." you muttered, a sly smile growing on your lips. "what? no! come on, let's get you home, you're talking nonsense."

"don't you wanna wait for brandon?" you asked looking up at him as he grabbed your arm, pulling you up. "no." he immediately answered with slightly widened eyes.

you couldn't help the giggle that escaped your mouth as you leaned into him for support. "you're definitely jealous." you quietly stated another muted laugh following after.

. . .

HEADCANONS:

he gets quieter. johnnie himself isn't the loudest most out-spoken person but when shuffles to the side and stops inserting himself in certain conversations, you'll know something's wrong.

becomes passive aggressive. he doesn't really mean to, it just comes naturally. the person that you seem to take a liking to makes a joke at someones expense and johnnie will find a way to turn it back on them. adding in snippy comments whenever they talk open their mouth and scoffing in disbelief when you laugh at one of their corny jokes.

tries to act unbothered. he'll force a smile and shrug his shoulders if someone asks him if he's okay. his responses are curt and have a monotonous tone, his voice straining sometimes as he forces out an "i'm good." he thinks he looks cool and unbothered when in his jealous state but instead he looks spaced out and miserable. it's very noticeable how frigid his posture becomes, his jaw clenching in annoyance as he stares daggers at whoever is taking up too much of your time.

overthinks. johnnie has been hurt before and he doesn't want it to happen again. his mind starts to go to a dark place and insecurities start to rise to the surface. he hates feeling this way so once he realizes these harmful thoughts are starting to come back he won't hesitate to voice his thoughts to you. you mean a lot to him and he'd hate for your relationship to go off of the rails because of a lack of trust or because of an insecurity that's been uprooted.

will isolate himself. if he's feeling jealous to the point of anger then he'll outwardly avoid you until he cools down. he goes to the quietest place available and is just alone with his thoughts, which isn't the best idea when he's starting to lose confidence in the role of being your boyfriend.

seeks comfort. in all honesty johnnie doesn't get jealous that easily, it's a rare thing. but when it does happen it's kind of hard to pull him out of that self-deprecating headspace. he won't outright ask for your comfort but as you build your relationship and notice his habits, it's easy to realize when he's in need of some reassurance.

he'll become a fidgety and nervous mess. his thoughts becoming more clouded and loud as time went on. half of his thoughts are telling him to grow a pair and the other half are worriedly expressing their concerns about the state of your relationship. he really just needs to hear you say that he's all you want/need.

once he gets that reassurance that he's the love of your life accompanied with an unwavering confidence from you, he starts to feel all better. even a bit cocky when he hears how you fawn over him. his once congested thoughts become clear of any and all doubt and he's suddenly smiling from ear to ear. he realizes how stupid it was to feel any type of jealousy when it's clear that the love you share for each other is equal.

. . .

thank you sm for the request! i really enjoy writing for johnnie lol. hope you guys like it <3 :)

requests are still open if you guys have any ideas :)

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Jealousy, Jealousy... | Part 5

A/N: don't even have a summary for this. oc is in love with gyu and gyu is in love with another girl but both are virgin losers and gyu is a horndog who would let oc do what she wants to him just as long as he gets to cum.

Word count: 5.9k

Genre: Smut, angst

Warnings: fem!reader, drinking, sub!beomgyu, dom!reader, blowjob, edging, overstimulation, degradation, nipple play, cum eating, fingering (female receiving).

Haeun’s appearances increase along with the band’s gigs, inviting herself to all the afterparties and mingling with the new crowd Beomgyu curated.  

It's a cause of contest between you. You keep telling him that she's using him but he doesn’t care. He just wants her attention. Besides, every time you bring her up, he brings up Yeonjun and the whole thing just devolves into a fight, and so bit by bit you just learn to shut up and keep your distance–to protect yourself from the pain and to stop fighting with him. 

You’re once again at one of the band’s gigs, but this time you’re wearing Yeonjun’s merch. You’re here to cheer for him, not your asshole best friend, who by the way was so obviously drunk he keeps messing up, even to your woefully untrained ears. 

You can see him struggling and see the band shooting him dirty looks every time he messes up. You'd feel bad for him if he wasn't such an asshole. Actually, you still feel bad for him. You can't help it. You’re so worried about him that you can’t even enjoy the performance. Not that anyone can really when the vibe is so off with the whole band. 

And this isn’t a one-time thing even. It has happened a few times now. Beomgyu seems to be slipping. You blame Haeun. Ever since she came into his life, he became like this. 

As soon as the last song ends, Beomgyu storms off backstage. His band members awkwardly stay behind to say goodbye to the crowd but you can tell they’re fuming. 

You quickly go backstage, hoping to catch Beomgyu before the members do. For what? You don’t know exactly. You just know your best friend is in trouble and you want to help him. 

But unfortunately, the band makes it back before you do. You go there to find them already ripping into him. 

“For fuck’s sake man. If you wanna get drunk, by all means do it, but on your own time. We’re trying to get signed here. We can’t have you ruin it for us.” Soobin curses at Beomgyu.

“Oh, like you’ve never performed drunk or high before.” Beomgyu retorts, clearly defensive. 

“Yes, but we’ve never let it affect our performance.” Yeonjun interjects, and Beomgyu looks at him with such venom, you think he might lunge forward and punch him. “No, you let your shitty singing and botched notes do that for you.” 

“Oh, yeah? Is that what you’re gonna tell people after you’re kicked out of the band?”

That does it. Beomgyu lunges forward, but Taehyun was anticipating this and he grabs Beomgyu and holds him back. Luckily, he is much stronger than your scrawny best friend. “Hey, hey, let’s calm down.”

“What is he talking about?” Beomgyu demands, and the boys look at Soobin. 

“It won’t come to that.” Soobin tries to calm him down but Beomgyu will not have it. “Won’t come to what? Are you thinking of kicking me out?” 

“No. No, we won’t because you are going to get your shit together and clean your act up.” Soobin deadpans, “Right?” 

Though Soobin was trying his best to reassure Beomgyu, there was also a clear threat there, and Beomgyu shoves Taehyun off him. 

“Right.” He says darkly, grabbing his guitar and walking out. 

You try to run after him but Yeonjun grabs your arm to stop you. “Let him go. He’s an idiot.” 

But you shake your head. “I can’t. He’s my best friend. I have to be there for him.” 

He sighs in disappointment, letting you go, and you run to the parking lot, wondering if you’ve missed him and Beomgyu had taken a taxi home already. But thankfully, you find him standing in front of one, just… waiting? 

When he sees you, he gets into the car and leaves the door open, obviously waiting for you to get in so you do, closing the door behind you before the driver pulls off. 

“I thought you might’ve left.” You say awkwardly. 

“I was waiting for you.” 

Yeah, you definitely did the right thing. If Beomgyu had waited and you didn’t come, you know he would’ve been super pissed, probably thinking that you chose Yeonjun over him. 

You don’t say anything else for the whole drive home. You didn’t want to get into it in front of a stranger so you wait until you’re back inside your apartment to speak up. 

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” You start nervously once you’re back home, “But you really need to focus. You can't risk your future like this."

"Like you fucking care. It's all because of you." He accuses you and you reel back in shock.  "What?" 

"Why did you have to fuck my friend?"

"Oh my god, I can't listen to this again." Your hands fly to your head, already feeling a headache coming because of this tired point. What does this even have to do with him getting drunk and ruining the band’s performances?

But Beomgyu doubles down on his stupid point. “Well, you’re going to have to because your boyfriend wants to kick me out of the band.” 

“You are crazy! This has nothing to do with me and Yeonjun.” You shout, exasperated, “They will kick you out because you’re going on stage drunk and playing like shit.” 

“Wow, thanks for the support.” Beomgyu snorts, looking hurt, but you won’t let him get away with guilt-tripping you for his questionable behavior. “No. You won’t do that. You won’t make me feel bad for calling you out on your shit. What the hell are you even doing? You’re jeopardizing your whole career by acting like a goddamn idiot. What has gotten into you?” 

He looks down, not answering you.

“You weren’t like this. Not before she came along.” You mutter and his head snaps up to look at you. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Fuck, why did you even bring it up? Now you’ll get into an even bigger fight. “It means that maybe she is a bad influence on you, with all the parties and the drinking and shit.” 

“That’s fucking rich coming from the girlfriend of the party animal himself.” And there it is. 

“Why are you so fucking obsessed with Yeonjun? I thought he was your friend.” 

“He is not my friend anymore. Not after what he did.” Beomgyu speaks as if Yeonjun has stabbed him in the back when he may have given him a warning before it’s too late. If he hadn’t said anything, Beomgyu wouldn’t know the band is even considering kicking him out. 

“You’re bringing it on yourself. If you would just not drink on the fucking job then your career wouldn’t be at risk right now.” 

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side.”

“I am not taking anyone’s side.”

“Well, you should!” He screams, clearly getting emotional. “You’re my best friend. You should be on my side! They’re fucking threatening to take my dream away and all you can think about is defending your boyfriend.” 

“I am being your best friend! A real best friend calls you out when you’re making a mistake before it’s too late.” You try to clarify, “Beomgyu, I don’t know why you’re doing this but I don’t want you to ruin this for yourself.” 

“I’m just stressed out.” He says slowly, “Which you would know if you had bothered being a friend and asked.” 

Now maybe you shouldn’t get into it now, but you can’t help being peeved by what he said, and you just blurt out, “It’s hard to ask when you’re so busy getting your face sucked off by her.” 

He’s been hanging out with her so often that you hardly even see him anymore. How the hell are you supposed to know what he’s feeling if you don’t even see him? 

But of course, Beomgyu takes it in another direction, the direction where his dick is doing all the talking. 

“Aw, are you jealous, baby?” He goads, getting all up in your face. “You miss kissing me?”

“Jealous?” You laugh forcefully, the jealousy indeed burning through you and firing you up. “Yeah right, I can have you begging for me any time I want to.”

“Oh, please." He scoffs, his denial irritating you. 

"It's not like I haven't done it before. All I have to do is give your cock a couple of pumps and you'd be whining like a bitch."

His breathing hitches for a second before he counters back. "I was just humoring you. It didn’t even feel that good."

Oh, hell no. The only thing you managed to have with Beomgyu is getting him to need your touch the same way you need his love, and you'll be damned if you let anyone take that from you, even Beomgyu. 

You curse him out under your breath as you charge forward and push him against the wall, crashing your lips together. 

And for someone who just basically claimed to not want you, he sure as hell is eager to reciprocate… damn it, this was bait, wasn't it? That whore. 

Oh, well, now that you started, you can't get yourself to stop now. You've fucking missed the feeling of him pressed needily against you and the all the little noises he makes when he's turned on. You need to have him again. You need him to admit he's addicted to your touch. You need to hear him beg. 

And it doesn't look like it's gonna be hard when the first thing out of his mouth as soon as you part is, "Touch me." 

“You’re so fucking needy.” You mutter, hand trailing up his thigh slowly, intentionally teasing him. “I thought your girlfriend lets you fuck her everyday.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” He says, shocking you, and against reason, that makes you happy. “We just mess around.” 

"Sad." You say with faux sympathy, finally grabbing his cock, making his breathing waver. "What about you? Is he your boyfriend?"

Maybe you shouldn’t be having his discussion with your hand cupping his dick. You don’t know if you should tell him the truth, but he did so you should too, right?

"He's not my boyfriend. We just mess around." 

“What… what do you do with him?” He asks slowly, “Do you let him touch you?” 

“Yes.” You admit, watching his reaction closely. You know he’s asking it because you never let him touch you, and if you wanna annoy him, you’d tell him the truth. Which you do. "I let him touch me. I let him eat me out too." 

His face changes just like you hoped it would. "Slut.".

You laugh, hooking your finger into the chain link on the collar he’s wearing and tugging on it a little. "I'm the slut? Not you who is practically begging for me to touch your cock when you’re already getting off with another woman?"

"Whatever. I don’t want whatever STDs you caught from Yeonjun anyway." He tries to walk away but you shove him back against the wall, your body pressed tightly against his. "Really? You don’t want this?"

"No.” He tenses, but his body betrays him, leaning into you. 

“Oh, really? So you don’t want me to pull your pants down and jerk you off just the way you like?” You pull tighter on his collar while feeling the exact imprint of his hardening cock through his pants. 

“No.” He gulps, uncertainty clear in the way his voice wavers. 

“Hmm, and if I were to offer to take you into my mouth, you would say no to that?” You brush your lips against his as your thumb swipes across the head of his cock. “You’d say no to my hot, wet mouth around your needy, pathetic cock?” 

“Shit.” He shudders, his breathing getting ragged and his eyes getting hazy–tell-tale signs that he’s a goner. 

“What is it, baby? Want me to let go?” You feel wetness gather under your thumb, soaking through his pants. Is he not wearing any underwear? Fuck.

“No, fuck. Want it. Want your mouth.” He finally admits, his eyes fixed on your mouth. 

“Okay.” You swipe your tongue over your lips, teasing him. "But first, admit you're the slut."

He blinks, a moment of clarity shining in his eyes. "No."

“No?” You laugh, bringing your hand to your face and licking it before you slide it under his pants, taking a hold of his cock and giving it a firm stroke, feeling his knees buckle for a second. 

“You don’t want my pretty mouth wrapped around your dick?” Your face is so close to his, lips brushing against his every once in a while but every time he tries to close the gap and kiss you, you pull him back by the collar away. “No. Bad dog. If you want it, you have to play nice.” 

“Shit…Okay. You win. I want it.” He confesses, but you don’t give in as easily as he does. “Say it. Tell me what you are.” 

“I’m a slut.” He whimpers and you smile, squeezing his cock as a reward. “That’s right, Beommie. You’re a slut who goes all dumb over the promise of a warm mouth. Isn’t that right?” 

“Yes. Please. I really want it.” He begs, hips timidly thrusting forward. “I need it. I need you.” 

Okay, it doesn’t matter what went on before this. Just hearing him say those three words, that he needs you, is enough for you to get on your knees. “See? I told you I’d get you to beg.” 

But Beomgyu doesn’t care, only focusing on one thing which is you pulling his pants down,  letting his cock spring up before grabbing it in your hands and bending forward to give it a few licks–getting it wet just like Yeonjun showed you. 

But it’s not hard to get Beomgyu wet when he’s already dripping precum for you. Fuck, even his body is slutty.  

“There you go. Now that wasn’t so hard.” You tease, brushing your lips back and forth over the head of his cock. 

"Please, put it in your mouth." He chokes, bucking up into your hand. “I want it! I really want it. Please!” 

You open your mouth, only taking the tip, not just to tease him but get yourself ready for more. But the virgin doesn’t have the self-restraint of Yeonjun, and his hips shoot forward, gagging you on his cock. 

You immediately pull back, glaring up at him. “Do you want me to stop? Do you want to go back to your room and fuck your cum into my panties like you’ve been doing before?” 

His eyes widen and he shakes his head vigorously. “No. No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Keep your hips still or I’ll stop.” You hiss, and he nods pitifully. “Yes, baby.” 

There he goes again, calling you baby as if you were his lover. Though you guess he calls Haeun the same and she’s not his lover either. 

You take him in your mouth again, this time daring to take more of him, knowing whatever you do, he’ll like it anyway. And he does. You can see his nails scraping against the wall behind him as he struggles to keep his body still. “Oh, thank you. Fuck, thank you.” 

He’s such a loser. You love it so much. 

Spurred on by his pathetic display, you make yourself go further and further down his cock, your tongue swiping back and forth on the sensitive underside, getting him so worked up. And he doesn’t even try to hide it. 

"Fuck, so good. You’re so perfect.” He gushes, staring at you taking his cock. “You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth."

"Do I?" You pull back to answer before taking him in your mouth but this time, you don’t move, just letting the weight of him rest on your tongue.

"Fuck, don't do this to me. Please move." He whimpers, but doesn’t dare to move you. You keep still, but swallow around him, making his thighs go rigid with the effort to not thrust forward and fuck your face. “Fuck…fuck… you’re gonna kill me.” 

You smile, humming around him happily, making him go delirious. “God, I wanna take a picture of you like that." 

“Pervert.” You glare at him, finally pulling back. "Does she let you do that?"

He shrugs, making you more angry. What the hell does that mean? Is that a yes or a no? Is his phone just full of pictures of Haeun with his dick in her mouth?

“Is that what she does?” You prod, grabbing his cock a little too tightly, punishingly. "Or is she too good to suck your dick?"

"Yeah, she does.” He scoffs, puffing his chest out. “She always sucks me off after the shows." 

Is that where they disappear to? Why did you even ask? Why do you have to hurt yourself this way?

"And I guess she didn't get the chance to today." You mutter, hoping he doesn’t hear the bitterness in your voice. 

"Uh-huh. Doesn't matter. I wanted to try your mouth anyway." He confirms, so casually crushing you while making you feel like nothing but a fucktoy in the same breath.

"Fucking whore." You scowl, pulling back and watching him bucking in the air, seeking the warmth of your mouth again. Are you just a mouth for him? A pair of warm hands? The girl who’ll get him off even if he treats her like a toy? 

"I know I'm a whore but please. I need it." 

There it is again. 

You know you should just get up and leave him all high and dry, but you can’t. Not when he looks at you like that, long hair all tousled and lips inexplicably bitten raw despite the fact that he has made no effort to hide his noises so far, moaning and gasping and whimpering so loud you’re sure the neighbors think he’s a camboy or something. 

“Yeah? You need me?” You prompt and he nods harshly. “Yes, need you so bad. You don’t even know.”

You suppose you can’t blame him for treating you like a toy when just a little cry and whine is enough to get you to give in to him. 

"Are you going to be a good boy?" You taunt as if you had any real power over him. Still, Beomgyu reacts as if you do, nodding again. "I'll be good, I swear." 

“Lift your shirt up.” You order, and he obeys, pulling his mesh shirt up. 

God, he’s becoming as much of a flirt as Yeonjun, wearing these revealing outfits on stage and teasing the fans with winks and lip bites. You’re sure he’s collecting his own groupies now too, and soon it won’t just be Haeun you’re competing with. 

Suddenly, you’re filled with the urge to punish him. 

“Higher.” You tell him, instructing him to lift his shirt up until his pretty nipples are in view before reaching out to play with them. “Good boy.” 

The effect on Beomgyu is instant, his hips shooting forward, his cock seeking some relief which you don’t give him for a while, choosing instead to watch him squirm as you thumb and pull at his nipples until they turn puffy and red. 

“Fuck, please…” He cries, cock weeping in need. 

“You’re so sensitive, Beommie.” You lick up some of the precum dribbling down his cock, just light touches that drive him even more insane, teasing him until he’s almost crying. 

You know you shouldn't compare. Yeonjun has a lot of experience while Beomgyu is a horny virgin but you thrive off how enthusiastic and needy he gets whenever you touch him, like he would die if you stop. 

“Please, please, please…” He keeps repeating, holding his shirt up to expose himself to you like a slut as he pleads with you to put your mouth on him and end his suffering. “I need you. Please.” 

You finally wrap your lips around him once he says the magic words, bopping your head up and down his length, relishing in the taste and feeling of him on your tongue so much that you don’t notice at first that he’s trying to get away after only a few bops of your head.

“Stop. Stop!” He squeals, his hands flying to grab at your hair, finally catching your attention. 

“What is it?” You ask, worried. Did you do something wrong?

“Was gonna cum.” He gasps as if that explained anything. 

“So? You can cum in my mouth.” You offer, thinking maybe he wanted to give you a warning. But of course that’s not what the horny bastard is worried about. 

“Oh.” His cock twitches, and you swear he almost came right there. “But… I don’t wanna cum yet. Don’t want it to stop.” 

Immediately, you pull back, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the wall. “You don’t get to ask for things. You just stand there and keep your hands to yourself and take whatever I give you. Understood?” You hiss, and he tries to argue, “But baby–”  

You ignore him, grabbing his cock and jerking him off. “Shut up, Beomgyu. I don’t want to hear anything from you except those slutty moans you love to make.”

Even that turns him on, and he squirms under you.  “No. No, please, too fast. Don't want it to stop." He cries deliriously and you laugh evilly. 

“Don’t you wanna cum in my mouth, baby? I’ll open wide.” You smirk before letting your mouth fall open and sticking your tongue out, mimicking what you know is one of his favorite parts of porn videos as you had seen on his non-so-secret nsfw twitter account all too often. 

And just as expected, the pervert loses it with a loud broken cry, spurting his cum all over your tongue and parts of your face. 

You pull your tongue back with a grin, and he watches in rapt attention, waiting for you to swallow it just the way he likes. But you don’t. Instead you spit it back on his cock, grabbing the sensitive member in your hand and jerking it off quickly and cruelly. 

"What are you doing?" He panics, writhing harder in your hold. 

"You said you wanted more." You act innocent, but your hands are all but, twisting around him just like you learned from Yeonjun.

“Not this!” He squeaks, trying to pull away. "Hurts!"

“Suck it up. You said you’ll be a good boy. Are you going to disappoint me?” 

You didn’t expect that to work but it did. He bites down on his lip, swallowing down most of his pained cries, his hands pulling so hard on his shirt, it tears, but he doesn’t once try to push you away. 

He takes it so well, you actually start feeling bad for him and rethinking your punishment. But when you try to pull away, he lets out a loud sob. “No. Please! Need it. Need it, baby."

“But I thought you wanted me to stop?” You ask, confused, and he shakes his head, sparkling tears falling off his eyelashes. 

“Is it feeling good again? You coo, massaging his tense thigh with your free hand. 

“Uh-huh. So good.” His mouth was almost permanently hung open now, a little bit of drool dribbling out. “You’re so pretty.” 

Even though he’s all dumbed out and you’re sure he doesn’t even know what he’s saying right now, it still makes your heart flutter. He thinks you’re pretty. 

But then an ugly thought comes into your mind. Is he like this with her? Is he just as loud and desperate? Will he just say anything to get what he wants? You haven’t heard him be like this the tortuous couple of times you have had to endure listening to them, but maybe he is the one in charge when he’s with her. Maybe he has her to fuck and has you to fuck him, so he’d be getting the best of both worlds. You wouldn’t put it past him. Maybe that’s why he keeps pushing for more from you even when he has her. 

“I’m–I’m there, b-baby.” He stutters out, his hips moving a bit, but you don’t punish him for it because you don’t think he’s even aware of it. Besides, you don’t feel up for this anymore. 

“Cum for me, Beommie.” You order, taking him in your mouth, and it doesn’t take long for the wet heat of it to have him cumming again. You take it in your mouth like last time, not swallowing it. 

Instead, you get up, grabbing him by the jaw and kissing him, forcing him to take his own cum. But Beomgyu doesn’t even flinch, kissing you back hungrily, letting you push your tongue into his mouth as he sucks on it needily. 

When you finally pull back, you see the mess you’ve made of him–panting heavily, his lips swollen and red, coated with your saliva and his own cum, some of it smeared along his chin. 

But he doesn’t care, smiling at you.  “Fuck, that was hot.” 

You frown at that. You don’t know what you expected him to say. That you sucked him off so good, he now realizes you’re the one for him? That he’ll ditch Haeun and be with you only? You’re a disaster. 

“Get cleaned up and go to bed.” You tell him, heading towards the kitchen, suddenly in desperate need for some water to clear your mouth. God, what are you even doing? 

But Beomgyu isn’t done with you, and he follows after you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your neck. “Beomgyu…” You warn. You can’t deal with this right now. You’re too fragile. 

“Please…” He begs sweetly, knowing the way to your heart. His hands slither up your waist to cup your breasts, his fingers ghosting over your nipples causing a burning white sensation to shoot down between your legs. 

“Just let me take care of you for once.” He pleads, pulling lightly on your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, fanning the fire brewing in your belly. 

You can let him just one time right? You’d be getting yourself off in bed dreaming of his touch anyway so why can’t you let him help you rub one out just this once? That way you can head straight to sleep and let your tired bones rest so you wouldn’t have to think about what you just did, so you’d get one night’s relief from the crushing feeling of your unreciprocated love.  

“You can’t take my clothes off.” You finally relent. Yes, you’re out of your mind but you’re still deeply insecure and worried what he’ll think. 

“Just the shirt.” He growls, pulling on it. “Want it off.” 

You’re confused for a second by his aggression before you realize you’re wearing Yeonjun’s merch. 

“No. The shirt stays on.” You insist, partly due to your insecurity and partly to annoy him.

He’s not happy about it. You can tell by the way he bites down on the junction between your neck and your shoulder, but honestly that just turns you on more. 

One of his hands leaves your breasts to go down your body, shimmying under your waistband to reach your pussy.

“Fuck…” He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels how wet you are. He immediately starts rubbing your pussy, not attempting to tease at all. “You’re so wet.”

You freeze. Is that good? Is it bad? Does he think you’re too wet? 

“So sexy. Driving me crazy.” He groans, sucking on your sensitive neck and rolling your nipple between his fingers, dispelling your ridiculous doubts. You spread your legs a little, giving his fingers easier access to your pussy, and his long fingers rub along the entire length of your slit, not leaving one part untouched, overwhelming your poor body, all while his mouth never ceases to kiss and such along your neck. “Yes, baby, just like that, spread those legs for me. Let me make your pussy feel good.” 

Fuck, he’s so lewd, it’s so sexy. You don’t even care that he’s probably leaving so many hickies along your neck that in the morning you’ll look like you’ve been ravaged by a wild animal. All you care about right now is his relentless attack on your body. 

His words and touches have made your brain go fuzzy that you let him unbutton your pants, shoving them down your thighs so he can squeeze two fingers inside you at once. 

“Oh god, you’re so tight. So soft. You’re perfect.” He moans as if he’s the one getting pleasure. You don’t know who is more desperate here, you or him. His words feel almost as pleasurable as his hands. You've never imagined Beomgyu saying this to you. You were always so insecure of what he'll think. You were worried about him even touching you. If you knew this is how he would react, maybe you would’ve let him do it sooner. 

Or maybe not. You don’t know what this will do to your heart once your pussy gets its fill. But it’s hard to think about that when he’s panting against your neck. “Fuck, fuck… You like it, baby? Am I making you feel good?”

“Yes, Beommie. You’re such…such a good boy.” You praise, and he keens, one of his hands returning to your breasts. "Can I see your tits? Wanna see your pretty tits." 

Fuck it, you’ll give him what he wants at this point. You just really need him to make you cum. 

“Okay…” You relent, and as soon as the word is out of your mouth, he’s pulling the shirt up over your breasts to expose them. 

“So pretty.” He whines, wetting his fingers before returning them back to your nipple, rubbing the poor sensitive thing until you can’t hold your own body weight anymore. You lean against him, the wet sound of his fingers fucking your pussy open reaching your ears, but you feel too good to let the embarrassment or security in right now. 

“God, I wanna fuck these.” Beomgyu grunts, pulling at your other nipple, his hips grinding against your ass as if he’s imagining doing just that. “Can I, baby?” 

"No. Be good." You warn. You’ll go crazy if he stops. “I’m close. Don’t ruin it now.” 

“I won’t. I promise, I won’t.” He lets go of your abused nipples and grabs you by the hair, turning your head towards him so he can kiss you. “Need you to cum on my fingers, baby. I need it more than anything. Please. Will you cum for me?” 

“Y-yeah… I’ll cum for you..” You say as if you had any choice in the matter, as if your body would’ve let you retain any dignity. 

You break down on his fingers, clenching around them as the orgasm shoots through you in little pants and needy mewls which Beomgyu hungrily devours with his mouth. 

“You’re so hot.” He heaves against your lips, kissing you again and again long after your orgasm is over. 

“Beomgyu–” You start to say, the brain fog clearing up. 

“I need more.” He moans, the words jolting through your brain as it’s waking up. 

What? 

You feel his hands messing around with your pants, trying to take them off your body completely, and when he drops to the floor to pull them off your leg, you quickly stop him. 

“What are you doing?” You exclaim, grabbing onto your pants and trying to pull them back up. But Beomgyu holds onto them tightly.  

“Please, want to taste you.” He begs, clearly still in the throes of lust. 

“No.” You hiss, and he whines. “Why not? I’ve become really good at it. Had lots of practice.” 

God, you feel sick. 

“No!” You push him away and he falls on his ass. 

“What? So he can eat you out and I can’t? You can suck me off but I can’t taste you?” He asks angrily and you roll your eyes. “Yes. That’s exactly it."

As if his horny brain could ever understand how all of this makes you feel. All he cares about is that Yeonjun got something and he didn’t, like you’re a piece of candy Yeonjun swiped from him. 

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite.” He huffs, getting up. “Why won’t you let me taste you?” 

“I don’t need to let you do anything.” You shout at him, putting your pants back on, hoping that would lessen the humiliation coursing through your veins. “I don’t owe you anything and you need to get that through your fucking head. But it’s my mistake because I keep letting this happen. This has got to stop.” 

"Why? I like it and you like it too." He looks at you for confirmation and you look away, but Beomgyu is not deterred, grabbing you by the shoulders. "Come on, I know you feel it too. It's different when we're together. I know it is for me. It doesn't feel like that with Haeun. Does it feel like this with Yeonjun?"

“What feels different?” You confront him, daring to ask the forbidden question. “What is this?”

He frowns, stumbling back and taking his hands off you as if you’d burned him. “Sex?” 

Right. Typical guy behavior when faced with the remotest possibility of intimacy. 

You laugh sadly. “Beomgyu, are you with Haeun or not?” You have to know. You have to know what he’s even doing. Are both you and Haeun just a way for him to get his dick wet? 

"Do you not want me to be?” He answers your question with another question, catching you off guard. 

“N-no–you can do whatever you want. Why would I care?” You immediately deny, fear and anxiety gripping your heart. You can’t let him know how you feel, especially not after he just basically confirmed he’s just here for the sex. 

He’s silent for a few moments, just staring at you as if he can see through your lies. God, please no. You can’t handle the shame of it. 

But he just shrugs. “Well, if you don’t care then what’s the problem, right? Me and Haeun aren’t exclusive so you and I can keep doing this.”  

His words make you feel disgusted. That’s all he thinks of this, that’s all he thinks of you–just some fun to be had so he can get his rocks off 

“I don’t think so.” You finally say and he frowns. “Why not? I thought you said Yeonjun isn’t your boyfriend.” 

"He’s not.” 

He smiles widely, moving to grab you again but you stop him. "But I want him to be. I want to try it seriously with him." 

“Why? What do you even like about him?” He asks, irritated. 

“He’s sweet–” Beomgyu rolls his eyes, preparing to protest but you keep going, not giving him a chance. “He cares about me. He’s charming. He’s talented. He’s funny.” 

“So? I’m all of those things.” 

Yes, you are. And much more. But you don’t love me the way I love you. 

“So I want a boyfriend, Beomgyu, not a fuckbuddy.” 

“Right.” He scoffs, “Good luck getting that from Yeonjun.” 

With that, he turns around and leaves you feeling sick in your own skin. 

___________________

A/N: feedback gives me the motivation and energy to write more so if you want the next chapter as quickly as possible, drop in a message or a comment telling me what you think 😘

As some of you know, this might've been the last gyu smut scene, but if I were to include another one, would you rather it be sub!gyu or dom!gyu?

i can't include another poll so i'll skip the "who do you want oc to end up with" this time, but you can let me know anyway

taglist: @sanasour @tinkw1nks @lol6sposts @zuzuhasablog @beomsl @seolis-world @stantxtorurmissingout @wonwooz1@yaorzu-blog@allylikesdabee@rkivezzs@malieno @leviathanlee26 @yomomas-stuff @kurisaiyunobara @girlwholovekpop @zuzuhasablog @viaaasdiary @ho3forkpop @skzvcr @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @izzyexe @boomfrogg @kpop-cakepops-recs @chronicallygyu @girlwholovekpop

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 1

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: "Smoke eater": a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.

Happy Hispanic Heritage Month!! 🥳❤️‍🔥 You guys really warmed my heart with all the excitement for this story. I'm very happy to bring you the first chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint! 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4,000 Warnings: Tense situations, brief mention of claustrophobia, and a good old-fashioned meet cute.

Part 1: "Class and Style"

Come on, come on, come on!

The toe of your heeled foot tapped on the floor as you, once again, waited for the elevator to make its slow climb back up to the 22nd floor.

In your hand was a tray carrying two steaming lattes: one small, plain hazelnut, and the other a venti caramel frappe with all the sugary bells and whistles. Complete with extra whipped cream, because your boss was a goddamn child.

I shouldn’t even be getting his coffee, you thought sourly. This is his assistant’s job!

And if this elevator didn’t climb any faster, having to stop at Starbucks during your meager lunch break for your boss’s morning fix would make you late for a very important sales meeting.

“Let’s go, Betsy. Come on,” you muttered. “You can do it.”

Yes, you’d named the contraption that usually managed to carry you all the way to your correct floor. When she wasn’t broken down for maintenance. 

The four walls of the narrow elevator shook and creaked as it cleared the 20th floor. You inhaled sharply, but resisted the urge to grab the inner guardrail. This thing was old, just like the rest of the building.

But then, Betsy screeched and made an abrupt stop.

You were woefully unprepared. You slid in your heels and gasped—both at the jolt, and at the hot lattes tipping out of your hand and down your blouse and skirt.

Shit!

You didn’t even have time to wince at the scalding hot coffee, as you nearly rolled an ankle in the spillage. Luckily, you were able to grab at that guardrail. You sucked in relatively even breaths as you realized what happened…

The elevator stopped, but not on your floor.

“Oh, God…” you uttered, staring up at the red, digital “21” above the metal doors. It was blinking, but not moving. Just like you weren’t moving. Which meant…you were stuck.

Okay, not a big deal. You’re fine, you thought, trying to calm yourself. All you had on you was your phone, your ID, and your credit card. You’d decided to leave your purse in your desk, since you were just walking across the street.

But that was okay! Because you still had your phone…

“No service. Of course,” you muttered, raising your phone high to try and get a bar. This elevator was a dead zone, and it always had been. Fucking hell…

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You shouted for help.

You pressed the emergency alarm, several times.

You could hear it blare and echo outside of the chamber of the elevator, but no one seemed to hear you. Your work building was huge, made up of several departments and hundreds of employees here at Savage & Co. There was always plenty going on, especially in the middle of the morning.

Maybe no one could hear you.

“All right. Don’t…don’t panic,” you told yourself. Even though your heart was beginning to pound.

You finally pressed the “Call” button outlined in red. You didn’t know if it worked; half the floor buttons on the console didn’t even light up anymore.

But to your relief, the sound of a phone line ringing echoed through the small speaker. After a few rings, someone answered.

“Fire Department.”

“Oh, God. Yes!”

With a hand on the rail, you managed to kneel down next to the speaker. Your free hand brushed a strand of hair away from your dewy face. There was no AC in here, and you were starting to sweat. Thankfully, the rest of your hair was pulled up into a clip.

“I’m stuck in one of the oldest elevators known to man,” you told the disembodied voice.

“Sorry to hear that. What’s your name?”

You gave them your name, along with the address of your company’s building. The voice promised that they were dispatching a until to come and get you out soon.

“How soon is soon?” you asked.

“…About forty-five minutes, give or take.”

Jesus Christ.

You baked inside Betsy for close to an hour. While your makeup slowly melted, you found a corner of the ground that wasn’t covered by a coffee puddle, and you pressed the alarm button at random intervals. Still, no one seemed to hear it. You used the empty coffee tray to try and fan yourself.

Your phone was also useless. You tucked that along with your credit card into your bra for safe keeping. You’d definitely missed your meeting about the prospective Zimmerman account—one you and your coworker Josh were competing to nail down, as the top performers in the sales department. You couldn’t even catch up on your emails.

Damn it, Nick’s gonna chew my head off, you thought. But then you frowned, your brows furrowing. Well, it’s his fault for not maintaining this damn building. And for ordering a damn caramel frappe! What is he, a 12-year-old girl?

Your skirt was still sticky on the side. With a sigh, you leaned your head back against the metal wall and closed your eyes. Ah, well. At least I’m not claustrophobic.

“Fire Department!” called a man’s voice from above. “Can you hear me down there?”

You gasped and opened your eyes. Your gaze raised heavenward, and you called out to the voice.

“Hello?!”

“Ah, we found you. You okay, ma’am? Are you hurt?”

“Y-Yes…” You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see it. “I mean, no. I’m not hurt.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “You’re stuck between two floors, but we’re gonna get you out, all right?”

“Okay.” You sucked in a shaky breath and grabbed the rail so you could get back onto your feet. “I’m stuck on the 21st floor right?”

“Well, in between 21 and 22. Hold on one sec.”

 You stood there with bated breath, just waiting for something to happen. You heard tools whirring, felt the elevator shutter for a moment, but it didn’t budge. Until you heard a thump on the roof. You looked up, but of course you couldn’t see what was happening.

Until a square patch in the roof was unscrewed and drawn back, revealing a firefighter in almost all his gear: wearing a gray shirt tucked into navy pants, red suspenders, black boots and gloves. All he was missing was a jacket and a hardhat.

He did wear a harness, and he held another one in his gloved hand, as well as a charming, almost boyish grin on his face.

“There you are,” he greeted.

You didn’t know if it was the lack of AC, or his ridiculously handsome features, but you felt your face heat up further.

“Uh, hi,” you said, very eloquently. You offered a smile back. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Well, we haven’t gotten there yet, but we will,” he said, still with that grin as he lowered the second harness down to you. “I’m Dean. What’s your name?”

You gave it to him as you took the harness.

“Nice to meet you, despite the circumstances,” he said. “I’m sure you didn’t have this on your bingo card today, did ya?”

You snorted in response. “Not even in my fortune cookie.”

It earned an amused look from him. Then he proceeded to instruct you on how to put the harness on around your waist and shoulders and clip the straps together.

“Okay, good. Now tug it, make sure it’s tight enough,” Dean said, motioning with his hand. You obliged him.

“Perfect.” He nodded, before crouching down and lowering his hands through the compartment. “All right, now. Just take my hands. I’m gonna pull you up.”

You looked up at him, then and at the narrow escape hatch with uncertainty.

“It’s okay,” he said, noting your reluctance (and your white-knuckle grip on the guardrail). “It’s perfectly safe.”

“Yeah, I doubt anything about this situation is safe,” you replied wryly. You glanced at the elevator’s metal walls. Even now, they groaned under Dean’s shifting weight.

“I mean, I’m sure you’re strong and all,” you said, with a vague gesturing hand at him. You couldn’t quite tell from your limited vantage point, but Dean could barely fit his broad shoulders through the hole he’d opened up. He was probably a big guy.

Still, you didn’t like the idea of your legs dangling in mid-air. 

“I’m a woman, but I’m still a full-grown person,” you said, your brows beginning to furrow in worry. “People are heavy, and this thing is rickety as hell, and that’s a really tiny window…”

“All right,” Dean gently interrupted. He looked like he was trying hard not to chuckle, and you didn’t appreciate it…even though you were biting your lip, trying not to smile too (more in embarrassment).

“I promise you, the line’s got you,” he said. And he tugged on the sturdy rope that connected to your harness.

His eyes met yours directly, firm and assuring. They were green, you noticed, even in this fluorescent lighting.

“More importantly, I’ve got you. And there’s no way I’m gonna let you fall,” he said, with what seemed like every conviction in the world. “Just take my hands.”

He leaned in further so you could reach him.

…And damn it, you believed him.

Staring into his eyes, you found the courage to suck in a deep breath and release the guardrail. You reached up and let his hands curl tightly around yours. You gripped him right back.

“All right, pull up!” he called back over his shoulder.

You couldn’t see them, but you heard the voices of other firefighters as they slowly retracted Dean’s harness line as well as yours. When he was able to plant his feet on the roof of the elevator again, you held your breath as he pulled you all the way up as well.

You lost a heel along the way though. It fell off your foot and hit the bottom of the elevator below.

“Woops,” Dean said. His arms wrapped around you, and he held you securely against him when your heel (and bare foot) also met the elevator roof, a bit awkwardly. You both peered back down through the square hole.

“Want me to get that for you?” he offered, with another one of those grins.

Now you knew you were blushing. Stop it!

You shook your head as you clung to his arms. You felt the strength in them, and it steadied you, along with the easy way about him that said he was more than comfortable with the perils of rescuing trapped women from old-ass elevators.

“Don’t even worry about it,” you told him. “I just want to get the hell out of here.”

Dean chuckled then. “I hear ya. Let’s go, then.”

He glanced up and called out to a “Benny” and a “Gordon.” You assumed they were the men securing the harnesses that held you and Dean.

“Okay. You ready, sweetheart?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” you replied with a nod, even as you bit your lip again at the endearment. Usually when men called you sweetheart, (like your boss), it was like nails on a damn chalkboard.

But somehow, it didn’t seem so sleezy coming from the charming fireman.

You craned to looked up at his face. He was much taller than you, even with half your heels. Dean met your eyes again, and for a moment, you were tense. The elevator shaft was dark and cold, but the light from the open doors of the floor above allowed you to see his face, decorated lightly with stubble, and his brown hair that spiked to one side.

Your mouth parted, though you didn’t have a clue of what to say next…

You were saved when the lines went even more taut, and the firefighters on the floor above brought you and Dean all the way up to the 22nd floor. He helped you reach out to a bearded fireman, who supported your arms and carried you out of the elevator shaft, onto solid ground.

A small crowd had formed in the lobby. Zachariah the CFO was there, along with the building manager, and your friend Andréa, who looked both worried and relieved to see you. And even your boss, Nick, came forward to meet you once Benny and Dean helped you take off the harness.

“You’ve had a busy morning,” Nick drawled.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “You could say that.”

Technically, he was everyone’s boss: Nick Savage, CEO of Savage & Co. He’d inherited the company from his father. However, Nick believed his one sad year of college business classes made him an expert on running your sales department with a firm hand.

“Well, it’s good to see you’re all right,” he said. Though his eyes glanced down your stained, white blouse, down to your bare foot. His gaze made your spine prickle. And not in a good way.

You crossed your arms on reflex. “I know I missed the meeting—”

“We recorded it. You’ll be able to watch it later, take notes, all that good stuff,” he said, his head tilting in that lazy way of his. He gestured at you with a finger. “But, uh…once you’re done cleaning up, think you could nip back out and get me that coffee? Since, you know, you’re kind of wearing it.”

Behind you, the team of firefighters discreetly watched the scene while packing up their gear—some with curiosity and bemusement, others (namely Dean) with a subtle frown.

You were livid.

But you managed to keep it down, just beneath your skin, as you bent down and took off your remaining heel.

“I’m requesting the afternoon off as personal time,” you informed him with (mostly) all due professionalism. There was a fire in your eyes, however, that not even you could tame.

“But don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll still land the Zimmerman account by Friday.”

You turned and dropped your shoe into a nearby garbage can. You didn’t want to be reminded of your boss every time you saw the coffee stains.

Before you left, you stopped in front of Dean and the other firefighters.

“Thank you very much for all your help,” you said, giving them all a smile. Your gaze lingered on Dean, who smiled back at you and nodded, his hands resting on his belt.

“You got it, sweetheart.”

Your lips twitched. Then you continued on your way towards the exit door, to the stairwell. You shoved it open and walked bare-footed up to your office to get your purse. 

You’d left Nick silently fuming in the middle of the hall. You knew there wasn’t too much he could do with an entire crowd of witnesses.

He soon huffed and let your behavior roll off his back, as he became distracted by Zachariah and the building manager asking about the last time the elevator was properly serviced.

Meanwhile, Dean and Benny shared an amused look as their team rolled out.

Damn, Dean thought, remembering how you’d stopped in your little storm out, just to thank them. And how you’d held your head high as you walked away on bare feet.

He could admit, you had both class and style.

“Really, Grandpa. I’m fine,” you insisted.

Now in the comfort of your own home, and in your pajamas after a nice hot shower, you stirred a pot of chicken soup for your Grandpa George. He eyed you from the kitchen table with a measure of suspicion.

“Well, it’s lucky for you we’ve got a responsive Fire Department,” he said. “In the sleepy little town I grew up in, you’d be lucky if the whole damn building didn’t cave in before somebody got to ya.”

You shot him an amused look.

“Thanks. Makes me feel better about stepping into an elevator ever again.”

George seemed to consider the prospect, but he soon waved a vague hand.

“Ah, you’ll be fine,” George said, waving a hand. “Even if one of the cables snapped, you’d have three more holdin’ you up. And it should only need one cable to support the compartment, make sure the whole thing doesn’t fall to the damn ground.”

Your grandfather had been a technician for sixty years, so he knew a little thing about commercial building maintenance. However, right now, he wasn’t making you feel any better about your somewhat perilous experience. You paled a bit at the thought of cables snapping, leading to a long, Tower of Terror-style drop.

Except there’d be nothing to catch you at the bottom.

“It’s okay. I’ll just start walking up all 22 floors up to my office every day,” you said, smiling wryly. “I’ll finally have thighs like Wonder Woman.”

George laughed, though it soon ended on a cough. You eyed him with a frown as you ladled out a bowl of soup for him. You went over to him, both to set down the bowl in front of him and rub his back.

“Still with that cough. I don’t like it,” you said. “I’m making an appointment with your doctor.”

George shook his head and grabbed his glass of water.

“Just something caught in my throat.”

“Mhmm,” you replied. He was the absolute king of downplaying. It used to drive your grandma nuts.

You sighed and raised a hand to your forehead. An ache was building behind your eyes. Or maybe it had been there since you left work early today, and you were just now realizing how tightly wound your spine was.

“You okay?” George asked. You read the concern in his eyes and tried to relax your face from its scrunching.

“Yeah. Just a tension headache.”

“Hmm. Maybe you should spend less time worrying about me, and more time taking care of yourself,” he pointed out. “You had a stressful day. Why don’t you go relax? Or better yet, go out! Go see your friends. Get in a bar fight. Something productive.”

A grin curved your lips as you raised a brow.

“A bar fight would make me more productive?”

George grinned up at you. “Well, at least it’d get you out of the house.”

You pursed your lips. There was a reason you didn’t go out very often, and your grandfather knew it. You were the only one who could watch out for him now, even if he didn’t think he needed it. Your mouth opened to reply, but before you could, your cell phone rang through the house.

For a moment, the two of you stared at one another. Until George raised his brows.

“You should get that, huh?” he said.

You narrowed your eyes at him, despite your small smile, and you raised a finger as you went to get your purse over in the living room.

“We’re not done, old man,” you said over your shoulder.

“Oh, believe me. I know,” he grumbled, delving into his soup with a spoon.

Meanwhile, you fished your phone out of your purse and answered. A genuine, if tired smile graced your lips. It was your best friend, Andréa. She worked with you at Savage & Co., over in Marketing as a graphic designer.

As fate would have it, the two of you were hired on the same day five years ago. She’d invited you to lunch that day, and from then on, you two had been rocking through corporate life like Thelma and Louise—if Thelma had been a Greek artist and Louise had been a sarcastic saleswoman. 

“Hey, Dre,” you greeted.

“Hello, my love. Congratulations for surviving your near-death experience, and getting to serve Nick Savage a bit of humble pie,” she teased. “I thought you were going to lobby your Prada heel at his head.”

You huffed and plopped down on the couch with your feet up on the coffee table.

“First of all, let’s not be too dramatic. I was stuck in an elevator, not a Chilean mine shaft,” you said wryly. “Second, you really think I would throw away Prada? Even if it was coffee stained… Those were just my $30 Steve Maddens.”

And yet, they had been your most comfortable heels. Maybe you should just find some sensible flats in the back of your closet and be done with it. But you liked the height and confidence that a nice pair of heels gave you—especially in that office filled with “Mad Men” wannabes.

Every male on your sales team thought he was Jon Hamm in a room full of George Costanzas.

Nick Savage was the worst out of all of them.

You dealt with it, however, and sometimes even thrived on being the only woman on the team. Mostly because you needed your job.

It paid well enough, but most of it went into the upkeep of your grandparents’ old house, and for the past few years, their extensive medical bills…

“Still, at least you got a Mission Impossible-style rescue out of it,” said Andréa. Her tone turned both leading and flirtatious. “Tell me you got that fireman’s number. Dear God Almighty, what a Grade-A Hottie.”

You chortled through your blush at remembering Dean, the firefighter who saved you. You could admit, he’d been one fine specimen of a man.

“Grade-A Hottie. What are we, in middle school?” you retorted. “Besides, he was just doing his job.”

“Ugh, you’re so pragmatic it hurts,” your friend lamented. “You really need to live a little, while you’re still hot and firm.”

You laughed fully at that one. “Yeah, I think taking the stairs from now on will help with the ‘firm’ bit.”

Just like the strength of the firefighter’s hold had been. You’d felt entirely secure after he’d pulled you up on the elevator roof. His arms had reassured you even more than the harness, if you thought about it. (And your face heated up further at said thought.)

“I do wish I could say thank you again, somehow,” you mused out loud, not really thinking about who exactly you were talking to.

“Oh, yeah?” Andréa said. You could practically hear her mischievous grin. It made you slightly nervous. “Well, it’s not unheard of for a grateful civilian to stop by a firehouse. You could bring him lunch or something!”

“Ah, I don’t know about that,” you said. Your instinct was to withdraw inward at the thought of putting yourself out there like that. Besides, you didn’t want to bother him while he was at work.

“What’re you talking about? Firefighters love food! Believe me, my cousin Meg is a paramedic,” Andréa said. Then she gasped. “Oh, girl. I have the perfect idea for you. Why don’t you bake something for the whole firehouse? That way it takes some of the pressure off, but you still get to see him.”

You became more contemplative then.

Bake something, huh?

Now, that you could do. Andréa knew all too well that the one thing that could get your gears turning was getting your apron on, as baking was your ultimate hobby. It made you feel creative, and damn-near stress free…

And her idea wasn’t too shabby, the more you thought about it. It was something kind that you knew you could do. And more than anything, you really did just want to say thank you, one more time.

You smiled.

“Okay. I think we have a plan.” However, your smile soon fell. “Wait, I have no idea what firehouse he works at.”

“Hmm, my cousin might know,” Andréa said. “Let me reach out to her…what’s his name again?”

“Dean,” you replied. Another small smile reached your lips, against your will.

“His name was Dean.”

AN: Ah, the first chapter! Launching a new story is always so exciting! 🥰 What did you think of the reader and Dean's first meeting?

Also, feel free to imagine Mark Pellegrino's "Nick" for this (I am). He didn't have a last name on the show, so I created one for this story, as he's going to be an important antagonist throughout.

And just so you guys know, my knowledge of the inner workings of fire departments and law enforcement will largely come from my own research and being a huge fan of procedurals, like Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, Law & Order, etc.

Yes, aspects are fictionalized on those shows, but a lot of it is rooted in real-life protocol and stories. All the love and respect for creator/executive producer Dick Wolf. 😂

...Oh, and the elevator scene was inspired by true events. (Yes, I've been stuck in an elevator before. 🫠 Two ridiculously hot firefighters pulled me out, but by then I was melting from the lack of AC, had no makeup, and was dressed like a female!Dean, plaid and all lmao.)

Anywho...

Next Time:

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled a bit. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you.

Keep Reading: PART 2

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Series Tag List:

Due to Tumblr's dumb 50-only tag rule, I'm tagging the rest of you in a reblog. 😘

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[homunculus-argument]

I found a collection of clipped images of vintage ads, and let me tell you these are hilarious with no context.

Dude on the left doesn't give a shit about what you think of him. "Whatever, I'm still going to drink my coffee with my breakfast ass-pastries." Dude on the right is offended. "Really? Right in front of my heroin?"

All your mental health troubles can be cured by having a talk with the drunk girl sitting on the floor of a dive bar bathroom. Like the modern oracle, she dispels wisdom.

Do not cut off your nose to spite your face! Let us do it for you! Experience the highest end quality of plastic surgery that the 1930s technology can offer! If the war didn't blow your nose off, we can make it look like it sure did!

Are you too refined, sophisticated and dapper? Would you rather have the rough and manly, beastly airs of the salt trade sailor you sucked off behind the town market three days ago while he called you his pretty little slut? Our doctors can help you.

This is also a good way to get not only your nose, but your entire face professionally fucked up.

Trust me bro this is a different strain. It won't happen again this time bro trust me I swear.

Dude if she gives you that look you better zip it back up before she figures out how to politely tell you how disappointed she is. She came here for the thrill of her life and that's not it.

Nevermind, she was too polite to break it to you.

Live footage of the last coherent thought escaping my brain when my meds wear off.

Have you lived your entire life woefully lacking of dandruff? Fear not, for relief is here! Finally, you can have the same alluring scalp snow as the heinous bitch your husband left you for.

FALSE! I literally never shut the fuck up.

The money-eating giraffe will fuck you. That is a promise.

Successfully fucked by the giraffe, evidently.

Another satisfied customer. He won't even mind that the beast ate all his money.

This poor guy just missed the giraffe. By a thread. He was out of town already when this poor man got the news. His entire year is ruined.

Do you crave the chaotic rush of a manic outburst, but do not have the inherent mechanisms of naturally mania-inducing mental illness? Try AMPHETAMINE! You will be full of ideas, and know for sure what you're going to be doing for the next three months! Disclaimer: The ideas you will have on amphetamine are not guaranteed to be good ideas. And you're probably spending the next three months in jail.

You know you're sick you dirty little bowlcut slut.

"Fuck. This. Shit."

This one came in-built with a weirder fucking caption than I could come up with. Nothing can top this. Not even the giraffe.

[queerweewoo]

“I, uh,” Buck swallows, and Eddie hears it as loudly as he heard that gunshot in the street. “I—I love you, man. Like—just so you know, y'know? Because it feels like, like after everything, that you should—that you get to hear that, Eds. That you, y’know, get to know that.” 

Eddie is nodding and just sitting there staring at Buck as Buck tells him something that's not yet fully registering in Eddie's brain. Because Buck has this look on his face that Eddie is feeling sort of incredulous about, or he's maybe even a little annoyed about, which is—honestly. Eddie gets it's kind of a strange way to feel. That it's not exactly normal. He's no Sigmund Freud, but he is astute enough to understand that it's weird to get pissy about not being privy to every single look his best friend has in his arsenal of facial expressions, even if Eddie isn't sure of exactly why it is he feels this way. 

Buck starts chewing on his already-red bottom lip and Eddie feels something like jealousy over it, which is just another thing he can't quite work out. 

He studies Buck's face as if he should be able to decipher what this new look is. Feels dumb that he can't. Because Eddie knows Buck, he knows him, like the way he knows each of his sister's secret celebrity crushes and knows that oranges are the colour orange. Like he knows that his body understands how to breathe on pure instinct.  

This look though, he doesn't know it. And him not knowing whatever it is that Buck is currently trying to convey with the over-used muscles in his face and the gentle arch of his eyebrows and the forever-raw emotion behind those blue, blue eyes of his? It's making Eddie feel like he's failing miserably at the other most important thing in his life.  

There is Christopher, and there is Buck. 

“Eddie?” 

Buck just told Eddie that he loves him, and that's just now hitting Eddie square-on in the nose like a suckerpunch wrapped in a neatly tied silk ribbon. 

“Love you too, brother,” Eddie says because he has to say something, and only one side of his face is smiling because the other isn't sure of what the hell it should be doing, and then he's leaning over his kitchen table to find the pulse-point at Buck's throat with his thumb pad and thinks Batman and Robin; Guns and Roses; Peanut Butter and Jelly as it nestles safely into the place that gives Eddie the most comfort—Eddie hoping, as he always does, that the touch gives maybe a little of the same to Buck.

Brother. 

That feels—kind of right? Buck is Eddie's partner in crime. The person Eddie's closest to. Eddie's family. 

Only as soon as he's repeating the term in his head, he knows that it is very, very wrong, even if he can't pin-point why.  

Why are there so many whys? 

Things feel… muddied.

Buck's lips part slightly and he looks as if he might be about to say something else. Then the new look is fading away, mixing effortlessly with the dust motes floating hazily in the balmy air of Eddie's kitchen, now replaced by a much more familiar look and Eddie is—for some reason woefully—relieved to be back in his comfort zone. Back where he knows precisely how Buck is feeling just by glancing at Buck, even if this next look is all-too similar to one Eddie's seen plenty of times, too many times; one he hates, hates, hates seeing on Buck's face.  

Disappointment.

Eddie doesn't quite understand what he did wrong but knows he's probably deserving of the fate, and half-heartedly tries not to hate on himself more than he already does for pulling the sorry feeling from Buck's bleeding heart. 

He doesn't know that the word, “Always,” is going to slip from his lips like a secret before he's finding himself saying it, surprised by the force behind it and the truth of it, his thumb now sliding back and forth over Buck's collar bone of its own accord. 

At least, then, there is a hint of something other than unfulfilled growing in Eddie's best friend's eyes, even if they are still, sadly, shining in the exact wrong kind of way.

Buck has an infectious, never-ending supply of hope and Eddie does love him. 

He doesn't pray anymore—hasn't done in years—but as Buck manages to find a warm smile for him, just like he always does, Eddie thinks he might find himself asking God for a few revelations later on tonight when the lights are all shut off and the moon is out. 

Like how to do better.

.

(also found HERE if you'd like to drop me a comment xp)

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Okay, okay. I can't stop thinking about Kang and his approval seeking.

He plays a part to maintain his grandma's adoration, he tries so hard to do things that his dad will be proud of only to have the man shoot down every attempt.

And then, there's Sailom.

Even when he was actively bullying him, he was mostly angry that Sailom wasn't reacting the way he wanted him to. Sailom wasn't afraid of him, he wasn't giving in, he wasn't even properly mad. Sailom didn't give Kang a good grade in bullying him.

And now that they're... Whatever they are, Kang has rapidly shifted to wanting Sailom's positive attention and approval.

They do the money dance again when Kang leaves Sailom's house, only this time, Kang frames it as an almost apology:

When Sailom insists he won't keep the money unless Kang accepts his tutoring, Kang has a whole little moral crisis about standing him up (after carefully smiling and laughing off the comments from Max about how much he enjoys his own hot tutor), Kang shows up to the library hours late, and (after a fortifying breath) actually apologizes:

And then, when Sailom assures him that he wasn't waiting on him, Kang asks to dive into studying with this face:

After completing his assessments, we get this:

Look at those pleading eyes. Please please please tell me I did good.

And when Sailom's first reaction is confirmation? Look at how happy Kang is? Look at how he lights up!:

And then, the reveal:

He failed to get Sailom's approval, and he's devastated.

But it's more than that, too. He's realizing -- a little bit, at least, and it really comes together for him later with his dad -- that the way he's skating through life, the way he's letting his dad's lack of expectation and faith in him turn him into someone without direction, someone who can't meet simple expectations, even when they really want to, is making him miserable. The lack of effort has put him at a real disadvantage, he is woefully behind in school.

And for someone who puts a lot of work into coming off as the smartest, coolest, most in control guy in the room, he is at a loss. And all that wrong-footedness gets all wrapped up in his getting about Sailom. So first, he runs, and then, he doubles down on needing Sailom ('s approval).

We get the renewed commitment for tutoring when he shows up early. We get "let me drive you home", complete with "hold on tight " and both of them looking unbearably soft while the other can't see them. We get the dinner date with extra takeaway to share with Saifah. We get ... This:

And then later, after so much vulnerability and a whole ass chase, and a disaster of a surprise party, there's this:

Kang, getting a taste of what Sailom's attention feels like, of what meeting his expectations might gain him, and looking absolutely lost about it.

Kang has been trying to do well to prove himself to his dad, and his dad just constantly undercuts his efforts, and we see him give up, even after spending this whole episode fighting against the apathy and associated failures and disappointments that that has gotten him so far. But Sailom won't let him.

Sailom literally fights him in order to get him to keep going, to keep trying. Sailom sets himself as the motivation, as Kang's reason to keep going (Sailom took a very long pause when Kang asked "Do you want me to say I want you to be proud of me?" and let that particular word problem start working itself out in the background, and the answer came out "Yes" sometime thereafter).

And Kang is overwhelmed by the prospect of having someone's expectations, of being able to earn someone's approval.

And Sailom is overwhelmed by all the things he's feeling for this boy he literally spit on last week, but has now discovered is a whole mess, and also soft sad-boy under all that (I am on the fence as to whether he knew Kang was Umbrella Boy before he saw the picture).

They are both feeling so many things, and half of them are confusion, and I am also feeling many things.

[middlingmay]

I've seen a few Hockey AUs around here.

And for someone who's never seen a game of hockey in their puff, I do love a good Hockey AU.

So whilst I'm 100% never going to write one, how about this? :

Imagine John is one of the biggest Hockey stars in the US. Mahoosive. And he's known for being the sweetest guy with no ego about it, too.

He constantly talks up his team mates and is the biggest team player. He's openly critical of the coaching team when he thinks it's called for. He tries the direct approach first, but when they won't listen, the next time someone shoves a camera in his face, something's going to go down. This is usually when there's been an avoidable injury.

He pops up at local kids club games whenever he has downtime, wherever he is, and spends loads of time with them and is really encouraging.

And Gale, being woefully ignorant about the land of sport has absolutely no idea who he is.

Maybe he takes Marge's kid to practice sometimes, and he sees John there and just thinks he's a friend of the coach, given how delighted the coach is to see him (and maybe how the coach hangs off him, too).

Gale lets himself look. It's been a while and John is cute. All bright, easy smiles and patience with the kids, even as they try scaling his legs and back like a jungle gym (but only when their skates are off).

And John notices Gale and keeps catching him looking and they both keep looking away and looking back and blushing like children. Idiots, I stg.

And Marge's kid - let's call her Andy - chatters a mile about about how great John is and Gale figures it's not an uncommon occurrence for the coach's friend to come around if Andy knows him that well, but he makes a note to ask Marge about it. And maybe offer to take Andy to more practices. Give Marge and Rosie some time to themselves after work (because fuck it, Marge is married to Rosie in this).

On their way back from practice, Gale sees a hoard of news vans going the opposite way and just thinks, "Huh. Weird."

So he asks Marge if she knows about John - she does, of course. Andy does not shut up about him - and she clocks right away that Gale has no clue who he's been flirting kindergarten-style with and elbows Rosie in the ribs before he can blab. Oh ho, she's going to enjoy this.

John isn't at the next practice, or the one after, and Gale is disappointed, but he can't focus on that for long because his car won't start to take Andy home.

Who arrives on the scene? John Egan.

He offers them a ride and Andy does not give Gale a chance to say no.

Gale is hopelessly, awfully flustered in the front seat. John talks almost as much as Andy and the two chatter and bicker back and forth, because yes John does argue like a 12 year old.

But, he also gesticulates, and his hands get everywhere and if they brush up against Gale one more time, surely his heart can only jolt like that so many times before it's not good for him??

And cute or not, Gale finds it difficult to talk to strangers. Maybe John notices, and asks Gale yes or no questions, offers him little jokes and pretty much doesn't demand any input from Gale which is...New.

He finds himself laughing and offering little bits of conversation unprompted which have John beaming.

John walks them to Marge's door (he thinks it's also Gale's because Andy has blonde hair, too). And when Marge opens to door and Andy says, "Mom, look who it is!" John's face falls - until Rosie appears and Andy calls him Dad.

Marge, seeing an opportunity for mischief, invites John in for dinner as a thank you whilst Rosie calls Ken to get Gale's car. She drops hints about John's work which sail right over Gale's head:

"All that travelling must be hard. And surrounded by all those screaming people?"

"Oh you're in just about every paper and news report on tv."

So Gale, obviously, comes to the conclusion that John is a journalist.

It takes a very, very, very long time for him to find out the truth. Far longer than it should. They've been dating for a while, but with John's travelling and Gale's studies and his work, it just doesn't come up much. When they're together, work isn't at the forefront of their minds. So Gale doesn't quite cotton on to the fact that the sudden uptick in photographers he sees about town are following him and John. And he doesn't really follow the news, so yeah.

I may post more thoughts about this, but I just love Sports AUs in general. I will read every fic any of you write, God help me

[lime-ether]

Why the , fuck are you blocking your fans? They just repost artists that are Russians, and it’s not their fault that their Putin attacked you

I didn't want to write something like this on this blog but damn. I wanted to close this topic once and for all. There's quite a lot of text here but I'm just tired of being called guilty for the fact that I'm still alive

Ahem, The most important

Don't talk to me in Russian. Do I understand it? Unfortunately, Yes. But I don't want to see it here in my safe space. There is UKR/ENG in my description for a reason.

Maybe when you come to this blog, you think that I am a friendly creator who treats everything neutrally, but no.

If you repost, draw, promote any content in Russian or Russian projects - go away, I'm not happy for you here.

Imbeciles who have never experienced real thought and learn about the world solely through fandom love to tell you wrong with the certainty of a gnat. They relax in their armchairs, scroll through TikTok, think poverty means not owning a house, maybe an iPad, and maybe check one article a day on Twitter/ X — only if it's about pop culture. Then they slide in a news of someone who survived the bombing, acting like they're the moral police. If you know nothing and your understanding is woefully shallow, at least try to resist the urge to write all kinds of nonsense

"bUt wHy cAn't I tAlK aNd sPrEaD fUnNy rUs mEmEs" or "LANGUAGE CAN'T HARM YOU" of course. but the people who use it have killed my neighbors, my parents friends, my uncle, Friends and EVEN A NIECE WHO WAS NOT EVEN A YEAR OLD and many more than just my family.

destroyed other people's houses and my plans for the future

They wish death on each of us every day and the saddest thing is that I grew up with this I don't remember what it was like to live without war, do you think it was three years? 10 years? No. It was practically always like that

So you know they organized the Holocaust–Or famine , made 'fraternal' wars between Ukrainians, simply KILLED OUR NATION EVERY TIME, but we manage to resurrect ourselves almost every time, And every time they try to break us again. It's not just Putin who comes and kills everyone, it's a whole nation that steals, kills and erases important things from history, it's a nation that comes and steals and abuses and steals our children, or do a crimes to women or men.

The most big thing

I hate when westerns joke about 'soviet'

But what I hate most is when they hypocritically repost pro-Palestinian posts and are completely calm about Russians who post what a good day they are having after bombing another residential area

If you are a western that somehow supports Russians and reposts their work, arts, animation, game's, Creation

you are a bad person for me, I'm disappointed in you, get out of here, And don't you dare come back here.

Because Is it THAT HARD for you to at least try to understand what other people might be feeling? It's so hard to check that the person you follow pays taxes and continues to support the nightmare?

[altocat]

ever since i saw the ending of rebirth’s moogle emporium missions where the moogles turn cloud into a moogle, i’ve needed to hear from the sephcanon authority (you) how sephiroth would react to being turned into a moogle.

Moogleroth (completely monotone): "I'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought, kupo."

Sephiroth does not like moogles. He went through an entire period of his life where he insisted that moogles didn't exist, only to be woefully disturbed and disappointed at finding out they were real. He finds their appearance both distressing and annoying at the same time. They're too bouncy. THOSE TEETH. Those beady little eyes. What does "Kupo" even MEAN?

Moogle!Sephiroth seeks to end his own existence as quickly as possible. For one thing, he no longer has his beautiful flowing hair in this form which is already a crime against nature. Some cruel god also thought it would be funny to only give him one wing because of course. And now he's surrounded by these happy friendly koala-looking fluffballs. This is hell.

Sephiroth quickly stuffs himself in a (currently wheezing) Genesis' backpack. He will go home now, thank you very much.

[mannylikessims]

The True Story of the Villareal Family [2.3]

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The Villareal children were in for a treat they didn’t want.

They arrived home from school, already feeling collectively below-average. Hugo staggered in like a zombie, having barely slept. Luna kept checking her phone and sulking because a certain someone wasn’t texting her. And Max – actually, Max felt ok. Maybe a little bored.

But none were in the mood for another attempted Family Fun Day, even though their father had spent the entire day preparing for it.

───────────────✦───────────────

While the children were at school, Jacques Villareal had taken the day off from doing nothing to redo the pool.

"There, much better."

“Come, offspring!” He called out to his children, cackling to himself. “I remodeled the pool. Let’s have a Family Fun Day pool party!”

“You remodeled the pool?” said Hugo. “It doesn’t look any different to me.”

“Well, it is,” said Jacques. “Now get in.”

Meanwhile, Luna was still anxiously checking her phone,

but there were no new messages. Anguish welled in her chest.

You ok? she typed woefully. Did I do something wrong? What’s going on? I miss talking to you.

There had been no response all day from her mystery knight about why they never showed up to their rendezvous, but maybe this 127th text in a row would finally do the trick.

She put her phone back and resisted the urge to pull it out immediately again. After all, she didn’t want to come off as desperate.

“Do we have to go swimming right now, Dad?”

Hugo threw up his hands in exasperation. “I’m so tired. I slept like two hours on a bench outside the Von Haunt Estate because you forgot about me and left me there yesterday.”

His father rolled his eyes. “Of course I didn’t forget about you, Hugo. I ignored your calls on purpose. Now quit complaining and. Get. In.”

Hugo groaned. Fine. He was too tired to argue. He teetered from exhaustion as he headed towards the diving platform.

Jacques turned around and set up a chair at the edge of the pool. “You kids go first. I’ll join later.”

The kids changed into their bathing suits and lined up. Hugo was first.

“You’re doing swell, Hugo,” said Jacques in a rare moment of paternal encouragement. “Luna, you’re next!”

“Ugh, whatever, Dad.” She didn’t care about anything anymore.

Little Max was last to cannonball in, and he was the only one who was having fun. Besides Jacques, that is. Jacques was still chuckling to himself, watching his children swim in circles.

Hugo’s arms started to feel very heavy, as did his eyelids. He relaxed his muscles, his head lolling for a moment, just a moment, and rested his eyes for a moment, just a moment, when

his eyes suddenly snapped back open.

Whoa! Almost fell asleep there, big guy. It was definitely nap time for him, one way or another.

Hugo swam to the edge of the pool and grasped the ledge to pull himself out.

“What are you doing?” asked Jacques, shocked.

“I’m going to bed,” said Hugo. “I’m so tired–"

“No, I mean, how did you get out of the pool?”

“… by pulling myself out over the ledge? Look Dad, I just really wanna sleep–"

But Hugo didn’t get a chance to finish, because Jacques suddenly broke into a scowl and stood up furiously, slamming his chair into the ground, mumbling under his breath.

“Guess they don’t make pools like they used to.”

And Jacques stormed off into the house, livid, leaving behind his three bewildered kids.

Hugo was baffled. What was up with Dad? He had gone real quick from being excited about the pool to having a full-blown conniption.

“Aw, does this mean Family Fun Day is canceled again?” said Max behind him, disappointed.

───────────────✦───────────────

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[goatsludge]

Eagle Industries LVAC

I'd purchased one of these for @bureau-of-mines not too long ago just as a cheap method of providing a simple carrier for the BALCS soft armor that both of us had. I ended up falling in love with it, but still found myself going with a different carrier initially -

Above: Eagle LVAC (left) vs BCS LVR (right)

I'd ended up getting an LVR from Beez Combat Systems in order to have the added benefits of swiftclip attachment for chest rigs as well as rear PALS webbing for whatever pouches I wanted to add to the back while keeping the front slick.

In the end, I was woefully disappointed with the quality of the LVR and I'm going to be trading it off here soon - the platebags didn't fit my inserts very well, the way the straps attached caused lots of sagging in the corners, and overall it wasn't very good quality or all that comfortable when compared to the LVAC.

And with that, me and my partner now own matching plate carriers! They aren't anything spectacular, but the LVAC's beauty is that it's a plate carrier with nothing to hide - you get exactly what you expect from it, nothing more, nothing less.

The fit with inserts is nice and snug (both me and the BF are using EI-cut IIIA BALCS inserts from Stealth Armor Systems ftr), and the internally padded shoulder straps are nice and comfy. Not to mention with both of ours coming in at less than $105 per vest, a good bargain as far as brand-name kit goes.

The logic of doctrine I'm working towards with these is using a concealment-style carrier that can be worn under heavy clothing and chest rigs, but is still durable enough to use as an overt carrier if need be. I've considered modding these with swiftclip attachment webbing, but currently I'm interested with the concept of integrating a chest rig with a 3-day pack.

We will see what I decide with this all going forwards.

[queen-simia]

related to lrb and especially analog horror, I want to take a bit to bemoan a current popular and woefully anachronistic unfiction project: Welcome Home.

I cannot tell you how much Welcome Home disappoints me as an '80s child who grew up with several '60s and '70s-era hand-me-downs. I'm Fry in the "Whalers on the Moon" ride, unable to articulate fully how absurdly wrong everything is to the people too removed from the era depicted to know better.

for a series that wants to say its source material hails from the '60s, all its trappings look way too new and its stylistic choices are at least two and a half decades too young to be convincing to anyone but other twentysomethings. which, maybe that's your audience, but come on. the entirety of Sid and Marty Krofft's oeuvre has been documented relentlessly online and is much better suited to Welcome Home's horror aesthetic than the mid-80s-era Muppet stylings currently being used. H.R. Pufnstuf is the perfect reference for the puppet/fursuit combo performance WH's setting calls for. The Banana Splits is firmly in the '70s, but the aesthetic is close enough to earn a pass. hell, the old Krofft-plagiarizing McDonald's commercials set in a nightmare-fuel McDonaldland are right there.

please, twentysomethings who want to set anything before 2000, do proper research first. your projects will only benefit from it. don't sacrifice quality and immersion by just going on assumption/vibes. even if your work doesn't attract attention from people who either lived during the era you're writing or who are interested in that period, the lack of research still means your project is based on a shaky foundation. something will always be just slightly off about it, and you won't have the frame of reference to know why.