#underground cosmetics

[chickenmeow]

[gibbearish]

OH MY GOD WAIT ONE OTHER THING ABT THE NOT THE BEES SEED one part of it is that theres queen bee larva scattered around the whole world even on the surface, and i kept getting messages that queen bee had been summoned despite being nowhere near any nor having any sort of projectiles at all much less going off screen and was so confused. n it took me a few days but then i realized they were only happening at night. larva are getting HIT BY THE SHOOTING STARS AND SUMMONING HER TO TRACK ME DOWN ACROSS THE EARTH

[hwaightme]

Take me back

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR BIKER!HWA’S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist) (join taglist)

🏍️ pairing: biker!seonghwa x afab!gangster!reader 🏍️ genre: smut, pwp, exes to lovers, fluff, a little angst, romance, just two fools in love 🏍️ summary: you want to convince yourself that you do not need seonghwa, that your rejection is for the best, but when instead of another rose he is the one waiting by your door, you are not so sure. 🏍️ wordcount: 6.9k 🏍️ warnings/tags: biker!hwa, quick solo edit, language, hwa has grills, head over heels enamoured hwa, mention of contraband/dealing of illegal substances, rejection, knight on a bike courting you, discussion of gang activity, set in strictland, lmk if anything else 🏍️ a/n: why hello there <3 i am trying to get back into writing, and seonghwa + the song 'take me back'… transformed me. always, any notes, reblogs and comments are appreciated, much love~

🏍️ perma-taglist: moved to the end of the post!

🏍️ nsfw tags: sub!hwa and soft dom!reader, no protection (wrap before you tap pls), oral (both giving and receiving), hints of scent kink but more for hwa's perfume, dirty talk, intense pet name content (baby, darling, sweetheart, love, pretty boy), praise both ways, riding/cowgirl, reader double orgasm, overstimulation, slight dumbification, creampie, implied cockwarming, cuddling and two people falling in love more and more with each passing second

It did not take much effort to figure out who left the solitary rose on the window sill, between floors three and five - an ironic nod to tradition despite the world moving in a four four time,  right on the stairwell that led to your apartment. A white rose sculpted to an ideal by nature and by a cosmetic selection, cut away and left a stilled beauty in full bloom, honoured to wilt in your presence. Picking it up with two fingers, you admired the careful handiwork employed to remove the thorns, because heaven forbid you were to hurt yourself. A smirk pricked at the corner of your lips, but you dared not reveal it - the admirer could be waiting just for this, and you were not feeling particularly merciful tonight. Twisting the rose a couple of times, noting the lack of any tears, breakage in the petals or even as much as a hint of browning due to thoughtless damage, you turned your attention to the stark white sheet of paper, neatly folded in half so as to conceal the contents. Though, who else would dare touch any gifts that were obviously left for you? Certainly not those who knew you, or knew of the admirer who was waiting for a single sign that you would accept the offerings. Opening up the note, you found a new selection of confessions written in poetic lines, ink meticulous, a permanence introduced in a neat and familiar hand, every stroke a cry for you, over you, a projection across the city in an attempt to win your heart. Just like last time, except this time the theme was the moon instead of the sun. The stars, the ocean waters, the air embracing you. If one were to paint a portrait through the words etched onto the pages that you had become a secret collector of, you would become the universe. All-encompassing and all-consuming, having permeated into the heart, soul and mind and turning into reason and motivation, you were the eternal muse. Gaze slowly drifting from the page and onto the dim, dark street outside, you looked out at the corner of the street, right to where it faded into a miniature intersection, leading to a shopping district that was long abandoned and shut down aside from a few underground businesses and repurposed buildings that a regular passer-by would, or should never visit. You would never admit it, but you had grown to expect the silhouette that waited for you, maybe even welcome it. A singular constant in your daily life, one that you hated to admit, but had transformed into a grounding, a tether to something less than madness.

It was not comforting, however. Far from it. The man who was leaning against his motorcycle, side profile distinguishable against the faint lights emanating from the far backdrop was someone who had brought you emotion. And just as the government had prescribed in its comically persistent propaganda, disease was human emotion. Whether one served the nation or was working against it, whether one was a public figure for peace or a private figure for war, the state of feeling was oftentimes a disadvantage. It was, most certainly, the case in your line of work, despite you never directly subjecting yourself to risk - you were not that foolish quite yet. But the dedication of the man in black, blue and silver was forcing you to reconsider. Eroding the boundaries you operated within, knocking on the barriers to find a hollow which he could break. One of these days you knew that Seonghwa was going to be the death of you. Or perhaps the revival. Folding the note tightly shut you pressed it against the rose’s stem, and holding both items between your fingers you began your ascent to the door of your apartment, keys dangling from their ring that was in your other hand.

Soon enough, you heard the rumbling of the engine; that same motorcycle which you had come to see more often than the supplies you managed. As you slid the key into the door, you shut your eyes, imagining Seonghwa’s journey away from your complex. How his glasses, those you had joked about being from a laboratory, would glimmer under the jittery neon of old signs and the fading streetlights. How he would accelerate at the end of the road, making a sharp turn to the right. The grip you had on the note and the rose tightened as you recalled the exhilarating feeling of having your arms wrapped around his sensational waist, feeling the toned muscle underneath his black tank top, snaking your hands, letting them roam his body as he struggled to contain himself and keep on driving. You paid the risk no mind - if anything, this risk was the one you preferred so much more, over any other you had to keep subdued under a brutal thumb. Wondering why your mind was so afflicted this evening, you raised the rose again, detecting nothing suspicious. It was only once you raised the note as close to your face as possible that you rolled your eyes and let a sigh escape you. Of course, the perfume. That damn sweet perfume, with hints of coffee and vanilla, one only he could wear, one that you swore you would never be able to rid yourself off, even if you were to burn the house down and shed your own skin. The memory would remain and you knew that if anywhere, anyone, anyhow would let this perfume enter your system, only Seonghwa would be on your mind. Cursing under your breath, you finally unlocked the apartment and entered, washed over with a sense of dread due to your evident proximity to the handcrafted abyss. It was only a matter of time that this game would end. 

Kicking your shoes off your feet and ambling to the living room, you approached the glass that you had positioned at the centre of the tiny dining table, taking out the rose you had previously received and replacing it with the new beauty. Mumbling a goodbye, simply to remind yourself of the fact that you could speak, more than anything, you let the flower disappear in the bin that was across the corridor, in the kitchen. You returned, regarding the white rose again, imprinting its every curve in your mind and hesitantly allowing yourself to compare the softness of the petals to your admirer’s lips, and moved to the cabinet off to the side. A contraband piece, unregulated, from someplace abroad that clearly had more daring, inspiring tastes than your home ever could, which was exactly why you had your loyal employees smuggle it along with the regular supplies to feed the insatiable demand of the sinful city that turned into bills for you. One door opened, another, a few numbers on a keypad pressed and you were in - one of the numerous safes hidden around the flat, the only ones that would stand the test of time, with this one containing the butterflies that plagued Seonghwa, those that he could not help but share with you, fighting pleas that you contained in steel. A cage for the emotions that the man stirred within you, your keeping of the notes supposedly out of sight and out of mind was the last resort for denial. You did not want to witness your demise, and yet, in the night when you were tossing and turning back and forth, illuminated by a hazy blue and grey, your retinas had every note burned into them and your brain would repeat every line back to you over, and over, and over again until you were lulled into a slumber, again, induced by the notion of the one man who you were trying your hardest to avoid. He was behind every corner, physical and spiritual. 

He was in the way you cleared away the dishes after eating, the ghost of his torso pressed against your back as he would leave a peppering of kisses over your shoulder, in the crook of your neck and stopping right over the jugular, caressing the sensitive skin with his breath. Seonghwa was in the way you lied down to bed, always occupying the same side, gliding under the sheets that, even though you had washed them, softened them time and time again, you swore still held his echoes - how your body tried to reignite the reminiscence of how his arm would languidly find purchase on your hips or waist, how he would whisper sweet nothings into your ear, the shameless adoration tickling your cheek and colouring it in a faint blush. As you shut the safe with more aggression than anticipated, making the cabinet rattle from the impact, you shut your eyes, the sensation of the memory becoming too strong to handle. Seonghwa’s hands tracing abstract shapes on your stomach, sides, seemingly absent-mindedly trailing upwards to tease a timid gasp out of you, only to follow the curves and contours of your body down until he could have you in ultimate pleasure. And how, polite as ever, he would ask for it. Ask to touch you, beg for it unabashedly, recounting just how good he had been for you, how he would do anything for you, should you command him. 

Seonghwa’s blind faith in you, his trust in harmony between outlaws and the timelessness of your union was the very reason you stepped away. With every fibre of what you had remaining of your tainted heart you wished for him to find someone better, someone safer, as far as possible from the rotten criminal hydra of which you were one of the many heads. Part of you always held onto the hope that he would leave the city for good. You knew there were better places out there where he could thrive not as a gang member or a fiend of the roads, but as an artist, a dreamer. You had heard enough stories of lands across the oceans where the sun smiled down on those who walked the grounds there, and how people had choice. Desperately, you wanted Seonghwa to make the right one and leave. But all your senses were far too close to overpowering your rationality that served as the single stop sign for the both of you. The one flicker that would set the gasoline ablaze, and leave you two to burn, unable to turn back. Without bothering to turn on any lights, you felt for your bedroom, stripping off the clothes that screamed both business and dealing, and collapsing onto the covers. Hands tracing the lace of your lingerie, you mused what the man of your dreams and nightmares was up to, across the district, under the same omniscient and omnipresent moon, perhaps thinking of you. His name rolled off your tongue far too easily, too comfortably for it to be forbidden. You knew exactly what would happen should he appear instead of another rose, and this awareness - you feared.

As soon as you stepped into the complex, met with the ancient and occasionally flickering bulb that hung right above the entryway, barely outside of the swinging reach of the rusted metal door, you felt the air had shifted while you were gone. The first sign, however, you had caught onto a lot earlier, during your brisk walk down the street, where you caught sight of a familiar motorcycle parked some ways off to the side, obscured by the smog-dulled trees and coughing shrubbery, and only just peeking out from behind a couple of dumpsters. You had to give it to Seonghwa, the place he chose to hide the vehicle was one of the best in the vicinity, but it was not a surprise - something told you that he had your part of the city mapped out and committed to memory, judging by how easily he navigated every corner, and knew exactly where and when you could catch sight of his presence. Slowly, you stepped towards the stairs, trying to steady your breath, failing to ignore the accelerating pace of your heart. The drumming overtook you, pushing away any sense of control and commitment to rejection, and it was as if you could feel every capillary, every artery and vein being set on fire, oxygen being reduced to nothing, lungs screaming and smoke filling your skull. Leaden legs lifting themselves one step, another until you covered the first flight, making a turn. Forgetting to count, you let your instincts guide you, and even though you knew that you were not going to find them, you were half hoping for another rose and note, a secure arrangement that meant you could fool yourself into not feeling as strongly as you, in reality, did. Suddenly, your suit was too tight over your body, the collar digging into your flesh, the sleeves constricting. You wanted to melt away, sink into the floor, turn into concrete, into the walls or the particles that drifted with the drafts before you were to come face to face with what you were so adamant on denying, with whom you were so adamant on denying. The sturdy soles of your dress shoes resounded on the hard stone stairs, marking your arrival. There was no going back, not now, not ever. As soon as the door to your part of the complex closed, so did the door to a destiny without the man who you could now spot on the next flight of stairs, sat outstretched on the cold angularity, elbows perched on one step higher than his body, impeccably balanced while his legs, bent slightly, were stationed on the flat turning. As you regarded his form through the dark grey, sparse railings, taking in the gravity of his unbelievable presence he did not spare you a single glance, instead choosing to remain downcast, peering off to the side, at the merging of the wall and stairs, or maybe he was caught up in his own thoughts, much like you had been a few too many days and nights.

It was only when you stopped right in front of him, stock still, crossing your arms - be it in defence or in threat, did he look up at you, shattering your heart into an innumerable torrential downpour of pieces. Eyes hidden behind those clear visor glasses were misty, hinting at unspilled melancholia, unexpressed need that only you could tear out of him, a living energy that had always been a sacrifice to your being. At your feet, much like how he was now, even though the pose which he had found himself in was nothing like what he had meant in the notes, in the actions, in the past. Seonghwa pushed himself off the stairs, sitting up straighter, head tilting upwards to not break eye contact. Almost as though if he were to look away, you would evaporate. The buttoned up silver collar of his jacket, concealing a few chains underneath, was gently applying pressure to his neck as he moved without daring to make any excessive movements, including adjusting his clothes. The man determined that he was toeing a far too dangerous line to try his luck with confidence.

After so long, after so many roses, after so many secrets that he had spilled in his poetry he could not continue any longer. Gone were the days when your mirage was enough, a hallucinatory visitation in the middle of his day never did satisfy him, but out of fear of disappointing you, he never went ahead with his urges and the cries of every nerve cell. Distance. A hint of your existence, a glimmer of the lights in your apartment, a dismissive picking up of his gifts from the window sill - those were his only joys as of late, but even that was no longer enough. He wanted you. He needed you. He needed you like a man needed air, needed earth, water, and fire. Seonghwa marked too many days on his calendar, drove too many miles without there being one last hope. So he gave into a risk, and bet his own life on it. As he allowed himself to drown in your ethereal glow, the beautiful, pleading man only just caught onto the words that sliced through the months of silence.

“No rose this time?”

Seonghwa let out a breath he did not know he was holding, and reached out for your legs, pulling you closer to him in a desperate call. Wrapping his strong arms around you, he pressed his forehead into your thighs, only a bite of the lip holding him back from breaking apart. He could not care less if you were going to scold him for crumpling your outfit, or for staining it with tears if they were to spill, for it was worth it. You were real. You were here. You were speaking to him and regarding him. Practically falling onto you and at your feet, Seonghwa wanted to be as close as possible, blend with and into you. Taken aback by the suddenness of the lurch towards you, you could only hold your hands up and let the proximity intoxicate you. Staring down at the top of his head, you had to give up your equilibrium to the man if you were to stay standing. Stay above him. And yet, a stray hand found itself floating through and towards the dark, slicked back locks that your palms remembered far too well. As you followed the lines of each strand, digits grazing the scalp, gently patting the impossibly soft and luscious hair, Seonghwa breathed raggedly beneath you, shaking ever so slightly. For how long had he been keeping it in, you wondered. For how long had he been carrying the weight of feeling with him without letting it escape into public exposure. Gently, you hooked the glasses upwards, letting them rest on the top of his head - a gesture that made him look up once more, hands still clenched around the material of your trousers. A flush of pink across his face, glistening eyes and the beginnings of a waterfall marking his relief threatening to trickle down his cheeks. You noted how his lips parted a couple of times, almost like he was in search to find the right words to say to you, maybe he had even already found them, but none made their way to your auditory, remaining a pantomime. Seonghwa was waiting for everything, and his everything was you.

“Oh come on, Hwa, why are you- up. Let’s get up, yeah?” you motioned with both hands for him to get up, and when he would not follow took a hold of his forearms, tugging until he submitted to the request, more moisture rushing to the surface as he was now right here, level with you on the same ground, in one another’s arms like before, with his nickname turning to the most magical melody when you uttered it, “Hwa, no, don’t cry, baby, I can’t stand to see you hurting.”

Thumbs running under his gorgeous eyes, over the stunning smooth skin and hands stopping to cup his face, you admired him with a full heart, letting go of prior inhibitions. There was no point in trying to ignore what had always been, what you would never be able to escape. You hated how you made him feel this pain. You knew you were the instigator, it was obvious to anyone how you were the one who did not want to follow through with hardships and looked for an easy way out, only finding dead ends and lies in the process. His aroma embraced you in a hypnotising cloud, the same one that never left you. The addictive sweetness that you wanted more, more of until there was nothing remaining. Leaning closer to Seonghwa, you took it in, faces a mere centimetre apart, suspense on a single breath. 

“I’m sorry, I could not help it… I-”

“I should be the one who is sorry, baby, don’t say that,” he was too good for this world, you concluded yet again. The longer you knew Seonghwa, the more convinced you became that he was not meant for the city, nor for the life you or he led. You needed to work harder if that could mean buying your and his freedom out of this system.

“Sorry…” he mumbled again, unsteady, inching towards you until his nose brushed against yours. His gloved hands were securely under your suit jacket, toying with the fabric of your white shirt. You nudged him again, reassuring that he was doing everything right, that at least now, he was safe. With you, he was safe.

One of your hands etched the alluring edges of his jawline, travelling down his body and stopping at the jacket. Index finger under the collar, you tugged on the silver material, earning a deeper, expectant sigh from the man. As you snapped the button, pushing the outerwear apart to give you access to his accessories, you felt the metal - warm from the impossible heat oozing from Seonghwa, and slid your digits down the middle of the chest, stopping momentarily at the solar plexus, catching the erratic rhythm of his heart, so intense that you would not be shocked if it were to jump out at any second. You pulled at the black material of his tank top, forcing him to be up right against you, and to stop him from attempting to apologise any more, shifted attention to direct him by his chin. At your mercy, Seonghwa followed. Plush lips parted in anticipation, glossy orbs gaining a darker undertone in the palette contained within, he waited for your final say.

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes. Damn, yes. So much. Too much.” he whispered feverishly, fingers digging into your hips as he sensed your intentions.

“In what ways did you miss me, Seonghwa darling?” knowing that he would achieve nothing if he were to close the gap now, your reawakened passion darted between watching how your mouth moved as you spoke, and studying your irises, head clouded by what had been, and what could be.

“In… every way.”

“Oh, baby, you’re going to have to be a lot more detailed than that.” you mumbled against his lips, leaning away just as he was about to instinctively seek you out.

“I… your company… your words…”

“Should I move? So we can talk?” you teased, jokingly trying to detangle yourself, but to no avail as Seonghwa’s hold got only stronger, and you felt the leather of his trousers fully aligned and pressed against yours. He was impatient, seeking any form of friction, and yet was still holding out well. 

“No… please Y/N.”

“Then tell me, what did you miss, exactly, so I can help you out?” an intensity behind the question threw Seonghwa off balance, making his head spin. Your newfound mastery of the dual renaissance bled onto the pages of the future, yet to be written, determined by every action.

“Your lips.”

“Mhm,” you leaned closer, planting a pack on his lips when he least expected it. Just enough to make him realise what you had done, but not any more, denying him the satisfaction of falling into you. Upon hearing his frustrated whine - music to your growing desire, you continued, “what else?”

“Your- your tongue.” he stuttered, eyelashes fluttering as he glanced everywhere except at you, all while rocking ever so slightly on the spot.

“Elaborate, sweetheart, or do I need to drag everything out of you?” you tightened your hold on his chin, dragging him back to you. 

“No. Goodness… this is embarrassing…” 

“Oh, is my poor baby getting shy? Since when? You always made such pretty sounds for me and now can’t tell me what you want. How am I supposed to take that, hm?” Seonghwa’s cheeks transformed before you, traversing every shade of pink before settling on the deepest hue, “will you be good for me, Hwa? Will you tell me what you missed?”

“I,” he paused, reconsidering, weighing his words, “I miss the way you make me lose my breath when you kiss me. I miss how you unravel me, ruin me with your tongue and mouth around my cock. I miss the feeling of you riding me, I love how every part of you and I is riddled in pleasure as I fill you up with cum and how you don’t stop until I am barely present, and then you bring me right back. I miss how you know me. How you- how you taste. I miss you, Y/N,” he shot at lightning speed, stumbling over his words as he revealed the scenes of his long-standing collections of fantasies that echoed from when you had lived heart to heart, body to body.

The depiction set you ablaze more fiercely than before, and any hints of fear were fully replaced by a carnal greed for the man before you. Need was an understatement. You redefined sin with your voiceless urgency, pushing yourself into Seonghwa’s arms fully, feeling a considerably stronger pressure against your hips where he was standing - clearly you were not the only one who was damning the existence of locks and doors that were barring you from direct access to your apartment.

“See, was that so hard? Now, let me show you how much I miss you.”

A rush, an all consuming energy, a passion that you had not known, taken for granted and realised only when you purposefully lost it and gained it back thanks to Seonghwa being the one to not give up on you, on the flame the two of you created. Your lips moved in a seamless tandem as you stumbled forwards, pushing Seonghwa closer and closer to the door. Fortunately, he had a good enough sense of his surroundings to not trip, falling only for you. You hummed into the sensation, heat pooling to your core as you tasted the coolness of his grills. Nipping at his lush lower lip, you beckoned him to deepen the kiss, a request to which he obliged almost immediately, tilting his head for a better angle. Groaning into the intimacy, you fished out your keys, and after a couple of clumsy tries, finally heard the click of the mechanism. With his foot Seonghwa curled around the door, opening it to give the two of you access, and just barely, you managed to catch it back and slam it shut. As soon as the sound reverberated over the two of you, a switch flipped in your lover, and his hands which were previously almost tied to your hips now freely roamed your body, relearning it, tracing every curve like there was nothing better in this world. Like you were the statue of a goddess and he was a devoted sculptor, working on the masterpiece for all of eternity, aware that he would never be able to replicate the true beauty but still remaining fixated on the blessing that was the process.

Shoes left in a messy pile on the doormat - a problem for later, the two of you tripped over one another, choosing to remain in one another’s arms as you finally made it down the corridor and to your bedroom. As you stood by the frame, you ran over Seonghwa’s inner lips with your tongue, seeking access, and relishing in his taste, better than you could have ever recalled even if you made the effort to. Seonghwa tasted of longing, of a faith that was so rare you swore he was a man from long-forgotten myth or fairy tale, and of the slightest hint of strawberry that he loved so much - the first contraband not meant for human ruin that you had arranged transport and distribution for. Tongue grazing the gold that covered his lower teeth you were finally fully aware, trusting the now; you were not dreaming, you were with him, and you need not deny yourself nor him.

You led him deeper into the room, patient as he felt for the bed behind him to obediently take a seat. Taking his glasses off his head, leaving them on top of a dresser, and motioned for him to rid himself of the jacket and gloves, an order that was punctuated by the articles falling with a thud to the floor. Chuckling to yourself as you recalled Seonghwa’s usual concern with neatness and organisation, the action turned to be a confirmation of his yearning for you. Your own jacket now hanging off the back of a chair located in the far corner of the room, you sauntered back to Seonghwa, swinging a leg over his lap and taking a comfortable seat, facing him. His breath hitched as you grinded closer, feeling his clothed arousal against your body. Following the motion with a few more moves of your hips, Seonghwa gasped, letting his head fall forward, forehead hitting the crook of your neck.

“Y/N, please.”

“Please what?”

“I need you…”

“How do you need me?” you coaxed every wish out of him, gaining pleasure every time he would pause to contain his urge to hide, to back out of answering you, aware of the consequences if he dared to question or dishonour your demands in this sultry ritual.

“I need your mouth, please love, I cannot stand this.”

“But it is right here,” you pointed at your lips, reddened from the previous contact, a coy smile rendering Seonghwa helpless.

“Do you not feel it? Please Y/N I am begging you I need you to su-”

“Not so fast, pretty boy, I need you to convince me.” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence, “can you do that for me?”

“Yes, a million times yes. Please.”

“I suppose I’ll be nice and help you with my clothes,” one button, another, it seemed that Seonghwa was counting with you, ravenous. His hands undid the button and zipper of your trousers, pulling at them to ask for you to let him slide them off. In a few practised moves, you were left only in your bra and panties, a lacy white, earning whispers of praise from Seonghwa, a love for just how well the piece he had bought you some time ago looked, and you, by a twist of fate, happened to choose to wear today.

“Will you lie down for me? All the way up,” without further explanation, Seonghwa shimmied backwards until his head practically hit the headboard, eyes remaining on you, widening as you hastily took off your panties, exposing what he had been pleading for. Crawling towards him, you placed a hand on his chest to tap him out of a lustful stupor, “now darling, can you show me how much you missed my taste?” a nod, another, but you did not move, “words, Seonghwa, I need words.”

“Yes, let me taste your pussy, please.”

“Of course, since you asked so nicely.”

Positioning yourself over Seonghwa’s face, you gripped onto the headboard and lowered yourself until a hungry tongue ran over your already soaked folds, making you gasp. With tentative licks he drew tender, slow circles over your clit before dragging his tongue back to taste you fully, moving in and out of your hole, curling into it. He returned his attention to your sensitive bud, rolling right over its tip, earning a rewarding moan which spurred his eagerness to drive you to higher pleasure. Knuckles turning white from your efforts to maintain at least some illusion of balance, your breaths quickened as he continued to run his tongue over your core, accelerating the buildup of your climax with every flick. Attentive, worshipping every part of you, he sucked on your clit, relishing in the taste of your slick that now coated him. 

His hands found purchase on your thighs, levelling you and bringing you even closer to him until his nose was pressed against you, and tongue driven deeper into your wet cunt. A parched man, Seonghwa groaned against you as he felt the first signs of your approaching orgasm, with the vibration sending an electrifying jolt straight to your core. 

“Ah- Hwa I-”

“You taste so good, thank you, love,” he mumbled from under you, only to return to abusing your heat with his swift tongue, speeding up as he felt your pussy begin to clench, beg for more, and a light trembling start to course through your muscles. Burying his head between your legs and lapping at the nectar from the lustful, voracious pokes into your hole at the very base to intricate sensuality over your clit, Seonghwa drove you over the edge.

Supporting you through your orgasm with his powerful arms, he moaned as you rode it out, drinking your release and revelling in its sweetness. Stars in your vision, you struggled to lower yourself off your lover, a shudder running over your body as he lifted you a little higher, sliding upwards to give himself a better angle. The action snapped you out of a loss, and you found yourself kneeling next to him, smiling in gratitude.

“Such a good boy for me, thank you my love.”

“Always. May I… kiss you?” he inquired meekly, wondering if his present state could potentially deter you.

“Of course,”  you leaned in, closing the space, tasting yourself on Seonghwa’s lips, tongue and grills, but even then, nothing could be more perfect. His hand stretched to run over the side of your face, motivating you to come closer. Fingers in your hair, tugging ever so gently left you breathless. Breaking away, you mumbled promises against his lips, hands moving to work on his leather trousers.

Getting the hint, his top, too, was soon found strewn on the floor, leaving him in the accessories that appeared to only highlight his beauty, so meticulously picked and paired that you had to force to take your gaze away. His irresistible tanned body, every rise and fall of his chest highlighted by the shadows that decorated the room. His beguiling, glazed over expression that was trained on you as you planted kiss after kiss on his torso, each making him question if he could ever breathe again.

“I missed you, Hwa, so,” one peck, “so,” another, “much,” ending below his navel, hand hovering over his member, so painfully erect that you almost felt guilty for getting him to eat you out first.

“I missed you ah-” hand coated in precum and your spit, you positioned it at the base of his cock, causing the abrupt cut in his response. With a steady pumping, you addressed Seonghwa, feigning obliviousness.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

“I- I- fuck-” squeezing its girth, you rubbed circles over the tip, making him lose his train of thought, or its remnants.

“So?” holding his dick in place, you waited for his response before reacting to his earlier words.

“Y/N I missed you- ah shi-” upon hearing the sought after phrase you lowered your head.

Opening your mouth, you shifted position to take in as much of him as you could, gliding your tongue against the shaft in practised motions and moaning as you felt him twitch with the warmth. The dribble that ran down the still exposed length added to the wantonness of the situation as you left behind any wish to remain cautious with Seonghwa; after all, he had been explicit with his love for ruin. Centering yourself, you relax your jaw further, taking in more until you could sense the tip approaching the back of your throat. You placed one hand on your lover’s pubic bone, warning him to not buck his hips, even though you were perfectly trusting of him remaining obedient. Dragging your head up and back down, it was easier moving to the sounds escaping from Seonghwa’s throat.

Gripping onto the bed sheets, he was abandoning the clarity and resolve with which he had showed up at your door so many times. Rose after rose he had not been sure if it was you he was convincing or himself. But here, amidst the unfathomably divine pleasure, Seonghwa was merely grateful for how trivial it was, how natural it was for you to take him back. His high was fast-approaching, but before he could act on it you were already removing yourself with a lewd pop, fingers between your folds and twisting to massage your overstimulated clit. Unclasping your bra, you noticed Seonghwa’s otherwise unfocused gaze immediately switching to paying close attention to your breasts, cock twitching in anticipation as you repositioned yourself to be on top of him. Teasing the tip of his leaking member by trailing it between your folds, you watched Seonghwa’s face contort in pleasure once more, wholly submitted to you as you guided it inside of your pussy. As you sank down on him, sighing from the way in which he filled you up, pushing against your walls in all the right places, Seonghwa grunted, eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed from the stimulation. It was clear that he was using all the strength he had left to hold himself back from acting rashly - he wanted you, he missed you, and he was not about to let this heaven go. 

You started to ride him, hands on either side of his body as you lifted your hips only to drive them back down, sheathing his member inside your cunt. Conscious of the fact that he should let you take the full lead, Seonghwa took to searching for anything better to hold than the sheets, crumpled into oblivion and leaving little in terms of comfort. Grounding him as you rocked your hips forward and back, you found his arms, gliding upwards until your fingers intertwined. Seonghwa’s eyes snapped open and he stared at you open-mouthed, in disbelief at your initiative for what he had clearly remembered you labelling as ‘too close for comfort’. Instead of abandoning the gesture, you tightened your hold, your own moans amplifying and joining his breathlessness as the knot in your core grew tighter and tighter with every thrust. 

“Is this- what- you cannot live without, Hwa?”

“Fuck- yes, yes, yes-” words spilled out of him while you picked up speed, spurred on by the nudge of his hips that signified he was close. When he was not submerging himself into pure darkness, he could only manage to register the rhythmic motion of your breasts and an 

“Can’t stop thinking of this pussy even when your cock is stuffed inside, huh?”

“Love this pussy- please, Y/N…”

“Love to be fucked dumb by me?”

“Yes, please I- I am so close Y/N…” his wavering voice and feeble pants cried for affection, which you readily provided even though you had no plans of slowing down.

“I know, baby. Fill me up, fill me up with your cum. You can do it darling-”

Seonghwa did not need any more encouragement. With a final groan, suppressed only by a snapping of his jaw to turn the sound into a prolonged hiss, his hips bucked uncontrollably into you, painting your pulsing walls with ropes of white, the awaited release rendering any speech into indecipherable babble. But you still had your high to chase, and restarted your movements, grinding your hips over his throbbing member to build up your climax while Seonghwa held onto you, whining from the excessive stimulation.

“Such a good boy for me, letting me cum over your cock.”

“I- this is too much I-”

“Are you feeling okay, baby?”

“Don’t, please do not stop- I want to make you- ah, cum,” he answered, each word uneven as you raised yourself repeatedly until, with one final movement and the stroke of the tip against your most sensitive spot, you collapsed on top of your lover, a shiver running over you as your pussy clenched around his dick, milking him of the last of his release.

Rolling over to the side, but not quite wishing to move, you remained in one another’s arms, sweat glistening in the night light, adoration ablaze in every feature. Sliding out his softening member from your warmth, a shy smile adorned his lips as a mixture of slick and cum followed, spilling onto your gorgeous thighs. He tapped you on the shoulder, helping you up so that your faces would be level with one another, and pressed his forehead to yours. He focused on your proximity, pulling you closer, closer until there was no space left. He never wanted to let you go. Never again. If you so wished, you could walk away, but he was sure that his heart would remain with you.

If you wanted to, you could throw it away, burn it, cut it into pieces, but it would still be yours. As he saw his future being written in your pupils, he planted a loving kiss on your lips, for it to be returned with just as much feeling. No longer did you wish to hide it away from him. Your emotion, your expression and vision were his. It was clear to you that there was no one else in this universe who could be trusted more than him. If he so wished, you would let him leave you in the cold. If he decided you need not create, you would agree. If innovation was not in his plans, you would follow. In love was sacrifice, in love was offering, in love was future, in love were you and him. It was as simple as the unfurling of a pearl white rose, as clear as ink on white paper.

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[carrotsnake]

since peacocks don't really exist in the wild era, riju's feather patterns on her armour seemed purely cosmetic until totk, where it resembles the leaves of trees in the depths. along with the gerudo underground cemetery, it's another leftover of her people's past involvement there, passed down from each chief.

[applestruda]

woag.... imagine.. sky cotl etho....

anyways... do you guys have more designs besides the ones shown? they are very cute and I would squish them. /pos

i have! bdubs and etho live together in the underground cavern! bdubs is a little mossy cloak guy who hoards candles and etho takes the candles that bdubs has and spends them all on cosmetics he almost never wears. he would still look like a moth if bdubs didnt make him switch out of the default stuff.

[swampgallows]

From those who brought you 2020's WARSTOMP comes DRAGONSTOMP, a celebration in honor of Dragonflight and the underground rave scene!

Saturday, May 20, 2023 12PM Server Time (Pacific Time) to 1AM

🎧 Streaming: 🎧 https://www.twitch.tv/swampgallows

🐉 WoW: 🐉 Wyrmrest Accord-US, Twilight Highlands (15, 16)

After the rousing success of WARSTOMP, <bwee> and friends have come together again to celebrate the end of the Fourth War, as well as our new friends in the Dragon Isles, at DRAGONSTOMP!

Surrounded by flowers at The Circle of Life in Twilight Highlands, party-goers will enjoy countless fireworks, cluster and firework rocket launchers, flares, D.I.S.C.O. machines, and DDR (Dance Dance Darkmoon) dancefloors to light up the night. Free goodies will be available all evening as races from all across Azeroth dance together in this hard-won time of peace.

***This event will take place BOTH in World of Warcraft on Wyrmrest Accord AND live on Twitch. Join us in-game, on Twitch, or both!***

Timeslots and venue location below!

Twitch info:

Timeslots are as follows (all times pacific / WRA server time):

🌟 12 PM: Gallows 🌟 1 PM: Kontakt 🌟 2 PM: exjaynine (filling in for Hinzsight) 🌟 3 PM: Anglerfish 🌟 4 PM: Jimni Cricket 🌟 5 PM: Nick Justice 🌟 6 PM: SK 🌟 7 PM: Nyxxris 🌟 8 PM: Burst 🌟 9 PM: VampyVicious 🌟 10 PM: Buttonz 🌟 11 PM: rare92

🚂🎵🎶 Sets will be broadcasted via Twitch raid train: viewers will be automatically sent to each DJ's channel at the start of their set. This way every DJ gets unique viewership! If you like what you hear, we encourage you to donate and/or subscribe to the channel! 

Not sure where to hop on the train? My channel (twitch.tv/swampgallows) will serve as a hub during the event. 🚂🎵🎶

--

🎮 World of Warcraft details: 🎮

The event will be located at The Circle of Life in Twilight Highlands near the Vermilion Redoubt, almost on the border of the Wetlands. It is past the cave and group of lakes depicted on the northwest corner of the map.

The TomTom coordinates for Twilight Highlands are (15,16).

This area requires a flying mount to access. If you do not have a flying mount, whisper Arete-WrymrestAccord in-game and I can ferry you on a Sandstone Drake or arrange for a warlock to summon you. Not on Wyrmrest Accord? Fear not! Look for our premade group “DRAGONSTOMP” in the Group Finder!

There will be hundreds of toys and cosmetic items available: dance sticks, fortune cards, enchanted dust, inky black potions, food with fun buffs, dragon-themed drinks, and more! And don't forget the THOUSANDS of fireworks!

***

🌸 We hope you'll meet us in the meadow! For Azeroth! 🌸

[tanadrin]

Like, I might ask questions like--how ugly does someone have to be before they deserve reconstructive surgery? How violent does the event that marred their features have to be? How intrinsic? Are genes really intrinsic to who we are? How do we differentiate in a principled way between “mundane” dysphoria (which we call “vanity” and devalue) over “deserving” dysphoria? Is it not equally cruel to look at a trans person, someone whose features have been ravaged by jaw cancer, and someone born to features society as a whole strongly devalues, and say “you just need to learn to love yourself?” And how do we--or more likely, a faceless bureaucracy whose primary incentive is cost-cutting--as an external observer, make a principled distinction between mental states we cannot observe, especially when our judgement is also clouded by what we value, what we think of as “normal” or “desirable” (or “vain” or “silly”)?

(There are more mundane harm-reduction questions, too, like “should people who want crazy body mods have to go to untrained or semi-untrained underground professionals to have them done, or can we let doctors do them without stripping them of their medical license?” Which isn’t relevant to the question of who should pay for it, but it is relevant to the overall question of “what attitude should we have as a society towards bodily autonomy?” Which I think informs the previous question.)

And I think--though I might get shit for this--our attitudes on this question can also be influenced by the disgust responses inculcated in us by society. After all, authentic beauty is something that is treated as being both normative and effortless. So society sneers at (and we are taught to sneer at) anyone who tries to achieve normative beauty through external means (and to treat anyone who aspires to non-normative aesthetics as a lunatic or a freak). They are necessarily shallow, silly vain rich people wasting their money, at best the victims of capitalism or marketing.

But capitalism and marketing didn’t invent beauty standards; they didn’t invent humans wanting attention and validation and sex from each other; they certainly didn’t invent cosmetics, or the desire to look youthful. I think it is often much easier to blame vast abstractions for what are in fact very old, very common human impulses. And I think it’s a little bit cruel to look down on people for being subject to those impulses, given that we are all subject to them to one extent or another.

[surra-de-bunda]

June Mack in Scoop Magazine No 12 (1983).

The Mistress of Hollywood

June Mack was June Cassandra Mincher. Born in Louisiana in January 1955. Eighth child in a family of dirt-poor, hardscrabble, ex-sharecroppers. Food was always in short supply. Love and affection were non-existent. June grew up ignored and forgotten. She retreated to a fantasy world. Took refuge in TV re-runs of old movies. Harlow. Lombard. Monroe. Vampy, trampy blondes. Women with smooth skin and pointed noses. A southern Black girl didn’t have the luxury of idols that looked like her. Then June hit puberty. She got curves, got noticed, and got options. Suddenly life happened. No more hopping tables at the local Hi-D-Ho. She got attention and exploited it. She parlayed it into cash the most old-fashioned way. She took control on the vinyl tuck and roll, pleasing the light-skinned boys she barely even knowed. Her new found power bought a one-way greyhound ticket out of the south. Double time. As fast as shit through a goose. She had one destination in mind. Hollywoodland. Home of the movie princesses she loved. She grabbed a lease on a small apartment and a part-time job as a nurse. She sprung for a new wardrobe. A different kind of clothing. Attire that would get noticed. She placed an ad in the underground newspaper. “Sexy Black & Indian. 56-26-42. Private Apt. Come Worship My Body. Call Raven. Generous Men Only.” She took clients. The bucks rolled in before the first month’s rent was due. But June had greater ambition than being a part time nurse, part time sex worker, full time dreamer. She wanted to be someone. She wanted a whole new identity. Several of them in fact. At one point, she had at least 33 aliases. June Mack was just one. Her face and body had to change. Not just for the johns, but to erase every detail from where she came. She spent $20k on cosmetic surgery. Quacks pumped silicone into her face, hips, cheeks. She bought a pointed nose just like her idols, and a chin to match. She expanded her chest to a blouse-busting 66 inches. The new June emerged. She stood out in any company.

[persnicketypomelo]

*dashes into the room*

*trips over a stack of books*

you write for POTO?!???? oh kind human there isn’t enough ajdjdjd

I love your headcanons and requests!!! And I was wondering if you could write headcanons for musical!erik and leroux!erik (and if you have any particular favorites through them in as well) with a reader who has some sort of imperfection (my immediate thought was a combination of vitiligo and white patches in their hair)?

Thank you have a great great day!!

Thank you for reading my writing! ❤️ It makes me happy to know that someone out there enjoys my writing! I lumped together these two asks since they were similar.

Also have a post similar to this one here.

spoilers, manipulation, obsession

Phantom discovering someone else with imperfections

Musical Erik

Perhaps your imperfection or unique trait is easily covered through cosmetics or well placed accessories

Perhaps your trait is not so easily disguised

Let’s say your appearance is easily noticeable, or any efforts to disguise your appearance draws attention

In the scenario where you attempt to disguise any abnormality, the Phantom notices your firm attachment to your accessory or chosen garment

Even though your clothing changes, you’re always wearing that one item

Stalking is something both Phantoms would resort to

They like to know of the comings and goings of their theatre, and once you attract their attention, they feel the compulsive urge to gain insight and knowledge of your life

In my opinion, it is far more likely that they discover the secret you keep about your appearance when you take off your accessory to allow some airflow, mistakenly believing you’re alone

This rendition of Erik would most certainly manipulate any insecurity over your appearance if that’s what it takes to get you in his grasp

I’ve mentioned in previous posts that I believe he finds power and control in his mask

For this reason, he would forbid you from wearing any cover up around him

Your insecurities, your true appearance, your soul lay bare to him, and you are powerless to his will

He delights in his power over you, not for any superficial or greedy reason, but because he is a hurt and misguided person who correlates love with possession

He was subject to the whims of the man who set up him up as an exhibit in a freak show, powerless and weak—and as a result—he feels security only in his relative power

Just give into him: in mind, body, and soul—only look at him, only show him your insecurities, stay with him in the dark underground for eternity, and he’ll be the happiest man alive

Leroux Erik

I think this Erik’s love for you and perception of your imperfection is far sweeter than the musical version

Upon seeing that feature you so desperately try to hide, his heart softens and melts

From then on, his desire to protect you and shield you from the world

So fragile…so vulnerable… the world will surely trample and stomp on your soft heart unless he protects you

From then on, you will be whisked away to his dark, underground abode

You are never to return to the surface without his presence to guard you, and even so, never at a time when there are too many people milling about

The most lenient he will be is allowing you an evening walk with him by the river

Although Leroux’s phantom may have sweeter intentions, it manifests in wildly controlling behaviours

Perhaps, for your own sake, it is better to try not to let him ever know you hide a physical imperfection

Else, you are doomed to an eternity underground, suffering an insanity worse than any trouble your physical appearance caused you

[theworkshopmann]

Tidy Undergrounder

Responsible for high fashion in Edinburgh

Type: Cosmetic/misc

Class: Demoman

Paintable: Yes

Accepted in game: No

This cosmetic was made by Steam users Grind while they sleep and BE NICE 2 ME. Posted on November 21st 2023, you can vote for this here!

[chickenmeow]

[chacochilla]

Various Undertale Headcanons

Felt like doing this. It's mostly about minor characters and NPCs

The Froggit you speak to about the yellow names is friends with the ruins dummy. That's how it can get the entire underground to change their spare names from yellow to white or pink, despite being unable to leave the Ruins. It just asks the Dummy to tell the folk outside. That Froggit is also one of the only people that know they exist. Most others don't realize that dummy has a ghost living in it

The last non ghost, human, or flower to leave the Ruins were Whimsalot, Final Froggit, and Astigmatism. They had to 'face the horrible monster that guards the gate to Snowdin' to leave (Fought Toriel until she opened the door for them. Toriel didn't do much fighting). Whimsalot feels a lot of guilt for leaving Whimsun behind

Crystal (Snowdrake's mom) was born incredibly weak and was always bound for a short life. The reason she fell in love with Snowy's dad is cause he joked around about her condition. Those around him thought his jokes were in poor taste, but Crystal appreciated someone making light of her situation instead of just treating her with pity and sadness. The jokes sounding mean to Crystal was part of the reason a rift grew between him and Snowdrake

Ice Cap's family has a strong tradition of making ice clothing. It started off as a way to make armor easily, but later just became for cosmetics. Ice Cap's love of its own hat comes from them wanting acknowledgment and attention from their family. Its hard mode counterpart would be called Ice Sage. Probably look like a wizard

Noelle's mom grew up in Snowdin forest, far from Snowdin Town. Gyftrot is an older relative of hers, and like them, she enjoys solitude. Her outgoing husband managed to break through her shell a bit, but after his death, she went back to being a hermit.

Noelle and Dess often sneak off into town together. Going off to get them back home is one of the only reasons Carol ever leaves the house. The townsfolk are slightly intimidated by her

Assuming Dess is around Burgerpants' age and Noelle is around Frisk's age, they'd be about 19 and 12 respectively. Might make them closer to 17 and 13 just to they weren't born so far apart

The red bird in Grillby's is Berdly's mom. Berdly himself is in Hotland for school and to work with Ms. Boom, so they usually don't see each other often. Berdly does call a lot though, red bird telling him about the goings on and gossip in the rest of the underground. I'm unsure what became of Berdly's dad

Alvin is a professor Hotland University, teaching history with an interest in religion and legends

Waterfall has a lot of farms we don't see. Aaron lives on one, but was always more interested in flexing and working on his muscles than actually working. His brother did most of the work around the farm until he fell down. In Deltarune, his brother's still alive, and Aaron is a little jealous of his physique

Loren and Rainy kid are friends

Catti's hair is natrually purple, like her mom's. Catty helped dye it black with a pink streak

Bratty has two younger siblings. Creepy twins

[rabbitcruiser]

International Rabbit Day

International Rabbit Day is celebrated on September 23 of this year. A day for the rabbits or bunnies as to bring awareness about the plight they are facing. Rabbits are the long-eared, short-tailed mammal with fluffy soft hair which is not only pets but are killed for various other reasons. The International Rabbit Day is observed as to promote, protect and care for the rabbits both the domestic and wild.

“The raccoons, foxes, beavers, chinchillas, minks, rabbits, and yes, sometimes even dogs and cats that are killed for fur are not very different from your beloved dog or cat. They all have eyes, ears, and hearts. They all experience pain when they are physically maimed. They shake with fear when they experience terror.” – Jane Velez-Mitchell

History of International Rabbit Day

International Rabbit Day was founded by The Rabbit Charity from the UK in the year 1998. The day will usually be observed on the fourth Saturday or Sunday in the month of September. The aim of the Charity is to protect abandoned or unwanted rabbits and provide them with permanent shelters. Celebrating the day for bunnies will promote and educate all sort of people about the threats faced by them. Rabbits can be kept as a pet as they will be a good companionship to the humans. Rabbits are usually referred as a symbol of fertility or rebirth. They have long been related to the spring and Easter as the Easter Bunny. The habitat of rabbits includes grasslands, meadows, woods, deserts, and wetlands. Rabbits usually live in groups, and the European rabbits are the best-known species. They live in the underground burrows, or in the rabbit holes. More than half of the world’s rabbit population lives in the North America. Most often people think that rabbits are quiet and reserved pets, but any rabbit parent will tell you that the pet rabbits have a lot of personalities and offer lots of companionships. When rabbits are happy, then they will jump and twist which is called as the binky. Bunnies are very expressive and sensitive mammals that do all kinds of quirky and endearing behavior. On the other side, rabbits are harmed for medical and cosmetic testing, hunting, eating, fur farming and, casseroling. Thus, International Rabbit Day aims in providing some awareness about this charming little bunnies.

How to Celebrate International Rabbit Day

The best way to celebrate International Rabbit Day is you can adopt a bunny if hadn’t owned one. If you already have a bunny, then take some extra time to spend with those lovable pets. Bring awareness to the people near you about the plight of the rabbits.

Source

[jeon-s-sins]

Fighter │ Two

Synopsis: A few days later, after your unfortunate encounter in the alley, you had finally decided not to live in fear but to equip yourself with items that would help you defend yourself if necessary. You had finally settled into your apartment and were finally able to focus on your job interviews and internship applications. But some unfortunate news disrupted your plans for the evening, making you want to move on and get your mind off things. As you head to the nearest bar, you realize it's not just a bar, but a place where underground fights occur. Just as you're about to leave, you make an unexpected discovery about your unknown savior.

Warning: alcohol, fights.

Word count: 4.7 k 

Chapter’s song: Graveyard - NEFFEX

n/a: English is not my first language, so I may have missed some mistakes while proofreading. Enjoy your reading, and please don’t forget to vote and comment 😁.

Translations, republications, and rewritings of my stories are not allowed. Failure to comply with this request will result in legal action.

©Jeon_s_Sins

↤ Previous │ Index │ m.list │ Ask │ ☕️

Several days had passed since your misadventure in the alley. Since that night, you had ensured you had your back when leaving your house. To increase your safety, you had even invested in a defensive keychain. It consisted of a 5 million volt stun gun, pepper spray, and a kubotan (a self-defense weapon). There was also a self-defense pocket alarm. When you pressed the button, a shrill sound would be heard. First, it would scare off the attackers, and second, it would alert those nearby to your condition, maximizing your chances of escaping. 

You didn't want this to affect your life. Sure, it was very complicated, and you still felt their hands on your body for several days. But you also felt lucky. A lot of people are not as fortunate as you. They don't necessarily come out unscathed, sometimes even worse: dead. 

So you didn't want to shut yourself off. You hoped to live for all those who didn't have that chance anymore. 

Unfortunately, you had other things to think about. For example, your last year of school. For this last year, you had to intern in a company and then write a thesis about it to finally get your degree. You started sending your application to several companies a few weeks ago, but none seemed to want to respond. There are only three months left before the mandatory internship start date, and you still need something.

You have applied to all kinds of companies. Fashion companies, food companies, furniture companies, event companies, and the list goes on. But you didn't lose hope. You continued sending your applications to three or four companies daily, hoping for a positive response from at least one.

It was Friday night, and you had just left the building where your last class of the day had been held. You were exhausted. You got into your new car, which you had finally bought three days ago after so many years of saving, and drove to the supermarket to shop for the week. You took the opportunity to pick up a few snacks before making a detour to the mall to make everyday purchases such as new clothes, cosmetics, and decorations for your apartment.

Back home, you put away your groceries and loaded the washing machine with your new clothes and the ones you had used during the week. The decorations you bought quickly found a place in the apartment. Tonight, you wanted to relax. And for that, a nice warm bath was welcome. 

Now you found yourself on your couch, the computer on your lap, while the movie Fullmetal Alchemist was playing. While you "watched" the film - or listened to it without paying attention - you wrote applications for a new internship. You didn't have a favorite company. All that mattered was that you found an internship to end your student life once and for all.

So far, you have contacted about fifty companies, but they have yet to respond. But just as you clicked the "Send" button in your mailbox, you heard a "ping" sound on your computer. In the primary mailbox, you realize that a company is finally contacting you. It was about time! 

Holy shit! 

They offered you an online meeting for tonight. Without further ado, you replied as soon as you finished reading the entire email content. As soon as you sent it, you jumped off the couch and ran full speed into your room. You almost fell twice before you reached your destination. You only had about thirty minutes before your appointment. You opened your closet and pulled out a thin, strapless black dress with a white blazer that you would wear over it. You certainly weren't going to stand up during the interview, but that didn't stop you from at least looking presentable. 

Once you were dressed, your hair done, and your makeup lightly applied, you had prepared the area where you would hold the online meeting - the kitchen counter. In addition, it was a good day. You had an electrical outlet not far away and would use it to charge your computer. When you were ready, about five minutes before the meeting, you logged in using the link that was sent to you by email. 

When you logged in, the screen went black, but it didn't take long for the image of a man to appear on your screen. The meeting had started well, perhaps too well. His proposals were attractive but outside your area of expertise. He had the people to do the job.

You didn't really understand what he was saying. It could have been perfect for you if they had enough people in sales and negotiation. It would mean they would have more time and more people to "train" you. But he believes they would have offered you a job in the company since you were graduating this year. So you could be taken and trained in a department they needed the most.

In a way, he was right. And with your course, you could have quickly gone into marketing. But that wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to be in something other than marketing. You wanted to be in sales and negotiations. You tried to move, travel, and take risks, not sit behind a screen, creating and analyzing a market and targets. 

So, you thanked him for taking the time to interview you before ending the meeting. 

At that moment, you were frustrated. You have been applying to companies for months and have yet to have positive feedback. The only company that responded to you wanted to deviate from your original plan. You were frustrated and beyond tired. For tonight, you had had enough. It was time to move on. You needed to clear your head. So you shut down your computer with a sharp snap before you put on your shoes, grabbed your car and house keys, and left your apartment. 

As you got into your car, you placed your phone in the magnetic holder on the dashboard of your vehicle. You were looking for a bar, a nightclub, or something. You had changed your plans. You didn't want a quiet night anymore. You wanted to dance and clear your head. 

You remembered seeing a bar the night you went shopping. It was close to your house. "What was the name again?" You tried to find a clue in your memories. You knew it was a compound name. It was the "Den" of something. Not wanting to torture yourself any longer, you opened the Google Maps application and typed in the first part of the bar's name.

"Bingo." The Devil's Den was the name of the bar. You selected the bar's name on your phone's GPS, and when the route appeared on the screen, you put the key in the ignition and drove to the bar. 

It wasn't exactly what you expected to find when you entered the so-called "bar." There seemed to be more men than women. There were a few, but all were accompanied by men.

A ring was in the middle of the room, which was unusual for a bar. Even stranger was the fact that there were bars surrounding the boxing ring. It was more like a cage, just like in the X-Men movie when Rogue meets Wolverine for the first time. 

The room was built on two levels - or rather balconies - where it was already crowded. Some people were laughing, some were talking, and some were drinking while holding signs with names on them. The room's walls were dark gray, which could be mistaken for black. There were bright LED boards that were turned off for the moment. The ring was on the lower level - the one they were in - and a little further down was the bar. Some people had already found a place near the ring. 

You had made your way through the crowd, still at the bar, hoping to get a drink. "What can I get you, honey?" A young man, no doubt the same age as you, had asked as soon as he saw you. "A Jägerbomb, please." 

"Right away." And he had gone to work making your drink. You took the opportunity to look around a bit more. There were people from all walks of life. From the rich - who were in the more reserved parts of the room - to the poorest there could be. But one thing connected them: a taste for danger, illegal, and money. 

You were no fool. Even though you had never been in one of these places, you knew now that this was not a bar, let alone an ordinary club. The ring in the middle of the room gave it away. You knew what kind of place this was, but were you ready for it? To be honest, you had no idea.

Why not stay and find out once and for all?

It's like you have nothing better to do. Besides, even if it wasn't a remarkable feat you could brag about later, it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Usually, you would never think of going to a place like this, but now that you were there, you had nothing to lose. 

Once you had your drink and the lights dimmed, the people hanging around the bar, talking and betting, moved closer to the fighting area, giving you more space. 

"So, beautiful, which of the two thugs is your champion?" At first, you didn't notice that you were no longer alone. One of the bartenders had taken advantage of the crowd's dispersal to clean the bar and collect the dirty glasses to run the dishwasher. "Excuse me?" With a wet, cleaned glass and a clean cloth, the bartender in question dried the beer glass before putting it back in its place when it was dry. 

"I asked which of the two fighters was your champion?" You had answered him with a shake of your head. "I don't - I don't have one." The bartender had taken a second wet glass and was drying it as he continued your interaction. He had let out a small laugh. 

"This is your first time, isn't it?" If he meant the first in a place of that sort, then yes. 

"What makes you say that?" Curious about what might have given you away, you still need to answer his question formally. 

"Simple. It wasn't the first time; you probably would have mentioned your champion's name before you started talking about him while telling me about your imaginary life together. That's pretty much what all the girls here do."

"Well, proof that I'm not like all those girls." He had smiled again. 

"For now." 

He sounded sure of himself. You didn't see why you would do that, knowing that you didn't know anyone and had no plans to set foot in that place again. 

"Believe me, you're not the first, let alone the last, chick to step foot in here and say that. Once you've tasted the effect of Bullet Fists, you won't want to miss any of his fights." 

"Bullet Fists? What's that?" 

"Not what. Rather who?" 

The bartender had told you. He looked like he was about to tell you more, but the sound of someone speaking into the microphone cut him off. 

Your eyes landed on the person standing in the middle of the ring as the crowd began to cheer. 

"I'll let you find out for yourself instead." 

The bartender had placed his broad hand on your shoulder before leaning in to make sure you heard him over the din before resuming his work and leaving you alone. 

Facing the ring, your back to the counter as you sat on the bar stool, you took in the scene as you sipped your drink. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to see so many of you here tonight. We have put together some crazy fights for you tonight. Now that you've placed your bets, it's too late to turn back. You just have to hope that your champions are at their best and that they win their fights." 

You listened to the speech of the old man standing in the ring. He was old - in his sixties at most. He wore a black suit and held a polished black stick in his other hand. Listening was a big word. You ignored what he was saying. All you could hear was money... bet... blood... fight... In short, gibberish. 

Fights took place in what they called the cage. Men, each as confident as the next, would fight until the one across from them fell to the ground, teeth and brain cells missing.

You were on your fourth glass of Jägerbomb when you decided it was time to go home. 

Fights like this, with no rules or restraints, were overrated. You didn't find it treacherous. It didn't do much for you. It didn't make you hot or cold when you saw one of them fall unconscious or get hit. It didn't matter to you who won. 

You paid for your drinks and were about to get up from your seat when the same bartender from earlier approached you again. 

"Are you sure you want to leave now? Things are about to get interesting."

He had asked you as he handed you back your bank card.

"If it's going to be the same as before, thank you, but I'm sure I want to go home." He shook his head. 

"That's a shame. The ones you've seen are nothing more than amateurs looking for adrenaline. Whereas those who are for coming are real fighters."

You needed to be more convinced. You had decided to return anyway. 

Gathering your things, you were about to leave when you heard the host's voice announcing the next fight. As he told the first fighter, some people in the crowd started to cheer. 

Music blared from the speakers as the so-called fighter made his entrance. Some people were cheering. Others - probably fans of the other fighter - booed him. He was tall, about 5'10". Muscular, but not overly so. He wore boxing shorts and white and black gloves. He was blond, but his color looked like it had been missed.

After the blond boy joined the host in the ring, the host announced the name of the second boxer. 

"Here comes the one you've all been waiting for. He is tall, handsome, muscular, and young. Please, ladies and gentlemen, warmly welcome our golden boy. Mr. Bullet Fists." 

By this time, the crowd had gone wild. Shouting, cheering, and whistling came from all sides. 

It was obvious this man was a hit. Sliding doors opened, and a man stood in the middle. You couldn't see his face. Only his silhouette, accentuated by a bright spotlight behind him, highlighted his figure. Smoke rose from the floor, adding to the mystery surrounding the unknown man. 

Music accompanied him as he walked towards the cage, cheered by his fans and groupies. The song was instantly recognizable. It was Graveyard by NEFFEX. You loved that song. 

You don't wanna fuck with me

Don't wanna test your luck with me

'Cause if you try to fuck with me

I'll take all your body parts

To a fucking graveyard, six

Feet Underground

Because of the contrast in the light, you couldn't see him very well, just his silhouette. But the man had charisma. A lot of appeals. His posture, the way he walked towards the cage with a sure step. He had an aura of power and strength. 

In fact, you weren't the only one who felt it. It was almost as if he was confident of victory. As if his opponent was a pesky mosquito that he would swat away in no time. 

On the other hand, his opponent looked irritated by his rival's confidence. He was irritated and wanted to wipe the smile off this Bullet Fist's face guy.

Just wanna rule the world

Call me mister, steal your girl

Bullet Fists had just entered the cage as those words echoed through the loudspeakers. He walked around the ring, pointing in different directions, and without further ado, female screams filled the air. What a charmer.

I'm confident, not lazy

And I'm dominating lately

She wants me like some pastries

I'm give it to these ladies

Like I'm Hefner in my eighties

'Till I'm pushing up daisies

Once again, he addressed the ladies. On the screen above the ring, the camera showed a close-up of his face, which he revealed after removing the hood of his black and red silk boxing gown. 

He flirted with all these women with a wink, followed by a grin, before licking his lips with his pink tongue. 

Looking closer at the screen, you had a flashback to that night in the alley a few days ago. You hadn't seen your savior's face, but you were sure that this man, Bullet Fists, was your mysterious savior. 

You had a strong intuition, and if there was one thing life had taught you over the years, it was to never doubt your instincts.

You had finally found him. 

Since he had brought you home, you had never seen each other again. And you thought it would be like that forever. Something had awakened in you to finally see him again after so long. You were finally going to know the identity of your savior, and if you were lucky, you might even get a chance to thank him for saving you from those men that night. 

After all, you were going to stay. You had nothing better to do at home. And whether you have left now or after the fight with the stranger, you must call a taxi. You didn't want to risk getting behind the wheel and having an accident with all those drinks. You wanted to live a few more years.

You won't put me on a shelf

Every punch that I throw

I could send your ass to hell

Better run bitch now

Bullet Fists had chosen his entrance song well. The music itself was an extension of his words. The message was simple and straightforward. Bullet Fists made a promise to his opponent. He would win no matter what, and his opponent would be sent to the mat.

Returning to your original seat, you ordered another glass of Jagerbomb, a mixture of energy drink - in this case, a monster - mixed with Jägermeister, German alcohol made from 56 medicinal plants whose identity is kept secret to this day, with an alcohol content of 35°. 

The host had barely had time to announce the start of the fight before the two men had thrown themselves at each other in a fury. 

Each of them was determined to be the winner. Unlike the other fighters, their fight had nothing to do with money. There was more than that between the two men. 

Both of them looked like wolves thirsting for power and revenge. Both were swinging their fists toward the other, intending to knock the other out. 

Through their fight, they showed their dominance. Unlike his opponent, Bullet Fists seemed to be in top form, with no trace of fatigue on his face. 

His body was glistening with sweat, offering a vision forbidden to miners. At that moment, the notion of his gaze, fixed in yours, appeared in your memory. His dark brown eyes, piercing and deep, had sent shivers down your spine. 

Once again, the camera captured his face as he stepped back, having struck his opponent in the jaw, knocking him down and giving him time to get up. 

There was anger in his eyes. His jaw was clenched, and his tongue was poking the inside of his cheek. Your mysterious savior looked down at his opponent, a mocking smile on his lips. To provoke him, Bullet Fists waved his hand to approach him again. His lips moved, but the man on the ground could only hear what he said.

The words of the one who became your champion affected the man on the ground. Bazooka. You finally remembered his stage name. Tonight's fight was Bullet Fists - your mysterious savior - vs. Bazooka. 

What a stupid name. 

In a rage, Bazooka had stood up, and for the first time that night, he had managed to land a blow to Bullet Fists' face.

"Ouch, that must have hurt."

Unable to help yourself, you winced. You had flinched at the same time your master had received the blow. As a result, you almost spilled the contents of your drink on yourself. 

"I see you finally chose your side." A male voice said next to you. "Glad you didn't go home." 

The same guy from earlier had approached, a drink in his hand. He was probably taking a break while the customers were mesmerized by the show the two men were putting on. 

"Curiosity was stronger than reason." You had answered him. 

"Curiosity killed the cat." He had thrown you back. 

"So what do you say?" You sipped your drink before answering him. 

"I say Bullet Fists is not bad."

"Not bad?" He seemed falsely offended. "The guy's a god on earth." They would not have gone so far as to say that Bullet Fists was a god, but he was good. Only a blind person could not see that. 

"Right now, he's just playing. He's capable of so much more. He'd take a bite out of Bazooka if he wanted to."

"Then why doesn't he?" You had asked him. 

"For the show. Honestly, beautiful, look around." And so you do. You scan the room but see nothing special. 

"All these people you see here either have a criminal record or are violent. What they want is a show, blood, and fighting." He explained. 

"Women want to see strong, muscular, attractive men showing off their sweating bodies. They are adrenaline junkies, and seeing men display their ferocity in the ring excites them. It's sad, but these women are not very accessible." 

"Okay. This is kinda of a turn-on. Does that make me a bad woman too?" You had asked him, wanting to know what kind of judgment he had about you. 

"No, it doesn't. Your case is different. I understood earlier this evening that you came to the Den by pure chance or misfortune. You thought the Devil's Den was an ordinary bar and didn't know what was happening." He was right. 

The cheers of the crowd had drawn your attention back to the ring. Bullet Fists had regained the upper hand over his opponent - though he had never lost it. But this time, he seemed determined to end this little game of cat and mouse. 

A few well-placed punches were enough to knock his opponent out once and for all. 

The crowd went wild. Most were happy to see their champion win the fight once again. As expected, some sore losers could not accept the defeat of their champion, especially the fact that they lost their money. Insults and boos came from all sides as Bullet Fists was officially declared the winner.

Bullet Fists stood proudly in the ring. He absorbed all the cheers from his fans and the boos from the losers. As if it satisfied him. 

At the end of the fight, the fighters returned to the backstage area, the lights came back on, and the crowd slowly dispersed. They were still at the bar. Minjun, the bartender, kept you company; honestly, you still didn't want to go home. Strangely enough, you felt comfortable here, or Minjun was good company. 

"Same as always, Jun." A deep tenor voice could be heard. Looking in the direction of the person, you had seen your champion, your mysterious savior, sitting on a stool next to yours.

Minjun had risen from his seat to stand behind the bar and prepare the drink of Bullet Fists. 

"Same here." You had said to Minjun while you lifted your glass from the bar. Feeling a heavy gaze, you turned toward the man who had joined you. He had a raised eyebrow. Not wanting him to think that you were trying to get his attention, you had raised your hands in the air as a gesture of peace. 

"Don't worry, I'll pay for my own drink." The man's gaze was still on you, making you uncomfortable. But you couldn't suppress your curiosity; you had to know what was happening in his head. 

"I don't think so, miss. This is your seventh drink; this isn't juice you're drinking."

"Oh, come on. Jun," you had used the same nickname the other man had used to address the bartender. "One more drink, one less drink, won't make much difference."

"Fine." He had said simply. He had placed a drink in front of Bullet Fists before placing another in front of you. In your state, you couldn't distinguish between what looked like alcohol and what didn't. 

"By the way, Jungkook, that was a hell of a fight tonight."

Jungkook. So that was his name. It was a nice name. It suited him well. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Your exclamation surprised the two men. "Apple juice. Seriously, Minjun? How old am I? Five?" The latter had done nothing but laugh at you.

"I'm warning you, I'm not paying for this shit. That's not what I ordered." You had made that clear. 

"I said no more booze for you, missy." You'd clucked your tongue to show him your displeasure. 

"Thank you, but I can take care of myself. I don't need anyone." 

Now, it was Jungkook's turn to laugh. When he saw you, he knew that he had seen you somewhere when he was sitting on his stool. He remembered that you were the young woman he had helped last week.

"Excuse me, but do you have anything to add?" This time, it had been his turn to raise his hands in a sign of peace. 

"Calm down, tigress. I'm not your enemy." This was the second time Jungkook had opened his mouth, and he was already irritating you. How could someone as beautiful as him be so irritating? It was borderline frustrating.

You got up from your chair to fight back, but it seemed your body wasn't ready for you to take the initiative. Your legs had given out before you could react and grab something. No wonder Minjun had said that you were on your seventh glass of Jägerbomb, and the alcohol was clouding your thoughts and motor skills.

Jungkook's reflexes, on the other hand, seemed sharper than anyone else's. He had you in his grip. He had you trapped in his embrace before you even had time to react to what was happening. 

"I think it's time for you to go home, YN," Minjun said. 

"But I don't want to go home. I'm fine here." You sulked and pulled your body away from Jungkook, who had tightened his grip around your waist when you almost fell over again. 

"Shoo. I don't want to see you again tonight. Go home and rest. You can always come back another day, little one." Little one? Who did he think he was? He looked like he was not much older than you. 

"How did you get here?" Jungkook had asked you. 

"By car." You had answered after thinking for a few moments, forgetting how you had ended up at this place. 

"Don't worry, Jun. Finish what you have to do. I'll take care of her." He spoke of you as if you weren't even there. He grabbed your things and took you in his arms like a bride before saying goodbye to his friend, who was still behind the bar. 

You tried to protest, telling Jungkook that you weren't drunk and could walk without needing his or anyone else's help. This really pissed Jungkook off. Minjun, on the other hand, had said goodbye to you and laughed about your situation. 

For Jungkook, the evening had taken a turn he had not expected. He had planned to have a quiet drink before going home and taking care of his wounds before spending a good night. Now, he found himself babysitting someone he didn't know. 

All he knew about you was that you were new to the neighborhood, that your name was YN, and that you were good at getting yourself into trouble. 

"What the hell did you get yourself into, Jungkook?" He said while you were passed out in his arms.

Next ↦

n/a: I hope you enjoy this short story as much as I do. To ensure you don’t miss the progress of the chapters and their release, don’t forget to check out the Working on and Updates section. There you’ll find updates on “Fighter” and other stories and “One Shot” that you’ll probably enjoy. Also, don’t forget to check out the Masterlist. You’ll probably find something for you among my other stories in progress and those to come.

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©Jeon_s_Sins

[sugcrxspice]

( july 25, down the rabbit hole underground mall ) @anchoragestarters

Ava knew this was a bad idea. Worse than that, she felt like she was regressing, resorting to something she used to do for kicks as a high schooler, and she wasn't exactly eager to revisit the tumultuous days of her adolescence. On the contrary, it was embarrassing for the youngest Adler to admit to herself that she was even considering the possibility of petty theft as a way to entertain herself. But after the events of the last few months, a newfound sense of restlessness had settled into her bones, refusing to let her function normally without feeling like she wanted to jump out of her skin, so she was itching to do... something to quiet the festering feeling brewing in her gut.

Ambling through a cosmetics stand, she looked around to make sure no one was paying close attention to her, eyes running over the items on display with practiced disinterest. She let her fingers run over the merchandise, picking up a few tester items and eyeing them for a moment before she wandered over to the array of lipsticks. Carefully slipping a tube off of the display, Ava tucked it into her jacket pocket, a small grin blooming across her lips at the long-dormant thrill that ran down her spine over the miniscule victory. But of course, that was the exact moment she looked up and made eye contact with someone just a few feet away. Did they see that? Should I just play it cool? She was usually quick on her feet, but in that moment, the brunette felt like a deer in headlights, tactlessly blurting out, "Uhhh... heeeey. What brings you here?"

[noodleblade]

Flip It, Reverse It 2/?

Role Reverse KOBD, featuring Medic!Breakdown and Scout!Knock Out:)

Previous Part AO3 Link

It was a crumbled, hovel of a building. Nestled in one of the less respected streets of Delta, where the roads were wide and paved with brittle, cracking asphalt and crater sized potholes. The shabby little clinic at the end of the road was in a similar state of disrepair, garage bay doors dented and scratched, foundation showing severe fissures and the roof on the precipice of collapse. 

By all accounts, it should be a place Knock Out avoided, a place that wouldn’t even be on his radar. He was a long way from the upper districts where the roads were clean and even and his plating dazzled with the best of them. Somehow, despite all odds, it had become a familiar and welcomed sight for Knock Out. 

The lights were dimmed and a handcrafted ‘Closed’ sign greeted him. It was well into the night cycle but Knock Out knew the doctor was still in and, well, the speedster was never one for following the rules. After all, the doors were still unlocked. 

He could already picture the medic’s disgruntled face, scrunched together as Knock Out barging in. He’d scoff, roll his optics, cross those massive arms over his impressive thick armored chest, all the while never saying a single word to actually tell Knock Out his presence was un-wanted. 

Breakdown may act like a gruff brute but deep in that spark was a sweet caring mech. 

Attentive. 

Focused. 

Mine , Knock Out had decided possessively after his third consecutive visit. No matter how grave the wound or tiny the scratch, Breakdown always made time for him. 

That had been nearly six deca-cycles ago. Knock Out had expected at some point the doctor to turn him away, to grow tired of the speedster’s nightly visits. But no matter how drained or exhausted, the big blue mech always waved Knock Out in with a small smile on his faceplates. More times than not, Knock Out found himself trading in his teasing smirk for something a bit more genuine, a bit more soft. 

Tonight was no different than any previous nightly visit. Knock Out had won yet another underground race- of course -and his finish had suffered for the win. It was entirely cosmetic, a ugly scrap along his left flank. His self-repair could probably have handled it over the next solar cycle or two, but then there would be no pretense to visit the medic. Plus, it would be a shame if the new buffer were to go to waste. The Incandesce 2000™ was a work of art; the best rotary buffer on the market and in a beautiful, deep red to match his own finish. Breakdown had bulked at the gift, optics weary and guarded as Knock Out shoved the buffer into his reluctant servos. 

“How much is this going to cost me?” Breakdown had asked skeptically. 

“Not a single cred,”  Knock Out was pleased to assure. “Just want to make sure you can offer a full maintenance service. I’ll be more than happy to be your first customer.”

“Patient,” Breakdown growled a half-hearted correction. 

“Same thing, Doc.”

“Doctor,” Knock Out sang out dramatically as he entered the clinic, servo thrown over his helm for theatrical effect, “I’m in dire need of your services!” When there was no answering chuckle and unamused grunt, Knock Out lowered his servo to peer around the dimly lit clinic with no other mech in sight. “Breakdown?”

There was no response and a sudden worry filled Knock Out’s chassis. What if something happened to the doctor? It wasn’t uncommon for big mechs to go missing. They may be tough and strong but authorities never prioritized the slower bots when “accidents” happened. 

However, before his processor could spiral, there was a small clamor of movement and a flash of blue. Knock Out’s spark immediately warmed in his chest as Breakdown pulled himself from the cabinet he had been sorting, coming into full view. 

“You again?” Breakdown grumbled. It was teasing, Knock Out had heard this greeting too many times to count, each growing warmer and friendlier. This time, it was just as warm and just as fond, but there was another layer there. Hesitance , he decided, lip plates twitching.

“Are you okay?” Knock Out asked, optics scanning the bigger mech. He looked fine. Tired as always and plating dull and uninspired but certainly not injured or harmed. 

Breakdown frowned, optic ridges pinching together in a look of concern. “I should be asking you that.” His optics were now scanning Knock Out, lingering on the lengthy scratch for a moment before checking if there is anything more severe. 

It was hard to fall into their normal rhythm when there was clearly something amiss. Breakdown was off , a disquiet curling around the edges of his field. Knock Out squared his shoulders and crossed the distance to lean into the other’s space, a servo bracing itself on the cabinet.

“Something’s off. You’d have me on your exam table by now,” Knock Out sneered lightly, the bite, however, replaced with worry. 

“A little scratch like that hardly garners that,” Breakdown mumbled, servo reaching up to trace the small mark along Knock Out’s flame decals. “Get this racing?”

“How else could I afford all this out of pocket medical care?” Knock Out grinned, pleased with himself but Breakdown only offered a small half-hearted chuckle. 

“I can patch it,” the bigger mech said, gesturing for Knock Out to jump on the med-slab. 

The speedster watched as the doctor went to the supply cabinet he had been tinkering with. When he opened it, the usual already small supply had diminished to a single shelf. 

“Low on stock?”

Breakdown didn’t respond for a moment, grabbing what little remained on the shelf before shuffling over to his patient. Knock Put peered at the contents- a tiny half-filled jar of low end wax and a small packet of nanite gel. 

“What happened?”

“Prices.”

Knock Out frowned. He knew Breakdown’s meager operation wasn’t by any means lucrative and that the doctor has the rather unfortunate habit of letting mechs off without paying. While it was all good and charitable, it had clearly taken its toll. No money for supply meant no tools to take care of what little patients he would get. Which meant no top notch treatment Knock Out had grown to expect. (And no warm smile from his sweet doctor.)

“Perhaps you’ll be lucky enough for a charitable donation,” Knock Out purred. 

Breakdown scoffed as he gently set down his supplies as grabbed servo, extending the limb to inspect the scratch from his wrist to where the plating met his shoulder mounting and wheel. 

“I don’t need handouts.”

“Riiiiight.” Knock Out rolled his optics. They’ve had this discussion before. No pity money, no hand outs, no donations. Even when Knock Out accidentally overpaid, he’d find a refund in his account by the next cycle. The only reason Breakdown even accepted the buffer was when Knock Out had insisted it was medically necessary. “So how many more cycles before your clinic shuts down?”

Breakdown exvented tiredly, his frame creaking under the strain. Knock Out felt a sudden urge to reach out and comfort the doctor. 

“At this rate, probably less than three.” Breakdown grabbed a cleaning close and began to meticulously wipe around the scratch. It hardly needed such care but Knock Out would never say no to such careful attention. “I keep applying for restocks but get bypassed on account of my licenses. Or lack thereof.”

“Really?” Knock Out raised an optic ridge. “ Paperwork is holding you back?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that but…yeah. I’m not a licensed medic. No credentials, no proper training. They turn me away before I even open my mouth.”

A sliver of an idea curled around Knock Out’s processor, a tiny grin floating to his face. “And what if I get you those credentials?”

Breakdown snorted, tearing apart the nanite gel packet and applying it with his digit. Knock Out tried not to shiver under the slow drag against his plating, the gel cool but Breakdown’s entire frame so warm. 

“False creds are almost worse than no creds.”

“Only if you are caught,” Knock Out countered. “And I happen to know an excellent forgery.”

Breakdown, for the first time since this conversation began, snapped his helm up and stared at Knock Out. 

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like the joking sort? Don’t answer that. Yes , I’m serious.”

“What do you get out of this?”

More time to see you. Another excuse to monopolize you. “Can’t I just do it out of good faith?”

Breakdown didn’t reply, just continued to stare. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to switch primary physicians. The paperwork gets all tied up in red tape and half of them are out of network. And don’t even get me started on proper bedside manner. You wouldn’t believe the lack of gentle care that’s provided and-”

“I get it,” Breakdown cut him off with a light chuckle. “You just want to keep me around.”

Knock Out blinked, warmth crawling up his face plates in being read so accurately. “No! I mean, yes but it’s for medical care. Don’t get a big helm over it.”

Breakdown chuckled again, deeper, warmer. Knock Out subconsciously recorded it. For documentation purposes only . 

“Whatever you say, K.O.”

--

“Med creds?” Swindle’s purple optics fixed Knock Out with an intrigued stare. “Since when did you have an interest in anything other than looking pretty and going fast?”

“My interests haven’t changed. They’re not for me,” Knock Out brushed off, cocking his hip to the side as he leaned against Swindle’s desk in his makeshift office. 

The building they occupied was in the middle of nowhere and from the outside half condemned and abandoned. You have to be a mech in the know to know the value of what was laid inside. Or rather who.

Swindle looked more surprised by this than Knock Out looking from medical credentials. 

“‘Never known you to be one to make friends .”

“Don’t think me so callus,” Knock Out said, servo resting over his spark in mock offense. “I have a few friends. We are friends.”

Swindle laughed, helm thrown back and flashing his denta in a mean smile. “Yeah, yeah, friends . If that’s what you want to call it.”

Knock Out forced his smile in turn, locking his distaste behind gritted teeth. He wouldn’t really call Swindle a friend…more a necessary evil. In their world, while racing was the only lucrative business, it never hurt to have back up options. If on occasion, Swindle wanted Knock Out to do a few odd jobs , well, the extra cash was nice and with the stirrings of conflict echoing from Cybertron, it never hurt to have friends like Swindle in your circle. 

“So, can you do a friend a favor and get me the proper creds?”

“If you tell me who they are for? Gotta know who’s the special mech to work their way into the icy thing you call a spark?” Swindle leered. 

Like pits Knock Out would ever let Swinkde know a thing about Breakdown. The protective urge was a surprising one but Knock Out couldn’t deny the need to keep Breakdown a secret, keep him safe, keep him Knock Out’s and no one else’s. Plus, Knock Out would have to be an actual fool to put his trust in a mech that went by Swindle . It was just asking to get screwed up and backstabbed. No, like all his dealings with Swindle, Knock Out kept his cards close to his chest. 

“Nah ah ah,” Knock Out tsk, wagging his digit in front of Swindle’s faceplates mockingly. “Not exactly the deal I had in mind.”

“Pray tell, what do you have in mind?” Swindle asked. He leaned back, crossing his arms behind his helm and propping his pedes up on the desk between them. “Medical creds are difficult to forge so it better be worth it.”

“My services are more than worth it,” Knock Out said. “I heard Crumplezone and his two-wheeler partner got the boot and was sent to mining duty for the next 3 deda-cycles. Looks like you're in need of another runner and no one is faster than me.”

Swindle’s optics brightened. “Yes, unfortunate about those two. Tragic really,” he said with sugary, false sympathy. “‘Had to push some jobs back a few cycles but…if you want to take a few in return for some false docs, I think that’s something we can work out.”

“One job” Knock Out insisted. He could see the greedy gears spinning in Swindle’s helm.

“That’s fine,” Swindle grinned easy, servos up and open. “One job. I can have the documents for you by next cycle and I’ll just let you know when it’s time for your services to be rendered.”

Swindle extended a jet black servo which Knock Out took in his own. 

“Deal.”

“Great,” Swindle clasped his other servo around Knock Out’s and gave it a small squeeze. “As always, it’s a pleasure doing business with you. And one day, you should invite your new friends out for drinks. I’d love to meet them.”

Knock Out laughed as good natured as always, slipping out of Swindle’s grip. As he spun heel, his smile dropped. 

Over my dead body. 

--

Knock Out preened as Breakdown stared at the credentials in disbelief. His bright yellow optics were cycled as wide as possible making Breakdown’s normally gruff and tired faceplates look softer, younger. The datapad balanced gently in his servos as if gripping the device too hard would shatter it. Knock Out fought the physical urge to squeeze his faceplates together and supplemented the instinct by allowing his processor to record the moment to his memory banks, adding to his…surprisingly rapidly growing collection.

In all fairness, Knock Out had truly outdone himself.  The creds were top notch, the closest to a genuine medical credential as a forgery could get. It wasn’t cheap, but Swindle’s work was the best in the business. Even if it did mean Knock Out owed the mech big time. It would be fine, he always paid his debts. And seeing the small smile of hope creep up on Breakdown’s faceplates was more than worth it. 

“Do I want to know how you got these?” Breakdown asked, optics still tracing the datapad. 

“Best if you didn’t,” Knock Out said with a small shrug. It wasn’t like Breakdown was a narc but Knock Out knew the bigger mech would disapprove of his methods and the lengths Knock Out went. “Now, as a fully licensed professional-” Knock Out jumped up onto the medberth and puffed out his chassis. He grinned as he watched Breakdown’s optics stare at his frame a nanoklik too long before locking optics with him again “-I’m in need of some medical treatment.”

Breakdown gently set the datapad aside. “For what? You look fine.”

Knock Out tutted. “My joints are strained and stressed! I worked very hard for those creds for a little kind and gentle care is a necessity. I think you owe me that much.”

Knock Out expected the medic to roll his optics, huff exasperatedly, and brush him off. So it came as a wonderful surprise when he felt the warm, heavy weight of Breakdown’s servos on his knee joint. 

“‘Best check them out then,” Breakdown murmured, helm bowed as his digits carefully traced around the components that made up his knee guard. “Wouldn’t want to over strain these.”

Knock Out swallowed, trying not to shiver as the slow, methodical tracing of Breakdown’s digits. Breakdown wrapped a single servo around Knock Out’s pede and moved his leg up and down to test the joint, all the while keeping the maddening delightful pressure of his digits against it. “Hope you don’t have any other customers tonight.”

Breakdown let out a quiet snort, flicking Knock Out’s knee lightly as he moved to the other one. 

“Nope, I have all the time in the world for you.”