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ebodebo · 6 months ago

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Chasing The Mask

—red hood is on the hunt for the director and his accomplice, blueprint, gotham's most notourious art theives.

—red hood x art thief "blueprint!" reader

—2.5k+

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A heavy dew settles over the city, along with a light fall of freezing rain. It would almost be calming if you didn't know it was Gotham. One of the most crime-ridden cities in the world. Full of crooks and villains alike.

Among the haze of rain and sleet, a vigilante sits perched on the top of one of the city's most renowned museums, The Metropolitan. The Red Hood, so he calls himself. While most nights he goes out into the night by himself, to his dismay, tonight he is accompanied by his heroine brother, Nightwing.

The Metropolitan is filled with some of the most exquisite pieces of art made by some highly famed artists, from Van Gogh to Basquiet. It is home to a most priceless collection, indeed.

Of course, with such valuable pieces, the museum has been the target of numerous theft attempts, and tonight is no exception.

"You didn't have to come," Red Hood snarkily says as he leans against the red brick encasing the rooftop exit door.

"Just trynna' help out." The honesty in his voice makes Red Hood roll his eyes. He doesn't necessarily hate Nightwing but he thinks he's too smug for his own good. An entitled, know-it-all. But they are brothers, after all. So, there is a sense of undeniable care there.

"I've got it taken care of." Red Hood counters, crossing his arms. His tone is almost defensive. Does Nightwing believe he can't catch a simple art thief? Like he's some kind of amateur?

"Is that right?" Nightwing questions, crossing his arms, too.

"Yes." Defensive, again.

"Because, last time I checked, The Director and Blueprint are still running around Gotham." Nightwing accused.

"Way to state the obvious, Dick." Red Hood enunciated his name. Dick was used to Hood using his name as a homonym, often.

"I'm waiting." Hood finally answered his question after the insult. Nightwing let out a light laugh. "For what exactly?" He pushes, uncrossing his arms and walking over to the brick wall Hood was leaning on.

"An opportunity," Hood stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "Jesus Christ, Jason." Nightwing pulled his hand up to wipe across his face, which was covered by a simple black domino mask.

"This is exactly why I didn't want you to come, Dick." Hood sighed deeply. "Talk too much." He finished, uncrossing his arms.

"Sorry, I have-" Nightwing started, but Hood quickly interrupted.

"Wait, shut up," Hood stated, putting his pointer finger in the air.

"You're really starting to piss me off." Nightwing exhales, anger simmering off his body.

"Dick, I'm serious," Hood says, turning his head to look around the roof. "You hear that?" He questions.

"Hear wha-?"

"Boys." Hood and Nightwing quickly turn to see Blueprint emerging behind the bricked rooftop door they were leaning on.

"Blueprint," they simultaneously say. "What are you two doing here?" you ask, tilting your head. Nightwing is quick to respond. "We could ask you the same thing."

"A woman never reveals her secrets." You chirp, pointing your finger at both of them. You walk closer to them, smiling. "It's actually good to see you both."

"Wish we could say the same." Hood finally speaks. His words are gruff and gray. You rapidly turn your head towards him. It felt weird seeing him like this. Not even thirty minutes ago, you were lying in the sanctity of his warm, cozy bed in a post-orgasmic haze. It wasn't like you and him were dating, but you shared a specific intimacy that wasn't common to either of you.

Normally, you wouldn’t give boys like him the time of day. But, what can you say? He’s a great lay.

You did like him, sure, but this was strictly business. There should be no feelings involved in business.

"Blue?" Hood questioned, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

You shake your head, absolving you of your thoughts. "Would love to stay and chat, boys, but I have some paintings to tend to." Thanks to The Director, you swivel on your heel to head toward the rooftop exit door that's been propped open.

"That won't be happening today," Nightwing spoke, pulling out his slick-black Escrima Sticks.

You let out a smug laugh. "And I suppose you two are going to stop me?" You crossed your arms over your chest, tilting your head.

"That's the plan," Hood said, pulling out his weaponry, which was tucked nicely in his jacket.

You gave a nice, wide smile before pressing the button on the small metal capsule of a lead-lined smoke grenade that had been concealed in your hand, throwing it in front of them, unleashing a cloud of smoke that covered your being as you made your getaway.

"Bye-bye, batboys." You yelled to them as you sprinted to the ajar exit door and entered the museum's stairwell.

"Fuck." Hood says through coughs as the smoke forces its way deep into his lungs. Even with smoke filling his lungs, he's still quick to spring into action, following you inside the museum, with Nightwing following hot on his trail, coughing as well.

You flew down the steps. Skipping three, even four, steps at of time. When you turned around after you got inside, they weren't even behind you, still coughing and heaving on the smoke. It was a damn shame Jason was so tall because once you scaled the second staircase, you turned to see Jason beginning the second one. Your eyes widened under your mask at how swift he was. You turned and continued sprinting as fast as your legs could go.

You could faintly hear Hood and Nightwing yell at you to stop, but you pursued down the flights downstairs, reaching the last set of stairs.

You scrambled up as Hood came unexpectedly close and almost grabbed your arm, but you managed to escape his grasp, holding the handle of the main door and slipping inside, slamming it in his face. You breathed a sigh of relief as your legs carried you over to where The Director AKA your dad was standing, holding an authentic Da Vinci portrait.

"Nice job, Blue." Your dad remarked, referring to the diversion you created with the bats so he could slyly take the precious art without them interfering. Though slamming the door did make an excellent barrier, you had forgotten to arm the system back, so Hood and Nightwing forcefully pushed the door open.

"You didn't arm the door system back?" Your dad hissed, looking down at you.

"I-shit." You cursed, turning to see Hood and Nightwing standing only a few feet from where you and your dad stood.

"You really think you're going to get away with this?" Nightwing cockily questions, stretching his arms down with his sticks in each hand.

The Director let out a deep, guttural laugh, causing you to spin your head to face him. "Don't you see? I already have," he declared, showing the painting in his hand.

"We could still take you out." Hood points out, his eyes on The Director, as his hand slides to reach for a gadget on his signature utility belt. Though, he couldn't feel anything. Did he seriously forget to bring it?

"How are you going to do that, Hood?" The Director challenged. "Don't have that shiny belt on, do you?" He questioned, gesturing to his waist.

Hood glanced at Nightwing. "You forgot your belt?" Nightwing questioned, disbelief coating his voice.

"I could have sworn-" Hood says before shaking the rest of the sentence off. "Whatever. I don't need it." He assures, assuming a fighting position.

It was honestly true. Hood was an incredible fighter. Watching him fight was astonishing. He could move his body in ways you didn't even know were humanly possible. But, you did not want to fight him. You just wanted to appease your father by helping obtain the painting, so you could all get the hell out of there.

"Get them." Your father demanded, looking down at you. You hesitated, looking up at your father. "Did you hear me? Get them." His words came out harsher than the first, showing his agitation.

"Come on, Blue, we won't go that hard on you." Hood snarkily remarked, and you reached for his belt wrapped around your waist. You felt a weird sense of guilt as you covertly pulled out a Batarang.

"You just gonna stand there or-" Hood starts but is interrupted by the Batarang swinging right near the side of his head.

"I actually think I'd like to play, Red." You mischievously say, running towards Nightwing, catching him a little off guard, and extending your leg to kick him in the stomach, pushing him back, as he holds his stomach.

"Come on, Red. I won't bite." You say, making your way over to him while Nightwing is still down. You let out a powerful punch, but he's quick to move his head to the side, dodging it.

"Actually, I think you might." He says, grabbing your extended arm and twisting it so your body turns in the other direction.

Nightwing makes his way up. "Well, that was easier than expected." He said, wiping his hands together.

"Because I did all of the work." Hood chimed, still with your arm twisted behind your back. Their banter made for a good distraction so that you could reach into the utility belt Jason mistakenly left at your house and grabbed a stun gun.

You turned quickly, letting go of contact with him, as Hood talked, and pressed the tazer to his forearm. Although clothed, the powerful current still hit his skin, making him drop to the floor, convulsing.

"Wanna have some fun, Grayson?" You sarcastically ask as you step closer to him. He swings his sticks in front of him in a criss-crossed pattern.

You take his silence as an answer. "I knew you were always the boring one." You sigh, holding up the stun gun.

"That's a bat-belt." Nightwing states casually, looking over at Hood, whose body is hunched over on the ground, still convulsing.

"Aren't you just a genius? You sneered, carefully watching him.

"How the hell did you get bat-belt?" Nightwing gruffly questions, eyeing your hand with the stun gun. You narrow your eyes at him. "Like I said before, a woman never reveals her secrets." You quickly move towards him, though he's not so off guard. Not like Hood was.

However, unlike a taser, a stun gun does not shoot any projectiles, and it has to be held against a body or skin to do any damage. Nightwing was standing a few feet from you so the stun gun would do you no good.

But, you don't even get a chance to use it because he's quick to knock the stun gun out of your hand and uses his stick to hit across the museum, a ways from any of you.

"Ah, I get it," Nightwing says, letting his sticks rest on his side. You tilt your head to the side. "Get what?" You shouldn't be indulging him. You should be kicking his ass, but with Hood down, Nightwing wasn't going to be so much work. Plus, in between fighting them, your dad had slipped away, leaving you to do the damage control.

"You got it from Jason, right? Well, stole." He dragged out the last word.

"It's not really stealing if he leaves it in my apartment. Is it?" You retort smugly.

"Of course he did." As he finishes his sentence, you realize you two have been talking for a while. Well, in hindsight, in normal conversation, no, but this is supposed to be a fight, not a catch-up. Wait, I haven't heard Hood? Upon this epiphany, you turn to see an empty spot where Hood laid.

"Where-where did he go?" You stutter, deciphering when he could have left and how you didn't hear him.

"Oh, Jason?" Nightwing starts. "He left a while ago—once you turned around, actually." He coolly says this, sliding his sticks back on through the straps on the back of his suit.

This was a diversion, and you were stupid enough to fall for it. Shit, your dad is going to be so pis-

"Got em'," You hear Hood's voice echo off the walls as he walks in with your father, ropes tied around his hands and ankles, painting in hand. He handed him off to Nightwing as he placed the art back in its place.

You and Hood watched as Nightwing dragged him through the exit door you all came in through.

"So, heard you stole from me?" Hood tuts, shifting closer to you.

"Like I said to your brother, it's not stealing if you leave it in my apartment." You retaliate, your throat drying as he moves closer.

"It's still mine." He's now standing right in front of you. You feel flustered at the proximity but cannot let it show. He would never let you live it down.

"And I want it back," he casually says, his hands ghosting over your waist, housing the belt in question.

You look straight up at him. "Take it then." You swear you could hear him inhale deeply at your suggestive words, but you don't ask.

His hands wander to the belt, hanging a little low on you. You swear he holds his fingers on the front part just to tease you, and if that was the goal, fuck, did he succeed. But you wouldn't tell him that. His ego is already huge. His fingers leave the front portion of the belt and continue dragging slowly along the sides until he reaches the back to unclasp it, and pull it off of you.

Once he steps back, you release a breath you didn't even know you were holding. "I would leave now." He suggests, wrapping the belt around his own waist. "You know, before the police get here."

"Okay." You felt like he had just put you under a spell. You are willingly agreeing with him. He can sense this, too, and smirks under his mask at your cooperation.

"Night, Blue." He says as he turns to the rooftop top exit door, pushing it slightly.

"Goodnight, Red." You say, releasing a sigh of relief once he steps outside the door.

"Oh my God." You say to yourself. "That was-" You pause, taking a deep breath. "Do I like Red Hood?" You question, thinking. "No. Definitely not. It was nothing." You lie to yourself. You had only ever slept with the guy, so it just had to be the undeniable sexual tension between you two. That’s all. Right?

You thank God when you push open the rooftop door that Hood isn't hovering behind the door, listening to you essentially try to deny, and fail, expressing your feelings for him.

It is so nice for Hood that stairwells offer a safe place during storms, but they also offer space for a secret spot, just like the one Hood implemented into the walls of The Metropoliton some years ago.

He used to hide from criminals chasing him through the museum, which happened quite frequently, but now he was using it to simply make sure you left okay. But who knew it would double as a way to hear about your secret love confession? Certainly not him.

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

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bloodyopvs · 3 months ago

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The Sanguinarch isn't a bad villain or a cliched one.

The only thing that his writing suffers from is the fact that a lot of the finer points in his characterisation were easily missed or flew over our heads due to Arknights's ambiguous writing — I also had to do some deep lore diving to the Arknights Terra Wiki to be able to piece a more coherent picture of him, something more profound than merely 'he's just a mindless psychopath and a remorseless war criminal'.

And it strikes me what he was actually meant to be, in Chapter 13, where he was the main villain.

He is, for lack of a better word, an inverted Jesus figure.

There's a lot of things supporting this.

First, we have the crown of thorns (actually the thing that got into this rabbit hole) that his chibi, boss sprite wore in his second phase. His artist, Chuzenji, also drew him with the same thing. The crown of thorns's symbolism is obvious. Jesus wears one, including his depiction in the famous movie, The Passion of the Christ. Though, it's probably not that special on its own; but it's only the tip of the iceberg.

Then we got the meaning of his name, a portmanteau of a Hebrew word and an angel's name —— 'Dook', meaning pierced, and Ariel, an angel whose name literally means 'Lion/Hero of God', at least according to the Terra Wiki —— and things are starting to get intriguing. Put together, 'Duq'arael' means 'Pierced Lion/Hero of God'. The angel's name aside, the lion is an animal that symbolised 'God's strength and command', one that was closely related to God, to the point where C.S Lewis, author of the famous Chronicles of Narnia, use Aslan, a lion, as a stand-in metaphor for God.

And yes, the deeper you go into Sarkaz lore, the more you discover that it was heavily inspired by the lore of Abrahamic religions in real life, although I won't delve too deeply into this or start drawing parallels to real life events, since it's an extremely sensitive issue. But my point is that Arknights has always been deeply influenced by religious mythology and symbolism, and Duq'arael's name goes deep. It hinted at us on his true character——how he views himself.

(Him killing his own elder brother, who was an 'ideal' King of Sarkaz, was also a clear allusion to the story of Cain and Abel, and ties in with the occult theory that Cain was the first vampire in history, but that's an aside. Though this also serves to strengthen the point that Arknights has always been deeply influenced by religious mythology and symbolisms.)

Back to the topic, I would also argue that his design cleverly reflected this hidden allusion. His uncanny colour palette—white, red and black—could be interpreted as a reversal, so to speak, of Jesus's darker robes and dark hair (as he was so often and popularly depicted to be). His entire design screams vampire nobility, but there's something uncanny about it, which was highlighted when we were first introduced to him in Chapter 10 (or was it 11?). He was described as an ordinary-seeming nobleman, one who wouldn't look out of place speaking about current politics in Victorian telly.

More than that, though...although he wears black and red, 'traditional' vampire colours, his main colour is obviously white. White hair, white clothes.

Both the absence of colour, and the colour of purity, innocence, and rebirth.

Duq'arael is also the 'Prince of Blood'. Amiya, during their confrontation in Chapter 13, asks him what does blood means to him. As a concept, as a symbol——a meaning. Now his answer here isn't that important (although it's curious that he equates it with suffering, especially that of the Sarkaz's), but there's a hidden symbolism bomb here: Blood symbolised passion. When someone angers us, for example, we say that it makes our 'blood boil'. When our lover arouses us, or when we were afraid during a horror movie, we say that it gets 'our blood racing'.

In line with this, Dukare's goal——what he hopes to achieve by sacrificing so many people, including his own people——is to give the Sarkaz, who had been robbed of not only their homes and lands but also their entire identity, who had been brutally dehumanised and discriminated against for centuries, salvation.

At least in his perspective. He spilled a single drop of blood for them, a drop of pure Teekaz blood, in order to give them this salvation as well as to once again summon their original sin in the form of the first Originium. He even goes so far that this is their curse——the curse of being a Sarkaz, the curse of Originium. The implication here is that he wanted to SAVE them. But because he's twisted, because he's 'inverted' Jesus, he accomplishes that by sacrificing others on the cross instead of himself. A selfish 'saviour'.

He also blesses the Sarkaz with his blood, granting them strength. Once more: misplaced salvation.

But wait, there's another layer to this.

Duq'arael's the ONLY one who saw himself as such. He has a saviour complex despite his pretenses to be indolent, and obviously, due to the crimes and sins he committed, others saw him merely as a murderer, a monster, and a blood purist. Someone who can't let go of the past, and is still heavily fettered by it——someone who blatantly refuses to let go.

He, after all, killed his elder brother out of disappointment. He also testifies that he saw several other Kings of Sarkaz come and go during his long life, and with each passing one, he grew more and more disappointed, more and more disillusioned. More and more jaded. That is why he wanted to kill Amiya too; obsessed with slaying her, even. Not because he's blindly obsessed with murder in itself (perhaps not only because), but because he's past the point of saving. Which was his tragedy, and one that Amiya and Logos mourned after they pushed him off the Feranmut.

This motivation of offering salvation is also likely why he agreed to help Theresis take Londinium. He had alluded to it himself; his ultimate goal or even his motivation wasn't to rebuild Kazdel, especially not as the shitty mobile city that most recent Sarkaz remembered it as.

No, he wanted to 'save' them. To offer them salvation; to return their birthright, which is the entire world of Terra, to them. Back from the hands of the Ancients and the Elders, outworlder races who once wrested it out of their grasp and then proceeded to give them misery for centuries. Millennias, even.

Again, that is his role——The False Saviour.

I don't get why Chapter 13's title was 'The Whirlpool That Is Passion' at first, but then I realised that HG was being sneaky. They couldn't possibly call it 'The Passion of the Vampire', which would be TOO on the nose, so that's why they call it that:

The Whirlpool (symbolising Dukare being twisted by his past and his disillusionment) That Is Passion (the Jesus symbolism). It's very clever.

In addition to all of the above, on their 4th Anniversary art, his artist drew him with a white lily. The flower of (you guessed it) purity, innocence, and most importantly, rebirth. It does work with his image as a vampire, plainly speaking, and the Master of the Crimson Court who's obsessed with the purity of the blood, but I'd say it's more than that, since the white lily is also Mary's flower. Mary, as in the Mother of Christ.

So, no, The Sanguinarch isn't a bad villain. While he is undoubtedly a war criminal (wouldn't say that he's misunderstood, since he's an absolute dipshit nonetheless), he's not 'just' a psychopath.

#sanguinarch arknights #arknights #sanguinarch #duqarael #dukare #chapter 13 spoilers #chapter 10 spoilers #religion mentions #or maybe i'm just seeing too much into things #i love this dipshit though and i love analysing my faves so #don't you dare say he's a bad villain

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a66-1 · 6 months ago

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Because of you.

Regency!Simon x Regency!Fem!Reader

Chapter 1

TW: Cursing, Mentions of DV, (small use of y/n so you know who you are) and more to come in the next chapters!

Simon was on his porch, a drink in his hand as he gazed out into the wide landscape around him. He had a few animals, keep his mind and his hands busy during they day. The sun was setting beautifully. the sky an artists masterpiece, as Simon took a sip of his drink. It was wonderful being on the country side of London, a vast difference from being in the lime light all day and night because of a mere label you're born into. Simon was lucky, really. His mom could've dragged him by the ear to betrothe a girl, give the family an heir but.. He did have a ton of siblings, and the ton seemed more interested in them than him and his.. More quiet aura.

He noticed a note by his door. Odd. He must have missed it when we grabbed his morning mail. He put his drink down, and stood, straightening his shirt. He bent to grab the note, and his saw his sisters signature on the front, and his mothers.

Another oddity. It's the middle of the girls season, and Jasmine was already married...

He went inside to grab a letter opener, and slid it underneath the fold, swiping cleanly, as the paper made a small tearing noise. He pulled the note out and read over it. Blah blah blah, its a great season so far, Tommy found his match, Katy is doing well... But Jasmine wanted him over. Do the whole 'older brother' thing where he acts concerned and sits the boys down for a talk. Simon smiled softly, and turned the letter over, and his mothers handwriting filled the first half.

To be frank, he could barely read his mothers words, but something about Jasmine's husband's cousin?

He sighed, and folded the note back up. God, it's been.... Well, it's been years since he's truly had to be in the city.

He packed a small bit, really not wanting to be there too long, and he put his bag in the holder on his horse.

"Aye, Jackson. You ready for a long ride?" He patted his horse, before hopping on and starting his journey down to the city.

Once he arrived at his childhood home, he whistled lowly. Fuck, the house is huge. He lived here most of his life, but compared to his pretty modest ranch, but... Christ. He hooked his horse up in the stables, and he grabbed his back, keeping it on his shoulder, and he walked into the house. He spotted his mother first, and she squealed.

"Simon!" She ran, elegantly of course, holding her dress up. She hugged Simon tight, kissing his face as he laughed softly. He leaning down to her height, hugging her back.

"Hi, mother. It's been a long time since... I've been back." He mumbled the back end of his sentence. She shook her head, as her response.

"Nonsense, I get why. With 2 kids this season, it's getting harder to keep the reins in on these girls!" She had a smile, but it was tense on her forward. "And with your father being away on work, I need you to step up. Just for a couple weeks, but.. We need you, sweetheart."

Simon nodded. He wanted his mom to have a few things off her plate, knowing her tendencies to over work herself during the season.

He took his time to go through the home, finding his old study space, his old room, and then.. Jasmine. She was with her newly wed (by a couple of months) and then she spotted Simon.

"Si? Is that really you?" She stood up and sprinted to him, much differently than their mother, and jumped in his arms. He spun her around, kissing her head.

"Jaz, good god, you've grown." He laughed softly, and held her face. "It's good to see you."

She smiled up at him and gave him another big squeeze, "Oh! I need to introduce you!" She gestured her husband over, and took his hand when he was close enough.

"Alex, meet Simon, Simon meet Alex." She was all giddy, an arm hooked around his. Simon extended his hand.

"Alex. It's nice to see you have my little sister so... Lively." He teased Jasmine, and Alex took his hand.

"Sir. I've heard a lot of good things about you. Nice to put a name to the face." Alex smiled, and shook Simons hand tightly.

The rest of the day was just seeing his family again, getting reacquainted with all the gossip his sisters have. Only one thing was really bothering him. Jasmine and Alex kept... Talking. Alex seemed nervous, Jasmine was trying her best to comfort him. He had letters in his hand, and both of them were reading them, all worried.

Simon managed to slip away, and peered his ear over the door, which was now shut as Jasmine and Alex needed to talk.

"My love, you shouldn't worry so much, she's... She seems like she got out--" Jasmine started, but Alex worriedly interjected.

"Y/n is being chased. Her... ex fiancé is after her, he found her at our mothers, at her best friends... She needs to get out of London." He seemed to be tapping his foot, by the soft tapping sound.

"I understand Alex, but honey, there's nothing we can really do, because if she comes here... I mean, isn't her ex... Using.. You know, substances?" Jasmine kissed his temple, and he deflated.

"I need her out of town. Is.. Isn't Simon living out of the city? Do you think-?" Alex was trying his hardest not to cry, by the sounds of it. Simon tensed. Hell no, he won't get involved with things like this, he's already managed to avoid the problems of the city--

"I could... I could ask him.. But he's not really-"

Simon walked away, shaking his head, what was Jasmine thinking? He isn't interested in homing someone, especially if there's a.. Drug abuser after her..

That's when he heard Jasmine come up behind her, grasping his arm.

Jasmine turns him around, Alex, avoidantly, in tow.

"Simon? Can we talk?"

aha cliffhanger (im still writing but you need to want to keep reading somehow)

small series im making because starving is killing me rn.

ilsym babes, happy pride!

-a661

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon fluff #simon riley #fem!reader

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urmumsgyatt · 2 months ago

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edit: help proshitters are finding this😭😭 we get it, you like to get off to children. fucking freaks istg, yall need to take a shower i can smell the stink from here. getting genuinely surprised that i would find this disgusting, i know this may come as a surprise for you p3dophiles, but some of us are normal people💀

HP/MARAUDERS FANS PLEASE READ THIS‼️‼️

if you’ve been in the fandom for a bit, there’s a likely chance you may have come across this artist before.

unfortunately, this disgusting person is a proshipper that ships both t0marry and $narry. please stop promoting this person’s content and following them.

here’s the evidence

“can be deemed as problematic” my brother in christ you are literally shipping illegal shit💀💀

has the audacity to call james a dickhead but ships his son with a genocidal 50+ yr old maniac (+ his abusive 30 smn teacher) and his wife with her fascist ex friend that called her a slur (and bullied her CHILD). the lack of self awareness is actually crazy. like get your priorities straight you weirdo😭

“i can excuse p3dophilia and fascism but i draw the line at being a little mean!” “you can excuse p3dophilia and fascism??”

the fact this person had NO SHAME in admitting this is actually crazy, grown ass 22 yr old doing this too like go pay your taxes or something you freak

#hp #harry potter #marauders #james potter #anti hp fandom #marauders era #lily evans #anti tomarry #anti snarry #anti snily

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writtenjewels · 8 days ago

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Voice Part 4

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Salim's first date since Maysa left him did not go very well. Leon still didn't laugh at any of his jokes, and the two ended up having nothing to talk about for the duration. When Salim tried calling the next guy, all he got was the voice mail. He left a message and waited two days before realizing the man wasn't going to call back. The incident was so embarrassing that by the time Salim plucked up the nerve to call the third guy, he found the man was already dating someone. He wasn't even sure it was worth calling the fourth guy.

That was when he got a text: 'Is this Salim? This is Ethan from the mixer.'

'Yes,' Salim typed back. 'I remember you.'

'I was wondering if you were busy this Friday,' Ethan sent back. 'My brother-in-law is having this art gallery show. Be nice to have some company.'

'I would love to go,' Salim responded. Even if this ended up going badly, he would at least get to enjoy some art. The two continued texting back and forth until they agreed on a time and place to meet. Salim was feeling optimistic when they closed the conversation.

On Friday, Salim met Ethan at a restaurant so they could eat before the show. Ethan wore a dark brown blazer and dress slacks, the ensemble simple but striking. His hair was a light brown, almost red in certain lighting, and he wore it almost to his chin. Salim noted earrings framing the man's entire left ear.

“You weren't wearing those at the mixer,” Salim noted.

“I don't wear them all the time.”

“Too bad,” Salim hummed. Ethan caught his eye and smiled. Salim returned the look. The night was going well.

He mostly stuck by Ethan's side during the show. Many of the art pieces were good, some he didn't fully understand but appreciated the skill of the artist, and some were so beyond him that he was lost on how it was considered art. Ethan was equally uninformed, but he made up plenty of art facts that at least kept things entertaining throughout the night. The two walked back to Salim's car together.

“Thanks for coming,” Ethan said. “I had a lot more fun with you here.”

“I had fun, too,” Salim agreed. He took a breath and asked: “Would you like to do something again?”

“Absolutely.” Ethan's face broke out in a grin. “I'd like that a lot. How about Tuesday?”

“Yes, okay, Tuesday,” Salim nodded.

Ethan leaned forward. Salim realized what was about to happen moments before it did. His hand was halfway to stopping Ethan when the kiss came. It was light and sweet, lasting only a few seconds before it broke. Ethan didn't seem to notice that Salim hadn't kissed back. They exchanged good-nights and Salim drove home.

He brewed a cup of tea to wind down when he got home. He was still trying to figure out how he felt about the kiss. It wasn't unpleasant, but he wasn't very excited about it, either. He reminded himself that this was just a first date, that he and Ethan were getting to know each other. But a part of him couldn't help thinking of the other three names already on the rejection pile.

Salim readied himself for bed, still feeling glum. His eyes drifted to the player. He hadn't listened to the tape since he started trying to date. He was convinced the voice was unhappy about him dating and didn't want to upset it any farther. He sighed; he could really use a friendly voice right now. Salim pressed play.

“Holy shit, there you are!” the voice burst out, startling him. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No, I...” Guilt gnawed at him. The voice sounded so worried, almost panicked. “I'm all right. I've just been busy.”

“Jesus Christ, don't scare me like that. I thought something happened to you!”

“I suppose you could say something did happen.” Salim sat on the edge of his bed, gripping it to brace himself. “I went on a date, and he kissed me.” There was silence for so long Salim got off his bed and checked to make sure the player was still running. “Hello?” Salim prompted.

“Yeah.” The voice was back to a more flat tone. “I hear ya.”

“I was wondering if that's normal, to kiss on a first date.” Salim thought he would feel embarrassed talking about his lack of experience, but he didn't. Maybe because it was just a voice, or maybe because it was this voice in particular.

��It happens, I guess. There ain't no hard and fast rule for it. If you both feel a spark, you should go for it.”

Did Ethan feel a spark? Salim hadn't sensed that. No wonder he didn't enjoy the kiss as much. “I see,” he said out loud. “Thank you. I promise I won't worry you like that again.”

“Good to hear.” There was a short silence. “So, you need a massage tonight?”

“No, thank you, my friend. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh. Huh.” The voice sounded surprised. “I'm here,” the voice told him. “You can talk to me whenever.”

“Thank you.” Salim got under the covers. “Good night,” he added.

“Night, Salim.”

In his dream he was back at the mixer. Faces floated in and out of focus. There was one guy at a table trying to catch his eye. When Salim drew closer, he saw the man was wearing a gray baseball cap. His face was pale, making the freckles on his cheeks easy to spot. He had pleasant, angular features. The more Salim stared at him, the more he felt he already knew this person. It was the logic of dreamland.

“Hello,” Salim greeted. He read the man's name-tag out loud: “Jason.” The man responded by tipping the brim of his hat. It was a charming gesture, reminding Salim of Westerns. “Oh, are you a cowboy?” Salim teased him.

Jason's dark brown eyes sparked in amusement. He made a few hand gestures that dreamland helped interpret: [I forgot my ten-gallon hat at home.]

“At least you went for the next best thing. Cowboys and baseball. You can't be more American if you tried.”

[You want to bet?] Jason pointed to his arm where there was a tattoo of an eagle. Salim laughed at that and Jason's smile grew bigger.

Their eyes met for a moment. Salim's heart skipped. He liked this man a lot already.

And when he woke up, Salim was sad to see the man go.

#house of ashes #salim othman #jason kolchek #jason/salim #jalim #jason x salim #jason kolchek x salim othman

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flatlinerburning · 2 months ago

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two years too late (im glad jim morrison's dead cuz i dont like his eyes and your truck doesn't get me hard)

17 going on 27, neon angel going on new york doll, hollywood brat going on heartbreaker. when youre seventeen and lonely you dont cry you get tough. you don't change you get tough. you listen to johnny thunders and the rolling stones and the doors and you get tough and you wonder if you might die in a motel room in new orleans. or a swimming pool in hartfield. or a bathtub in paris. if your soul will go before you or after. if anyone will remember you or your poems. when you're 17 and lonely nobody understands you but jim morrison gets pretty damn close. he wrote about us but you wouldn't know it. take it with a grain of salt but fucking take it, cmon baby take a chance with us. you're gonna die with cracks in your soul and a melody in your mind and if you tell me you're free then you're lying. your souls tangled up with mine and you're lying. see on, you said. see on. but what's left to see? what the hell did you leave behind? the devil punched a hole in the wall and you crawled out- drunk and enlightened and insane. three hours south. angels go to hollywood and ghosts go to hell and no one gets out alive; the cycle of men and music and idols and god is the way it is for a reason. you tell me you're free and you're lying. lying like a poet lying like a corpse lying like jesus the christ in leather n lace. what's left to see? good artists never live long cuz god gets jealous. the face in the mirror is more yours than mine and it still won't fucking stop. god didn't start with the white lighters until 1973 but i reckon i need a new one. i reckon everybody needs something sacred and i reckon the myth feels like home anyway. what the hell did you leave behind. they drained the stars from your soul and washed em down easy. easy as music easy as death easy as love in handcuffs and hate. i don't got enough to go around but you can watch me bleed out on stage. glitter in my hair and bruises on my knees and fuck if i couldn't be anything. who needs the stars when you have drugs and a brother. see on, motherfucker. see on.

#09/28/2024 #poetry #ryan writes

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artist-issues · 4 months ago

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Was wondering what your take on this was. I have a Christian friend who's very anti-media, like he never listens to non-Christian music (even then enacting limits on the artists) and he believes all films are evil and stuff like that.

I believe his rationale is that it's all anti-Christian, making arguments like "Thanos is a representation of God in the book of Revelation and the film is therefore about killing God" or "Superman isn't a Christ-like figure; he's an antichrist figure because he points people's attention away from Jesus, the real Christ," and stuff like that.

Speaking as a Christian myself, I feel like that's a very extreme take to have when stories can always have Christian values to identify and distinguish and that even if he was right, it does no good to isolate yourself from those stories or to assume the worst faith interpretation of them.

Anyway, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the subject. I know well from some of your posts especially that there are stories with very unhelpful or anti-Christian messages baked into them, but should we not still give those stories a chance? And is there not a much more forgiving line to draw before that point? If a story isn't directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ, does it have any value?

Well. I had a friend who was kind of like that, too, and over the years he’s softened up on that a lot. Sometimes people get really zealous and have these extreme convictions and it’s okay, if they’re really doing it because they genuinely read Scripture with a heart to do what God wants, not a heart to find a set of rules they can follow and find self-righteousness.

I think there’s two separate ways to answer this ask. One is:

How to Treat Your Brother in Christ Over This

which is the most important part, for you, like it was for me with my friend, personally.

In 2 Corinthians 10 Paul is talking about this with meat sacrificed to idols. Technically, you’re free to eat that, even though to non-believers it means something else. Because to you, a Christian, you’re not under the old Law, so it’s not a condemnable thing to take what non-believers are using for evil and just…eat it. For what good there is in it. Because it’s meat. So there is some good in it, and you’re technically free to enjoy that good. But this is what the Word of God says:

1 Corinthians 10:19–33 - What do I mean then? That a thing sacrificed to idols is anything, or that an idol is anything? No, but I say that the things which the Gentiles sacrifice, they sacrifice to demons and not to God. And I do not want you to become sharers in demons.

You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons. Or do we provoke the Lord to jealousy? Are we stronger than He?

All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful, but not all things build up. Let no one seek his own good, but that of the other person. Eat anything that is sold in the meat market without asking questions for conscience’ sake. For the earth is the Lord’s, as well as its fullness.

If one of the unbelievers invites you and you want to go, eat anything that is set before you without asking questions for conscience’ sake. But if anyone says to you, “This is meat consecrated to idols,” do not eat it, for the sake of the one who informed you, and for conscience’ sake. I do not mean your own conscience, but the other person’s. For why is my freedom judged by another’s conscience? 30 If I partake with gratefulness, why am I slandered concerning that for which I give thanks?

Whether, then, you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.

Give no offense either to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God; just as I also please all men in all things, not seeking my own profit but the profit of the many, so that they may be saved.

Paul also says, in Romans, “But whoever has doubts is condemned if he eats, because the eating is not from faith. For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.”

(emphasis added)

The idea is, your convictions should be in place because of faith. So if, in Scripture, your friend is finding something that makes him feel convicted that watching these movies is sinful or distracting from Christ, and he really believes that’s how Scripture should be applied—this is one of those areas where you just shrug and be gracious and say, “he’s trying to act in faith.” It would be different if Scripture clearly taught about movies or even characters. You could point to a verse and say, “dude, you’re misinterpreting Scripture,” but this is one of those areas where God left it up to our convictions. So we have to respond in grace, even if what bothers another believer doesn’t bother us, because it’s not a “hill to die on.”

You can only control you. So obey God in how to respond to him, even if you don’t agree, and put him before you. If he won’t watch a Superman movie and it bothers him, don’t talk about Superman around him. Don’t invite him to movies like that. Consider him more important than yourself. If he can’t be convinced from Scripture that he’s free to watch that stuff and enjoy that stuff, don’t try and convince him. Just put his conscience in front of your preference for movies, on your list of priorities.

Maybe he is turning a grey-area into an area for self-righteousness. Or, maybe he is trying to live out his faith, even if it’s “extreme.” But the point is, you don’t know, and you don’t get to know. Only God knows. You just get to decide how to treat him.

BUT! I bet you’re already doing all that. I bet you already knew all that. And what you asked me was “And is there not a much more forgiving line to draw before that point? If a story isn't directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ, does it have any value?”

So Part 2:

What I Think/My Convictions on the Gray Area of Valuable Stories

Stories can have Christian values if there is anything “Good” represented in them. It can also have Christian values if there is anything “Evil” in them. There is no such thing as “good” or “evil” in a movie like The Joker. So that movie I would say has zero Christian values. They don’t call what is evil “evil,” and they don’t call what is good “good” in that story. So I’m just agreeing with you that not every story or every piece of media has a “nugget of something Christian” that you can pull out. Only in one sense do all stories have a grain of God in them, and that sense is, “it’s a story.” The same way you can speak blasphemies, because God created the tongue and invented language and communication—that doesn’t mean He’s in any way reflected or has anything to do with your blasphemies. But you wouldn’t say, “we should at least let the blaspheming guy keep talking, because God invented talking.” God invented stories and storytelling. That doesn’t make all stories worth a chance. If that makes sense.

Anyway.

That being said, I do think it is rare for you to be able to decide that’s worth giving a chance… until you give it a chance. ^^ Like, I watched The Joker. Now I know it’s godless. So I won’t be seeing the sequel.

The main answer to this is: yes. I believe there is value in a story that is not directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ. And here’s why, are you ready, here’s the reason I’m convinced, here’s the best card to play:

JESUS TOLD STORIES THAT WERE NOT DIRECTLY OR EXPLICITLY ABOUT HIS DIRECT AND EXPLICIT SELF.

The parable of the Good Samaritan is not about Jesus. You could make an argument that it’s got some Jesus-imagery mixed into the Samaritan character because of how selflessly and thoroughly he cares for others even though Jesus specifically framed the story like it was the answer to the question “who is my neighbor?” and it’s about “what a good neighbor is.” But hey, if you’re arguing, then guess what, it’s not very direct or explicit, is it?

Because that’s how stories work.

If I weren’t advocating for treating your brother in Christ with grace, if I were in my flesh right now, I’d say, “ask your friend if every conversation he has is directly and explicitly about the direct and explicit Christ. Is every single word “Jesus?” Is every single sentence about Jesus? Would you say all your communication is focused on Jesus 100% explicitly & directly? No? Then why does a storyteller’s communication have to be?”

Because that’s what a story is. It’s a uniquely compelling medium of communication. But it’s communication, that’s it.

I mean you know my understanding of stories. Stories are meant to be signposts that point you back to truth when you’ve wandered. Stories are meant to be a way for you to escape the specific imprisonment of bad ideas and lost wanderings, and you’re specifically escaping TO HOME: which is truth. Good ideas, and truth.

Well guess what? Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Every good and perfect thing is from above, coming down from the Father of Lights. If there is anything good, anything worthy of praise, anything excellent—we’re supposed to be thinking on those things, and associating them with Christ.

It’s almost short-changing Jesus or His relevance to say, “yeah there can be truth in stories but that truth doesn’t have anything to do with Jesus so it’s not worth my time.” What are you saying? He is the embodiment of Truth. If it’s true, then it’s His. In that sense. If it’s Loving, then it’s His. The idea of self-sacrifice, love, good triumphing over evil, truth triumphing over twisted-truth, is to do with Christ, because He invented those things and He’s their source.

My pastor likes to call this “plundering the Egyptians,” or “the world is tripping and stumbling into Biblical truths all the time.” They might not believe in Jesus but their story wouldn’t have anything worthwhile in it without Him. The writer of Beauty & the Beast might not be connecting self-sacrificial love to Jesus when she characterizes Belle, but guess what, she can’t escape it. Just because she didn’t make the connection doesn’t mean it’s not connected. You can’t say that all good and true things, even coming out of the foul mouths of humans, are no longer good and true simply because of the state of the mouths they come out of. Goodness and Truth is goodness and truth, and our brokenness can’t blot it out or stain it or ruin it. If it’s in the story, and it’s good and true, it’s good and true. Regardless of who we are or whether or not we attribute it to it’s proper Source.

Also, look at all of History. Jesus is woven symbolically throughout all of it, but He doesn’t “directly and explicitly” write Himself into the story of the world until the First Century.

But He was telling stories that had pieces of Himself and the truth before that. And He’s been telling them after that.

The Global Flood? Mankind is so wicked that God utterly destroys them—but He saves a small handful of righteous with a Vessel that only has ONE DOOR that they CANNOT SHUT THEMSELVES? That’s a story about Jesus. It’s not “direct or explicit.” God wrote it, that’s called “reality.”

The lamb in the Garden? Adam and Eve have something perfect and wonderful, and they can be exactly who they are and who they were made to be, but then they ruin it with sin, so God makes a way for them to be covered and protected—but it’s with the sacrifice of a Lamb? That’s a story about Jesus. It’s not “direct or explicit.” But God wrote it into reality.

Caterpillars? Into butterflies?? God invented a creature that starts out as a low worm in the dirt, then it goes into a tomb-like, death-like sleep and emerges a new creation that is beautiful and flies? That’s a story about Jesus, I don’t care, it’s not “direct or explicit” but it’s what God wrote into reality.

If it’s true and good, then the good and the true parts are connected to Christ. And it would be cheating myself of more ways to consider where goodness and truth and beauty come from to say that His direct and explicit incarnation in human flesh 2000 years ago was the only way I’m allowed to be reminded of Him.

I would never say any of this to your friend unless they asked. Because it’s not gracious to slam your friend over something that Scripture is not directly commanding, one way or the other, about.

#A little ramblier than I would’ve liked #but that’s how I feel #asked #answered #thanks for asking #And reading if you got that far #Bible #biblical #storytelling #stories #media #media consumption #Christian media

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delicate-sketch · 2 months ago

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idk if I said this before or if it was just on twt but I don’t fuck with those bitches aka the marauders fandom I don’t care if yall think my version of Nico is similar to Sirius but please don’t expect me to draw for this fandom or anything

I had read fics I tried to interact because I had seen beautiful fanart content and thought “uh let’s see what this is all about” and oh boy

I didn’t even knew fandom spaces could be so fucking Homophobic and yes with capital H that is it I am talking about it. In every single fandom space there is problems with homophobia, racism, ableism etc because bigots exist everywhere. But it’s INSANE in marauders

People say stuff like “they are opressing this straight shipp with this gay shipp”, “it doesn’t make sense for those characters to be gay because they lived in the 70s-80s”, “making this character genderqueer/feminine ruined him”

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST THESE CHARACTERS DO.NOT.EXIST. Even worse in the Marauders case BECAUSE YOU DON’T HAVE SOURCE MATERIAL. EVERYONE IS RIGHT AND WRONG. AND IT DOESN’T MATTER. IT’S FICTION. The fundamental backbone of your fandom creation is the huge amount of queer millennials who back in the 90s when liking HP was cool thought Sirius and Remus were a divorced couple. Get a fucking grip.

Not only this but in a time where JK could shut up and distribute her billionaire wealth with trans and people of color and that wouldnt be enough yall take pride in treat queer people bad (who are just doing their own things) as if they owed smth to yall and feel the need to RESPECT HER STORY (???) and her “canon” as if they weren’t direct reflected by her weird views - nasty really nasty and I saw they way yall treated the artists and ficwriters in the fandom too

#marauders #hp #i know pjo fandom isnt a paradise #but at least i know ppl wont attack me for thinking its cool to be gay #and not be interested in straight shipps #they mind their own business

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tightjeansjavi · 2 years ago

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That Girl is a Problem

Part 1: “Sinful Colors”

(AU street racing! Joel x f! tattoo artist reader)

A/N: so this idea came to me because I rediscovered the song, ‘Problem’ by Natalia Kills. Suddenly I was like YES. Tatted up street racing Joel 😵‍💫 + tattoo artist female reader? Jesus Christ, my panties have been flung across the room. I’m blushing as I type this all out because this Joel is just on another level 🥵 get your engines revving laideaze.

~word count: 2.6k~

Summary: Joel Miller & Tommy Miller left their Texas homestead seeking new thrills. They find themselves working at an auto body shop on Hollywood Blvd. Joel meets you, a self taught tattoo artist working on the strip. You might be just the adrenaline rush that he was searching for. Or, his ultimate heartbreak.

Warnings: Early 1990’s Los Angeles violence/scandals. Drug use, drinking, smoking, mentions of tattooing and needles, street racing, infidelity, adrenaline junkies, Joel & reader have emotional baggage, reader is a badass, love triangle between reader, Joel, and readers boyfriend, flirting, teasing, banter, jealousy, rage, trauma, dark themes, domestic emotional/physical abuse from readers boyfriend, pining, unrequited feelings, excessive drinking/drug use, sustained injuries from street racing, bar fights, 2 character deaths, jealous! Joel, darkish! Joel, possessive! Joel, eventual smut, consent, eventual established relationship, no use of (y/n) readers nickname is Angel, (+18) minors dni!

That Girl is a Problem Playlist:

𝙄’𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚...

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢.

Los Angeles, California: Summer of 1993

When Joel Miller, and his brother Tommy Miller moved to the City of Angels, Los Angeles California, they had no idea what they were in store for. LA was a cultural shock compared to their homestead in Texas. They were looking to get in on the action, live life on the high side and they had come just to the right place.

It didn’t take long for the Miller boys to find work at a local mechanic shop on the Hollywood strip. Both brothers knew a thing or two about cars and motorcycles. Wasn’t the first time they had gotten down and dirty, and it wouldn’t be the last. Joel had discovered your tattoo shop on his lunch break. Hollywood had street vendors by the lot and he stopped in front of the bright red neon sign that read, Sinful Colors.

Joel wasn’t shy of his ink. He had gotten his first tattoo at the sharp age of 18 and from there, he became addicted to the buzzing sound of the machine, and quick jabs of the needle into his skin. It was a euphoric sensation. The only way he knew how to describe the feeling without sounding entirely masochistic, was that it was a good pain. A comforting pain that eased stress and tension. Maybe he enjoyed it too much. Who the hell was anyone to tell him that he was fucked up for feeling that way? Tattoos were fucking dope, as far as he was concerned.

Curiosity got the best out of him as he pushed open the door to your shop. He was greeted with the familiar buzz of the tattoo machine and the low tremble of Led Zeppelin’s, I Can’t Quit You Baby. There was the faint aroma of cigarette smoke, mixed in with burning incense wafting through the thick beaded curtain that separated the waiting area from the room where the clients and walk in’s would receive their new ink.

You had a cigarette perched between your lips as you were finishing up on a walk in that requested a tramp stamp to piss off her ex boyfriend. Although in your eyes, tramp stamps weren’t trampy at all. They were fucking hot as hell, considering you had one yourself. “You’re doing great, babe. You’re gonna love this one. As soon as your ex sees it, he’s gonna be foaming at the mouth.”

“As he fucking should be. Fuck him. He’s never gonna get his hands on my body again.” The client glanced over her shoulder at you, letting out a low hum from the sensation of the needle piercing her skin over, and over again. Once you were finished, you lightly doused a paper towel in rubbing alcohol before gently wiping the tattoo.

“Alright babe. You let me know how this looks, Kay? If you wanna change anything, don’t hesitate.” You had your walk-in gently sit up before you handed her a hand held mirror so she could check out her new ink. The tattoo was a gothic heart in red ink. The structured lines coming from the sides of the heart were like a crown of pointy thorns. The tattoo itself was delicate but possessed that edgy vibe that she was looking for.

“Holy fucking shit, Angel. You outdid yourself again! Oh my god, this is so fucking beautiful.”

It brought you undeniable joy to see someone happy with your art. You took immense pride in making sure that your clients and walk-ins got exactly what they were looking for. It was always fun when you got to throw in your own artistic flare in your work. “I’m so happy you love it babe. You know I would be more than happy to add you as one of my clients? You keep coming back for more..so I must be doing something right huh?” You said with a small grin.

“At this point, I’m just gonna keep throwing my money at you because girl, this is insane! Thank you so so so much!” She was already reaching into her hot pink wallet, pulling out a stack of cash for you.

“You mind if I take a picture of it real quick? I’ll give you a copy as well. Just like to keep a collection, y’know?” Your walk-in, Maddi nodded. You tapped your cigarette out in the nearby ashtray, far enough away from your supplies to stay within regulation code. You opened up your drawer pulling out your Polaroid camera as you got behind the bench. “Alright baby cakes, hold your shirt up for me just a little, just like that gorgeous.”

You snapped one picture, followed by another, gently shaking the photos as they developed. Once they were finished, you grabbed a fine tip sharpie and wrote the date, along with Maddi’s name, and handed her the second copy.

“Okay, this is so fucking hot. I’m hanging this picture up on my fridge. I don't care.”

You set your copy of the picture down before grabbing her a “goody bag.” Now remember, no harsh scented soaps, no swimming for at least 2-4 weeks. Please don’t let anyone cum on your back for at least a week either. I know how you are babe. Keep it moisturized, and a little bit of the stuff I gave you goes a long way.” You wheeled your stool over as you placed a light patch off the open wound. “You can take this off in a couple hours and gently wash it with water only.”

“Sooo no cum-shots on my back for at least a week? Got it!” Maddi said with a light giggle. “Oh, by the way, is Dylan still racing this weekend?”

“Yeah you’ll just have to stick with it on your tits or ass babe. Think you can handle that? He is racing this weekend. You and the girls gonna be there?”

“I do love a good ass shot. Hell yeah we’re gonna be there! We don’t miss that shit for the world babe.” She pulled her shirt down over the bandage gently before gathering up her things. Maddi always left you a hefty tip, which you appreciated greatly. You gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before you counted up your money and placed it in the safe under your work area.

Maddi slipped past the beaded curtain to be met with the tall, handsome stranger in the waiting area. She shot the man a wink before she left through the front entrance.

You wiped down your work area, sanitizing everything for your next client before you stood up. You didn’t know anyone but yourself and maddi were in the shop till you slipped through the beaded curtain and were met with Joel Miller.

“Oh shit, sorry man. I didn’t hear anyone else come in. How long have you been standing there?” The first thing you took notice of was his height and the way the leather jacket he was wearing, seemed to bulge at the seams from his prominent broad muscles. You could see some ink peeking out along his wrists and the visible skin exposed beneath his t-shirt.

“Long enough to hear about cum shots.” He chuckled, Texas accent drawling smoothly past his lips.

“She’s a wild one, that’s for damn sure. You’re not from around here I take it? Based on the accent. Texas maybe?”

The first thing Joel noticed about you was your clothing attire. You weren’t afraid to show skin that was for damn sure. He took in the fact that you were wearing a short denim skirt with a tight little top that did little to cover your nipples. You wore fishnets paired with black heeled boots. You were hot, there was no denying that. You were also positively covered in tattoos. He noticed right away that your style was patchwork mixed in with American traditional. You even had a little red ink queen of hearts tattoo along the front of your ear. It easily could pass as a face tattoo. Besides your tattoos, you had a septum piercing and an array of earrings on the same ear that had the tattoo close to it.

“Based on that conversation, she does sound pretty wild. How’d you guess from my accent alone that I’m from Texas? Does it really stick out that much?” Joel asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest, stretching the leather fabric even more.

You knew he was checking you out. It was flattering to have attractive people unashamedly check you out. You knew you were hot. Something that both men, and women and everyone in between desired. You were well known in the LA nightlife. Your boyfriend Dylan hated it. He hated that you dressed a certain way, that you were naturally bubbly, alluring. You had a bit of a mouth to you but hey, momma didn’t raise no bitch. You were everyone’s dream girl, but a real damn problem.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer, handsome.” you grinned and mirrored his movements, crossing your arms over your chest with a raise of your brow. “Yeah, I don’t get many Texas men wandering in here. You stick out like a damn sore thumb man.”

Joel felt his mouth go dry at your suggestion. Was he really staring that damn hard at you? Fuck. He had only just met you, and you were already scrambling his brain. He cleared his throat as he stuck with his intimidating stance. “Can’t deny that I like what I see, huh Angel? Now, is that your real name darlin’, or like one of those fake stage names like the girls in Vegas use?”

“Between you and me, I like what I see as well. Oh, I’m sure you’d love to hear my real name, cowboy. We’re not on those personal terms unfortunately.” You said with a faux sigh of disappointment.

“Ahh, I see. You’re what men like to call a class A tease. Gotta hand it to ya darlin’ you got me hooked already.”

“Consider yourself unspecial, and most definitely unlucky.” You responded with a sickly sweet grin. “So, did you come in here to flirt me up or did you want to get something done? What was your name again? I don’t believe I caught it.”

Joel liked the fact that you could banter and hold your ground. He was unlucky indeed considering the fact that you already had the upper hand on him. “I don’t believe I introduced myself at all. I’m Joel.” He held his hand out for you to shake, a small grin plastered on his lips. “I was actually lookin’ to get somethin’ done. I’m only on my lunch break at the moment so I’d have to come back later unfortunately.”

“Joel? Never heard of a man with that name before. It’s different.” You shook his hand firmly. You could feel the ridges and veins in his hand against your soft skin. “What were you looking to get done? I can pencil you in for my next availability.”

“Well, now you’ve gone and boosted my ego up a notch darlin’. I was lookin’ to get both of my hands done. The knuckles and my fingers. I was thinking American traditional. Nothing really specific. Maybe a skull, snake or somethin’ along those lines.”

“Don’t let it go to your head too fast, cowboy. Knuckle tattoos are fucking sick. I love doing American traditional as well. Tell you what, I’ll sketch something up for you and then you can stop on by after your shift? Where do you work anyway?” You asked, already penciling his name down in your little notebook.

“Damn woman. You gotta take a man out to dinner first before you just start askin’ him personal questions like that.” He chuckled, shooting you a playful wink. “I work at S&M auto body just down the strip. My brother Tommy works there as well.”

“Fuck me. There’s two of you?” You said with a light giggle. Yeah, my boyfriend actually uses that place when he’s reckless with his car. Which is about every other fucking day I swear.”

Of course you had a boyfriend. Of fucking course a vixen, such as yourself was taken.

“Yeah but if I’m being honest, I’m the handsome one. Tommy is just eh. Although, believe it or not, he’s totally a bigger ladies man than I am. Dude can’t keep it in his fucking pants for more than a day, if that.”

“Wow, he sounds like the male version of my friend Maddi. The hot babe that was just in here. She’s out here breaking guys' hearts every other day of the week. I absolutely hype her up for it though. She’s getting it good all the time.”

“No shit? Well, sounds like they would be a perfect match for one another. Maybe we’ll have to make sure they meet or somethin’.”

“Oh, we? No. Sorry Joel. There will be no we but i’m sure they’ll end up meeting eventually. You and Tommy should come to the race Saturday night. Maddi will be there and they can meet and rip each other's clothes off and all that fun stuff.”

“What kind of race are we talkin’ here Angel?” Joel asked with curiosity laced in his tone.

“The only kind of racing that is actually entertaining to watch. Street racing babe. Happens every Friday and Saturday night, right here on the strip. Well, as long as the cops don’t come and bust up our party first.”

“Street racing? Can anyone sign up for it or is it like an invite only kinda deal? Are you gonna be there?”

“Anyone and everyone can sign up. You got a car or bike and you’re good to go. Entry fee is $50 and well..there’s not many rules either. That’s what really draws the crowds in. Just some down and dirty street racing. I’ll be there. I always am. My boyfriend holds the raining title in LA county.”

Joel fought the urge to roll his eyes at you mentioning this boyfriend of yours again. Dude sounded like a total tool and Joel didn’t even know his name, let alone what his stupid face looked like. “Well, Angel. Count me in. I’ll be there and I’ll bring Tommy. How do I sign up?”

“Alright, rookie. You got a taste for some action, huh? We’ve been looking for some new meat to join anyway.” You grabbed a clipboard from one of the drawers and handed it to him. “The $50 isn’t required till the race so just need your name, pretty boy.”

“Came all the way out here for some action darlin’. Any, and all kinds of it. Whatever I can get my hands on really. Your boyfriend might have some competition on his hands. We did somethin’ similar to this back in Texas. Only difference was, it was a bunch of hillbillies and their trucks in an abandoned cornfield. Same concept, I imagine.” He grabbed the clipboard from you, lightly brushing his fingers across your knuckles on purpose. He wasted no time signing his first and last name before handing you the clipboard back.

“We’ll see about all that, cowboy. My next client will be here in about 10. I’ll work on your sketch on my lunch break and then feel free to stop by anytime after 3 today.” You set the clipboard down along the table.

“Sounds like a date, Angel. Catch ya around hot stuff.” He winked before he turned on his heel and slipped past the front entrance door.

Dylan was positively gonna give you hell for this. Did you care? Not one fucking bit. Joel Miller was hot. He was handsome and sexy and you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t want to get a taste of what Texas had to offer. What your boyfriend didn’t know, wasn’t going to kill him.

Tag list: @chaotic-mystery @peterhollandkait @lovers-liability @korynnekorynne @loquaciousferret @cutesyscreenname @atinylittlepain @yazsos @kirsteng42 @777-wonders @last-girl @pedgeitopascalreads @pedrostories

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stratossphere · 2 years ago

Note

do you have a part 2 planned to the jealously v.v fic? because 👀 people would kill for a jealous smut

mine. | v.v

ville’s jealousy doesn’t take much to rear its ugly head. and you know it.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), enough possessiveness to kill a man, getting walked in on, blatant exhibitionism

word count: 7.7k (sorry!!! plot!!!)

a/n: this isn’t exactly a pt. 2, but it is a jealous smut! sorry it took so long to get to this ask but this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so here you go :)

tags: @asskickedbygirl @lieutenant-cinnamon-roll @kissofdawn666 @brandons-wife @valos-venus-doom @ghoulishguns @4377666 @d34c1

— —

Sometimes, you wondered how the hell Ville had so many 'friends'. All around the world, wherever you went together, he always knew somebody. And, tonight in Amsterdam, he apparently knew a lot of people. He insisted they weren't his friends, because Ville was about the opposite of a people person, and yet they acted like long lost brothers when they'd all seen each other after HIM's show.

And, of course, you were the only girl in the entire apartment that we had migrated to for the night. Everyone else was either a member of a band you'd never heard of or was a tattoo artist of some kind, and everyone was either ridiculously trashed or smelled ridiculously bad.

So yeah. The night was going great.

You were currently sitting on a couch with what had been Ville and some dude that he'd apparently done shows with on HIM's first ever tour, but Ville kept getting up, so you kept being left alone with his grimy friend. Who clearly had a thing for you, because every time Ville would get up for something, his arm would move to rest on the back of the couch behind your head.

"I’ve never seen a woman that could hold real drinks like you can.” Sometimes men made you wonder how they ever caught any game. This guy especially, considering how many times he’d tried lines on you in the short amount of time Ville had been away from your side.

"How many women have you seen?" You were trying to hold an unbothered tone despite being extremely uncomfortable and extremely close to snapping on this guy, but you couldn't help but make a tiny, unnoticeable dig. He leaned into the arm behind you a little more, and you silently prayed that Ville would come back with the drink he had left to go get soon.

"I'm around one right now. I'm just saying, I'm impressed." He grinned like he'd just nailed the best compliment ever given, and all you did was sigh and take a long sip of your drink as you looked away from him again.

"Thanks." Great. Your drinking skills had impressed someone that probably shot up on his weekends. You didn't want to think too hard about what that had to say about you.

"So, how long have you and Ville been together?" Jesus Christ. It seemed like men who assumed girls would fuck them just because they were confident never had any humility. It made you glad you had ended up dating the man who was about as uninterested in using his lead-singer position to impress or manipulate as one could possibly get.

"A few years. So uh, pretty serious." You said, giving him a pointed look and then glancing at his arm where it was getting painfully close to being around your shoulders. He obviously didn't take the hint, and it felt like he was only leaning in closer.

"Yeah? Where'd he go?" That was clearly a pointed statement, and as you leaned a little bit away whilst considering how much of a problem it would cause if you just nailed this fucker right in the face, you suddenly spotted your saving grace coming back into the living room as he loudly talked to some other dude that was in the same band as the guy sitting next to you. You breathed out a sigh of relief as you pointed right towards Ville.

"He's right there." Your movement seemed to draw Ville's attention, and as soon as he was actively looking in your direction, you gave him a look that pleaded for him to get you out of the situation that he had left you in. As soon as his eyes moved from you to the guy sitting ridiculously close by this point, he stopped talking and his jaw squared. You immediately felt the guy's arm withdraw from behind you when he followed where you were pointing.

"Oh, uh...Jesus. He really knows how to sneak up on a fucker." He tried to play his nervousness off with a laugh, but you could see him subtly moving away from you with every step that Ville took towards the both of you. "Hey, man! Did you bring beers for all of us?"

"It's for her. Get fucking lost." He had shifted into full death-stare mode, and he was standing directly in front of the guy with a beer in each hand. You held a hand over your mouth to cover your grin as the guy spluttered in the face of your boyfriend looming over him.

"What—"

"Get fucking lost. You're in my spot." This time Ville motioned aggressively for him to get up, and you had never seen a person move faster in your life as he shot up from the couch. Ville shouldered him as the guy walked past, muttering something you couldn't hear before he was replacing his spot on the couch and immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulders with that stare still on his face. "And don't fucking look over here, either."

Once again, you had your hand over your mouth to hide your beaming grin, and the guy just tried to act like he was scoffing Ville's snap at him off before he walked away.

"You should've came and got me." Ville said through his teeth as he opened your beer for you before handing it over. You rested your cheek against his shoulder, thankful to have him back next to you again so that you weren't stuck alone surrounded by kind-of disgusting rockstars.

"I mean, what do you expect, babe? I'm the only girl in this entire apartment right now." You said calmly, not really all that affected by it now that Ville was next to you again. He only let out a huff.

"I don't give a shit. It makes me want to fucking kill someone when you get that look on your face." He said tightly, referring to the uncomfortable look you’d given him when he'd come into the living room. You leaned up to kiss his cheek, smiling against his skin.

"You're so sweet." You cooed, noticing that despite the fact that you were giving him a kiss, he in no way acknowledged you or even glanced in your direction. Upon following his gaze, you realized that he could still see the guy that had now moved to the kitchen, and he was still staring. You ran a hand over his hair. "Ville. Honey, relax. It's okay."

"No it's not. No one needs to be getting that close to you." He muttered, finally looking at you when you continued to push his hair back out of his face and behind his ears. "I'm surprised you put up with it for that long."

"Well, he's your friend. I didn't want to start a big thing." You shrugged, wrapping your arm around his shoulders so that you could be closer to him where his was still wrapped around yours while you drew your legs up to your chest. He spat out a scoff at that.

"That dick is not my fucking friend. And even if he was, I still wouldn't care. You could punch Mige if he ever got that close and I'd understand." He insisted, speaking fast and harshly out of hatred. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I promise I won't leave you until we're ready to go."

Thankfully, with every beer that he drank, Ville seemed to lose interest in his proclaimed worst enemy for the night, and you finally felt able to relax as he slowly gave up the hatred that had been brimming inside of him. That was, until Mige showed up with an apprehensive look on his face.

“Uh…I’ve got something you probably want to know.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced back toward the kitchen. You let out a sigh as Ville perked up at that, his hand slipping under your shirt to rub your lower back where his arm had moved to wrap loosely around your waist. He was clearly trying to relax you, but you had already noticed the way he was heating up all over again. It didn’t take much. Mige motioned for you to lean in like he was going to tell you a secret.

"You know Esa? The drummer who used to huff spray paint?" He said, motioning back like you were going to see him standing right behind him. You immediately felt Ville fully stiffen next to you before he was wrapping his arm around your shoulders and almost around your neck as a result, and using your innate ability to pick up context clues, you assumed that Esa was who had been sitting next to you on the couch.

"What. What the fuck did he do." All of that animosity that had been in Ville's voice 15 minutes ago had come violently shooting back, and you rolled your eyes as you shoved your fingers between you and Ville's arm so that he wasn't squeezing you so tight and possessively.

"He is talking ridiculous amounts of shit about you in the kitchen. Things that we wouldn't even say." Mige announced, shaking his head as he said it. His tone of voice told me he didn't exactly feel great about saying that in the face of what was becoming Ville's furious stare. "And he's uh...talking about your 'hot ass' girlfriend."

Ville immediately moved like he was going to stand up, but you stopped him with a tight hand on his arm, giving him a look that warned him not to act impulsively. Ville usually lost sight of his senses when he was even the slightest bit irritated. Especially when it involved you.

"Y/n, let me go." He was speaking through his teeth, and he pulled in your grasp but not actually standing up. Mige watched this with amusement in his eyes but didn’t yet interject as you bickered back and forth with your overzealous boyfriend.

"You promised you wouldn't leave me again, so don't." You warned, tipping your head so that you could give him a death stare. "Take a fucking pill, Ville. Everything is fine."

"Yeah. Take a fucking pill, Ville." Mige goaded, snickering when he saw Ville force himself to relax under your direction. Ville did, however, reach out his long leg and kick Mige's chair back a good foot or so.

This was clearly not working for calming Ville’s nerves, and you sighed before excusing both him and yourself to give him some space to decompress. You knew he was more than antsy, and that the incident with Esa had thrown him off indefinitely for the night, so you were quick to get him alone for everyone else’s sake.

So, a few minutes later in the bathroom, you turned on him with an unimpressed look on your face.

"What's wrong, honey?" You asked, biting the bullet because he clearly looked both incurably miserable and uneasy. He immediately spun around so that he was fully facing you.

"I want to strangle that fucking cunt and then drown him in a puddle of my fucking piss." He spat, one fist clenching while he jabbed a finger back towards where the party was still going on past the bathroom door with his other hand. You snorted at that.

"That's really descriptive. Thank you." You said painfully, taking his hand where it was balled up in a fist and gently uncurling his fingers. "We can go if you've had enough."

"I'm not that much of a bitch." He sighed woefully, letting his hand fall limply at his side once you'd undone his angry fist and then continuing to mope as you moved behind him to press yourself against his back and wrap your arms around his hips over his belt.

"If it makes you feel any better, he’s really fucking ugly." You mumbled as you slipped your hands under his shirt to rub your warm palms over his even warmer stomach. Ville chuckled half-heartedly at that, a soft sigh escaping his lips at your touch.

"I'm not really a looks man." His joke came out dryly, but you laughed regardless, wishing you were tall enough to rest your chin on his shoulder but instead settling for your cheek resting against his shoulder blade.

"Let me rephrase. I'm only going to suffer through drunk party sex with one man tonight, and it certainly isn't Esa." You hummed, letting your hands fall still around his abdomen as you hugged him tightly and leaned up as high as you could go so that you could press a kiss right over the tattoo on the back of his neck. "Think horny instead of hateful, please."

"Ah, you always know the way to my heart, my love." He seemed to lighten a little bit at the word 'horny' leaving your mouth, because he was nothing if not someone who took an opportunity, and he quickly turned in your grasp with a soft smile on his face. "Am I being too much?"

"I think the 'piss puddle' part did it. You need to fucking relax and stop letting everything bend you out of shape." It had been too long of a day for you to word that nicely, but he usually didn't take the hint until he was forced to, so that actually worked well in your favor. He leaned down to kiss you when you slid a hand up to the back of his head to encourage him to do so, but his eyes were still troubled.

"I just fucking hate it that I can't even introduce you to anyone I know without feeling like I'm feeding you to a goddamn wolf's den." He complained, fisting a possessive hand in your hair as he looked down at you with a deep frown. You cooed, rubbing your thumb over his cheek where you were still cupping his jaw.

"Honey, I promise you're making it out worse than it really is. They're all men in their 20s. No man in his 20s comes on to women appropriately." You reassured, giving him a look because he was the pinnacle of that statement. A hint of a coy grin moved to his lips then, and he tucked his face further against your touch.

"It's a daily heartache to be so in love with the most beautiful woman to ever have been created, you know that? I get tired from having to keep back the hoards." He spoke in the verge of whining, and you full-on laughed at that, because he was sweet. Eternally grumpy, but so sweet.

“Are you going to be able to breathe normally out there? I’m really fine with leaving.” You reiterated, letting your hand drop because you knew you couldn’t stay cooped up in a bathroom forever. He blew out a scoff.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

However, he was not in fact fine. Because the second you and Ville re-emerged into the party, you were inexplicably being dragged to the kitchen. You knew he was lying when he said he needed another drink, and you settled with the fate that he was probably looking for Esa. All of your soothing had been for nothing, apparently.

“Please don’t. I don’t want to be a part of a fight.” You complained as Ville led you into the kitchen, stepping around couples standing way too close together to get to the drinks as you watched your boyfriend’s eyes scan the room. He just waved you off.

“I just want to talk to him.” He reassured, his words coming up empty because you could so clearly see the animosity building in his eyes once again. You frowned skeptically.

“I’m getting another beer. Leave me out of it. Seriously.”

You stepped apart from Ville then, letting him do whatever the fuck you clearly couldn’t stop him from doing as you genuinely just tried to find another beer. You were starting to wish this night would just end, because you knew it was right on the verge of turning into a shitshow, but this had mostly been for Ville. It wasn’t often you were in Amsterdam long enough to stop and say hi to anybody, and a good portion of the people at this party were truly his good friends.

But Ville had never been one to quit. And the ‘hot ass girlfriend’ comment that Mige had relayed to the both of you was clearly digging deep, because within a few seconds of searching around, you had lost him completely.

And, just your luck, someone else appeared to take his place.

And that someone else was Esa.

“Are you looking for the beer?” He seemed to sense your irritable confusion in such an overpacked house, but you could see that same hungry look in his eyes as he pointed you in the right direction. “I can make you something special, if you would be so inclined.”

“No thanks. I’m cutting off soon.” You lied, because you knew that you’d watch Esa lose limbs if Ville were to walk up on someone who was so deeply on his nerves making his girlfriend a ‘special’ drink. You weren’t going to encourage what you knew was going to be Ville’s overly-dramatic protective behavior, and you certainly weren’t going to add to it, either.

“Relax. You know, I’ve heard Valo’s girlfriends all do whatever the fuck they want because he never pays attention.” Well, it’s not like he was making it easy for you not to encourage what you knew was going to be a shit-storm when Ville finally found you. You also knew it wouldn’t take long for him to lose his shit.

“Well, Valo’s only got one girlfriend now, and I’d watch yourself with saying he never pays attention.” You said uninterestedly, starting to rip open a new case of European beer and silently wishing that Ville just didn’t have any friends at all. If he was just a little more bitchy, you would never have to go to these parties and play nice with rockstars who knew no boundaries.

“What? Is he supposed to scare me just because he’s your boyfriend or something?” The thought seemed to amuse Esa, but his laughing was short-lived when suddenly it felt as if a shadow had fallen over the both of you. You didn’t even have to look to your side to see who was there.

"What the fuck is that goddamn funny?” Oh yeah. Ville was pissed. And clearly in one of those moods that you knew always led to you breaking up a fistfight. You pushed a gentle hand against Ville’s chest where he was starting to swoop in on Esa like a vulture.

"Just go sit back down. I'll be back in a minute." You reassured, wishing that your fingers could get at the beer box faster to get you (and Ville) out of the goddamn kitchen.

"No. He can stay. If it’ll make you feel less insecure, Valo." And here started the dick measuring contest that you’d been doing your best to avoid. Ville bristled at that statement, and promptly got right in the way of you trying to get more beer. He was too busy glaring over your shoulder, however, and you had to shoulder him to the side because he ignored all your other attempts to get him to move.

"This is all shit fucking beer." Ville clearly pretended that he was talking to himself, but he was talking loud enough for the entire kitchen to hear. Esa scoffed and retorted something you couldn’t hear, but you were more focused on the fact that as you bent over to just grab a beer from an open box of a shittier brand, you felt Ville’s hand on your ass. You let out another huff.

"Go save our spot, Ville." You said tightly as you reached your foot back to nudge him away from you with your heel in his thigh. However, the conversation about you was continuing on without you, and Esa only spat his response to Ville’s insult towards his beer.

"Then maybe you should get out of the kitchen and stop following Y/n around like a fucking bitch." He crooned, shaking his head as he took a step closer to Ville. "You're right up my fucking ass."

"I'll get out of yours as soon as you get out of hers." Ville shot back, getting about three times as close as Esa had just as you stood back up with two beers in hand. "Did no one ever teach you how to shut your fat fucking mouth once in a while?"

"Enough! You both need to shut your fat fucking mouths." You cut that shit really quick where you could see it nearing violent territory, jabbing a finger first at Ville and then in between both of them. "Might as well whip your dicks out now and grab a measuring tape."

"I'm just saying, if you can bear to put your eyes anywhere other than her tits, then I'd be happy to drink your shit beer." Ville completely ignored you, as to be expected, and you quickly grabbed his wrist tightly where he had his arms crossed before starting to forcibly pull him away from the kitchen.

"You and I need to talk. Right fucking now." You snarled through your teeth, not giving either Esa nor Ville a chance to get another word in edgewise as you headed towards the hall. You were praying the first door you saw was unoccupied, because you really didn't feel like going in on Ville in the bathroom, and you let out a breath of relief when you opened the door to an empty bedroom.

"You're hurting my fucking arm." Ville complained as he came into the guest room after you, looking completely unbothered when you slammed the door behind him about as hard as you could.

"I don't give a shit!" You let yourself boil over for a second, throwing a hand in the air as you stared at him with my eyes wide. "Are you seriously that immature that you needed to talk about my tits to some dick I’ve never met? Do you have no consideration for how I feel about you saying things like that?"

"Y/n, I understand that you like to live life pretending that all the men around you aren't objectifying you, but I can't stand it. If he's looking at you like he wants to bend you over the counter, then I'm going to say something." Ville replied hotly, giving you a look that basically said what do you want me to do about it. "And don't even try to give me a face about it. I know you knew he was doing it."

"Yes, I did know he was doing it. But causing a scene and making me look like an object that you’re battling for doesn’t help." You groaned as you dropped down on the suspiciously unmade bed behind you, raking your fingers through your hair. "The more attention you give someone, the more they’re going to do it."

"So what am I supposed to do, then? Stand there and fucking smile while he takes mental pictures of your tits and ass to jerk it to later?" Ville asked, speaking crudely as he stepped a little further forward so that he was standing directly in front of you. You glared up at him.

"Ville." You didn't need the image of some grimy stoner jacking off to mental pictures of you in your head. "One of you shared a bed with me every night and the other one only knows my name. I don’t understand how you’re worried."

"I'm not worried. You're just mine." He spoke possessively, and a simple glance forward where his crotch was basically right in your face told you what territory this was steadily veering into. "I just don't think he knows that well enough."

"Once again, I'm not a possession. You don't own me between the two of you." You’d reminded him many times how irritating it was when he acted like he was defending his property, and yet he never seemed to listen. He reached down and grabbed your chin roughly between his fingers, that infamous stare trained heavily on you.

"Your pussy is certainly fucking mine. I know he knows that." He said lowly, giving you a look that dared you to say otherwise. You just stared back at him with your lips parted slightly, unable to move your head with how hard he was keeping you in place. He pouted his lips at you just slightly. "You know that, right?"

You didn't speak, just nodded slowly as he let you go enough to do so. You knew that all he was thinking about was the thought of you only being his, and you could tell by the fact that his cock was starting to strain against the fabric of his jeans that it was working. And well, at that.

He let you go then, jaw clenching just for a second before his hand came to the outline of his hard-on in his jeans, rubbing slightly as he eyed you with hungry eyes.

"I have to give Esa credit. You are fucking perfect. Every part of you." He said, reaching out and grabbing your chin to tilt upwards so that you were forced to draw your eyes away from where he was palming himself through his pants. "Lie down."

"Baby, this bed is so gross." You mumbled, motioning to the stained sheets and ripped up comforter that you knew without a doubt had seen some questionable things. He shrugged off his coat then, eyes never leaving yours as he came and laid the expensive pinkish-red leather down beneath you on the mattress.

"There. Now lay the fuck down." He repeated, and you couldn't have physically done so as fast as you wanted to when you watched him slowly move to kneel down to his knees at the end of the end in front of you. "You're not my possession, Y/n, but you are my woman. And no one else gets to fucking have you except for me, understand?"

"Always." You inhaled shakily as his fingers found the buckle of your belt, starting to nimbly undo it as, once again, his eyes never left yours. Once your belt was undone and he had pulled it from the loops of your jeans, he hooked his fingers in your waistband and ripped your jeans right down completely unceremoniously. And, as a result, revealing the incredibly skimpy g-string that you were wearing for when you got home. Or now, apparently.

Ville clearly enjoyed the sight, because he pulled your shirt up to your tits to fully expose your lower half, a low groan leaving his lips as his hands ghosted down your sides before they settled at your hips.

"You are so beautiful, you know that? There's a reason no one can ever take their fucking eyes off of you." He mumbled, leaning forward and beginning to kiss softly at your stomach. You whined softly as you felt him sucking at your skin, and as his lips moved, you could see that he was leaving deep hickeys. He then broke away to pull your underwear low on your hips. "Say you're beautiful."

"What?" It was hard to focus, both because he had gone right back to kissing and sucking low on your stomach while his fingers worked on coaxing your underwear down your legs.

"You heard me. Say it so that you know it as well as I do."

God, you were so fucking in love with him.

"I'm beautiful." You said quietly, fingers lacing themselves gently into his hair as he continued to suck deep marks all over your stomach whilst laving his tongue over each one.

"Good girl. I love you." He bit gently at your skin as he spoke, and you gasped slightly as your grip tightened in his hair at the feeling. At that point arousal had fully kicked in, and all irritation had escaped your mind in favor of desperately craving the feeling of his skin on yours.

"I love you. I need you." You whined, spreading your legs wide where he was laying between them. He had your underwear in his hand, and his mouth on your stomach was so close to where you really wanted him that your clit was aching.

"I'll give you whatever you want, love. All you have to do is ask." He said, and you watched as he pushed your underwear into his back pocket. That was definitely going to cause issues later, but you weren't in the mindset to worry about it now.

"Touch me. In any way. I don't care." You begged, reaching up to slide your foot and then leg over his shoulder as an incentive. He very clearly eyed your pussy as his tongue darted between his lips, and then his hands were quickly at your thighs to hold them open before he was leaning down and licking a long stripe from your entrance up to your clit. You whimpered, hand immediately shooting down to card your fingers through his long, messy hair. "Yeah, just like that."

Ville guided your other leg over his shoulder, groaning with the feeling of your fingers in his hair as he quickly began to suck at your clit, hands on your hips holding you down as you began to roll them with every stroke of his tongue. He wasn't teasing at all by this point, and you knew it was because he was trying to get you as loud as possible. Which, on one end, annoyed you because you didn’t want to embarrass yourself at this party, but on the other end deeply aroused you because you knew he was claiming you. And you would've been lying had you said that you didn't secretly like the idea of that.

"Baby, please. I need you so bad." You wanted him on you, and you wanted him in you. As much as you loved his head between your legs, you were craving the feeling of every inch of his skin on every inch of yours even more. He lifted his head then, your fingers still attached to hair.

"No. I'm not done yet." He said firmly before he was dipping his mouth back to your pussy, tongue swirling in lazy circles against your clit as those intense green eyes stayed trained directly on you. "God, I love your fucking pussy."

Whining in response, your hand that wasn't in his hair gripped at the already-ripped and fading comforter on the bed tightly, your back arching just slightly as he resumed sucking at your clit. Your soft moans were beginning to develop into high-pitched whimpers, and he only held your legs open wider as he licked and sucked sloppily at your clit.

Your head was spinning with pleasure, especially when his grip on your hips started to ache enough for you to know that you’d have bruises to accompany the deep red and purple hickeys that covered your abdomen. He groaned against your pussy as your grip tightened in his hair, the vibration of his voice making you shudder as you felt your orgasm approaching faster and faster.

"I'm not gonna—I can't—" Your voice was a hoarse stutter as you tried to get across that he was pinpointing the spot that made your legs shake way too aggressively for you to hold on for much longer, and all he did in response was look up at you with wicked delight in his eyes. That was exactly what he wanted.

When you came, your legs closed a little less than gently around his head, your hips arching harshly off the bed despite his tight grip on you as you moaned loudly. You would've had half a mind to consider how many people were standing not a foot away from the door that was the only separation, had he not been continuing his assault on your clit through your orgasm. Instead, all you did was whine his name as he pushed your legs right back open.

"No more. Too much." You breathed, hand pressing into his head as his tongue slowed but didn't stop. He then finally moved his head back, his still-entertained eyes eating you alive as his lips moved to kiss wetly at your inner thigh that was still pressed open with his hand.

"Are you starting to remember who you fucking belong to yet?" He spoke as if he was goading the answer out of you, and when you used enough of your depleted strength to lift your head and shoot him a dirty look, he just crawled right up onto the bed and dropped himself onto you with your legs on either side of his hips. When he was face to face with you, he immediately kissed you sloppily, and all you could taste was yourself on his lips as one of his hands moved to rub up your thigh.

"Will you calm down?" Even though you were out of breath and a little empty-headed from your orgasm, you could clearly see the wild possessiveness that had yet to fade from his eyes. His hand tightened on your thigh, and he stared right down at you as he ground his hips against you.

"Right after I fuck this pussy and remind you whose it is." He said pointedly, biting at your hand when you brought it up to push his hair out of both of your faces. You glanced towards the door that looked as if it had been kicked in and shittily repaired a couple of times.

"The door doesn't lock." You fretted, frowning at where you could see the broken lock even from the bed. You knew better to get naked in unlocked rooms that resided in parties for more than a few minutes in order to avoid someone drunkenly barging in with their hand down the person accompanying them's pants. Ville immediately scoffed.

"I don't give a fuck. I want you now." Of course he didn't care. He never did. This was the man that had stared his own friends down and had kept going when you'd been walked in on whilst going at it when you though no one was going to be on HIM's tour bus.

You weren’t going to deny that you wanted him just as much, so all you did was let him go so that he could get up and undo his jeans, waiting until he stood up off you before you readjusted on top of his coat. He quickly kicked his boots off before he had his belt undone and his zipper down, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched you watch him push his jeans down and off. The boots coming off was a sign of how committed he was to this whole situation, and you couldn't help but swallow thickly as he came back towards your open legs.

"I don't want to get anything on your coat." You pointed out, pinching the red leather material and looking up to him with that hint of worry still in your eye. He only raised an eyebrow, climbing back into the bed over you.

"Guess it'll just have to be inside you then, huh?" He crooned, pushing your legs open a little wider as he kneeled between them. "You want my cock?"

"Yes. Need you so bad." You pleaded, wrapping your legs loosely around his waist where he hadn't yet moved from his position in your best attempt to lure him forward and onto you. Or into you. "Please, baby. I can't wait anymore."

He shushed you softly, reaching down to pull you further towards him by your hips before he was shifting onto one arm above you while the other hand pumped his cock a few times. Your eyes stayed glued to him as he did so, your lip bit harshly between your teeth as he positioned himself at your entrance and then pushed in slowly. You gasped at the feeling while he groaned deeply, his arms readjusting to hold himself up where they were resting against the bends of your knees and holding your legs spread open wide.

"Fuck, you take my cock so well. You're such a good girl." Ville breathed against your cheek when his head dropped slightly, the deep baritone of his voice so close to your ear making you full-body shiver. You slipped one of your hands underneath his shirt that had started to ride up to scratch your nails against his back as you let out a stuttered moan when his thrusts began to find a fluid rhythm.

The guest-bed frame was shitty as hell, and it was starting to creak loud enough to make your face heat up a little bit with every forceful roll of Ville's hips. Ville obviously didn't care, and only seemed to fuck you harder at the sound of the moans that fell from you lips with every hit of his cock inside of you.

Your nails were now cemented in his back while your other arm wrapped tightly around his neck as he dipped down to kiss you sloppily. It was all tongue and teeth as he groaned into your mouth, your fingers pulling at his hair to get more where he was basically eating you alive with every kiss he gave you.

"Does that feel good? Hm? You like when I fuck you the right fucking way?" Ville broke away to grunt that against your jaw where his lips had drifted, and all you could do was whimper a yes as you tried to ignore both the creaking and the fact that the metal bed frame was beginning to slam into the wall. He then lifted his head to stare right into your eyes, his face brightened with ecstasy. "Whose pussy is this?"

"Yours." You gasped immediately, arching your back up so that your chests were pressed flush up against each other in order to feel him as close as you could possibly get him. He groaned, thrusting particularly hard and hitting your g-spot for the first time that night.

"Tell me again. Whose is it?" He goaded, pressing wet kisses along your jawline and down to your throat as he leaned into his arms a little more so that your legs were stretched even further. Your eyes were slammed shut, and you had to take a deep breath to even force yourself to form words.

"Yours. Only yours." You repeated, your hand on his shoulder where your arm was wrapped around his neck fisting the material of his shirt tightly as you tried to find some semblance of stability where you had none. Ville crooned against your skin.

"Who?" Him and his fucking games. If he hadn't been fucking you so good into oblivion that you could barely see through the stars clouding your vision, you would've snapped at him for making you repeat yourself so many times. You knew what he wanted, and you also knew exactly how he wanted it.

"Ville." You cried his name as you arched your back a little further, opening your eyes just quick enough to see the satisfaction that flashed on his face at the sound. You knew you were being loud. In fact, you were both being ridiculously loud, but you were too far gone to care.

That was, until you heard a loud banging on the door.

"Hey! Is someone in my room?" Holy shit, that was Esa. You immediately opened your mouth to shout something along the lines of 'fuck off, one second', but you then noticed the smirk on Ville's face about a split-second before his hand was clamping down over your mouth.

"We're done when we're done. Don't fucking say anything." He ordered, not relenting his pace even the slightest bit in the face of the threat of the house owner standing just on the other side of the half-busted door. You pleaded with your eyes for him to let up his game for just a second, because you knew exactly what he was aiming for. And you did not like the idea of some random guy walking in on you getting dicked down within an inch of your life in his bed, no matter how much of an asshole he had been. But Ville gave no sign that he cared.

"Hey! I’m fucking serious! Who’s in there?" The irritation in Esa's voice gave you a pretty good idea of how close he was to opening that door, and you whimpered against the cover of Ville's warm hand. He only moaned as his free hand shifted your hips a little so that he could hit deeper inside you.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

About a second later, the door was open. And Ville still had his hand over your mouth, so all you could do was look fearfully towards the doorway where Esa was standing, and respectively getting a complete, full-body shot of Ville fucking deep inside of you. Ville's head had turned as soon as he heard the door opening, and his face was practically lit up with smug, cocky delight as he presumably made direct eye contact with the man he was in an obvious dick-measuring contest with.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Esa immediately stepped back in disgust, his eyes switching between both of you as he quickly reached back for the doorknob. Ville just let out what you knew was an exaggerated groan, his boasting knowing no bounds as Esa muttered something that sounded like fucking dick before he slammed the door shut.

As soon as he was gone, Ville's hand came off of your mouth, and you literally could not physically help the moan that spilled from your lips the second you were free to use your voice again. You had already been close to finishing, and as much as you hated to admit it, Ville's exhibitionistic act had pushed you much closer in record timing. And he knew it, too.

"Oh, was that good? Did you like that, my love?" He breathed out raggedly, his head dipping before he was kissing you slowly and moving his hand that had been over your mouth back against the bend of your knee as he brought you into your original position. "Cum whenever you want, for being such a good fucking girl."

You were going to fucking marry him someday. Maybe smack him upside the head a couple times before then for his behavior problems, but the fact remained. He was so fucking perfect.

"I'm gonna cum. Oh—so good." You whined, subconsciously wondering if you were hurting him with how deep your nails were in his back but simultaneously too fucked-out to stop yourself. He just shushed you and continued, and then you were cumming, legs shaking and spasming harshly as he fucked your g-spot directly through your orgasm with his lips still brushing against yours.

He came soon after, his moan raising a pitch past his normal voice and making another, post-climax shudder roll through your body as his head dropped to your shoulder and he spilled deep inside of you. He hadn't been lying about finishing in you, and you whimpered at the feeling.

His thrusts went shallow and slow for a while as you both came down from your highs before he finally slowed to a stop, his breathing sharp and heavy in your ear as his back heaved against your hand.

"Fucking hell." He muttered as he lifted his head back up, his eyes that had now gone soft finding yours before he leaned down to kiss you. His kisses were much more gentle now, and he moved a hand up to push your hair away from your forehead and out of your face. "You look so perfect right now."

"I love you." Your voice was so hoarse that your words came out as a whisper, but you knew he heard them, and his lips found your cheek and then your forehead before he was slowly pulling up and off you.

"I love you too. Look. You didn't even get anything on my coat." He praised with a hint of amusement in his eyes, his hand trailing softly across your stomach and hip as he gingerly pulled out of you. You ran your hands over your face in an attempt to bring yourself fully back down to earth, shuddering slightly at the aftershocks of him pulling out before you watched him get off the bed.

"I can't believe you let him come in here." You muttered, holding your feet out as he came back with your underwear and jeans in hand to put them back on. He just scoffed.

"Serves him right. I was just giving him a little reminder." He said stubbornly as he pulled your underwear up and over your hips, holding his hand out afterwards to help you sit up. You just shook your head, a slight laugh that you really couldn't control bubbling up in your chest.

"You are something fucking else, you know that? I can't believe you just stared at him." You smacked his chest lightly as you said it, standing up once he had your jeans up your legs and then combing your fingers through his ridiculously-unruly hair as he buttoned them up.

"Well, you're laughing, so clearly you're not that torn up about it." He pointed out, giving you a knowing look as he finished with your jeans and handed you your belt. "Let's get the fuck out of this shithole so that I can have your ass to myself at home."

"It's not like we can stay now, anyway." No way Esa was going to ever let Ville in his house again after tonight. You accepted his kiss when he leaned into you, resting a hand on his thigh with the hand that wasn’t holding your belt and then grinning when you felt him moan shamelessly into your mouth. "I can't believe people think you're shy."

"I am. You just bring the slut out of me." He defended himself adamantly, motioning pointedly to the now-tighter crotch of his jeans as his point of evidence. He really amazed you sometimes.

"You don't want to wait a minute?" Here he was ready to leave, and he was literally hard. And it was pretty obvious, too. He waved it off, that immaturely unbothered look on his face as he started right for the door.

"I don't care. Esa has to get the full picture of what keeps you coming back for more, eh?" Like you said, immaturely unbothered. You just huffed out an unimpressed sigh and carted him out the door as soon as he pulled it open, trying to ignore that you were walking beside your boyfriend who had a full erection.

He was going to drive you fucking insane someday.

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