#best bass lures

[thecatsinn01]

BizzBaits: Superior Spinner Bait for Bass

Improve your bass fishing skills with the outstanding tiny spinnerbait from BizzBaits. For a productive day on the lake, find top-notch lure

[bizzbaits]

Tackle the Fish with the Right Fishing Terminals - Bizz Baits

Bizz Baits offers a range of top-quality fishing terminals to ensure you're fully equipped for success on the water.

[badgerbl00d]

captain's girl

☆ characters: akagami no shanks

☆ up next: tbd

☆ summary: shanks has always had a soft spot for you but as he spends more time around you that feeling intensifies- he's fallen, and hard.. how will he confess?

☆ a/n: i lost the ask that originally submitted this but i loved this prompt! so so cute and always lovely to write for my favorite captain.. shanks nation rise!

Shanks hadn’t slept in days. 

Shanks- an emperor, had been a pirate for decades and he knew well what it meant to be selfish. To be faced with all the treasure and beauty in the World and it not be enough until one had it all to himself. But he’d only ever seen it. In allies and enemies alike he had seen that corrupting burning want- no, need for something that drives one nearly mad. He’d seen fellow seamen be consumed by this bubbling and boiling desire that had always sickened him to think about.

And then there was you. Beautiful, strong-willed, and unafraid of pirates and men and danger and swords and, all of the sudden, he began feeling the symptoms of that dangerous selfishness. He’d watch you laugh with Benn, or cook with Lucky, or play cards with Yasopp and his chest would tighten. His nerves would begin to ebb and flow in uncertainty and the terrifyingly unfamiliar feeling of jealousy began to sprout within the captain of the Red Haired Pirates. He’d spend hours poring over a potential solution– something to make it go away. But everything he tried was useless. Any slight progress immediately crumbled the moment you walked by him. He’d found a nice girl on an island and flirted with her, buying her drinks, treating her special as the rest of the crew began to pour into the bar. It was working! She liked the same music as him and thought he was funny. But then you’d walked in with Beckman, your perfume immediately recognizable to him and he folded. You were entirely captivating to him, and bless him, he tried to listen to the girl in front of him and feign interest in what she was saying but all he could focus on was the sound of you laughing and thanking the men who were sending drinks your way. On a separate occasion, he’d taken a different approach. You were in a particularly cheeky mood and not the most prone to taking orders, so he got frustrated. He leant into that frustration, barking at you for not listening. But you just rolled your eyes and begrudgingly got up to do what he was asking. As you walked past him, you raked a fingernail across his chest and offered assistance if he needed “any help de-stressing.” And with a wink you were off. After that little incident, he could hardly sleep and was quite literally plagued by (very inappropriate) thoughts of you and decided it would be best if he didn’t do anything for a while. This had been going on for months now.  A one sided game of cat and mouse that Shanks did not want to be playing, after all, he wasn't used to playing the role of mouse. Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

But he was realizing there was no escape. Constantly you teased him, tempted him, lured him, all to act like nothing the next moment. His head was spinning. Just this morning, you ran into him at breakfast and asked if he wanted to go into town with you. He came up with some half assed excuse and tried his hardest to keep his composure when you pouted at his and said, “Pretty please?” He went up and moped in his office, going over all those moments when he felt that now familiar ache in his chest– that throbbing pain that felt like his swollen heart was being mushed up against his ribcage and had been making his daily life on the ship, oh, so inconvenient. 

Like a few months ago when, in your typical fashion, you’d put together a small band out of the rag-tag musicians on the crew. An upright bass player out of your intel gatherer, a drummer out of one of Hongo’s assistants, some brass players that you put through a very selective audition, and, of course, you as the singer. He remembers walking out after having a few drinks with those of his men that he was closest with and hearing the sound of your voice singing a soft jazz tune. ‘I wish you bluebirds, in the spring…..’ his heart picking up a bit, and him leaning over to look at the band playing, ‘To give your heart a song to sing, and then a kiss…’ Him rushing down the stairs and urging the crew to dance, asking Lucky to get behind the bar and start making cocktails and drinks, ‘But more than this, I wish you love’ anything so that he could sit and listen to you. He remembers the boyish surge of energy that coursed through him when you shot him a playful wink. A thank you for entertaining your antics and encouraging your little band of criminal musicians. 

Or last week, when you stopped by his office (he’d begun spending more and more time locked in there attempting to find reprieve from your presence which was quickly becoming all too much for him to be around) and knocked on his door in the way you always knocked on any door. Three rhythmic little taps, always quiet and polite. “Come in!” he’d said, forcing his voice to steady itself like his heart wasn’t crawling up into his throat. “Hey Shanks– I have something for you.” You made your way to his desk, dropping a little parcel on it before going to lay down on the couch in his office, a seat he always kept open for you. It was just an old leather chair, but he knew how much you liked it. He opened up the parcel, watching you pull out a cigarette and bring it to your lips, holding it droopily between them as you dug around in your jacket for a lighter. He finished unwrapping the gift, a compass falling out. Gold and the initials R.H.S. engraved in the back. The glass had been carved out so that it was angular and there was a detailed inking of the ocean in the back, and the north arrow was dark red. He turned it over in his palm, “R.H.S.?” he asked. “It’s funny, huh! Red-Hair-Shanks,” you laughed, “It made Benny crack up so I snatched it. They wanted $15,000 for it! Like hell was I gonna pay that…. Hey, do you have a lighter?” You walked back over to him, leaning on his desk, looking down at his face, batting your eyes at him all doe-like. He felt like he might faint. 'Benny' he felt a pang of jealousy but smiled to himself at the nickname. Beckman hated nicknames but you'd started calling him Benny and for the first time ever there was no protest from the man's lips. You'd wiggled your way into all their hearts like that- helping Lucky with groceries and keeping Yasopp company when he drank more than he could stand.

“Sure do, sweetheart,” he maintained his typical flirty cadence but failed to sound as confident as he usually does. You shot him a look. He sheepishly handed you the lighter but instead of taking it you leant over further, beckoning for him to light the cigarette for you. He swallowed and brought the lighter up to the cigarette, the two of you making eye contact as he lit it. You blew a playful puff of smoke at him before making your way back over to the sofa. You laid across it, kicking your shoes off and pulling a magazine from his shelf. “Playboy? Really?” He gave you an embarrassed grin and shrugged. You made a mental note that this magazine had been left open on a photo of a bikini-clad girl that looked an awful like you. Pervert, you thought. You put the magazine away and sunk further into the chair, taking long drags of the cigarette, filling up the room with smoke. Shanks was trying not to stare a hole through you and limited himself from looking over in your general direction. You were so at peace, your legs draped over the arm of the chair and your hands above your head.  An hour passed like this, the two of you sharing a silence that was only peaceful on your end. Shanks sat at his desk pretending to be deeply interested in a blank piece of paper and mulled over possible topics of conversation. He was trying not to beat himself up over his newfound shyness- he was like a teenage boy talking to a girl for the first time. When he finally got the courage to ask you about your most recent errand he was cut off before he could even start.

“Y/n!!! Help me with dinner, eh?!”

Lucky. You groaned sitting up, remembering that you’d promised to help him out with tonight’s dinner last week. “Sorry, Captain,” you said, putting your shoes back on, “I’d love to stay and fog up your office a bit more but duty calls.” 

He nodded and got up, nearly running into you. “Ah, sorry princess,” he said, guiding you gently out of the room with a hand on your back. 

“Try not to miss me,” you’d said, taking the cigarette out of your mouth and placing it in his. He furrowed his brows in equal amounts of confusion and sexual frustration. “Lucky won’t let me smoke in the kitchen,” you explained. You shot him a wink and were off. 

He took a short puff of the cigarette before taking it out and staring at it between his fingers. Your red lipstick stained the end of it. He took a very self indulgent inhale before setting it down on an ashtray in his office. It was the first time he’d smoked in a while.

He hadn’t remembered it feeling so good.

He was late to dinner that night and even Benn had indicated some degree of worry about his captain, asking if he was alright. 

Shanks knew this couldn’t last forever– that he would have to do something before he lost his ability to lead his ship entirely. But then, of course, there was what happened yesterday.

Some rookie pirates had convinced themselves it would be a good idea to try and loot your ship. You’d been out on the deck helping Beckman with some chores when the first group of them climbed overboard. Neither of you had particularly expressive reactions– after all, you could tell within a few seconds that they were neither strong nor experienced. Still, it was the general attitude of the Red Hair Pirates to avoid conflict as much as possible. So when they wrapped rope around your wrists and held knives to your throats you and Benn didn’t flinch. Some newer recruits had sounded the alarm which eventually led to the rest of the crew making their way lazily out onto the deck. Shanks emerged from his office, reading glasses still on and laughed at the sight.

“Yasopp– take a pic, will ya!?” he laughed, slapping him on the back, “Benny we’re gonna hang this up in the dining hall!”

Benn rolled his eyes and you smiled. It took another several moments before you realized that your body was feeling more and more weakened by the moment, but when you finally felt a dullness creeping up your legs you noticed that the man holding you was a devil fruit user. The Neru Neru no Mi you believed it was called, Sleep Sleep Fruit. Fatigue started to wash over you and you stumbled forward slightly. The laughter on the ship immediately ceased and Benn called your name. You tried responding but instead fell back, landing against your assailant's chest. Yasopp and Lucky both brought their hands to their pistols, and Benn had taken a more offensive stance though it was clear the effect was starting to weigh on him as well. 

“We’ll kill them both,” one of the looters had yelled. Yasopp shot Shanks a look, waiting for some kind of command. “Yasopp–” Shanks started, but he hesitated a moment. If his sniper made any kind of mistake it would be your life taken instead. Before he could react, your captor had drawn the knife down your arm, smirking at the cry of pain you let out as your arm was coated in red. “Shoot him,” he said, gaze turning black. You passed out, though whether it was from the pain or the effect of Shanks’ emperor’s haki on your weakened body was unclear. But the last thing you saw before blacking out was the haunting anger on Shanks’ face.

You woke up a bit later, your head throbbing and your arm bandaged. “Holy shit,” you muttered, “What happened?” Hongo and Beckman were sitting by your bed talking to each other and Lucky, Yasopp, and a few others were playing cards. 

"You passed out from the effects of the devil fruit," Benn explained, "And you got a nasty cut on your arm. But Hongo says you'll be healed up by the weekend."

You blushed, somewhat embarrassed that you were the only one to have been injured. "What happened to the other crew?"

Benn shot you a half-smile. An expressive mixture of pride and shame. "The Captain took care of it. Honestly all we could do was watch, we all know better than to get in his way when he gets like that. Never seen this ship so bloody, that's for sure."

You grimaced, "Suppose they won't be messing with us again?"

Benn laughed, "Definitely not."

“Hey, Y/n!” Lucky called out, “Want anything to eat?”

You sat up, pushing yourself to the edge of the bed and grabbing the glass of water Benn offered you, “Yeah, Luck. I’ll take anything, honestly. Where is Shanks?” Benn sighed and looked over at Yasopp who was giggling like a twelve-year old. You got the message. 

“Maybe we should tell him it’s obvious? And it’ll fix things?” 

Benn shook his head and leant back in his chair, “Nah, it would crush the guy. Maybe if you say something to him, though?” You thought about it for a minute. You'd talked with each other before about the captain's feelings. How he acted every time he was around you. Benn added that he'd never seen him like that before, "Buggy's given us stories about how he used to be around girls. He'd run the other way when a pretty lady talked to him. He's obviously gotten over it since then but it's sort of nice to see him like this."

"Can't blame him," Yasopp added, winking at you, "You're about the prettiest thing on the sea."

Yasopp was still laughing about it, over a game of cards with Lucky and Hongo. You appreciated their company while you rested.

“I don’t know guys. You know I love him just as much but will it be weird? I mean– no offense, but this ship isn’t really the ideal romantic setting. And what if he plays favorites?”

They all laughed at this, “He already is, sweetheart!”

“Just tell him!”

“We’ll have a big ol’ wedding!”

You rolled your eyes and asked to be dealt into the card game they were playing. Lucky came back with a bowl of soup for you. Laughter was filling up the small medical room and it echoed down the hall...  

Shanks’ crush on you was astoundingly obvious and what was more surprising was how he had been moping about it for the past four months. He was now in his room, shrouded in embarrassment. Half of it stemmed from the generally well known fact that Shanks and his crew were untouchable- or at least, should be. And the other, perhaps greater, half from the fact that you'd ended up hurt because he’d hesitated. It also didn't help that he had doubted Yasopp at all- he knew he never missed. He’d spent the evening drinking a bottle of whiskey to himself and replaying other embarrassing faux pas he’d committed in front of you. The bottle of empty whiskey sat in front of him on the desk and the sun had long set. He got up, feeling miserable, and decided to head to bed. He grabbed the empty bottle, pausing before he grabbed it. Your cigarette from a week ago sat in the mauve ceramic ashtray on his desk (also a gift from you– you’d said it reminded you of his “ugly pants”). He stared at the lipstick still staining the white paper on the end of the cigarette. His chest tightened and he looked out the window of his office. You were out on deck, your arm bandaged up, hauling some rope into a metal bin. He smiled to himself- an injury like that was no excuse for chores. You looked gorgeous. A white glow surrounded you from the beaming moonlight up above. Your hair was messy and flowed freely around your face shifting the shadows that fell on it. He knew, suddenly, that he had to talk to you. That in all his embarrassment and emotion and confusion about his feelings, he’d neglected to check up on you. He set the bottle down and grabbed the half-smoked cigarette, slipping it into his pocket. He paused at the door, momentarily enjoying the nerves that were coursing through his body. How long had it been since he last felt excitement like this? There were moments at sea where he realized that, thanks to his age and experience, he no longer felt those pangs and throes of youthful worry and excitement. But this? This was new and he was reeling like never before. He was submerged in uncharted waters and all of a sudden that spark of adventure that follows every pirate flared up inside him. Shanks closed the door to his office behind him, taking a deep breath. 

You wrapped up the rest of the rope and threw it into the container, before taking a seat on it. Closing your eyes and taking a moment to yourself. It was rare to have a night so quiet. You could hear the faint sound of laughter and talking coming from below the deck. The ship was slowly rocking back and forth.

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

You blinked your eyes open to see Shanks standing in front of you. It still surprised you how a man of his size and power could sneak up on you so easily. It was a nice reminder of how in control he actually was of everything around him. It put you at ease to know you were in such responsible hands and guidance. 

“You feel ok? It’s my fault I should’ve–”

You smiled at him, “What? This? I’m fine, Captain– I’ve dealt with much worse, that I can promise you.” He frowned at that, “That’s not a good thing, Y/n. I don’t like thinking about you getting hurt.” You shrugged and ruffled his hair, “I’m a pirate. A Red-Hair Pirate. It’s bound to happen. And you’re not perfect either. Believe it or not. What’s going on with you lately? So sappy.” You knew very well what was going on with him.

Shanks smiled and looked down at the floor. This was it. Now or never. 

“Y/n… You know that, well, women love me and- and that I love women,” he started. Your smile dropped. 

“M-hm.”

“Uh,” he rubbed his neck sheepishly, like a child getting scolded, “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not like other women.”

You looked at him, “Are you sure about that?” You looked unamused. He steeled himself– he was an emperor of the sea, goddamnit, you were just a woman! Just a girl on his crew.

He knew that was a lie.

You were his girl on his crew. And he was being eaten alive by your existence, completely consumed by the thought of you. He couldn’t live another day without relieving himself of his constant torture and the emotional suffering you put him through. He couldn’t wake up another morning without you next to him, begging him to sleep in a bit longer and asking him to hold you tighter. He couldn’t spend another night watching you laugh and smile and be the most beautiful, enchanting thing in the world and not call you his. You were his, not through ownership but through love. 

“Alright! Damn it, woman, you’re so intimidating.” Your smile returned. 

“I love you,” he sighed. It wasn’t as dramatic as either of you had pictured. He said it like he was simply reminding you.

“I love you, Y/n. And I have for months. Since I first saw you– since you first started giving me random antique shop gifts and coming into my office at the most inconvenient times and filling it up with smoke. I can’t look at the color red and not think of you. That’s my color, damn it! And yet– I see red and think of the brand of cigarettes you like and the lipstick you wear and the way your laughter sounds and the color of your nail polish. I can’t listen to music and not think of you. I mean- you’ve come on board and turned everything upside down. My men, my violent men, are playing jazz on Thursday nights! Lucky’s new favorite thing to drink is Cosmopolitans and Yasopp is taking daily showers and, christ, Benn’s new nickname is Benny and he likes it! Everything I have reminds me of you. This is basically your ship now. And I love it. I love how you're everywhere. And I- I need you. I want you but it's more than that- I need you.”

He took a deep breath and looked at you for the first time in weeks. You laughed- at him, and grabbed his hand. His cheeks turned bright red and he felt like a teenager again. You squeezed his hand, “F-i-n-a-l-l-y.” He took a moment to sound out your spelling, and smiled somewhat defeatedly. He laid his head down on your shoulder and mumbled into you, “Was it obvious?”

 You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your head against his. It was refreshing to touch him without it being strange or feeling unnatural. To just hold one another and understand that that was all it was– a touch. That before either of you said anything and broke this mundane, normal silence everything was perfect. There was no room for mistake or anxiety or insecurity. There was just the mass of red hair on your shoulder ticking your neck and your arms wrapped around his. But you figured he’d suffered long enough. 

“Very,” you said, answering his question, “There’re a bunch of betting pools regarding when, and if, you’ll confess. Though you don’t make a great effort to hide it. Looks like Benny’s gonna make some cash tonight.”

He shot up, somewhat offended, “I do hide it! I’ve kept my distance from you and treated you like everyone else.”

You laughed and sat him down on the bin next to you, “No, you haven’t. I’m your favorite. And though you have been avoiding me, when you’re around me your face is pink and you lose all that playboy gusto you think the ladies like. Plus you have those magazines lying around. It flatters me how much I resemble some of those models.”

His mouth fell open at this, realizing he had left it wide out in the open. You smiled at this, but said nothing. It was quiet out again– everyone had gone to bed early, tired from the day’s commotion, an unexpected change of pace from the typical mundane life of a pirate at sea that normally consisted of chores upon chores upon chores. The sea was calm tonight, almost eerily so. You rested your head against Shank’s shoulder and closed your eyes, it was quiet again. You could tell he was itching for a response. You smiled, enjoying the effect you had on him.

“I love you, too.”

You felt Shanks tense and opened your eyes, turning to look at him. He had a stupidly large smile plastered on his face. He was so damn handsome. His hand slid up your back and came to rest on your neck. He gently pushed your face toward his, a smile creeping up your lips, and tested the waters. You closed the gap, closing your eyes as you kissed your captain, shifting forward and finding your way onto his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and you could feel him smiling against your lips. Shanks broke the kiss, pulling away after giving you a few more pecks. 

His arm sank down to wrap around your waist and pull you in even tighter. He rested his forehead against yours and looked down at your lips, plump from the kissing.

“You’re mine,” he said. 

“Yours.”

He sighed, relief flooding his body. You rubbed his neck, "Guess I wasn't as obvious as you, hm?" He laughed and squeezed your hand, "No. God, I was terrified. What an awful feeling."

You smiled. You were getting tired, and your arm was throbbing. "Wanna come with me to see Hongo? I think my arm should get re-wrapped." He nodded, standing up. You walked toward the infirmary, while Shanks stood back for a moment. Waiting awkwardly.

"Shanks?"

His name had never sounded so lovely. He was worried, "Should we tell people yet? The crew- I mean."

You laughed, and kept walking, "I think they'll figure out on their own. After all, I suspect that I'll be greeting them tomorrow morning with your shirt on."

He watched you walk on ahead a bit more before following after you, scooping you up in his arm and pressing kisses to your face. Shanks dropped you off outside of Hongo's door, letting you go in on your own. 'I want tonight to be just us,' you'd explained. Word does travel quickly on a ship. He waited outside the door, listening to you and Hongo talk while he rebandaged your arm. His chest felt warm and full, not with the previous tightness he'd experienced but full with satisfaction.

A familiar ebbing flow of egoism spread through his body. It was nice to be reminded of who he was. An emperor of the sea with one of the highest bounties of all time. A man feared and respected across the world. Wanted by the world government and untouchable to anyone. Almost anyone. Your voice bubbled up over the sound of his thoughts for a moment. His confidence had quickly reinstated itself.

After all, Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.

[solbaby7]

Forbidden Fruit

cassian x rhysand’s sister!reader

[ part one ] you are currently reading part two

[ masterlist ]

warnings: smut babe, swearing, probs typos, underlying tones of some predator/prey kink but it’s super mild, fucking your brothers best friend, unprotected sex (lol don’t do that), minors DNI

summary: The General Commander of the Night Court finds himself falling for the High Lords precious little sister.

—

Cassian was a handsome male.

Not to be cocky or arrogant but he knew his face was appealing—knew that females lusted after him and his body in a way that had become utterly natural to him. Easy even.

This. You—were anything but easy.

You were complex. Intricate. Delicately woven by caring hands that added an abundance of brains and wit. You were enigmatic, drawing in even the most prickly of persons with your attentiveness. A balm that soothed over vicious wounds and angry scars. You were the sun and the moon and all the air between it; free and malleable, warm and waning. Cassian had never met a female so cunning—so effortlessly everything.

The awareness of such a rarity instills a certain pressure on the General’s shoulders. One that felt more stressful than war. Truly, he’d endured battles that hadn’t even begun to set his stomach in such a state of fluster.

It’s nerve-wracking, so much so that Cassian had already wrestled through half of his closet, changing shirt after shirt because one fit too tight which seemed a little too eager. But, the other shirt was too loose and make him look like he wasn’t putting in enough effort. Black shirts were too plain. Red was too out there. Blue didn’t feel like him and he’d be an idiot to arrive at a party wearing his leathers.

Wings ruffle in frustration, inky hair unbound and falling at his shoulders as he stares at the mess of cloth loitering his floors.

He nearly gives up, fully intent on marching over to wherever you were naked from the waist up before hazel eyes catch on the fluttering red ribbon in his peripheral.

A breath escapes him, the beginnings of a smile curling onto his face when taking in the outfit hanging from his door, perfectly tied with your taunting crimson beacon. Stress dissipates as if it never was there in the first place, the lingering notes of your scent stuck to the fabric and Cassian wastes no time putting in on, fingers still fastening buttons as he all but stumbles from his room.

He’s acutely aware of the house he lives in more than he’d ever been before, honeyed irises tracking every nook and cranny until he watches sight of fluttering red dangling from the chandelier. It’s too high to collect but once he notices it, the ribbon disappears in a puff of darkness before reappearing a few feet away.

Anticipation builds the further he follows, palms sweaty and heart hammering against his ribcage in excitement as he’s ushered to your wing of the mansion, led down a flight of stairs and nudged towards a hallway he doesn’t remember ever seeing before.

Your scent seeps through the cracks of thick set of double doors, ribbons righting the way closer and closer to you and Cassian’s heart echoes like a drum. Sweaty palms rub against his pants, tongue licking along the seam of dry lips as anticipation swells, throbs, aches its way to the surface until the handle of the door is all but ripped from the frame in his attempts to get to you.

It’s savage. Carnal. Animalistic in the way he trudges through the sea of bodies, the thick scent of mirthroot and tobacco, sweet perfumes and musky colognes, insence that burns strategically around the space—yet still through the thick of it all, he finds you.

Sweet almond. Warm vanilla and brown sugar. Pleasant in every way; captivating, luring him closer and closer with flashes of your face through the crowd. With sounds of your laughter cutting through the musics deep bass. With fluttering red ribbons that vanish before calloused hands can find comfort in the silky indulgences you offer.

Cassian knows he's nearly got you. Especially once you've figured out a way to slip from his view, the onyx curtain of your hair fading in and out; drifting between the fray, camouflaging in your surroundings--just as prey would once they realized they're being hunted. "Excuse me," He mutters, righting drunken bodies that stumble into him without so much as a glance. He's sturdy, stance firm and steps sure when following that tether; the gleaming line that thrums alive as if you've plucked it; strummed at it like those gifted muscians and their carefully tuned instruments.

Maybe its by chance but Cassian boyishly prays that its fate; a divine intervention that allows you to fall right in his arms, too occupied in checking your back to notice the male standing right in front of you until contact ensues. "Got you."

He's won.

He's finally got you in his grasp, eyes bright and lips soft. The slow blink you offer when you peer up at him is utterly feline and entirely too cozy; almost as if you'd purposefully wandered in his crosshairs.

Who cares? Cassian supposed the semantics off it all doesn't matter as long as your hands remain on his arms, the polished shine of your manicure the perfect contrast again the dark shades of his shirt. "Should do that part outside next time. Make it last a little longer." You muse, voice a little slower than usual and it takes little time for the Commander to acknowledge the tinge of liquor on your breath.

“Next time?” He barely notices the plethora of bodies around him, tunnel vision taking over until he’s too ensnared in your trap to acknowledge familiar faces if their features weren’t yours. Soft cheeks, sharp eyes. That inviting mouth and the pressure of the power that emits when you use it. Makes him want—makes him crave and yearn until he feels drunk on your touch and high on your aura.

“I said once you’ve found me you can have me.” It’s a dangerous game. Waving food at a starving animal. Making demands and delaying the inevitable just for the sake of having the desire to do so. His gaze is weighted; calculating, determining just the amount of time it’ll take to lure you away from wandering eyes long enough to get his paws on you. To sink his teeth in supple flesh and leave his mark; letting everyone know that you were his by right—after all, he’d earned it. “What are you waiting for?”

Desperation lives in the grip Cassian has on the back of your neck, leading you through the crowd and urging you towards the left—towards your personal quarters—neatly tucked away from others and yet the wards welcome Cassian without question. “You knew I’d find you.”

“I’d hoped,” You confess, shamelessly leaning into the possessive grip he has on you, the calloused bite of his fingertips applying just the right amount of pressure to the throbbing pulse below your ear. Your composure waivers; takes a second too long to refortify itself before facing the object of your desires. “Figured if you wanted to, you would.”

The door to your room closes behind him, lock twisting in place and he’s not subtle in the way he takes in the new space. Admires the way it’s filled with you. Lit with candles smell like you. The distant bass of the music just down the hall sounds just like your defiant soul. “Oh, I want to.”

“So does everybody else.” Goosebumps loiter Cassian’s skin from the soft drag of your lips against the curve of his ear. “But you, you can keep this a secret, can’t you?” Teeth tug at the lobe, a grin growing at the grip that tightens around your waist in retaliation. “Won’t go running your mouth to anyone who’ll listen after I’ve had my way with you?”

“No,” His knees all but buckle when you press a kiss to his neck, your pleased hum rumbling against his chest. “I won’t say anything.”

“Good boy,” A shiver rakes down his spine, nerves on overdrive by the gentle assault of your nails tickling along the expanse of Cassian’s bare arms, the thick of his muscles caging you in and knowingly or not, his hips press harder into yours at the crooned compliment. “And you found me so quickly,” Your cadence goes breathy, brows furrowing in pure delight when you feel the hard length of his cock straining through his pants. “Surely that deserves a reward?”

“Please.”

“Well, I did ask for you to hunt me.” He’s driven by the pure lust you emit, fueled by your hands tracing over every divot you could reach. “And predators usually eat the prey they catch.” His mouth salivates at the very suggestion, hundreds of memories of that same fantasy flashing behind the back of his kids with each blink.

Mischief burns to life in your eye, a beautifully cruel smirk plastering itself across your face as you use that nifty daemati ability of yours to skid past the crumbling barriers of Cassian’s mind; breaching the poorly guarded threshold.

And much to your delight, the only thing filling the General’s brain was you.

You, bent over the edge of the training ring with your tight training leathers shoved down to your ankles and Cassian’s face stuffed between your thighs. You, sitting on the kitchen counter in your nightgown, it’s silky material tucked between your teeth and a brick wall of an Illyrian absolutely feasting on your pussy. You, a million other ways, in a billion other places twisted into a trillion different positions.

“Eating seems to take up a lot of your thoughts.” A downright desperate groan rips free from Cassian’s throat when lean back on your elbows, knees dropping to the side and a glossy red manicure beams against your skin as a flimsy thong is exposed. “Lucky for you, a good host always provides for her guests and I’ve added something special to the menu tonight.” You don’t even have to ask—he just hoists your hips up to his face, hands cupping the fat of your thighs, fingers digging in the sensitive flesh and you swear you can feel his breath through the fabric.

“Fuck,” The swear drawls out, his honeyed stare fixated on the way you nudge your underthings to the side and present yourself to him with that fucking look in your eye and your teeth biting into your bottom lip. “You're pretty everywhere.”

Every carefully curated response melts into the puddle of arousal that the Night Courts General laps at like a godsdamned dog in heat. One massive arm rests at the soft part of your belly, large hands keeping a firm grip at your thigh to hold you open for him as his tongue eagerly explores the sodden mess of your sex. Each of your moans are rewarded with soft suckles to your clit, the flat of his tongue firmly tracing out the letters of him name over and over until your tugging at his hair—too push him away or shove him in closer, you can’t tell. “Cassian,” you whine, cupping at your breasts, tugging on pebbled nipples and fighting your soul to stay in your body when two thick fingers are eased into you.

So full. So full and thick and you're sure you've been scooped up by the tide and jostled about the sea when his fingers curl, blunt nails rubbing against the gooey spots inside you.

Pleased grunts vibrate against your bundle of nerves, sending sharp shocks of pleasure shooting up your spine; tugging and tugging and tugging at the coil buried in your gut. “That’s it,” Arousal drips from his chin, smearing at his cheeks and coating the soft hairs of his trim beard. “Say my name.”

“Cassian,” Hips buck up into his mouth, all but riding his tongue and fucking yourself on his fingers until the dam breaks and your release gushes on his hands, down his arms, dripping on the floor by his knees but he doesn’t stop for a second. “O-oh fuck!” Experimental scissoring of his fingers forces your eyes to squeeze shut, a blush burning across your cheeks and down your chest as he watches the way you clench around them, cunt sucking him back in for more. “Gods. Cass—Cassian.” You all but sob, brows furrowed and toes curling from the stretch; from the slight burn that bleeds into raw satisfaction.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about you like this,” Thighs shake by his ears, sliding along the line of his shoulders and loosely hooking along the defined taper of his waist as he wastes little time in undoing the confines of dark breeches, separating the material just enough to show off the thick bulge straining against his boxers. “How long I’ve waited to finally get my hands on you.”

Except, you did.

Cassian was a loud thinker; projecting this perverted little fantasies like arrows cutting through the wind and they always hit their target. It was impossible to ignore, just like the leaky erection that’s revealed from thin fabric and tap, tap, tapped against the sloppy mess of your pussy.

“I’ve got an idea,” You barely get the syllables free, heart racing and blood pumping as the Illyrian slots between spread legs like he was made to fit there, melting into your warmth and exploring every inch you allow. “But, I tend not to believe things unless it’s showed to me.”

“I can do that.” He’s so gentle at first it makes you squirm, hips writhing for more already, cunt clenching on the fat tip of his prick as arousal leaks down your asscheeks. “Mother help me, you’re fucking soaked—this all for me?”

You’re already nodding along, muttering pleasant words wrapped in raw sugar and tied with rich satin bows in varying shades of crimson and ruby; deep vermillion and deep mahogany—fluttering symbols of the burly man before you and the victory he claims between supple thighs. “There’s more where it came from if you’d just stop teasing me.”

“My heiress is impatient,” Cassian teases, his voice deep and cock even deeper as inch after inch is fed to you. His gaze tracks your every response, marking the pout of your mouth and the furrow of your brow as he reaches places you hadn’t realized existed within you. Soft mewls accompany the bite of your nails in his biceps, the dark fan of your hair teasing down your shoulders as you watch where he begins and you end. “How rude of me to keep her waiting.”

Your stomach clenches with a burning need, pussy slick with fresh arousal when realizing Cass isn’t really addressing you but more so the mess between your legs.

Inch by inch is fed to you tortuously slow, whines and pleas shushed away by a deceptively comforting voice that promises to give you what you want if you just allow him his fun first. His cock splitting you open makes it easy to comply, lids lazy and arms flexing with the effort it takes to stay raised enough to watch. “Look at you,” Cassian mutters, thumbs spreading slick lips to watch the way your cunt gobbles him up. “Just made for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” It’s not nearly enough friction, the slow rock of his hips as he commits the sight of both of you together to memory. Every line and curve, every stretch mark and mole, scars and swirling tattoos of endless obsidian. The heave of your chest and the wrecked moan that escapes you when the pace picks up; when curious touches become confident caresses. “Cassian—please.”

He’s too far gone for words. Hips smacking against the back of your thighs as every ounce of his weight is put into making sure the shape of his cock carved its way into your womb. The firm way his lips slot over yours mid-thrust is everything; like finding water in the desert. Like sun on a cloudy day. Like being given food after enduring starvation.

His touch is claiming. The taste of him branded on your tongue, the shape of his teeth carved onto your shoulder. Warm palms drag along your curves, fingers leaving their mark on every inch; like those rabid dogs that piss on their territory. Throaty moans spur his possessive streak, fingers rubbing circles against a puffy clit just to chuckle at the involuntary jerk of your thighs and the slutty spit of your cunt.

Over and over and over again you’re brought to the precipice, that coil in your belly stretched taut until Cassian willed it to release. “That’s my girl,” He kisses into your neck, nosing at the slope of your shoulder and all but growls in pleasure at the smell of you and him combined. Together at last. A dream come true. A prophecy falling into place. Fate forged into fruition. “All mine,” He huffs into your hair, rhythm going sloppy and thrusts pressing just a touch deeper. “All of you belongs to me.”

It’s a horrible idea. Feeding this beast. Granting it exactly what it wants now and expecting it to wait patiently for its next meal. To go against its very nature to take and take and take until it had its fill.

Screw it. Consequences be damned when Cassian felt so good. When his want was so palpable with every orgasm he coaxed from you.

All yours; you agree in the way you allow him to suck marks along your collarbone. Every inch of me belongs to you; you comply with every demand he utters—with every rope of cum that paints your walls.

You almost think it’s over until your chin is gently pinched in his grasp, guiding you to face him, to look him in the eye while disheveled and sweaty; cheeks rosy and chest heaving as you caught your breath. “I could start fires with the way I feel for you.”

“I can handle the burn.”

[darksigns-exe]

you help me lose my mind - jolly x reader x nick

Pairing: Jolly Karlsson x f!reader x Nicholas Ruffilo Warning: Swearing, consumption of alcohol, protected intercourse, fingering, oral sex (f recieving), hand jobs, a teeny tiny bit of angst Word Count: 4.1k Masterlist | PART 2 | Taglist Sign up

Your head doesn’t swim nearly enough for a place like this. Bodies are stacked against bodies, grinding against each other as the bass pounds through the air. You force your way through the crowd, pushing past the sweaty masses until the bar finally comes into view. The friends you came here with are long gone. You’ll reconvene in the morning, it always goes this way. 

A rush of cool air blows into your face when you finally break through the crowd. You draw in a deep breath. The heat between the bodies is almost too much, and a part of you wants to dip out early. You shake the thought from your mind, though. You’re here to have a good time, and you’re not going to let a little bit of a bad mood get in the way of that. 

You’re still not entirely sure how exactly your friend managed to get you into this industry party, or what kind of industry party it even is. But you’re here now, surrounded by good-looking people, and you only feel a little out of place. 

The bar finally comes into sight, and really you can’t wait to down another drink. Perhaps not the healthiest way to cope with the anxious tingle in the back of your mind, but it’s the best you can do right now. You weave through the far less dense crowd until you find a free stool. As much as you like the look of these shoes, they are absolute hell after a while. A little break will be nice. 

You order another drink. Something sharp that’ll make your throat burn in just the right way. And that’s when you spot them. 

They’re awfully close, one just a little bit taller than the other, but not less intense. One of them has his hair pulled back in a low bun, while the others hangs down to his chest. You’re immediately caught staring. The taller one leans down, brushing his fingers against the other's cheek while he whispers something in his ear. You fight against the instinct to look away from them and instead fix the one with the bun with the same intensity he awards you with. 

He smiles just a little bit, the corner of his lip quirking up just enough for you to see from across the bar. The taller one presses a kiss to the other's cheek before he removes himself. You lose track of him rather quickly and return your attention to the man that is still fixing you with that curious glare. 

“Is this one free?” 

You turn to see who the new arrival is, and find yourself faced with the counterpart of the man still staring at you. 

You nod, and he slides in the empty spot next to you. A waft of a deep woodsy scent floods through your senses. His tall stature and the dark eyes that suddenly feel a lot warmer lure you in, perhaps a little too easily. 

You patiently wait for his next move. Surely, he’s come here with some kind of plan. 

He asks for your name, which you give in exchange for his. 

Joakim. 

He’s very effective in figuring out what you’re here with friends and not attached to anyone without it sounding creepy. You’re not sure if it’s the drinks you’ve had or the way he looks at you, but your head already swims with that dizzy feeling. 

“I’ll be very honest with you, darling. Nick and I like to invite a third party sometimes. We liked how you look, and I think the three of us could have a lot of fun.” Between the earnest tone of his voice and the gentle warmth in the way he looks at you, you feel as if you could easily back out of this if you wanted. 

If you wanted. 

“You can say no, and I’ll go back over there, and you won’t see us again.” He continues, “And even if you say yes, you’re free to back out at any time. No hard feelings.”

You mull over it for a moment. 

“Nick’s your —?”

“Boyfriend.” 

“Is this something you do often?”

He shakes his head, “Finding the right person isn’t as easy as you’d think. But I promise you that we’ll take good care of you.”

“Where would we go?”

“We’re staying in the hotel down the street. But if you’d rather do this at your own place, that’s an option too. But I can understand that inviting two practical strangers into your home is not ideal either.”

“That nice hotel with the plant walls?”

He nods, “That’s the one.”

That really piques your interest. They’re both well-dressed, and you know that this particular hotel is fairly pricey. They are incredibly intriguing, and you simply can’t bring yourself to say no. 

“How about you introduce me to your boyfriend, then?” you say, before throwing back the rest of your drink. 

An almost wicked smile works his way onto his lips then. 

You slide off your chair and following through the few stray people towards the other side. For now, you don’t feel very nervous about the whole thing. You’re sure that the nerves will make themselves known before long. 

You’re formally introduced to Nick. From up close, he looks even prettier, and you can’t help but feel a little bit jealous of either of them, really. 

You talk for a moment longer, just to break the ice. You learn that they’re in a band and just here for a couple of days. A real shame, you find yourself thinking. 

Their room is gorgeous. They’re quite high up and their view over the city is fantastic. You’ve lived here for a few years, but you’ve never had the chance to see your home like this. You’re so focused on the new that you don’t notice Jolly coming to stand behind you. 

His fingers brush across your bare shoulder, tearing you out of your trance. 

“It’s a lovely view, isn’t it?” he asks quietly. 

Before you can answer, though, Nick speaks up, “Best we’ve had so far, I’d say.” 

You look over your shoulder to find him sat comfortably in one of the armchairs, watching the both of you intently. 

Jolly leans in close, lips grazing against your neck. His breath fans across your skin, making the delicate little hairs stand straight up. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You can say no at any point. You’re the guest, so we’re playing by your rules. Is there anything that’s entirely off the table for you?”

You list off a few things, all of which he acknowledges and assures you will not be brought up tonight. You go over a few more safety things, before you finally feel his hands drifting lower on your body. His hands fit perfectly against your waist, pulling you back against his chest. 

“How about we give Nick an even better view?” He whispers, lips mere millimetres away from your skin. 

A like of kisses is pressed along the length of your neck and shoulder. His hand brushes the thin strap of your dress down your shoulder. 

You feel awfully exposed, despite the fact that you’re still entirely dressed. Nick’s piercing gaze seems to bore right through your defences. He watches intently as Jolly touches you, runs his hands along the sides of your body. 

“Can I take off your dress?” He asks, lips barely lifting from your skin. 

You nod, but Nick quickly shoots a pointed look your way, “Words.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I’ll ask you again, can I take this off?” Jolly’s finger tugs at the thin strap. 

“Yes. Please.” You catch yourself sounding a lot needier than you had hoped. 

“Pretty and polite.” Nick replies, “Go ahead, honey.”

One hand leaves your side and wanders to find the zip of your dress. 

You hold your breath as he drags it down. He’s so very gentle when he removes the garment from your body, taking care not to nick or pinch your skin. The fabric falls from your body. Jolly helps you step out of the garment, before he picks it up and places it on top of another armchair. When you had felt exposed today, you now feel like the main attraction at an exhibition. Their attention is entirely on you, and while Nick isn’t touching you, you can feel his eyes drift across every inch of your body. 

“Sit on the edge of the bed for us, darling.” Jolly says just loud enough for you to hear. 

You do as he asks, curious as to what exactly they have planned for you. You wonder if Nick is going to get involved, or if his enjoyment in this comes from watching his partner take someone else apart. 

The two exchange a few whispered words that don’t reach your ears. Their exchange feels incredibly intimate. You catch a glimpse of Nick’s hand resting against Jolly’s waist. They kiss before Jolly returns to you, and you briefly wonder what they would look like together. 

Jolly comes to stand in front of you. He towers above you, somehow even more impressive. 

His hand comes to rest against your cheek. 

You let him tilt your head upwards.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, eyes flickering across your face, seemingly searching for a trace of hesitance. 

“Please.” you gasp, suddenly feeling so very breathless. 

It feels like hours pass until his lips finally meet yours. You let your eyes fall shut and allow yourself to sink into the feeling. Your lips part for him before he has the chance to ask. His hand leaves your cheek to curl into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to him. Your own hands find his waist, as you try to ground yourself. He urges you backwards, coming to hover above you. 

He trails kisses along the length of your neck and down the centre of your chest. Hands cover your breasts, as he descends further. Jolly sinks to his knees in front of you, and only when he is fully settled do his lips disappear from your skin. He undoes the small buckles of your shoes, placing barely there kisses against the insides of your ankles once he has removed each shoe. 

“Lift your ass up for me.” 

Once again, you wordlessly follow his order. 

Your panties are swiftly removed from your body and tossed to the side. When you check out of curiosity, you see Nick pick them off the ground before he returns to his previous spot in the armchair. Your attention is torn from him, when you feel the scrape of teeth against the inside of your thigh.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” Jolly seals the words with a kiss to your other thigh, “You can lie back if that’s more comfortable for you. If you need a break, squeeze my hand twice.”

Another kiss is placed against your skin, higher this time. He urges your thighs further apart, before he dives into you. A first gentle lick draws against your folds and your hand curls around his. It’s dizzying. Sure, you’ve had someone between your thighs like this before, but Jolly seems to know exactly how to work you already. 

His lips curl around your clit, sucking just harshly enough to make you gasp out loud. You don’t miss the low chuckle that sounds from the other end of the room. From there he drifts lower still, licks against your hole, tongue briefly dipping into your wetness. 

“Does she taste as good as she smells?” You hear Nick ask then. 

Jolly stays buried between your thighs for a brief moment longer, before he drags himself away from you, “She’s perfect. Aren’t you, darling?” He squeezes your hand gently. 

“Might have to get a taste of my own next time.” 

Next time. 

The thought is quickly pulled from your head when you feel the first brush of a finger against your folds. You let yourself fall backwards against the bed, when he eases the digit into you. 

“There you go.” His praise sears right through you, “You’re doing so well.”

You sigh when his finger sinks fully into you. He only has one finger inside, but you already feel so full of him. His finger curls against your walls, making you cry out in pleasure. He takes his time, slowly easing another finger into you. The thick digits stretch you open so deliciously. By now, you struggle to stay still in any kind of capacity. Your whines and moans fills the room, and you can feel yourself barrelling towards the inevitable end.  

“You feel so good around my fingers.” Jolly speaks with a groan, “Bet you’ll feel even better around my cock.” 

His fingers curl and spread inside you. That coil in your belly is growing more and more taut with every thrust into you. And then his thumb presses against your clit, making your hips buck up against him. Your hand grips his just a little tighter, and for a moment his movements slow as he seemingly tries to gauge if you need a break. When the second squeeze doesn’t come, he doubles down on his efforts. His movements speed up significantly. Your free hand wraps around the top sheet, trying to find some kind of purchase as you feel yourself falling apart. 

You think that you feel his lips, his tongue against your clit again, but with how overwhelming the pleasure is, you can barely tell where up and down are. Your climax ebbs over you like a wave, slowly taking you apart tendon by tendon. He doesn’t falter, keeps the strokes of his fingers at a steady speed that has you whining and moaning with overwhelm. 

You cry out his name as you come undone. 

You’re sure that you’re bordering on incoherent. The only thing that matters at that moment is how good you feel, how good he makes you feel. The hand, you had previously wrought into the sheet, wraps around his wrist. The feeling goes from just right to too much within seconds, and you try to wriggle away from him. 

“Too much?” 

You nod desperately, trying to articulate what you wanted. 

When you finally find the energy to turn your head, you find Nick with his shirt mostly undone, hand pressed against his crotch. He notices you looking at him and nods towards you, silently telling you to return your focus to the man between your thighs. 

At some point, he had taken his shirt off, exposing his toned chest and stomach. You just catch him cleaning off his fingers on the top sheet. There’s a faint little smile on his face that makes your chest thump with a feeling you aren’t quite ready to deal with yet. 

“Good to go on or do you need a break?” Jolly asks, as he sets himself upright again. 

“Just a moment.” you reply, admittedly a little breathless. 

He leans over you, to brush the hair sticking to your forehead away. His fingers trail across the side of your face, along your jaw, before he pulls away as if he’d been burned. 

“I’ll get you a bottle of water.” he says quickly. 

You remain lying down for a moment longer. You can hear Jolly rummaging through the minibar somewhere behind you. To your side, Nick eyes you curiously. 

“He’s good, isn’t he? I know it can be a lot.” 

You nod, not quite trusting your voice. 

“I’m still here, you know.” Jolly cuts in. 

He brushes his fingers through Nicks hair. The gesture is so tender that you feel a little like an intruder. You watch as Jolly presses a kiss to the other man's temple, before he tears himself away from him. 

You take a good few sips of water, before handing the bottle back to Jolly. 

“How are you feeling, darling?”

“Good.” You nod, now feeling a little more settled again. 

“Do you want to keep going?” 

You hadn’t realised it until just now, but the repeated check-ins made you feel incredibly safe. 

“Please.” 

Your whiny tone draws laughter from both men. 

“They never say no, honey.” 

You chose to ignore the pang of jealousy and instead reach out for him. Your hands find his waist again, carefully luring him back to you. 

You’re sure that you’ll never get sick of the way he kisses you, the way his hand feels so large against your cheek. 

He urges you back just a little bit before he undoes his belt and trousers. You watch in awe as he strips from his clothes. And now you understand why he’s taken so much time and care to prepare you. 

He’s rock hard, leaking at the reddened tip. Jolly works his hand across his length, groaning when his palm brushes across the sensitive head. 

You watch as he picks up a little foil package from the night stand. A part of you is glad that you don’t have to ask him for it. In previous encounters, you’d always been the one arguing for more protection, just to be disappointed by the reluctance of your partner. 

Jolly places one knee on the bed in front of you. 

“Ready, sweet girl?” He asks. 

His hand is warm against the inside of your thigh, keeping you spread wide for him. 

“Ready.”

Jolly guides the head of his cock towards your folds. He drags his tip through your wetness, before he brings it to your entrance. Despite knowing better, you hold your breath when he pushes into you. The stretch is almost overwhelming, even with his preparation. 

One of his hands grips into your waist, while the other slowly guides his length into you. He pauses once he’s fully settled inside of you. His chest heaves with laboured breaths. 

Your legs automatically wrap around his waist. 

You force yourself to look at his face, only to find Jolly already gazing down at you. There’s a softness on his face that makes your breath catch in your throat. His now freed hand comes to brace himself against the mattress, allowing him to lean down to kiss you again. While he has your attention like this, he begins a slow but steady rhythm. 

It’s dizzying. 

You feel so very full of him, but at the same time it’s never enough. His pace slowly increases. Your body shakes with every thrust into you. Jolly somehow manages to hit all the right spots. His hand comes to grope at your breast. At the same time, his lips descend along your neck once more. You feel him pause at the junction of your shoulder and neck. The sting of him sucking a mark into your skin, does little to distract you from the way his cock feels inside of you. 

He groans against your skin. Your own whines and moans fill your ears. And between the obscene slapping of skin against skin and the sounds the both of you make, you almost miss the rustling behind you. And it isn’t until the bed dips down behind you that you become curious about what is happening behind you. But Jolly, shifts your thighs around his waist, changing the angle just enough to tear your mind from it again. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good.” he gasps, “Gonna ruin me.”

His teeth scrape against your skin, drawing a wanton moan from you. Your hands shift to his back, nails digging into his back as he continues to piston himself into you. 

His rhythm falters suddenly. When you follow his eyeline, you find Nick perched on the bed behind you. His hand is still pressing against the fabric of his trousers, not quite touching himself, but also not unaffected by what you’re doing. 

“Got curious, my love?” Jolly asks, sounding rather breathless already.

The low murmur of Nick’s voice flies right over your head, but can’t bring yourself to care much. A different set of fingers brushes against the side of your face, and you stretch your neck further to catch just a glimpse of Nick. 

You reach out for him, just managing to reach his thigh. He seems to understand what you want and scoots a little closer to the pair of you. Nick shifts your hand towards his crotch, allowing you to touch him properly. 

He sighs when you press against him, “Just looked so good together.” 

Nick helps you work your hand into his trousers. The angle isn’t ideal, and you struggle to find a good angle to move your hand along his length with the way you’re positioned. Even then, you think that he’s quite sizable. Your unsteady rhythm seems to be enough for him, though, as you hear a beautifully drawn out mess of gasps and moans from him. 

You feel yourself staggering closer and closer to your second climax of the night. It’s all so intense. You're constantly torn between them. The pleasure painted across either of their faces makes you even dizzier. 

“Getting close again, aren’t you?” Jolly asks, sounding as if he’s not far behind you. 

You nod, moaning out a yes when he hits a particularly good spot inside you. 

That seems to be enough to make him amp up his efforts even more. And a few harsh thrusts later, you feel the coil in your belly snap. You feel yourself cry out when it hits you, body growing tense with the overwhelming sensation that washes through you. Jolly finishes shortly after you, spilling into the condom. You’re still holding onto him, nails still digging into the skin of his back. 

You feel Nick scooting closer to you, until he kneels at your side. With the better angle, it only takes a few more strokes until he spills his release across the skin of your belly. They kiss as he finishes, and you can’t tear your eyes away from them. 

The aftermath is a blur. One of them wipes the residue of Nick’s release from your skin, before you’re cradled into someone’s arms. You find yourself settled between both of them. With Jolly’s arm wrapped around your middle, you feel incredibly safe and comforted.

Nick eyes you with an odd softness, and you feel as if there is something he wants to say. 

“We’ll talk in the morning.” is the last thing you hear from him before you drift off. 

You wake to an empty bed and for a brief moment you fear that they have left you just like that. Not that you would blame them. You hadn’t come here expecting more than a one-night stand. When you sit up, though, you find their clothes still placed on the armchairs. It’s not long before Jolly emerges from what you assume to be the bathroom. His chest is still bare, and his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” he says with a soft smile, “Nick’s getting coffee. Do you want something?” 

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” you reply quickly, already surveying the room for your clothes. 

“I asked, because we’d like to have you here for a bit longer.” he sits at the foot of the bed, “If you want to go, that’s a different story. But you absolutely do not have to leave.”

Instead of arguing further, you tell him your go-to order. You watch as he relays your order to Nick.

While you wait for him to return, you step under the shower. Jolly hands you a shirt to wear so that you don’t have to squeeze back into your dress just yet. 

Nick returns a good twenty minutes later, arms loaded with three to-go cups and a bag of what you hope to be pastries. Seeing him looking much more comfortable in a hoodie and jeans makes you wish that you could see him like this all the time. 

You talk over breakfast and come to the conclusion that you all enjoyed this night too much for it to just be a one time thing. Numbers are exchanged and promises are made to call when you have the chance. You end up staying for a while longer, luxuriating in their presence while they pack their bags. 

The goodbye feels harder than it should have, seeing as you’ve only met them last night. Jolly hugs you tightly, pressing a soft little kiss to the corner of your lips. Nick’s embrace is just as tight, and you feel a pang of regret that you didn’t get to feel more of him. He kisses your cheek, sending a pleasant warmth through you. As you part, he promises that this won’t be the last time you see them, and that makes you feel a little bit better about leaving. 

You’re barely out of the hotel when your phone pings with a notification from Nick.

We’ll be out here again in a few weeks. Can’t wait to see you again. 

taglist:@deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven

TW: angst, fighting, discussion of nsfw topics

The alcohol you ingested certainly does not help with your coordination. You nearly bump into several club-goers, as if you are a salmon struggling to make your way up stream. You feel as though you can’t breathe, your skin crawling on your bones.

Once you finally burst out the doors you gasp for breath, grateful for the outside, if not polluted, air. You do not stop moving, your feet mindlessly carrying you down the sidewalk, away. All you can think, is that you want to get away.

You don’t really pay attention to your surroundings in your manic dash. Julian’s face keeps flashing in your mind. Of all the men in your life who had hurt you, none of them had been half so beguiling as Julian. None of them so fucking clever at hiding the monster inside. 

You have been a fly caught in his web, baited by his puppy dog eyes and his kindness in his doctor’s persona–you cannot understand how that man can share the same body with the dom who literally licked your blood from your palm earlier, and loved it. He lured you but now you know the only way you can be intimate with that man is through playing dangerous games with his darker side. Maybe some of them you could have enjoyed, but this? He would tease you with the crumbs of his sweetness, his kisses and caresses, but he would make you pay for them with your pain, your blood, and your submission.

It can only end in your ruin.

You would destroy yourself, trying to heal this man, while he just kept taking pieces out of you and swallowing them whole. 

As your feet slow you look around, and you realize you have no fucking idea where you are.

Well done, you fucking little idiot. Filled with crippling despair, you sink to the cracked concrete curb, ruining the seat of your silk dress, hanging your head in your hands. Asking Julian to take you home is out of the question. You can’t really afford a taxi. You could call an Uber, but the thought of getting in a car with a total stranger right now makes you feel ill. And you are way too drunk to try to navigate the Byzantine bus system of LA.

You stare at your phone, and your fingers swipe and tap of their own volition, as though to say we know what to do, you messy bitch. The phone only rings twice before a familiar, deep voice comes over the line. “Hey baby.”

“Tom?”

“What’s wrong?” 

The sleepy warmth in his tone immediately sharpens, and the fact that he hears the distress in your voice after just one word fills you with a relief that maybe you have no right to.

“Can you come get me?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

You laugh a little at that, a brittle sound you have not heard in your own voice in a long time. “I don’t know?” Your voice cracks, your throat tight, on the verge of tears. “I’m somewhere in Venice.”

There’s a silence on the other end that communicates he has an inkling of what you’ve been up to. “Are you hurt?” There’s an undertone of something dangerous in his question, but you don’t think it’s directed at you. 

“No. Just…” Scared. Embarrassed. Stupid. Heartbroken. Drunk.

You can’t bring yourself to say any of these things aloud. You settle for, “Lost.” 

It was the understatement of the century.

“Ok, honey. I’m on my way. Tell me what you see.”

You describe your surroundings as best you can, and it’s enough for this man who knows this city like the back of his hand. He has you stay on the line, asking you little questions you hardly even think about the answers you give. You’re in a different place, in your mind, and like the forever original creature that you are, you sit there and cry quietly while Tom tries to keep you talking. Meanwhile, you cannot stop picturing Julian’s face, the hunger in his eyes as he watched that poor girl being lit on fire.

By the time you hear the bass growl of Tom’s Charger swing up to the curb, you don’t know how long it’s been, only that you’re grateful for the sight. Moments later he’s kneeling in front of you, his big hands cradling your tear-streaked face like you are something precious and breakable.

At least the last part is true.

“Y/n? You ok, sweet girl?” He wipes your tears with his thumb, sweeping your damp hair back from your face. You can only imagine how terrible you must look. Waterproof mascara has its limits.

Bravely you nod, though your chin quivers tellingly. “Thank you for coming.” 

“I’ll always come for you, y/n,” he tells you with a frown, and goddammit if you don’t believe him. He’s looking you over, inspecting you for damage you’re too in shock or too embarrassed to disclose. When he finds the bandage on your hand his expression turns murderous. “What the fuck is this?”

“I cut myself,” you assure him, certain that if you don’t convince this dangerous man of the truth, Julian’s not days, but hours, are numbered. “With scissors. Opening a plant.”

Tom narrows his eyes, glaring down at the bandage like he’s not sure he believes you. “What happened then? Why are you out here alone like this?”

“Julian wanted to show me the club,” you try to answer as vaguely as possible. “But I…couldn’t handle it.” You shake your head, unable to meet his eyes. He wants to hurt you. Julian had outright told you so, but somehow before tonight, maybe you didn’t really believe him.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Tom asks, his voice low and pointedly gentle. You realize, a beat later, that he’s asking if you need a rape kit. You never imagined, for some reason, that this man could be as equally gentle with victims as he is harsh with perps. That warms your heart for some reason. 

You shake your head slowly. “No, nothing like that.”

He searches your face with those sharp black eyes, and you imagine that stare is probably just as effective as a lie detector. You almost didn’t even register it, maybe because it feels so natural, but his hands are on you. His hands have been on you this entire time, and his touch makes you feel anchored, like just maybe you won’t get blown away in this shitstorm.

He looks at the matching bangles around your wrists next, the thin bands of gold bearing Julian’s monogram in that delicate slanted script.

“Fucking asshole, really thinks he owns you,” Tom growls, sliding one from your hand, and crushing the soft high karat gold in his fist.  

“Hey.” Your protest is half hearted at best, and all you do is watch as he does the same to the other one, bending it beyond recognition. Destroying the precious little objects that weighed on your wrists with such heavy meaning seems to make him feel better. 

Maybe you feel lighter too.

“Trade ‘em at a pawn shop for scrap value, honey. That’s all they’re good for.”

“They were Tiffany,” you tell him with a half smile and a raised eyebrow.

“They were Bullshit & Co, baby girl.” He might just be right about that. “Didn’t really think you cared about stuff like that?” 

You shrug, because you don’t, but you’d never owned anything so fine. The novelty of it was enchanting, but maybe the real price for them was far too high.

“Can you take me home?” You think you probably look as pathetic as you sound.

He nods, pulling you to your feet with those strong hands, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You lean on him, more than you have to, and it takes all your self control not to wrap your arms around his solid torso and not let go. You realize, this is the first time all night you actually feel safe. “I’ve got you, honey. Come on.”

He walks you to the passenger side of the Charger, tucking you down into the seat, even fussing over the seatbelt. “I can do it,” you tell him softly with a brittle smile. You only see it for a flash of a second, but the rawness in his expression wipes that stupid smile right off your face. You realize that he was scared, for you, and the unlikelihood of it all makes you reach for him. 

He freezes as you touch his cheek, your thumb tracing his high cheekbone. Only belatedly do you remember it's the hand with the bandage, because you really have had too much to drink, and you start to withdraw. Not before he turns to press his lips to your palm, his hand dwarfing yours. “You’re safe now. Alright?” 

You nod, and your heart hammers in your chest as his gaze drops for a telling moment to your lips. In this vulnerable, inebriated state, safely ensconced in his car, you decide there’s nothing you would like more than to kiss Tom Ludlow, your unlikely knight in shining armor. It seems like the least you can do. You even start to lean towards him, but with a small growl he’s suddenly gone, shutting your door, and striding around to the driver's side. You almost can’t believe it.

But then again, you’re a fucking mess. Why would he want to kiss you?

Julian chooses this moment to start blowing up your phone. You send it to voicemail. As Tom pulls away, the Hemi snarling down the streets of Venice, your doctor demands,

WHERE ARE YOU?!

In answer you tap out, I can’t do this, Julian. I’m sorry. I left. You look over at Tom, a small warmth blooming in your chest, before adding, I’m safe.

Julian tries to keep talking to you, but you decide to just turn off your phone entirely, tossing it down on the floormat with your little clutch purse.You close your eyes, and sit back in the seat. Even then, you can feel Tom looking over at you.

You don’t know where you get the courage to speak, except maybe it’s just the liquid kind, and you’ll really regret it in the morning. “You’re a smart guy, Tom. Maybe you can tell me. What is it about me, that makes men want to hurt me? My whole fucking life…” Your courage does fail you then, and your mouth snaps shut.

There’s the regret. You knew it was there somewhere.

“Honey…” He reaches for you, engulfing your hand in his catcher’s mitt of a paw, squeezing. “I’ve seen a lot of bad shit over the years as a cop. The world is full of assholes. It’s full of evil. Maybe even more than good. It’s not your fault, when it finds you. Ok?”

You nod silently, but you still can’t help but think you’re like a fucking magnet for it. Julian had seemed like such a nice guy, but it turns out he literally wants to beat you with sticks–and maybe light you on fire? A bit of a roué. The understatement of the century.

And Tom seemed like an insufferable alpha asshole, but here he is, saving your ass when you had no one else to turn to.

Maybe the real lesson of the night is that you can’t trust your own judgment at all. 

You feel Tom looking over at you again, that evaluating gaze that you fear misses nothing. “You sure he didn’t hurt you?”

You shake your head again. “He just…wanted to,” you admit. “He told me about it. That’s as far as it got.” 

“Ok, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hand again, and you can’t help yourself from looking down at it in your lap, and imagining what it would be like if he slid those long fingers up your thigh, and into your panties while driving this powerful machine at breakneck speed down the road. His voice breaks you from your fantasy, leaving you blinking from the brightness of the passing headlights. “Look. Maybe that shit is all done up as something safe with all its rules and consenting adults and blah blah blah, but I’m a cop, and I know an abuser when I see one. If a man cares about you, he shouldn’t want to hurt you. Ok? Don’t let him mindfuck you, baby girl. Stay away from him. You don’t owe him anything, and he doesn’t own you.”

“You think you own me. By that logic, shouldn’t I stay away from you too?” 

He gives your thigh a little possessive squeeze. “I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

Maybe you’re a horrible judge of character, and maybe you should just listen to yourself every once in a while and stop getting into these situations, and maybe you’re just fucking stupid, but you believe Tom Ludlow. You believe him with every part of you. 

“Well, you’re sorta.” A big hiccup cuts off the middle of your sentence, and you cover your mouth. Oh, that’s how you absolutely know you’re too inebriated for your own good. 

Tom laughs. “Sorta what? Mean? Domineering? Bull headed?” 

“Cocky,” you add, using the hand on your mouth to cover your smile. Somehow, this man has already managed to cheer you up a little. 

“You can be dominant without hurting someone,” he tells you, tapping the side of your thigh with one chunky finger. You twitch a little bit, and it spreads a big grin on his face. The temptation exists to grab his hand and guide it right under the skirt of the dress, but you’re sadly not that drunk. 

“Maybe…I need a demonstration?” 

He looks so handsome when you catch him off guard, that rugged eyebrow quick and easy, raising in either confusion, humor, or a little bit of both. “Maybe I need to have dinner with you.”  

Nope. No more dates. No more, says panicking sober brain. 

“I was thinking maybe we just… skip the date?” 

“Why? So you can avoid all those feelings you have about me? This might surprise you, but I’m not much for one night stands.” 

Really? Fucking really? All his sexual innuendos and suggestions and poking and prodding and he’s suddenly the Virgin Mary? 

“Are you kidding me?” You ask, unable to hide your anger. Alcohol. It does wonders. And horrors. 

“I’d like to fuck you more than once, honey.” 

“I’m not saying it would only be once.” 

“Oh? And then the rest of the time, when we’re not fucking, you avoid me and ignore my calls?” Impenetrable Tom Ludlow seems a bit annoyed. Meanwhile, you are internally melting at his words. A man that wants to do more than just fuck you? Take advantage of you? Tom wants you? Fucking asshole. For making you feel…special. Wanted. Even if it is true.

“I don’t believe you.” 

“What?” His anger makes you flinch. 

You knock his hand off your thigh. “I said, I don’t believe you.” 

“Maybe you would if you’d give me a chance.”

“You don’t take no for an answer.” 

“Because I like you, and I’m not stupid enough to let you go.” Your internal monologue is screaming, resist. You’ve heard this shit before. 

That’s the mantra. 

You’ve heard it before.

“You just don’t get it.”

“Because you won’t let me. For Christ’s sake, it’s just one date. You wanna act all tough, but if you ask me, you’re being a coward.” 

His words hurt, and you shrink back from the deep bite of his tone. He must notice the withdrawal, because he’s reaching over to touch your cheek, to soothe you, to tame you easily with that big, warm touch. 

You smack him away. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Baby.” His voice is soft, now, and fuck him for plucking every single one of your heart strings with it. 

“No. Just let me out. I’ll walk home. I’ll call a fucking Uber.” 

“You’re not getting out of this car until I watch you walk into your apartment.” 

“You’re not the boss of me!” 

“No, but I’m bigger, stronger, and have double locks on these doors, so you’re getting home safe whether you like it or not.” 

So you stew in your frustration for the rest of the ride home, your arms crossed like a petulant child. When he pulls up to your apartment building you remember that you had not, in fact, told him where you live.

“How do you know where I live? See, this is why I didn’t go on a date with you. It’s weird that you know where I live. I didn’t even tell you, and you think I’m the one who’s doing something wrong here? You’re a real piece of work, Tom.” You’re babbling, rambling, trying to restrain drops of salty liquid from falling down your face and failing horribly.  

He turns toward you, calm and despondent. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.” 

This is the second time he’s said sorry to you since the day you met him. No, maybe the third. He just swings that word around like he does his badge, and it’s so strange. People do not say sorry to you. That apologetic roll is usually yours and yours alone, and here he is just… Just saying it? Why does it piss you off even more? 

You get out of the car, slam the door shut, and punch the security buttons for your complex. It's only after you’re safely inside that Tom drives away. 

[blackgirlwhowrites2k23]

Heya! Can I pleaseee get a Balde one where he comes to visit you unexpectedly in your uni dorm or flat and you have to try your best to hide him 🥲🫶

Summary: “When I dialed 6-1-1, Repair Service

She said, "Hello, may I help you please?"

I told her something must be wrong with my phone

'Cause my baby wouldn't hang up on me”

You’ve been caught up with preparations for your exams and you’ve put your phone on DND. You told your parents but you forgot to tell a certain someone. 

A/N: Thank you for the requests! More Balde is on the way !!! This one's also about 2,300 words which is more than I've written for the others so enjoy!

It was nearing midnight and your dorm room was shrouded in the dim glow of a desk lamp. The air was a mix of the vanilla-scented candle you'd lit (because who said studying couldn't have a hint of vanilla-scented goodness?), the heavy weight of late-night cramming that threatened to make you fall asleep, and the unmistakable anxiety that hung thick around these times. You were buried in textbooks and notes, fully immersed in the world of exam preparation; it was like a battlefield, and each page you turned was a strategic move. Your desk was a war room, scattered with the casualties of highlighters and sticky notes. With a crucial test looming on the horizon, you had put your phone on "Do Not Disturb" mode all day in hopes of getting all your work done and fully being prepared for your upcoming finals. With your notifications silenced, the only sounds that reverberated through your dorm were the rustling of papers and the occasionally frustrated sigh that came from the depths of your soul and empty stomach.

You had made sure to inform your parents about your temporary digital escape, not wanting them to worry and assume something bad had happened–knowing them. Thoughts of a time when they'd practically filed a missing person report because you forgot to text back for a few hours came to the surface causing a soft smile to grace your features. You were glad you had people who worried about you. Speaking of people who worried about you, you had kinda forgotten to clue in a certain someone—Alejandro, your boyfriend. With a big game on the horizon for the star football player, the anticipation was probably cranking up his stress levels so you decided it best to let him be fully focused anyway. He’ll forgive you. You chuckled at the mental image of him panicking after receiving a missing person report from your parents after you two had spent the whole day together laughing and catching up.

As the clock ticked past midnight, you were in the trenches; engrossed in your notes, oblivious to the multiple missed calls and messages from Alejandro. 

Outside your door, there was a soft melody that was almost like a distant echo, barely audible at first but gradually growing louder with each passing second. The muffled thumping of heavy bass reached your ears, accompanied by a tantalizing melody that teased the edges of your memory. You definitely knew the song, but it was so muffled that you couldn’t quite catch the words. It was the kind of tune that, under normal circumstances, would have lured you out to join the invisible party or belt out whatever lyrics were being played in the hallway.

However, irritation crawled under your skin as the music continued to infiltrate your room. At first, you tried to brush it off, but the irritation morphed into a gnawing frustration, and you felt an almost growing urge to do something about it. The fantasy of storming out into the hallway to confront the culprit played out in your mind. You imagined yourself going out there and asking if they were “out of their damn mind” and to “turn that noise down” or maybe taking the polite route and requesting to turn it down, which would be a remarkable level of self-control. Or maybe doing a little bit of both.

With a sigh and a reluctant shake of your head, you decided that enough was enough. It was time to restore the peace. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the confrontation ahead. Whether through a polite request or a no-nonsense intervention, you were not going to fail this test because you were too busy turning up to your dorm neighbor’s music.

You swung the door open, ready to give a piece of your mind, only to be met with the sight of Alejandro, a mischievous grin on his face, holding a portable speaker playing the soulful tune. Confusion flickered across your face, but before you could react, he grabbed your hand, pulled you into the hallway, and began to dance and sing.

"What in the world, Alej!? Boy, do you mind explaining why you're playing music outside my door at this ungodly hour?" you asked in a sort of hushed shout as a mix of irritation and amusement was in your tone as you crossed your hands across your frame.

He grabbed your hands again and twirled you in a spontaneous dance move, still singing, "Mr. Telephone Man, there's something wrong with my line. When I dial my baby's number, I get a click every time!"

You couldn't help but laugh at the unexpected serenade, even as your irritation lingered. "Seriously, though, what are you doing here?"

He flashed you a playful smile and continued to sing, "Mr. Telephone Man, there's something wrong with my line. When I dial my baby's number, I get a click every time!"

Your confusion deepened, and you shot him a bemused look. "Be forreal, is this some kind of weird initiation prank or...?"

With a twirl and a flourish, he sang the next line, "When I dialed 6-1-1, Repair Service

She said, "Hello, may I help you please?"

I told her something must be wrong with my phone

'Cause my baby wouldn't hang up on me!"

It finally clicks. You couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused. "Okay, wow. You are petty."

He finally paused his impromptu performance, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Just thought I'd drop by since my baby doesn’t know how to answer the phone. I thought I’d add a little musical magic to your study night and bless you with my singing skills. You know, since I’m you’re good luck charm."

“I thought I was your good luck charm,” you raised an eyebrow, caught between a sly smirk and a reluctant smile. " And I thought you had a match coming up, so I thought I’d let you focus. I didn’t want to be a bother.” 

“We’re each other’s lucky charms.” He chuckled before he placed both his arms firmly on your shoulders as his face got serious, "And you’re never a bother. Don’t let me hear you say that again or you’ll hurt my feelings, man."

You couldn't help but shake your head in disbelief as you waved him off. "You could've just knocked, you know."

"But where's the fun in that?" he replied, starting to dance again. "Mr. Telephone Man, there's something wrong with my line..."

You sighed, unable to suppress a smile. "Alright, fine. You win. But let’s bring this inside. If anyone sees you making all this noise they’ll be on my head. People are trying to study."

With that, he pulled you into your dorm, the catchy tune of "Mr. Telephone Man" playing lightly and serving as a great backdrop. It was unexpected, ridiculous, and utterly Alejandro. You couldn't deny the warmth spreading through you as you joined him in the spontaneous dance, grateful for the interruption. Your initial annoyance melted away into laughter as he picked you up and twirled you around, still belting out the lyrics with an endearing off-key charm. The unexpected serenade had you in stitches, and you couldn't help but marvel at the lengths he went to surprise you.

“Oh, wait. I almost forgot.”

He put you down and darted back outside. You stood there, a mix of emotions swirling within, wondering if he was leaving. However, to your surprise, he returned moments later, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a gift basket filled with snacks, comfort food, and a selection of your favorite movies.

As you peered into the gift basket, a grin spread across your face. "What's all this, babe?"

He chuckled, reaching for a snack. "Just a little something to make sure you're fueled up and relaxed for your big day. I’m also hungry though so some of these are for now."

You picked up a kisses chocolate bar and raised an eyebrow at the note attached. "Kisses for good luck?" you read aloud, a playful groan escaping your lips. "Alejandro, you're so corny."

He grinned, teasingly nudging you. "You secretly love my corniness."

You bit back a smile, holding up a Tootsie Roll with a note that read, "You'll do great, toots." "This is quite literally the corniest thing ever," you teased, groaning in affection.

He laughed, "Admit it, you love it."

You attempted to deny it with a nonchalant shrug, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. "Maybe a little."

His eyes twinkled with amusement. "That smile says otherwise."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn't hide the affection in your gaze. "Okay, fine. Maybe a lot."

He leaned in, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. "That's what I thought."

The gesture left you speechless, and your eyes glistened with tears of joy. Alejandro noticed your tears and immediately grew concerned, reaching out to wipe them away. As you explained the mix of emotions that overwhelmed you, he responded with a snort, teasingly flicking your forehead and calling you a crybaby.

The music still lightly played from the speaker, and just when you thought the night couldn't get any crazier, there was a knock on the door. Your eyes quickly went over to your digital clock that read 1:30 am. Shit. A whole 30 minutes since visitation hours ended. Panic flashed across both your faces as you hastily tried to hide Alejandro. His attempts at concealment were comical at best—behind curtains, under blankets, and even suggesting he'd hide behind the door. You couldn't help but stifle a laugh at his antics.

"Hurry up, Balde! Behind the door? Seriously?" you whispered, trying to keep your voice low while conveying the urgency of the situation.

He shot you a sheepish grin, "Hey, it could work!"

You rolled your eyes, "Not a chance. Get in the closet!"

The knock persisted, and you shot a quick look at Alejandro. With a dramatic flourish, he threw himself into the closet, making you cringe at the potential noise. You shushed him with wide eyes, "Quiet! We're going to get caught."

He hushed back with an exaggerated whisper, "I'm Miles Morales, silent and stealthy."

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle. "More like Alejandro Balde. Loud as hell and clumsy. Just stay quiet!"

As you tried to rearrange the room to look somewhat normal, Alejandro couldn't resist making a joke, "If they ask, you’re going to try out for the cheer team and I was helping you practice."

You shot him a glare and pressed a hand to your lips. He returned the gesture as you closed the closet door. 

The knock on the door grew more insistent, and you quickly continued to shuffle around, trying to make everything look as normal as possible. You shot one last glance at the closet, silently praying that Alejandro could keep quiet.

You quickly adjusted yourself, doing your best to look casual as you opened the door. The RA, a stern-looking figure with a perpetual fake customer service smile, squinted suspiciously.

"Everything okay in here?"

“Hey, girl. Hey.” Real smooth. You put on your best innocent smile, "Yeah, just studying and things of that nature."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing around the room. Her eyebrows lift in appreciation as she hears the music. "Ooh, I love this song. But, don’t keep the music up too loud it’s late."

You nodded, "Of course."

She squinted, looking at the closet. Panic bubbled up inside you as she took a step closer, and you desperately tried to divert her attention.

"So, how's your night going, girlll? Any exciting plans?" you asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the closet.

She tilted her head, seemingly amused, "Just making my rounds, you know. Checking up on everyone. I caught some people trying to sneak people in past visitation hours so I had to do a sweep of the floor."

Your neck began to get hot as you played along. “Oh wow, who would do something like that.” 

You tried to divert her attention, but she wasn't easily swayed. With a raised eyebrow, she approached the closet, and your heart raced. As she opened the door, you closed your eyes, readying yourself for an explanation.

To your surprise, she closed the door without a word, patting you on the shoulder and bidding you goodnight. Bewilderment washed over you as you rushed over into the closet, only to find it empty. You furrowed your brow in confusion, searching around.

“You need help finding something, ma’am.”

You turned to him, a mix of relief and confusion on your face. "How did you...?"

He winked, his voice barely above a whisper, "I can turn invisible, remember?"

You chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. "You're something else, Alejandro."

He laughed, "Well, we didn't get caught, did we? Now, I can think of something else we can be doing..."

You giggled but waved to him, "Uh Uh, none of that. These walls are super thin."

He pouted, "You're no fun."

You shot him a playful glare, "Says the guy who tried to hide behind the door."

He chuckled, "Fair point. But you have to admit, I added a bit of excitement to your study night."

You playfully rolled your eyes, "Yeah, yeah, Mr. Telephone Man. Let's just hope we don't get another surprise visit."

You spent the rest of the night watching movies, eating snacks, having fun, and cozying up next to someone you knew would always worry about you when you needed him to.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Boyfriend 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: Mat thinks you can do better than your boyfriend, and he sees himself as the most worthy candidate. Word Count: 1k+

What are the chances? Everyone's dancing, and he's not with you.

Mat Barzal wasn’t a predatory man, but he was one that knew what he wanted. And once he wanted something, he would get it, even if it wasn’t morally right to do so. Lately? He wanted you. 

It had been something that clicked inside him since the moment his eye met yours all those weeks ago. The team had gone out to dinner, wives and girlfriends all invited, and it had surprised all when your boyfriend didn’t show up alone. You had been together for almost four months, and no one had known. You were best kept secret. But the moment he made the introduction between you and Mat, there was no ignoring the thought that consumed his mind. They lingered there, but one persisted louder than the rest: I can be a better boyfriend than him.

Not that he had anything against the guy. He was a good teammate on and off the ice. But you? You were something special. And Mat? He wasn’t a good guy. Not really. If he was, he wouldn’t be watching you, and only you, in the crowded room. He wouldn’t have noticed how your jeans fit snugly around your hips. Or the low cut of your shirt gave him and any other who dared to look at the magnificent view of your breasts as you danced. There was no losing you on the dance floor, not even as he stood across the bar leaning against the bar top with a drink in his hand. He nursed it slowly, letting the alcohol burn its way down his throat, all the while never tearing his eyes from you. The lights illuminated your figure and the soft features of your face. Though he was sure without them, you would still be radiantly glowing in the darkened New York City nightclub. 

You were someone who demanded to be seen, even if it wasn’t with your words or your intention. Carefree and confident with every one of your movements to the music, you would have lured anyone in. But your boyfriend was always there with his hands on your body, and Mat could only dream of touching you. He would kiss you, leaving you blushing, his lips dragging down your neck and leaving Mat hot with jealousy. But tonight, his teammate was nowhere to be seen. 

Mat stiffened, his back tense as he pushed up off the bar and placed his half-empty glass down against the bar top. His hand slipped away, wet with the cold condensation before he could drag it down the length of his jeans as his dark eyes scanned over the dance floor. He saw the faces of strangers and the bodies of your friends as they danced around you. Silhouettes of others obscured his view of your body and how it rolled to the music. They hid the smile on your face and how it grew when it changed to one that could only be your favourite. What he saw, however, was how you looked around for your boyfriend, and how your smile wavered when you could not find him in the crowd. Yet, you remained on the dance floor lost in the music without him and without your friends as they filtered off the dance floor for another drink. 

Deep in his chest, his heart thundered along with the bass of the music. It pulsed through him and drowned out every thought in his mind that told him to turn back and retreat to the bar. That you were a woman spoken for, and he had no right to even think about touching you. Yet, he didn’t stop. Mat needed to take this shot, even if he might regret it later. His one thought drove him: a mantra, a promise; I can be a better boyfriend than him. 

Mat joined the crowd of strangers on the dancefloor effortlessly, his every movement orchestrated to get him closer to you. Moving as effortlessly as he did on the ice, Mat dodged strangers and desperate women who wanted to steal a dance, but he himself was a desperate man. He would not settle for anyone but you. 

After offering nothing more than a slow, apologetic shake of his head to the women who could not see his disinterest, Mat finally met you out on the dance floor. Lungs burned deep in his chest as he admired how your body moved. The sway of your hips, the way you so clearly didn’t know what to do with your hands. He would have laughed if he could breathe. Mat wouldn’t let his nerves get the best of him. The song was almost over, but that didn’t stop him from reaching out and taking your hand. His touch left you spinning in place to face him, your expression going from shocked to relieved as quickly as the lights could change in rhythm with the music. For a moment, he expected you to pull away, but your smile only grew. Mat could breathe again. You were dancing with him. 

There was no fighting the smirk that took to his lips as he trailed his hand up your arm, feeling your skin for the first time beneath his fingertips. Or hiding the light in his eyes as he marvelled at the sight of you dancing there in front of him. With his eyes, he drank you in and his neck craned down to look at you, sending wisps of his dark hair down to tickle the skin of his forehead. Mat was enjoying it far too much, and anyone who looked at him would know it. But that didn’t stop him.

Mat was utterly shameless in how he danced with you. His touch didn’t stop with stroking up the skin of your arms. Hands found your body, stroking over the satin fabric of your top and wrinkling it beneath his desperate touch. It drew you in cautiously, testing the graze of your body against his thigh, but then you indulged him. 

You spun around, your back flush with his chest and the rest of your body fitting against his so perfectly. It was an invitation, one that he accepted without hesitation. His hands dragged down your body, feeling your every curve before one of his hands settled on each of your hips. Fingers gripped at you tight. Pressing into your sweet flesh and guiding you back until he could feel the curve of your ass grinding against the inside of each thigh. Each bump, and every grind, was like getting shocked with a volt of electricity. It coursed through him, leaving his breathing laboured and his skin damp with the beginnings of sweat. There was no ignoring the ache in his cock, and how it threatened to stiffen for you. And how quickly he would let it if you let him. 

Mat had to bite down on his lip to fight it, but the thought lingered. Echoed. I can be a better boyfriend than him. He wanted you to know it, but words alone wouldn’t be convincing. You needed to feel how he felt. The desperation. The desire. Did it consume you the same way it consumed him? There would only be one way for him to tell. 

A single hand left your hip, his fingers splayed wide. He dragged his palm up over the plains of your stomach and the swell of your breast that he so desperately wanted to take a handful of. He could feel the heaviness of your breath and left it behind as his fingers tickled your collarbone and travelled up. Up, and over your neck and how you outstretched your throat to him before his fingers found the soft skin of your cheek. Slowly, with your back still firm to his chest, Mat turned your head just enough for you to glance back at him. He watched as your eyes fluttered, your gaze flickering over his softened features before they settled on his lips. 

Mat dragged his tongue hungrily over his bottom lip, moistening it and his dry mouth before he leaned in. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb dipping down just enough to angle your chin up for your lips to meet. His kiss showed every bit of his intent and would leave your boyfriend regretting that he left you to dance alone. 

[cocoa-rococo]

Koopaling Headcanons: Roy

Larry | Morton | Wendy | Iggy | Roy | Lemmy | Ludwig

The cool guy, the main muscle, the roughest-n'-toughest member of Bowser's army! Get a load a' them shades.

Left-handed.

Owns at least fifty pairs of those sunglasses of his. They are also pretty much indestructible, thanks to a certain brother inventor.

A root beer fan! Root beer floats are one of his favorite desserts and guilty pleasures.

His "tough guy" persona is mostly for show, but he really does love his siblings. This does not exempt them from noogies and teasing.

Regularly works out, and is happy to have a gym partner in Lemmy. Granted, Lemmy leans more towards acrobatics than athletics, but he likes sharing the space with him.

Likes watching professional wrestling with Morton in his free time. Also likes to wrestle with Morton. And his other siblings. And anyone willing. And anyone unwillingly, really.

Dyslexic. He'd probably like reading a little more if it was easier for him, but his dislike of "nerdy books" helps with his whole tough guy image. He's a better audio + tactile learner, anyway. Ludwig’s been trying to get him into audiobooks with varying rates of success.

He wanted to own a monster truck SO BAD as a kid. Getting to participate for the first time in the kart tournaments was the best day of his life, and one of the most terrifying for everyone else.

Has a pretty balanced diet due to working out a lot, probably compared to most of his siblings, but he'll never turn down a nice rack of ribs, especially BBQ. Slow cooked and so tender it falls off the bone? Roy would kill a man.

No one, other than his siblings, knows his eye color. The story as to why he never removes his glasses changes whenever someone asks.

Knows how to sew, though he doesn't tell people often due to his "cool" persona. He learned it because he wanted to have patches on his jackets, and after pestering Wendy to do it enough times, she taught him.

While Wendy's definitely the more beach-y of the two, he also likes tanning in the sun and surfing on the waves. He prefers hotter temperatures to cold, and while he hates the winter and snow, he loves snowball fighting (especially dumping piles of it on top of his siblings).

Has a high tolerance for spicy things. He chews fire flower seeds when he's stressed, and has a particular fondness for good chili.

Knows his way around a car and its engine, and keeps a collection of vintage magazines of older muscle cars.

He generally doesn't deal with flowers, but he's got a soft spot for hydrangeas and lavender. Reminds him of childhood.

He loves chip snacks, all flavors of them. Ludwig used this to his advantage as a kid and turned him onto apple and banana chips. He keeps a stash hidden for cooldown munchies after a workout.

If he ever learned an instrument, it'd probably be either the bass guitar or a drum set. Larry is trying to lure him into practicing more so they can start a band.

A fan of classic rock music, with some hints of metal. He partially gets this from Bowser; so much so, in fact, that when paired with his knowledge of car maintenance and learning about speakers, ended up spawning Roy's Smooth Sounds.

While he's all for bucking the rules, especially if they're stupid in his eyes or it helps him somehow, he's actually one of the few siblings who thrives on routine. Makes it easier to put his time in 'blocks' and work around them if need be.

He keeps a calendar and in his room for remembering important events, both for the castle and things his siblings have going on. Wendy keeps trying to gift him journals to use, he keeps trying to remember to use them, and ends up forgetting regardless.

Likes watching car showcases and auctions in his free time. Gives him inspiration for customizing his own vehicles, since he and Iggy are banned from collaborating on cars since The Incident™.

While he can do magic with his wand just fine, it's not his preferred fighting method; why waste time studying spells when you can just punch the thing in half the time? He was, however, the second to learn how to transform his wand into a weapon.

Not a big candy person, but his favorites are malt balls and anything with peanut butter. Will also never turn down a nice slice of chocolate cake, especially if Wendy makes it.

Favorite fruits are cantaloupe and mangoes, especially if it's hot out. Avocado is pretty good, too, but he prefers that in dips and spreads, especially if paired with bacon.

What makes him especially dangerous isn't just his strength and his Bill Blaster, but his stamina; his determination to win, along with his ability to keep going in spite of all obstacles or enemies in his path, makes him kinda terrifying to face.

He's a bit of a night owl, which works out well for night school. It also means he gets to affectionately bully any of his siblings who think not sleeping is a good idea.

His favorite school subjects vary. Literature he doesn't do well in because of how subjective and interpretive it is, but he's good at math because of the consistent formulas. He's not too bad at geography, either, and history is interesting in small doses. Shop classes he does very well in, too.

Most likely out of all his siblings to get a tattoo. Probably something across the knuckles or on his upper arm.

He's one of the stricter siblings when it comes to his army, and runs a fairly tight ship, but he's also the kind of higher-up who will take the select few who do well out to a steakhouse to celebrate.

Cannot, for the life of him, stand menial tasks and busywork like sweeping, sorting papers, organizing, etc. He feels like he’ll crawl out of his skin from boredom. It's why he bribes his siblings to do it whenever he can.

He's a fairly good cook, and can follow a recipe with ease, he just doesn't like how long it takes. He leaves that to Larry and Morton.

Knows how to work a grill like nobody's business. You invite him to a cookout and he’ll make you the best burger or hot dog you could ever want.

His favorite sport is wrestling, as well as all forms of boxing. He’ll respect the rules in the ring if there’s something important at stake, but with his siblings? He fights dirty and does not care.

[nubuckleather]

buying a fishing lure shaped like two men kissing best believe these damn largemouth bass are getting queerbaited

[thenativetank]

Rating fish lures based on accuracy to the fish they portray:

Starting off with a weird one because it says Inshore Minnows (Saltwater) but there are no marine cyprinids as far as I know - but if I had to rate it as such, I'd give it a 1/10. What I'm pretty sure this is actually is a Silverside of some sort. The body shape, eye color, and "offshore minnow" moniker kind of support that, but the color is too blue and it's missing the prominent lateral line stripe of our native species - 2/10 if it was intended to be a Medinia spp silverside, possibly higher if another species.

I chose this one not because it resembles a Shad (because it doesn't - what with the exaggerated Yellow Perch coloration and all) but because with a flat gray color I'd say this is about the best Gambusia/Mosquitofish lure I've seen - the body shape would be perfect. But it's listed as a Shad so it gets a 1/10. Sorry little guy, they did you dirty!

This is highly likely to be a Striped Bass - in which case I'd say it's not bad honestly. No fins here but we can imagine it's either a clamped individual or taken out of water. The horizontal stripes decrease in length from top of body to bottom (good!) and the eye color is accurate. Solid 8/10, but with fins would have been a knockout.

This body shape is weirdly common in lures, which I'm calling "puffer shaped". I'm not sure how effective this even is in saltwater since the puffer shape and coloration typically signal "don't eat me". In any case, this one looks like a Green Spotted Puffer from what I can tell - eye color is wrong (and looks so odd!) and there are no fins, but I could tell what it was from a distance. 5/10

Another puffer shape, the flat "green with a tinge of yellow" on top and cream on bottom strike me as a golden puffer (which i just found out changed genera recently). I assume the dot here on the side is the dark spot where the pectoral fin meets the body, but if so it's too dark and too far back. Still. 6/10 here, the species is at least obvious at first glance.

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

Is it possible to get mist interacting with a siren?

I will always happily write for our Water Queen <3

G/N Reader

Platonic/Non Romantic/ Friendship

Siren Reader

Mist and a Siren Reader

-believe it or not, sirens are very similar to a lot of water ghouls. They have a habit of hunting and luring prey similar ways. Both are also pretty elusive if you tried to catch one!

-Mist is especially more receptive to you as a siren because you both come from the ocean. Despite how her nickname suggests she’s named for weather or freshwater, she’s actually from Hell’s temperamental seas! Ocean life is much different than freshwater, so you both know your way around the sea. Oceanic ghouls are less common on Earth as they are particularly difficult to summon, leaving Mist feeling pretty lonely.

-You both bonded when you felt each other’s connection to water and have been inseparable ever since. You were a siren on a coastal abbey, and you did join the Ministry when you felt safe to, but you ALWAYS miss the ocean. So just like Mist, you were starved for someone who understood you. Siblings are just humans so they don’t understand how badly you need the ocean like they need air. And truthfully, you don’t disclose your nature to many.

-The two of you swim together a LOT! Your abbey is on a cliff side to the sea off the coast. You both regularly scare the shit out of the other siblings when you dive off the cliffs together! But you are fine, it’s not painful for either of you and you get the best jump!! (Though they did scold you both several times because of it.) it’s just your favorite diving platform and you enjoy the rolling waves as you enter from so high!

-You have shown Mist your favorite basking rock. It has the perfect amount of open water around it and enough room for the two of you to relax. Once in a while you even see ships sailing far away. As tempting as it is, the Clergy members running your home have warned you not to mess with any ships… a bummer really!

-Mist has shown you the best hiding place in the cliffs, a private little cave connected to a small beach. No one else is able to get to it because it doesn’t connect to the mainland. The both of you spend hours there together when not on duty. It’s your own little paradise!

-Mist is very protective of you, and you have to convince her that you’re fine pretending to be a human. A part of her feels that if you’re out of the water too long you might get sick and feel ‘beached.’ It makes you laugh every time. One of your most used phrases is “I’m a SIREN not a FISH!!”

-You don’t like to admit it but you do have the famous ‘Siren Call’. Your voice is beautiful and clear. But you hate people pestering for you to sing. Granted, you can definitely sing without hypnotizing people, but you don’t take requests! Mist is the only living being who has heard you sing and she adores it. And your favorite part? Ghouls aren’t susceptible to the magic of your powers. At least a couple times she has listened to your Call and found it beautiful. It’s a running joke between you that it doesn’t work on her!

-Despite being a bass ghoul, Mist is incredibly talented at acoustic guitar. You sing and she plays to it. It’s a lovely duo you make!

-Your favorite activity is finding rocks and shells together. You have a shared collection going.

[bizzbaits]

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[doomedandstoned]

MR. BUNGLE MELVINS  ☆ SPOTLIGHTS ★ The Showbox, Seattle

  Photo Review by Chris Schanz

One might ask what would bring me out of retirement? Was I retired? What the hell have I been doing for the past three years? All things Doomed and Stoned have been in flux for me. I’ve been focusing on my day job. I’ve been focusing on my family. I’ve been focusing on my garden. All this focusing has left me nearsighted. Blurry. The COVID era left me with a shitty hangover (not long COVID – I’m just trying to forget that shit and move on!). Sure – I’ve shot shows, band portraits, weddings, funerals yadda yadda fucking yadda. I wanted a sign that the universe is ready for my gifts, once again.

Enter Mr. Bungle and The Melvins. The Geek Show Tour, sponsored by Ipecac Records celebrates both the vast accomplishments of Mike Patton (Faith No More, Fantomas, Mr. Bungle) and The Melvins – on their 40th anniversary! The perfect lure to get me off my ass and feel like I actually can contribute something to music, art and photography in general without licking the taint of Instagram and an AI-generated algorithmic overlord soon set to devour us, Titans, Gods and all.

The Showbox at the Market is the perfect set. I feel at home there, usually right by the soundboard. So many shows seen there – Sonic Youth, Nudedragons (Soundgarden), Brothers Of the Sonic Cloth, Sleep, Uncle Acid, Bell Witch, Graveyard, Chelsea Wolfe, The Black Angels – on and on, and on and on. It’s by far Seattle’s best concert hall, IMHO.

SPOTLIGHTS

I admit. I wasn’t prepared for Spotlights. A buddy of mine in Denver by way of San Francisco said they’re sweetly DOOMY. I was in. I got three songs to fall in love. Head over heels! Words escape my brain, only memories of sweet, subsonic joy flowing through my chest and brain. I followed up with Sarah Quintenero after the show at the merch booth, loading up on their vinyl. I’m blasting “Tidals” on vinyl while writing this in my cave, but “Alchemy for the Dead” is a MASTERPIECE! I’ve been binging on their Bandcamp all week now. Bold, deep bass fuzz, ethereal vocals and serrated guitar riffs. My new summer soundtrack.

They’re still on tour – and I highly advise you to see them now!

Alchemy For The Dead by Spotlights

Spotlights Setlist

"The Alchemist" (2023’s Alchemy For The Dead)

"Sunset Burial" (2023’s Alchemy For The Dead)

"Algorithmic" (2023’s Alchemy For The Dead)

"False Gods" (2023’s Alchemy For The Dead)

"Part 4" (2020’s We Are All Atomic)

MELVINS

This brings me back to the Melvins. The force that shaped my twenties in Seattle. My band Fuzzbud had a six-degrees-of-Kevin Bacon thing with a Morton, WA / Monteseno, WA, somebody’s cousin played in a band that opened for…whatevs. We tuned to DUH flat and had a good time. BUT…The Melvins were always a mainstay in any of my playlists.

King Buzzo did NOT disappoint! I was singing along from the photo pit. I was kidding beforehand that there should be some sort of SNL skit – a play by play commentary of the photo pit action. Think Howard Cosell announcing each of the photogs falling over each other for the shots. I thought it was funny, anyways. I’m a dork.

ANYWHOO. Buzzo provides! Dale’s a GOD. I got my HEALTHY fix of Houdini, culminating in a THREE BASS OVERLOAD on Night Goat with Sara Qintenero from Spotlights and Trevor Dunn from Mr. Bungle joining Steve McDonald to rumble your bunghole. What did I miss by NOT seeing the tour finale in San Francisco? A reunion of Fantomas (Mike, Buzz and Dave Lombardo)! When these guys get together, (black) magic always happens!

The Bride Screamed Murder by Melvins

Melvins Setlist

"I Can’t Shake It" (1998 split with Cosmic Psychos, Some Girls/I Can’t Shake It)

"Zodiac" (1990’s Bullhead)

"Copache" (1993’s Houdini)

"I Want to Hold Your Hand" (2018’s Pinkus Abortion Technician - Beatles Cover)

"Hammering" (2022’s Bad Mood Rising)

"Never Say You’re Sorry" (2022’s Bad Mood Rising)

"Evil New War God" (2010’s The Bride Screamed Murder)

"Let It All Be" (1999’s The Bootlicker)

"Honey Bucket" (1993’s Houdini)

"Revolve" (1994’s Stoner Witch)

"Night Goat" (1993’s Houdini - with Steve McDonald, Spotlights Sarah Quintero and Mr. Bungle bass Trevor Dunn on basses)

MR. BUNGLE

The main event. I knew they led with the Mr. Rogers theme on most nights. ADORABLE! But to my surprise, and delight! They performed the John Sebastian theme to “Welcome Back Kotter”! FUCK YES. I’m a Sweathog and everyone knows it! We would also be treated to the Pepto Bismol jingle not too far into the set.

I was wanting, wishing for a few more songs from 1991’s Mr. Bungle release, primarily some “Squeeze Me Macaroni” and “Stubb-A-Dub” action. Stubb was my go-to track in our house in college. After many a trip, I believed I was the proverbial “family dog” to our tribe…just elated to be along for the ride scrambling from party to party. Luckily for me, I got some “My Ass Is On Fire” and I was satiated. “Speak Spanish Or Die” brought me right back to my thrash and skating days (Days. Rolled my ankle on the half-pipe and drove the crew to all the spots after that). Van Halen’s Loss of Control? A TOTAL surprise and I was elated! Ear to ear grins and giggles!

I came for the Melvins, Mike Patton and Dave Lombardo, but I left with a deep adoration for Spotlights and a 365-day calendar of “The Many O-Faces of Scott Ian” and that’s more than OK. I’m in love. Thank you, Scott, for fulfilling this schoolboy’s adolescent dreams, 30 years later!

The Night They Came Home by Mr. Bungle

Mr. Bungle Setlist

"Welcome Back" (John Sebastian cover)

"Bungle Grind"

"Eracist"

"Spreading the Thighs of Death"

"Loss for Words" (Corrosion of Conformity cover)

"Hypocrites"

"Speak English or Die" (Stormtroopers of Death cover) (changed to "Speak Spanish or Die")

"Glutton for Punishment"

"Anarchy Up Your Anus"

"Methematics"

"Hell Awaits" (Slayer cover) (intro)

"True/Cold War/True"

"Raping Your Mind"

"World Up My Ass" (Circle Jerks cover) (with Michael Crain)

"Sudden Death"

Encore: "Loss of Control" (Van Halen cover)

Encore: "My Ass Is on Fire" (with PEP tag)

[vampyredefender-a]

in the dim, pulsating lights of the nightclub, lexi swirled the straw in her glass, the thumping bass reverberating through her veins, a distracting rhythm trying to drown out the primal cravings clawing at the edges of her consciousness. the music was deafening, yet it couldn't mask the symphony of heartbeats echoing around her, luring her into temptation. "this may not have been my best plan." she muttered to herself, pulling the straw from the drink in order to down it in one, channelling her strength to resist the allure of the intoxicating escape she once knew so well.

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: R.E. Seraphin

Whether kicking out raucous, throaty garage jams with Impediments a decade ago, or exploring power-poppier terrain with Talkies and more recently under his own initials, Ray Seraphin tells his stories in the radiance just above the fuzz. Sung low and hoarse, his lyrics blink in and out of reality, propelled by the instruments’ lively buzz and echo. Ruptured by an explosive guitar lead here or punctuated by a tidy, melodic bass riff there, this music doesn’t sit still. It’s familiar but captivating, a potent rock and roll fusion of lo-fi attitude and sweeping hit-record moves. Alex Johnson called his latest release, Fool’s Mate, “dynamic and buoyant… a bright, powerful album with lurid desperation creeping in from the edges.”

Here are 10 of Seraphin’s formative records, books, and movies:

Outrageous Cherry — Out There in the Dark

When I was 17, my bandmate’s partner loaned this CD to me and I held onto it for a number of years before she was able to pry it back. I loved the pairing of Matthew Smith’s arch wordplay and Larry Ray’s mercurial guitar work. They are one of the classic vocalist-guitarist duos to me — up there with Bowie-Ronson, Ferry-Manzanera, Rollins-Ginn. All of their albums are great. Not to sound trite but they really should be better known!

Ralph Bakshi — Wizards

When I was fired from my first job at Arinell’s Pizza, the manager gave me a 1/2 pint of Ancient Age, a CD copy of Butthole Surfers’ Independent Worm Saloon, and a VHS copy of Wizards as my severance package. He proceeded to drink the whiskey with me (at 9am) but, mercifully, stopped short of insisting we watch Wizards together. The film is lifted into classic status by Bakshi’s signature crude and wild animation style despite a fairly ho-hum future-fantasy plot. Still visually arresting.

John Barth — The End of the Road

I was an English literature major in college and, because I fancied myself a Serious Person, I read a lot of books I didn’t understand in my extracurricular time. I’ve read a few of John Barth’s more celebrated, metaphysical works but this early, "realistic" story is the one that stuck with me. There’s a bleakness and ugliness to the book that feels really transgressive — albeit not in an edgy, cornball way. Plus, as someone who probably suffers from some form of executive dysfunction, I somewhat relate to the protagonist Jake’s crisis of self.

The Real Kids — Outta Place

Over the years, my music has largely been referred to as power pop. I chafe against the term a little bit but can't say I’m entirely allergic to it. The Real Kids likely represent my first real interest in the genre. Their self-titled album is their best, most complete work; however, I more frequently listen to their New Rose-era.

Flamin’ Groovies — “Whiskey Woman”

Growing up, the Flamin’ Groovies were the consummate rock group. They represented band-ness to me in a way few others did. In my mind, it’s The Replacements, NRBQ, The Faces, maybe Cheap Trick, and the Flamin’ Groovies. Their early records have this cartoonish, shambolic post-Stones vibe I love — the Roy Loney effect. That said, I was drawn to this somewhat atypical ballad sung by their guitarist, Cyril Jordan. I think this is the song that made me realize you could end a song with something other than a double chorus.

Tommy James — “Ball and Chain”

My record collection did and does consist almost entirely of dollar bin records. I bought this record on a whim at a garage sale and became enamored of James’ weird, Christian bubblegum world. The fuzz guitar (maybe played by Tommy himself?) on this song is absolutely psychotic. Big fan.

Kirsty MacColl — “They Don't Know”

I discovered Stiff Records through a CD box set my mom owned. Initially, I was lured by the rockin’ entries in their catalog: Nick Lowe, Wreckless Eric, Larry Wallis, The Damned, et al. I also adored Rachel Sweet and Kirsty MacColl, though. A perfect song that contains the most affecting use of the word "baby" in the history of pop music.

Thee Headcoatees — Girlsville

I vaguely remember being stoned at a friend’s house when I was 16 and getting introduced to this Headcoatees album. I nicked a riff for one of my first songs, "Pig Out," which I licensed to a vegan pork rind company 10 years later. To this day, I don’t know what song I ripped off and it may not have even been by Thee Headcoatees. But Thee Headcoatees are cool, so here you go!

Flannery O’Connor — Wise Blood

I attribute my interest in American fiction writing to Flannery O’Connor. The atmosphere in her stories is so suffocating and anxiety-inducing — in a good way. I think reading this was the first time I understood the emotional impact great writing can have. I have a slight preference for her short stories now but, keeping in the spirit of this list, Wise Blood was my first, most enduring exposure to her work.

Zero Boys — Vicious Circle

I grew up in Berkeley, home of the Gilman St. Project, and I think a lot of my peers in high school expected me to be into hardcore. The Zero Boys are probably the one the clicked with me the most. They were melodic and seemed still tethered to rock n’ roll. Could be because they cited The Dictators as an influence. I was wearing a Vicious Circle t-shirt the first time I was dumped but I don't hold that against them.