#i like to think his tattoos have little lines connecting them

[gothic-clownz]

hes back,,,,,my fav guy has returned !!!!!

[yuujispinkhair]

Yakuza King!Sukuna lives a dangerous life. That's why he only wants you to leave his penthouse with your bodyguard. But what if you crave a treat from your favorite shop just down the street and go on your own?

Based on this lovely ask I received from @subarusuguru. Thank you so much for sharing it with me!! ♥️

Pairing: Yakuza!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: smut + fluff Word Count: 900 Warnings: 18+, smut, spanking + pussy spanking, edging, fingering, dirty talk, use of the pet name daddy. It isn't explicitly stated in this story, but Sukuna and Reader are in an established relationship and have a safe word, etc. Everything happens with mutual consent. Minors don't interact. Divider @/benkeibear

Yakuza!Sukuna loves you. He loves you so much. You are his whole world, and he needs to protect you, especially when he has so many enemies because of his line of work.

Usually, Sukuna enjoys a little disobedience when it comes from you. He loves to tease you about being a brat and enjoys playfully putting you back in your place. But things are different when he is actually worried about you like he is tonight after finding out you went to a shop all alone, without one of Sukuna's drivers, and even worse, without your bodyguard.

Sukuna knows that he is to blame, too, because he didn't want to scare you and, therefore, didn't tell you how grave the threat is at the moment. But he still can't stop himself from spiraling when he hears you so foolishly went out on your own. 

"This has to stop. If I tell you not to leave the house on your own, you will be a good girl and stay inside. And if you really need to leave, you will call Nobara. Do you understand that?"

He can see you gulp hard when you hear how stern he sounds. His maroon eyes, which are usually so warm when they look at you, are cold and hard right now. Tonight, the man sitting across from you isn't just your charming and loving husband. Tonight, you are talking to the King of Tokyo's Underworld, and he will do what he has to do to ensure you stay safe.

That's why Sukuna pats his lap and points an elegant tattooed finger to his fine black suit pants.

"Come here. I will make sure you remember to do as I tell you from now on."

You squeal when he grabs you and bends you over his lap, lifting your skirt and pulling your pretty lace panties down. And you squeal even louder when Sukuna's large hand connects firmly with your juicy ass cheek.

You make a cute sound, a mix between a hiss and a moan, when Sukuna spanks you again, several times in a row, before he uses his other hand to spread your pussy lips and watch the glistening wetness gathering there, your arousal so evident. You are breathing heavily when Sukuna runs a teasing fingertip over your creamy folds before he pinches your wet little clit, eliciting a loud gasp from you.

"I am doing this for you, darling. Don't you understand that I need to protect you? The Zenins are out there, trying to take everything from me. What do you think will happen if you run into them?"

You whimper softly, and Sukuna kneads the plump flesh of your naked ass cheek before he pulls his hand away and adds in a low, stern voice, emphasizing every word,

"That's why," his palm connects firmly with your naked ass again, "you have to," another firm spank, "learn how to obey me."

Sukuna wishes he didn't have to do this. He doesn't want to bend you over his knees like this and spank you like some naughty brat.

He doesn't want to tease you for hours like this, torturing you with pleasure and pain. Rubbing your swollen clit, and occasionally pushing a finger into your tight wet cunt, pumping it in and out of your obscenely squelching wetness, only to pull away again anytime he feels you beginning to tighten around him.

He doesn't want to punish you, making you whine loudly when he lets his large palm connect firmly with your spread pussy.

Sukuna doesn't want to spank and edge you until you are a crying, needy mess who promises him over and over again that you won't leave the penthouse on your own again.

"Please, Sukuna! Please...I... please... I won't go out on my own again! Please, please let me cum, Daddy! I'll be your good girl!"

Sukuna hates having to use his power and strength like that. But he also knows that pain is a good way to ensure a lesson is learned. And at least this is a pleasurable pain, judging by the way you mewl when he pushes two long fingers deep into your soaking wet cunt and fucks you hard and deep with them, torturing your g-spot unrelentingly while his other hand spanks your sensitive flesh.

Your whole body shakes as you cum all over his long fingers that are stuffing your cunt while Sukuna's other hand connects hard with your ass again, spanking and fingering you to an orgasm that makes you cry out loudly.

Sukuna lets out a long breath. The hand that spanked you is brushing gently over your abused skin now, caressing it lovingly, while he slowly fucks you through your orgasm. His voice is low, sensual, and full of love,

"Yes, just like that, sweetheart. You can be so good for me when you want. And I hate having to act like such an asshole. I love you, darling. I just want you to be safe. Do you understand that?"

He smiles when you answer him with a voice thick with tears but also filled with that sweet euphoria you always get after Sukuna made you cum.

"Hmm, yes, I know. I'm sorry for being so reckless, Kuna. I love you too."

You scramble to get up, and Sukuna quickly helps you, wrapping his strong arms safely around you and pulling you up so you straddle his lap, your wet cunt soaking his fine suit pants.

You smile at him and wrap your arms around his neck,

"But, next time, just tell me the whole truth, so I know how dangerous things are at the moment. You shouldn't keep these things from me, baby. I can take it, you know?"

Sukuna's lips lift in an amused smirk, his large hands sprawling over your naked ass, pulling you closer, his lips ghosting over your neck. He presses a tender kiss to your pulse point while lifting his hips to let you feel the large, hard bulge in his pants, his throbbing cock pressing against your hot wet cunt, only separated by the soaked-through fabric of his suit pants and boxer briefs.

"First, show me how you can take Daddy's cock, and then I will tell you everything."

FUCKKK I NEED HIM!!!! Yakuza!Sukuna still manages to make my head spin, and I am so happy I could indulge in this!! Thank you so much for the prompt!! And thank you so much for reading!!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet ♥️♥️

You can find more Yakuza King!Sukuna stories here

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 8: Nobody’s Son, Nobody’s Daughter

You hate how weak you are, sometimes.

That a text can ruin your whole day.

>> Hey. I hope you’re doing well. I miss hearing from you.

You’re fuming. Absolutely fuming. In under fifteen seconds you’re on your feet, face hot and heart pounding as you stomp across the old wooden floor.

“I’ll be right back.” You grunt to Johnny and Kyle, ignoring their wide, confused eyes and fast walking past them and out the back door.

The sun is up for longer now, only just beginning to set. It’s hot and hard to breathe, which only makes you more pissed off. Your skin prickles and blood rushes in your ears. You hate the way your hands shake. Your boot connects with the dumpster hard. It hurts, but you’re too pissed to really care. You just need it out of your system - the metal sending a ringing, gong-like sound bouncing around the back alley as you repeatedly slam your foot into it.

How dare he?

Miss hearing from you? YOU?

He ignores you for your whole childhood and teenage years - didn’t even try - and he misses hearing from you!? Couldn’t ever remember your age or grade when you did see him and he hopes your doing well!? Blew you off for his other kids for years and he fucking misses you!

How the hell did he even get your new number? Your mom, probably. The traitor. Fuck.

“Think that bin’s ‘ad enough, bird.” Simons voice startles you. He glances down at the dent you somehow managed to make. Your foot throbs when you put it back on the ground, shifting your weight onto the other one. One of your toes is bleeding, you think. You hand feel it soaking into your sock.

You look away, face hot from embarrassment now. “Didn’t know anyone was out here…”

Simon takes you in for a moment. Usually you don’t mind it - his intense silences - but right now it feels like being dissected. Like he’s pulling your skin back to reveal that squirming, tar-like creature aways simmering just a layer beneath. The pathetic little worm you try so hard to cover with a functional facade.

“Smoke?” He tilts the pack toward you. You wrinkle your nose - it’s a shit brand - but at the moment you wouldn’t care if it was made of actual shit as long as it had nicotine.

You pick one out and plop down on the weird curb that lines the opposite side of the alley. Simon sits beside you, raising his lighter toward you cupping his hand around the little flame to light your cigarette. It’s intimate, in a way, and if you had the emotional elasticity for it you might have blushed.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks after a few drags.

You shrug. “Dads suck.”

Simon hums. “That they do.”

“It’s just like-“ You make an exasperated sound and run your fingers through your hair. “Like if you’re not around for fuckin’ twenty years, you don’t get to act upset when I don’t want to talk ever. Just because now I’m the one that set the boundary. It’s stupid. It’s mean.”

Simon nods along as you ramble, your voice trailing off eventually. You both sit there quietly, for a moment. This is the type of silence that you don’t mind. Enjoy, even. Just existing together. At first you thought he hated you, or just didn’t like much of anybody, but you’ve come to theorize that he’s the same as you. That he gets stuck in his head, too. It’s nice, having someone to sit with without the need to entertain them. To preform.

Your lip quivers even as you attempt to stop it by sinking your teeth in. A killing blow. It doesn’t work. You bury your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I’m crying…”

“Because you’re hurt.” Simon bluntly replies. It’s soft, though. As soft as a voice like his can be.

“He doesn’t deserve it.” You sob, messily wiping at your eyes. Your eyeshadow is probably smudged to hell now but you can’t bring yourself to care. Hopefully the others don’t ask about it.

An arm wraps around you, tucking you close. The surprise of it almost knocks you out of your crying fit entirely. Simon isn’t touchy. With anyone. He doesn’t look at you, just keeps his eyes forward while he takes a long drag, but that arm remains around your shaking shoulders with you pressed to his side.

It’s quiet, as it usually is when you close up with just Simon. The others took off for the night. Johnny said something about a date before dragging Kyle off arm in arm. They must have set up some kind of double date for the evening. John’s last appointment had to reschedule so he knocked off early as well. It’s nice, really, to be alone in the shop with Simon. He lowers the music, helps you with sweeping and the trash. Tells you the newest joke from wherever the hell he gets them. Popsicles, you think, based on his sweet tooth and the quality of pun.

“C’mon. We’re takin’ a field trip.” Simon tilts his head toward the street past the turn to your apartment. He still insists on walking you home, even if the sky is still relatively bright.

You look up, frowning. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

You follow him down the quiet street. It’s warm and muggy as you go. You keep glancing up at Simon, waiting for some sort of tell. Some hint at where he’s leading you. In the back of your mind, you become innately aware that Simon is probably the only man you’d follow this blindly.

You nearly knock into him when Simon comes to a sudden stop. “Here.”

You look up, squinting at the tacky sign in what you can only describe as “intense manly man” font. Bold, blocky letters in bright orange with faux cracks scattered through the letters.

TANTRUM TANK

A mixture of stunned and curious leaves you quietly following Simon in. You press the spot between your brows to dissipate the confused frown. The lobby is pretty basic with a few decorations that mimic the style of the sign. Cracked facades and black walls. The room is lined with plastic chairs and a couple safety posters reminding patrons not to hit each other with the bats. A large television screen flashes between images of people in hazmat suits smashing various garbage and debris, pausing on a menu of times and prices.

“Simon!” A man appears behind the counter, face bright. “Here for your usual hour?”

Simon steps up to the counter, nodding in your direction. “Actually, I’ve got a plus one.”

The man’s brows raise and he looks you over, giving you ashort, polite greeting. You nod and smile back, pretending like you know why you’re here at all. You just watch as Simon briefly chats with the clerk who obviously knows him well. He’s a regular here, then. He doesn’t give anything away, just makes some brief, perfunctory small talk before taking a key and waving you after him. Why’d he bring you here, of all people?

Your heart skips at the thought of Simon wanting to do something with you, though. He brought you here because he wants to hang out - in his own way. He must do this with the other boys, too. Maybe one of them bailed on him or something. Part of you wonders if he didn’t want to come alone, but that doesn’t sound like him. Plus, you can’t say that its’ at all out of character for him to decide something and just do it with no other communication. You also can’t say you mind much. Not with him.

“You come here with the others a lot?” You ask as you follow him back to the room.

“No.”

You frown. Oh.

The two of you lapse into silence as you put your things away into designated lockers. There’s a sort of interim room before the actual rage room with storage and a few stacks of protective gear in various sizes. Simon’s quick about it. Practiced. He slips on the protective plastic suit quickly while you grunt and struggle with unfolding it. Your hair crinkles with static as you finally get the mass of plastic unfurled and step into it. Of course the one that fits you around is too damn long. At least the gloves fit.

“Simon?” You murmur, finally finding your voice - as weak as it comes out. “Why’d you bring me here?”

He looks you over for a moment with that same steady gaze as before. You’ve never felt seen like you do with Simon. Even with the others… they don’t see to the core of you like he does. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Some pathetic little part of you left over from your misunderstood teenage years.

“I ’ad a pretty shite father.” Simon says as he zips up his suit. “Taught me a lot of anger. I didn’t- I don’t want to be like ‘im. Don’t want people t’be scared…”

You stare, wide eyed, frozen in place. As if any movement would disrupt this new found honesty - would frighten the man away from confiding in you. It’s sudden and far more than you’ve gotten out of him in the months you’ve known each other. It’s too special to risk.

“Sometimes you’ve got t’get it out of your system. Better than breaking your foot on a skip.” He snorts, stepping forward and carefully pushing a pair of safety glasses over your eyes. One hand runs over your hair just for the briefest moment; another lightly pats your cheek before he turns on his heel, grabbing one of the bats hanging on the wall and making for the door.

You stare after him, shell shocked by both the admission and uncharacteristic physical touch. You involuntarily reach up to trace your fingertips over the cheek he touched.

Don’t want people to be scared…

A part of you breaks in the back of your mind. The obvious, unsaid ‘of me’ sits heavily on your tongue. Some distant image of what he might have looked like as a child. Small and blonde with those big dark eyes… You gulp down a tight breath and follow after him, just a little too close to crying at the implication.

Simon gestures toward a crooked, half broken office desk. “Ladies first.”

And oh, if that first swing wasn’t the best release you’ve had in a long, long time.

A/N: Sorry for being inactive the past couple weeks, I could literally write a novel with how much as happened irl🙃

Anyhoo next part y’all are getting lots of Price because that homecoming skin has got me fucked up

[steddielations]

nsfw, actor eddie, hair and makeup artist steve, sub top

The downside of Eddie having a bunch of tattoos is that he has to sit in the makeup trailer longer than anyone else getting them covered, along with his character’s makeup. 

The plus side is he gets more time with Steve. 

They have this game. It started on Eddie’s first day. He was all wired up with nerves because it’s his first time in a lead role on a big production like this.

Every nightmare scenario of how he could screw up was running through his mind. He couldn’t sit still enough for Steve to give him the wavy hair and facial scars that his character has. 

Eddie kept apologizing and Steve was great about it. He asked Eddie about the heart on his arm with “Wayne” across the ribbon and distracted Eddie from over-practicing his lines, busy telling Steve all about his uncle who raised him and where they’re from. 

Eddie killed it on set that day, and pretty much every day since then. He loves acting, he loves fully immersing himself in the story he’s telling. This role is the biggest of his career so far, but it’s not even about that, he loves the character he’s playing, he meshes well with the director and has chemistry with his co-stars.

But Steve is his favorite part of this whole deal.

Eddie ran out of tattoos for their little game of telling Steve the story behind a different one every day. They never ran out of things to talk about though.

But Steve takes his job seriously and he’s good at it. He explained once why he likes doing this. It’s an art, getting the right look for the right character, or the right person, connecting with and taking care of whoever’s in his chair.

He explained it all while he was running his fingers through Eddie’s hair in those perfectly practiced strokes. Steve’s very good at his job, that’s why it feels so nice when he touches Eddie, even if it’s just work, because Steve cares about this. That’s why it’s easy for Eddie to be lulled into bliss when Steve’s fingers are so gentle on his scalp.

And, okay Eddie’s not made of stone, and he has eyes so he has a thing for Steve. A crush, but there’s a line there. This is work. They’re co-workers, despite how many pretty smiles and lingering looks are exchanged. Eddie won’t cross that line.

Until he does. 

It’s an accident. He never would have done it on purpose. 

Steve’s fingers are just so talented. Eddie’s eyes are closed, he was having another fit of nerves earlier so Steve took extra time with his hair. It put Eddie in a space so relaxed that he feels like he’s floating when Steve’s hand twists in his hair with the perfect amount of tension. It feels so intentional. The moan just slips out.

Eddie apologizes like crazy afterward, he feels terrible. Steve is a picture of professionalism, he’s charming and fun but he runs the makeup trailer like it's the navy and he takes his shit seriously and Eddie crossed a line. 

But Steve just shushes him, guides him to sit back in the chair and says it’s alright. 

Eddie blinks in disbelief but Steve just looks at him. 

It’s a look. 

A look that Eddie can’t stop thinking about for the rest of production.

It’s a look he sees again on his last day on set.

Eddie already shook everyone’s hands and said his goodbyes. He's just stopping by his trailer one last time to make sure the assistants got all his stuff cleared out. 

When he opens the door, his stomach flips, finding Steve waiting inside for him.

“You wrapped filming today,” Steve says in place of a greeting. But his smile and the way his arm is languidly stretched over the back of the couch is inviting. 

Something tells Eddie to lock the door before he goes over to sit next to Steve.

His gaze is even more intense up close. Eddie feels Steve’s eyes on him everywhere, like he’s just eating Eddie up. 

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie says, a tad nervous.

He doesn't want to make a move he can’t take back in case he’s wrong about why Steve’s in his trailer looking at him like that. He doesn’t want to be one of those douchebag movie stars that assumes everyone wants him and he has a free pass to hit on the crew. He’s sure Steve’s had enough of that bullshit.

“We don’t work together anymore,” Steve simply states.

“I know, it sucks,” Eddie laughs a bit sad because he really is, “Sorry if it’s weird to say, but I’m gonna miss you.”

Steve’s eyes shift between Eddie’s and then down to his lips, making his heart stutter in his chest.

“No it’s a good thing,” Steve says and Eddie’s brows knit in confusion. “It means I can do this finally.”

Eddie thinks he’s watching his daydreams play out the way Steve starts leaning in. 

It’s only real when Steve’s lips press softly to his.

Just once, so light, long enough for Eddie to catch on that it’s happening, then Steve pulls back before Eddie can reciprocate.

Steve chuckles faintly at the dramatic frown Eddie’s pulling. 

Then Steve’s hand cups Eddie’s cheek, his thumb stroking Eddie’s face as he tells him, “We can stop there and keep it professional and say our goodbyes. Or I can climb on your lap and give you something to remember me by.”

Eddie gulps. Steve’s offer and his silky voice and his perfect touch that Eddie’s already so addicted to is such a heady mix, making it hard to form words. “Yes, climb me— I mean, option B.”

“Yeah, honey, you want that?” God, Eddie always blushed hot when Steve called him that casually in the makeup trailer, now he’s melting hearing Steve say it like this. “Well, go on and take your pants off for me.”

It happens in a syrupy warm blur. Eddie sheds his jeans and underwear like he’s told and he’s rewarded with a gorgeously naked Steve Harrington in his lap. He’s allowed to touch, only after Steve has threaded his fingers through Eddie’s hair more reverently than any time before, like something precious in his hands, and kisses Eddie deep and hard. 

Then Eddie gets to nuzzle the chest hair that’s been driving him crazy peeking out of Steve’s shirt every time he leaned over. Eddie gets to touch Steve’s soft strong thighs, feeling the smatter of hair leading up to his ass that’s been driving Eddie even more insane trying not to stare at. Then he slips his fingers in and moans into Steve’s mouth when he feels the hard bulb of a plug nestled inside Steve.

Steve pulls back from the kiss, smiling and smearing his thumb over the spit on Eddie’s lips. “Yeah, I’m so ready for you, Eddie, baby, you have no idea.”

Eddie’s practically drooling watching Steve take out the plug and get a bottle of lube from between the cushions and a condom, oiling up his hand. When his fist wraps around Eddie’s cock, Eddie helplessly bucks into it, but Steve’s solid thighs pin him down. That makes his mind lust-foggy and his eyes flutter up at Steve, who bites his lip watching Eddie as he lines up to his hole.

“Mm... you know how bad I wanted you?” Steve sounds relieved as he sinks down on Eddie’s cock. “You know how bad I wanted to climb on your lap when you were sitting in my chair. You know how starry-eyed you get when you’re drifting? Just from me touching your hair, so fucking cute.”

Eddie’s just a mess of moans, Steve is so hot and tight around him. It’s too much with all the sweet praise to really comprehend that Steve knew all those times he was getting spacy.

“It’s so easy to put you down.” Steve’s breath comes harder, not letting Eddie move as he starts to roll his hips. “Such an actor, high strung all the time but that’s okay. It’s your passion. That’s sexy. Been dying to hold you down and ride you until you can’t think about anything but me, though.”

Eddie gasps out a groan when Steve tugs sharply on his hair, being right about everything that Eddie’s into so far. It’s no secret that Eddie’s intense, just a different kind of intensity in the bedroom than with his craft. 

Steve seems to get it, seems to know that Eddie needs everything hard and relentless with the way he’s bouncing on Eddie’s dick. He can feel the strength in Steve’s hips, dying to feel them fucking into him too, mouth watering at the sight of his thick cock jumping with all the movement.

“You’d let me tie you down and use you, hm?” Steve asks, drawing Eddie by the hair into a biting kiss that just barely grazes the surface of what Eddie would let Steve do to him. “I know. I’d fuck you up so good if we had time, baby.”

“Steve, holy shit,” Eddie practically sobs, fingers digging into Steve’s ass.

“You close, honey?” 

“Fuck, yeah.” 

Steve suddenly cups his face, just a tad rough and Eddie thought— hoped for one hot moment— that Steve was going to slap him. Just the thought is enough to make him do what he's supposed to, “Can I?” 

“Mh-hm just keep looking at me,” Steve strokes Eddie’s face as he circles his hips and takes Eddie deep. “Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come inside me.”

Eddie does as he’s told, his gaze falling half-shut as he lets go, spilling into the condom like he’s pumping Steve full.

It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, followed by the second hottest thing when Steve kisses his slack mouth as his warm heavy spurts of come land on Eddie’s belly.

While Eddie’s coming down, he lets Steve shift him onto the couch. He gets some tissues and then pulls Eddie to lie on his chest because of course he would, he’s Steve.

“Was that enough to remember me by when you get all big and famous?” Steve asks after a while, trailing his knuckles down Eddie’s bare arm.

Eddie looks up, seeing the first glimpse of hesitance in all of Steve’s practiced smoothness.

So Eddie leans in and assures him between pecks on his lips that slowly turn to smiles pressing together. “Nope, think we gotta do it again. And again. And again.” 

[lady-of-tearshed]

Lost in translation

Cassian x Reader

Cassian Week 2024

Day 4: Lover

@cassianappreciationweek

A/N: Honestly, I think that Cassian, as a lover, is a big fan of physical touch. Massages, hugs, holding hands, cuddling, having sex… That’s exactly how I imagine this male’s love language. So I thought: What would happen if our Lord of Bloodshed's mate had a completely different love language? And here's how this little fic got written. Enjoy! 💕

Summary: Cassian is worried he's being too clingy since you don't seem to show him your love with physical touches... But maybe the two of you just got lost in translation.

Warnings: Mention of nudity, but nothing explicit. Miscommunication angst. Happy ending.

Word count: 1,236k words

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

And they lived happily ever after… The end.

You snap the book close in your hands and groan. You slide the back of the book onto the nightstand, right beside your empty mug of tea, and stretch your arms above your head. You sigh at the feeling of your numb muscles stretching out after a long time stuck in the same position. You look up at the clock to check how long exactly you’ve been reading, and the realization hits you full force.

Seven whole hours. Mother above… More like “Mother’s tits”, as your mate would so graciously say.

Speaking of him, you haven’t heard much of him in a while, which was weird, since he would always be tucked at your side at any given time of the day. He would usually burrow his face in the middle of your breasts, and start kissing them sneakily once he has enough of waiting for you to finish reading. He would become insufferable if you have the misfortune to read a relatively steamy part of your book and become all hot and bothered. Cassian would always manage to make you even more flustered or aroused when this happens. 

But the General hasn't shown up for seven whole hours. Tendrils of guilt swirls around your stomach, squeezing it uncomfortably as you come to the realization that you have failed to notice Cassian’s absence until just now. You softly tug on the golden bond that shone permanently in your chest, connecting your soul with the male of your every desire, but you receive no response, as if he had blocked you out. 

You slide your cold feets into your slippers, and pick up the mug on the nightstand, bringing it with you on your quest to find the General. The house of the wind is silent, save from the fire soothingly dancing in the hearth. Your eyes scan the living room, then the kitchen… No sign of Cassian. You walk toward the sink, washing your mug and placing it down into the drying rack, all while thinking where your mate can possibly be at this time of the night. 

Your eyes move to the front door, and you notice that there still was a thin layer of snow melting under the sole of his boots. He must’ve been training until late, which means…

Just as you start to make a connection of where your mate is most likely to be, the sound of water running from the bathroom confirms your theory. You tiptoe to the bathroom, trying to be sneaky, but Cassian’s gaze is already set on you when you walk in the bathroom. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He says, turning his back to you.

The water is pouring down on him, soaking his hair, droplets of water sliding down the waves of his hair, following the uneven black lines tattooed on his shoulders, sliding all the way down his back, finishing their course by caressing his muscled ass… “I wasn’t sleeping.” You admit, starting to undress, not minding at all that your mate can smell the shift in your scent. 

Cassian shoulder’s tense slightly as you walk closer to the foggy glass door, naked. You raise a brow, halting your hand on the doorknob of the shower, about to question him but he’s quicker to speak. “Y/N, don’t come in here just because you pity me.” All hints of arousal leave your body at his words, your brain blurry from trying to understand where Cassian's insecurity comes from.  

“Alright, then,” You say, stepping inside the shower, standing right behind the General's massive shoulders, hands on your hips. “Mind telling me where such thoughts come from?” Your finger taps on the back of his head slightly, insisting that he turns around to face you, to face what’s on his mind and open up to you. 

Cassian’s shoulders drop, his wings so low that they brush the shower tiles on the floor. “Cassie… My love…” You stroke the spot in between his wings in a comforting manner, and you feel his wards crumble, his emotions pouring through the bond. 

Self-loathing, pain, loneliness… 

His feelings make your own heart sting, and your face crumbles at how much pain your mate seems to suffer from. You lift his wing, and carefully slip underneath it to sneak between the wall and his face. He turns his face away from you, facing the wall. You can’t tell if it’s tears, or water that’s rolling down his cheeks. “I need you to be honest with me,” He sighs, as if trying to gather the strength to speak his next words. “Do you…” His eyebrows knit, and your eyes glance to his fists, clenching, unclenching. He was nervous. “Do you find me annoying?”

“No, Cass-”

“Too clingy maybe?”

You frown, and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “No… My love-”

“Then why is it everytime I touch you, you…” His eyes snap to yours, and you hold your breath at how bloodshot they look. From crying. “You…” His voice softens, and he has to bite his lip to keep it from trembling. “Do you like it when I touch you?” He asks in a whisper, his head tilting to the side. Pain was written all over his face.

“Oh, Cassian…” You smile sadly, opening your arms to offer him a hug. He swings you into his arms, both of you now standing under the warm water. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “I love it when you touch me. What made you think otherwise?” You comfort him, kissing the side of his head lovingly. 

“It almost looks like you avoid touching me. I just… I don't know. It made me wonder if perhaps I was the one being too touchy.” He confesses, still hiding his face in the safety of your neck. 

“Hey… look at me.” You move back to cup his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “If I didn't like you touching me, I would've told you so. I promise,” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Now, if I made you feel like I was avoiding touching you, I'm sorry. It's just…” You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “I'm just… I just like to express my love differently, I guess. Like, I usually express my love with little acts of services, or words of affirmation…” 

Cassian nods slowly, and scratches the back of his head, chuckling too. “Oh…” 

There's a moment of silence where the both of you just stand naked in the shower, your hands caressing Cassian’s cheeks, the stubbles scratching your digits softly. 

Cassian’s hands wrap delicately around your wrists, and he brings one of them to his lips, pampering the soft skin of it with kisses. “I'm so sorry I didn't notice all of this… I was too focused on my own love language. And since you weren't so… Gods, I'm such an idiot…”

“You're not an idiot,” You reassure him. “You're allowed to be worried about things, Cass. I'm happy we talked about it.” 

His lips leave your wrist, and hover over your mouth, softly brushing against yours. He tucks a strand of wet hair behind your ear, and whispers against your lips. “Yeah… I'm glad we talked about it too…” Then he kisses you, his lips feeling so light against yours. So was his heart, now that you've communicated.

Acotar Taglist: @lilah-asteria @mybestfriendmademe

Cassian Taglist: @ladybookstan @acotar-lover

[kings-highway]

hi i don’t know if you’ve seen this already but i saw it and immediately needed to show it to someone who would understand.

lowkey could possibly be warped into a soulmates tattoo au

look it too me a while to decide how to respond to this because I couldn't decide what joke I wanted to make but I eventually settled on making no jokes and writing this instead. and rest assured there were many jokes I wanted to make

---

The joke, Ushijima had come to learn, was relatively misogynistic. He had not been aware, when people had first laughed when they saw the messy, scribbling Miss Kitty faces over his wrists, that it was at the subject matter rather than the circumstances. He had apologized for the lack of professionalism, but in a world with shared skin, everyone was pretty forgiving of what someone might have drawn on. Especially someone who hadn't met his soulmate.

The rest of the team doesn't really try and explain it to him. Semi halfheartedly explains that seeing such a big guy covered in what is effectively a little girl's obsession is generally amusing to people - they're laughing at him for having to interact with the media at all. He, after all, is a big, strong man, and should not be around the cute little cartoon.

They make judgements on his soulmate. They call her Miss Kitty and make jabs about what kind of girl she is - she probably wears a lot of fluffy skirts, and cat-ear headbands, and pink and bows. He nods along with this, until he realizes that they are making fun of him - and his soulmate - again.

"Because it would be funny for someone like me to be with someone like that?" Ushijima tries, and Semi has to think about it for a moment before saying: "No, more like... it's cliche. A big, strong guy like you, volleyball superstar, falling for a cute little pastel chick in a short skirt? Well, it's just a little... you know."

Ushijima does not know.

The Miss Kitty obsession is weird, though. He tries to hide it not from shame or guilty - he can barely comprehend why it's funny in the first place - but because he wants to protect her. He thinks, maybe, if she is trying to connect with him over something that she likes, he does not want anyone mocking her for it. So he covers it up, as much as he can, when everyone else is around, just to be safe.

In the evenings, though, late at night, if he stays up that long, he can see it get rubbed off. It works quickly, the way they fade, so he can imagine the girl scrubbing at her arms until they're red, as if she's angry at them. He feels bad.

Maybe she is being made fun of. Maybe she is ashamed of her own interests - maybe she feels bad for him. He tries to make her feel better, by using a pen to carefully draw the cat's face on the inside of his wrist. What he gets back is a garbled, messy set of disconnected lines, and a question mark. That's what happens when someone tries to write words. Like a bad connection. But he knows what the poor girl is asking.

Where are you?

His care in disguising the marks are not infallible, however, and eventually they have to play on a live stage, he has to put on his volleyball uniform. He had tried to tell her - he'd drawn the little volleyball over and over on his wrist, drawing a little camera, trying to tell her that he would be visible to the whole world. He doesn't know how to tell her that they laugh at her, that they think she's stupid and immature and too feminine. That those are, apparently, bad qualities. It doesn't work, though. If anything, actually, they get even worse, almost as if she's daring the world to judge her.

He smiles at that - he cannot help it.

And he tries not to hear the whispers of his team. It's not so bad, actually - there are a handful of guys who haven't met their soulmates that have designs drawn up their arm, mostly hearts and other things - the four-leafed clover, a popular pictogram way of saying 'good luck' where words weren't allowed.

He knows the camera can pick up the weird little marks on his arm, he knows the announcers will be curious, and he knows, for sure, that there will be some kind of news article circulating in volleyball circuits about his cute little soulmate and her childish obsession. He hopes they are kind to her.

But staring or no, it doesn't affect his game. They manage to pull through with the win, and retreat to the locker room to cheer and celebrate and talk about going out for drinks. Ushijima agrees to go along, pulling on his street clothes and jacket and tucking the Miss Kitty marks safely away, but - there's a new one. He must not have noticed, in the heat of the game, that his soulmate had scrubbed clean a patch on her their skin, and replaced the Miss Kitty designs with a winking smiley face. That was new.

He hides it anyway, not wanting to deal with the gossip of his teammates, and hurries to follow them outside and take the short walk over to the bar that they liked.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi."

It's a voice he's never heard before. He turns, frowning, as he lets his eyes take in the tall, lanky, rather odd looking young man, lips curled in a self satisfied sneer, eyes heavy. He is... weird, Ushijima decides. He does not hold himself like most people do.

"Can I help you?"

"You are not an easy man to track down," he adds, before tugging up the sleeve of his own jacket, holding out his arm so that Ushijima could see the winking face on the inside of his wrist, the surrounding skin littered with fading Miss Kitty designs.

Oh.

Wait-

"You are not what people said you would be," Ushijima says, quickly, trying to reconcile the expectation that an obsession with Miss Kitty must surely equal a young, cute woman with a penchant for childish toys. This man was as tall as he was, and dressed down, rather lazily. Ushijima would not have guessed him to be his soulmate, based on that. "You're... you're the person who's obsessed with Miss Kitty? I assumed you'd be a woman."

"Ah," the man says, clicking his tongue. "Sorry about that one, yeah... How else was I supposed to find you? Everyone in the world is wandering around with hearts and clovers and pretty designs on their arms. I needed to make sure I could identify you, even from afar. And I like the stupid cat, sue me."

"I would not sue you over this," Ushijima replies, alarmed immediately.

"Wh-what? No! I just meant-" and his soulmate breaks into a cackling sort of laugh that Ushijima quite likes the sound of. He seems thoroughly caught off guard by his sincerity in the matter. He wanders closer still, and holds out his hand. "Tendou Satori," he says. "Thanks for giving me a warning about the volleyball game, wouldn't have thought to check sports coverage otherwise."

Ushijima reaches to take his hand. "Thank you for trying so hard to find me."

"Eh. Selfish reasons for doing that."

"I'm still grateful for it. I'm... on my way to meet up with my team, celebrate the victory... would you like to come? I have a feeling that they are all going to be very... very interested in meeting you."

"Oh? Well who am I to deny. Lead the way."

[ameliora-j]

‧₊˚ piercer!ron weasley x reader ‧₊˚

so anyway this has been on my mind since i got my nipples pierced specifically bc of the way i was moaning like a lil bitch in the piercer’s chair 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

content → piercer!ron, needles, nipple play, voyeurism, slight pain kink, praise, nipple piercings, blood mention, lightheadedness, 18+ BLOG MDNI

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡

you’re anxious as you walk into the shop, but you know you have to do this. it’s been years upon years since you’ve wanted this specific piercing—ever since you turned eighteen to be exact. you called on one of your breaks at work, asking if the tattoo shop did nipple piercings.

the kind lady connected you with the shop’s piercer—who to your surprise was a man with an english accent. after telling you the price, he asks specifically for cash. when you see the exact cash amount in your wallet, you figure it’s a sign. anytime that you plan in advance for any kind of piercing or tattoo, you lose the confidence of going nearly the day of—so it’s now or never.

when you walk in, a girl with bright pink hair looks around to see if anyone was available for a walk in. most of them were half asleep, and you feel bad for waking them up from their naps—but they don’t seem to mind. you’re surprised that they aren’t busy on a saturday evening, but a brunette man with round glasses stands and stumbled to the desk, ready to ask what tattoo you have in mind.

“um… hi… i called earlier um a-about… about nipple piercings” you stammer shyly, unable to hide the blush growing on your cheeks.

he wasn’t overly muscular or large, his small amount of tummy pudge peeking out as he stretched his arms high above his head, revealing more ink lining his torso.

“oh!” the man nods as he turns around and walks towards the back. “ron! piercing” you hear a soft grumble and a deep sigh—not of annoyance, but from just waking up. a tall redheaded man with broad shoulders appears. he has sleeves of tattoos lining his arms and some small tattoos on his hands. there was a small stud piercing beneath his eye, a few tattoos on his face as well.

you feel as though your breath is knocked out of your chest as he smiles at you, a small whine leaving his lips as he finishes his deep stretch. “sorry, i just woke up” he chuckles.

“oh no, don’t worry… i’m surprised you guys aren’t more busy tonight” you say, and he nods in agreement as he grabs the papers.

“i know, i was thinking the same thing” he chuckles, grabbing a pen. “i just need you to initial and sign this paper and then i need your id” he tells you, handing the paper and pen over to him. you nod softly and do as he says, passing over your id and scanning over the paper, initialing each line.

it isn’t long before you’re done and he comes back up to the front, leading you to his small section of the tattoo shop. “go ahead and sit right there” he nods, pointing to the tattoo chair as he looks over his tool tray and all that he has. you sit down in the chair, making yourself comfortable as you take your bag off and adjust yourself.

you learn quickly that ron isn’t much of a talker, but thankfully neither are you. he already has his tray set up, asking you a few quick questions as he moves everything over towards you. “so… obviously i don’t have a privacy curtain, i’m sorry about that” he blushes a bit as he finishes washing his hands. “If you just… bare with me a bit” he chuckles nervously.

he looks around his small station, noting that it’s basically out in the open. he’s a sweet man, you learn quickly, so you smile at him. “that’s alright” you reassure him. you wiggle a bit in the seat, still slightly anxious. “i’ll be fine” you nod, more so assuring yourself than him this time.

“go ‘head and take off your shirt, and then if you can just pull down your bra for me” he nods, turning around towards his desk and getting a little care package ready for when you go—wanting to give you at least some semblance of privacy while undressing.

when he turns back around, his cheeks tint pink as he looks first at your boobs then up at you. “you can just turn and face this way” he nods as he rolls over in the small circle chair. you do as he says and face him just as he turns to his tool tray. though he doesn’t have a privacy curtain, he uses his large body and broad shoulders to cover your breasts from the other piercers and the large windows—there were no other patrons in the shop besides you, so this made you feel incredibly at ease. “have you had your nipples pierced before?” he asks.

“no, never” you shake your head. he notices the tremor in your voice and gives you a little reassuring smile. he can tell you’re anxious, and he’s doing everything he can to ease your nerves. “i just have one rule for all my tattoo artists, piercers, nurses… anyone that comes near my body with a needle” you ramble a bit as you list the different occupations.

he chuckles a bit as he nods, grabbing an alcohol wipe to clean your nipples. “what is it?” he hums.

“don’t count.” you say seriously. “i don’t want 1, 2, 3 or 3, 2, 1… if you count i’ll tell you to stop and just go home” you tell him. ron laughs a bit harder, his orange curls bobbing as he nods in understanding.

“alright, i can do that” he nods. “i’m just gonna clean them, and then i’ll mark them and show you, and after that i’ll do the piercing” he informs you, and you’re nodding along with each thing he says. once you’ve gotten the nitty-gritty out of the way, you keep your head down, watching his arms and his body as he works. “do you have a preference of which one you want me to do first?” he asks.

“no” you shake your head. “just go for it” you giggle a bit, and he smiles at you. ron takes a gloved hand, starting with your left tit and gently pinching your nipple between his fingers. he flicks it a few times, his brows pinching together in focus as he plays with your nipple in order to get it hard. you don’t even notice ron has the needle in his hand until you feel it piercing through the sensitive skin.

you suck in air through your teeth, squeezing your hands into fists as you try, but fail, to bite back a whine. “breathe… breathe, it’s okay” ron whispers softly, inching a bit closer to you. “you can squeeze my shoulder if you need to… you won’t mess me up” he says softly. his movements are slow and deliberate, taking time to not mess up your piercing as he pushes the needle through to the other side.

a moan of pain tumbles past your lips once more as you squeeze his shoulder and grit your teeth. “owowowow” you whine, trying your hardest not to squirm or cringe away in pain.

“i know, i’m sorry” he murmurs softly. “you’re doing so good, we’re almost there” he whispers. just as he says that, you feel the needle poke through the other side, and you let out a sigh of relief. your relief is short lived as he pushes the jewelry through the new hole he just made in your body and another high pitched moan tumbles past your lips. “there we go…” he says softly, gently rubbing your side. “i just have to screw this in and then i’ll move on to the other side” he tells you as he grabs the ball end of the jewelry.

the second one is nowhere near as painful as the first—going in much easier as well. however, it still has you making those pretty little sounds on that are making ron’s cock harden as he wonders what other sounds he can pull from you. “that’s it” he praises gently, nearly having to physically restrain himself from placing a kiss to your delicate skin. “you did so good” he hums, beginning to clean the spilling blood.

“thank you” you smile at him as he finishes up, letting you know you can redress and beginning to clean his station. as you pull your bra back up and grab for your shirt, the room begins to spin. you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, a small smile gracing your lips as you become slightly loopy. “um… can i lay down for a minute?” you giggle softly.

“yeah of course!” he smiles as he turns to look at you. “are you lightheaded?” he asks, walking over to his mini fridge. when you only hum and nod in response, he hands you a capri sun and a pack of scooby-doo fruit snacks. “here… sugar will help” he tells you. he sits in his chair as you pop open the capri sun, now done cleaning. “eat the fruit snacks. all that sugar will help.” he tells you softly when he notices you only drinking the juice.

you nod lazily, squinting your eyes open as you make a small rip in the package. “yanno usually i’m paid to see my tits, not the other way around… and you didn’t even compliment them” you sigh, your head still spinning a bit as you smile lazily. you bite back a giggle when you imagine the blush that you definitely know is coating his cheeks.

his only response is a chuckle, and you think that’s the end of it until you’re checking out and paying him—now ready to actually stand straight and be able to drive your car. as you hand him the money, he gives you a care package, a cute sticker, aftercare instructions, ointment and alcohol wipes, a lollipop, and a blank card with his name and number. “text me a picture when you have the gauze off so i can make sure they look alright… maybe then i’ll compliment them” he winks slyly.

suddenly, you’re the one blushing as you walk out to your car.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡

[follow my library blog and turn on notifications to be notified when i post a new fic!]

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 21

Hey guys!! The story is starting ramp up to the finish line! I hope you guys are still enjoying it as much I enjoyed writing it.

In this we have Steve taking back his agency, Eddie and Jeff having a little chat and Abbadon leaning on his friends.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

~

As soon as Abbadon grabbed the mic, the audience knew they were going to be in for a ride.

“Las Vegas!” he roared to the crowd, who roared back. “There seems to be some confusion about how naughty I got with Eddie Munson in Denver.”

The crowd went wild, screaming and jumping up and down.

“I never do anything without prior consent,” he grinned. “I’m a gentleman, until you tell me you want it otherwise.” He winked and the crowd screamed back. “I’m not saying I’m coming for Asmodeus’s job,” Abbadon said, draping himself over his guitarist’s shoulders, “but I’m no innocent. I don’t need protection.” He walked across the stage to Astraeus. “I’ve always been affectionate. But I think it’s time to be put the rumors to bed.”

“Oooooohhhhhh!” Asmodeus and Astraeus shouted and got the crowd to say it with them. Once they were loud enough, Azrael started rapidly tapping his drums to further build up tension.

Just when Abbadon was sure the tension couldn’t stretch much further he said, “I’m not a slut. I’m the slut!” The throng of people roared back. “And I’m not going to hide who I am to make myself palpable to people I’ve never met or no longer have any connection to me. I am Abbadon! I AM THE FALLEN!”

Waiting in the wings was Jeff and Eddie. They had gathered to watch Steve do this in person instead of watching it live in the green room.

Jeff cocked his head to the side and clicked his tongue. “Whatever else you think of Abbadon and the rest of the band, you have to admit the man has charisma.”

Eddie pressed his lips together and nodded. He was proud of Steve. Of course he was, but it did sting a little that it took Shane to get him to talk about it. Not him, Not Robin. Hell, not even Simon, whom Eddie thought was unhealthily close to Steve. Shane. Of all the band members, Shane had the least in common with Steve. Spence had the EMT thing, Simon, the upper class upbringing. Other than them liking metal, they couldn’t be further apart then if God planned it that way.

Shane came from a middle class liberal family with an older sister he was close with. Hell, he even still talked to his parents while Steve definitely did not. He was a giant nerd who loved history and myths. Steve struggled in school and only made it out alive because he was on three sports teams and captains of two of them. Shane even slept around to Steve’s search for ‘the one.’ Which Eddie really, really hoped was him.

But maybe that was it. Maybe the reason Shane could get through to Steve was because they didn’t have much in common. Maybe their connection were their differences. That they were friends in spite of the gap between them.

Eddie almost wanted to get Steve into therapy like Gareth was. Because even though it always seemed to him that Gareth was one drink away from destruction these days, the therapy did appear to be working.

Steve could really use something like that.

They watched the set a little bit longer.

“Are you sure you’re okay with Abbadon flirting with Gareth?” Jeff asked.

Eddie blinked for a moment wondering where the comment was coming from. Because, sure, Gareth had talked non-stop about Abbadon being his favorite member, even going as far as to tattoo Abbadon’s mask on his left bicep. But Gareth didn’t seem interested in Abbadon as a person.

And it wasn’t like Steve was really interested in him that way before or after becoming a rockstar.

“Gareth and Abbadon both say it’s fine,” he murmured after a moment or two. “And I trust Abbadon.”

Jeff hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah okay. So this time it’s not going to be the duet?”

“No, I don’t want a repeat of last time. Abbadon is going to be taking the lead vocals on ‘Might as Well Fly’, I think he’ll lend a haunting quality to it.”

Jeff pursed his lips. Steve definitely had the pipes for it, but it wasn’t the song out of their discography that he would have chosen for Abbadon to shred.

Eddie huffed beside him and crossed his arms in front of him. “Let me guess, you have other ideas?”

“Can Abbadon play guitar?” Jeff asked rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Eddie shrugged. “I mean, I guess. He’s like able to play piano, violin, and guitar. Can he play the song you’re thinking of is the real question.”

Jeff turned to him with a grin. “Oh, if I know our friend as well as I think I do, he knows it.”

Eddie frowned at him and cocked his head to the side. “Which one?”

Jeff told him and Eddie rubbed his lips, skeptical. It was a good song. Harder than ‘Might as Well Fly’ and faster too. It had an extra guitar to it because it originally featured a famous guitarist. But it was also the lead guitar on that song.

“Do you really think he can do it?” he asked, licking his upper lip slowly.

Jeff scoffed, “Why? Do you think he can’t?” Eddie just shrugged. “Because holy hell, dude, I was talking to Asmodeus and he was telling me they formed their band over their love of our music. I’m betting if you asked Abbadon he could list his favorite albums alphabetically, chronologically, or which one is best musically. Even before you guys got together, before their band, before we even got a record deal, he’s been your number one fan. And he’s got the chops for it. You know he does.”

Eddie looked around to make sure no one had heard Jeff’s impassioned speech. He ducked his head. “Have Abbadon meet us before we go on to discuss the change while they setup our equipment.”

Jeff grinned and licked his lips. “You won’t regret this. And neither will they.” He jutted his chin out at the roaring crowd.

And yeah, Eddie knew he was being ridiculous about the song. He was trying to play this safe, but Steve didn’t need safe right now. He needed to take back his agency and Eddie knew that this song? It was fucking perfect for Steve. They would be able to feed off the roar of the crowd and give Steve a chance to really show them how good he is.

~

Steve loved the idea of the change in song. Don’t get him wrong, he loved ‘Might as Well Fly’. It just wasn’t the vibe he was trying to send today. Steve already was flying. Now he was raging at the people who were trying to clip his wings. And fuck them.

It meant that he couldn’t start on Gareth’s lap, but that was okay. This was going to be better. A hell of a lot better.

He pulled on his Corroded Coffin logo lined coat and swapped his mask for the lighter everyday one. He was going to need the extra movement for these vocals. He started in the middle again, this time in front of Corroded Coffin instead of between them.

“Hey, Las Vegas!” Eddie cried. “You bitches ready to rock?”

The crowd screamed back and Eddie laughed. “We’ve got a treat for you tonight!” The crowd screamed even louder. “We don’t usually play ‘Nightmare Killer’ because we don’t have that third guitarist.”

The audience went wild, screaming and whistling and stomping their feet in excitement.

“We asked Asmodeus,” Eddie continued. “But he’s too cool for us!” The crowd made teasing booing noises and oohhed. “But that’s okay, we found someone else willing to play.”

The room fell to a hush as Abbadon’s spotlight came on. There was some uneasy wrestling from the audience as he stood with his ear mic and white guitar. Something that eagle-eyed fans would know about Eddie and Jeff was that they didn’t own a white guitar. And all The Fallen fans knew that all of Asmodeus’s guitars were red and vaguely devil themed. This wasn’t his either. This was clearly Abbadon’s.

Abbadon began the opening riff and the crowd took a massive intake of breath as he sailed perfectly through the chunky bits of the original artist’s style. Then he began to sing, the haunting quality of his voice filling in the gaps of the silence that seemed to stretch on from the audience.

Eddie didn’t even bother trying to hold back the look of admiration on his face as he joined Abbadon for the chorus. Their vocals mixing beautifully to the backdrop of a hell beast looking for more from life than the violence it was weaned on.

Throughout the song the only sounds from the crowd were clapping in time to the beat. Eddie had never seen anything like at their concerts before. It was like there was this reverence for what was happening on stage.

Abbadon ate it up and played it up as he enticed the members of Corroded Coffin to him. Each of the members resisted. Then Abbadon handed his guitar off to a roadie and climbed the stairs to the platform that Gareth was on. He straddled Gareth’s lap and drumming cut out as his bandmates played on. From behind it looked like they were kissing, but with Abbadon’s mic off they were making fun of each other. Then suddenly he whirled on Gareth’s lap and hit the drums right on the last note with a crash.

Then in an instant the crowd thundered to life, cheering and stomping and clapping.

Abbadon blew Gareth a kiss and leapt off the platform to take his bows. The flutter of the coat revealing the Corroded Coffin logo again and the crowd screamed even louder. He blew kisses to the crowd and continued to bow. Eddie whistled loudly and Abbadon laughed.

Eddie grabbed the microphone. “Abbadon everyone! One very talented son of bitch! Another round of applause everyone!”

The crowd continued to go wild. Abbadon let out a whoop and jumped up and down, laughing. It was exhilarating, everyone just feeding the energy back to Abbadon and just feeling high off that. Eddie and Jeff shared a glance and Jeff winked. Eddie shook his head. Because yeah, Jeff won that bet.

Abbadon waved goodbye and walked off the stage. Once he was out of view of the audience Hopper swooped in and immediately threw a cool, damp towel over his head and Steve nearly sank to his knees in relief. Because try as they might, the hoods were still fucking hot. Hopper lead him to the dressing room where the rests of The Fallen were waiting.

As soon as the door closed tightly behind Abbadon, Steve pushed back the hood and ripped off the mask. His hair was wet and sweat clung to his face and neck. He let himself sink slowly into the soft cushions of the sofa and laid his head back.

A bottled water was being pushed into his hand and an ice pack was placed on his brow. He let out a small shuddering breath. He opened the water and dumped half of it on his face and the rest into his mouth.

“Thanks, guys,” Steve muttered, his eyes fluttering shut. “How did I look out there?”

Simon huffed a little a laugh. “Like fucking rock god.”

“I’m with Simon,” Spence said. “It won’t silence the naysayers but it’ll drown them out which is even better.”

Steve laughed. “Fuck that was so much fun. Gareth called me a queen. So I called him a bitch. I honestly don’t know if he likes Abbadon more now, or less!”

“Considering how little time you had to prepare,” Shane said, sprawled over an armchair instead of on the floor for a change, “I say you kicked ass. You’re going to get people saying you weren’t really playing but, they can suck your dick!”

Steve lifted his head, the ice pack sliding into his hand. “I hate doing this without you guys, though,” he admitted. “But as Shane pointed out, I’m already super affectionate with you already and short of French kissing Simon, they aren’t going to believe shit.”

“Nothing against you, Steve,” Simon said with a wince, “but I really don’t want your tongue down my throat.”

Shane raised his hand. “I volunteer! I volunteer!”

They all laughed. Then Robin as Celeste slipped in and sat next to Steve. She grabbed the ice pack and pressed it to the back of her neck. They all waited as she let her defenses slowly come down. She pulled off the wig and tossed it Spence who caught it deftly.

“Vickie has been working tirelessly tonight to keep an eye on social media,” Robin began, “she even has two of her assistants watching all the accounts, constantly refreshing.”

Steve turned on the couch to face her. “And what are they saying?”

Simon and Spence immediately moved over to her to sit on either side of her and Steve. Shane sprawled over the back like some Renaissance painting. He rustled her hair and she huffed out a laugh.

“You’re getting the trolls from both fans shit talking about how Abbadon is better than Corroded Coffin and should have turned them down like Asmodeus,” she continued, pausing only for Simon’s huff of laughter. “The Corroded Coffin fans were whining about how Abbadon’s vocals ruined the song and that he probably faking the guitar playing for the views.”

“I’d like to see them fake that bridge,” Steve scoffed. “It’s insane.”

Simon nodded. “I don’t think I could do it.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s what I’ll do. I’ll post a Tiktok of me trying to play it.”

“Wait!” Spence said. “Have Steve do it first, showing a close up of the hands dancing on the frets. Then you stitch it with your version. That should kick them in the ass.”

Steve and Simon fist bumped each other. “Hell yeah!”

“But the rest of the tweets and shit coming in is overwhelmingly positive,” Robin finished. “So that Tiktok should silence the Corroded Coffin fans.”

When Simon did his stitch of Steve’s video he made sure to admonish their fans about thinking who’s better than who. He was friends with the boys in CC and the being ‘too cool’ was a fucking joke.

Then Eddie did a stitch of both of their videos and showed them again how complicated the riff was for Abbadon to play by playing it himself. Abbadon and Asmodeus’s videos racked up a lot of views and shares, but Eddie’s really did the numbers. It blew up and completely overshadowed all the haters.

Steve made sure to thank Eddie for that later in the privacy of Eddie’s hotel room.

~

Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[ray-winters]

we just wanna hear any hcs you have for our boy misch

Alright, y’all asked for it, buckle up:

Mischa makes most of his money from an apprenticeship he has at the only tattoo parlor in Uranium City. He gets paid a bit, and on top of that he gets free tattoos (which is where he got all of his from). Plus it keeps him out of the house and also pisses his very traditionally valued adoptive parents off. Win win.

My Mischa only has tattoos on his right arm bc I am left handed so HE is left handed- he does his own tattoos mostly. He was going to start a sleeve on his left arm after he got home from the fall fair.

Speaking of his tattoos; the first tattoo he gave himself was one that says “Bad Egg” w/devil horns and a devil tail. “Bad Egg” was something his adoptive dad would frequently call him, so it was his way of reclaiming the name for himself, and pissing off his adoptive parents bc they were viciously anti-tattoo

He has another tattoo of a crescent moon with a “ - T” next to it bc he asked Talia to draw him something to put on his body. She drew the moon because of the time difference between Kyiv & Uranium, any time she sees the moon she knows she’s going to hear from Mischa soon. So she began to associate Mischa with the moon.

My personal fav tattoo I gave Mischa is that stereotypical “S” where you draw 6 lines and connect them. This is brand fucking new to Mischa, he had never seen it before, and he thought it was dope af, so he tattooed it on himself immediately.

He has a tattoo of a pot leaf, but it’s not very good so everyone always thinks it’s a Canadian maple leaf. Which drives him up the wall.

Mischa has taken in a small black cat that would hang around the tattoo parlor and would occasionally follow him home. It lives with him in the basement, it comes and goes, and it is a well kept hidden secret.

Mischa hangs at Noel’s house…a lot. Noel’s mom lets him stay the night often bc she knows about his home life and thinks it’s disgraceful, so she takes care of him.

Mischa was class clown and relatively popular at his high school in Ukraine- which is the polar opposite of how he’s received at St. Cassian’s. People either are afraid of him, or they try to make fun of him, so either way he has found himself alone most of the time.

He’d never admit it, but Mischa does actually enjoy hanging with the kids in the choir. He gets to hang with his bestie, Noel. He admires Constance’s patience and kindness, he thinks she’s probably the best person in Uranium. While he and Ocean get on each other’s nerves, there’s a small part of him that secretly looks forward to their fights. But only a little bit. He doesn’t notice Ricky is there until after the accident, and then spends a large chunk of his time trying to rectify that by getting to know/encourage Ricky.

He and Noel became friends bc some of the boys who were trying to bully Mischa were also bullying Noel. When Mischa was about to start defending Noel, Noel ended up proving he can defend himself with his quick wit rather than fists. This is a trait that Mischa admires a lot, so they pretty much joined forces that day and they’ve been the dynamic duo of Uranium City ever since.

Mischa has pretty severe abandonment issues and it prone to panic attacks because of it. He’s more of a “suffer in silence” kind of guy, so it takes someone with patience and kindness like Constance to give him some tips on how to calm himself down. I.E. remembering a calming situation like “climbing back into your bed in the morning and feeling the heat left over from your body.”

Mischa had been kicked out of a few schools in Uranium, and his adoptive figures (they’re not really parents, barely guardians) gave him one last chance at St. Cassian’s. When he was caught stealing the communion wine, Father Marcus told him he HAD to join the choir and that he HAD to at the very least sing at the competition. Which is why he doesn’t do any choreo during the opening number.

Addendum- he does ONE move during the opening number. The finger wag on “oh no no” because Noel came up with that move, and after Ocean tried to cut it, Mischa said it was the only move he’d do even if it was cut. So he forced her to keep the move in via malicious compliance.

Over the course of the musical, there isn’t really a moment where he thinks he’s gonna win. His life wasn’t fair, why should his death be any different.

He thinks Jane is THE coolest and THE most metal thing he’s ever seen. After she finishes her number, his heart is effectively broken for her.

When Constance punches Ocean, Mischa doesn’t have the “FUCK YEAH” reaction that you’d expect. It’s actually met with some sadness. He’s always encouraging Constance to stick up for herself, and to not take Ocean’s shit. But, he respects that she has patience and kindness. When Constance punches Ocean, he almost sees it as a failure on his part.

The reason in my head why Mischa and Ocean feud so much is because they remind each other of one another’s parents. Ocean is the poster child of excellence in Uranium, Mischa’s adoptive parents have said more than once that they wish he could “be like that Ocean girl” - on the contrary, Ocean has caught Mischa smoking weed before. His incredibly radically liberal world view reminds her of her hippy parents. They get that anger out at them on each other. But at the end of the show, they both have a deeper respect for one another. Ocean for Mischa because she sees the real him, who is gentle & compassionate. Mischa for Ocean because she does the most selfless thing she could possibly do, which he respects infinitely.

I’m sure I have more but these are the HC’s that immediately came to mind. This is what makes Majestic Rep’s Mischa, Mischa.

[elvenbeard]

Old and Happy

😭 my feels have been all over the place since I finally finished this! Don't even remember when I started, as I kept working on and off on it over a couple of months. But I think it was after writing something particularly angsty and going "you know what, they will get their happy ending though, so it's all good".

Some details and thoughts below the read more cause it got long hhhh ;A;

This is in about 2087 maybe, roughly "ten years later". Vince changed his hair, ditched the rattail for good (or again xD) for something still colorful but a bit more easy to style. But he might change it up again, he's done so repeatedly and still likes to experiment with his hair.

Not visible, he probably would've added some elements to his back tattoo after surviving all of 2077. Johnny's tattoo he covered up as well, he would've done that first probably before the back piece. Adding some things here and there over time, with colors and patterns and wings, some cherry blossoms ('cause a thing of beauty will never truly fade away - hence just not getting laser removal but covering it with something that suits him more, but keeping some elements like the J and V visible). It started with three roses below the "V" as a little homage to Jackie, and 2077 as the year that finally put him on the right track in his life, even if it almost killed him in the process.

Overall he is a healthier weight than he was for most of his life, and finally got some therapy he desperately needed to deal with all the crap he went through pre-2077 already. He's not dyeing his first grey hairs because hell, that he's even still around to get some is amazing with his line of work and life story. And he realized that there's no need to be super well put togeher 24/7, clean shaven and whatnot, when you know you're just gonna be hanging out with your man and cat all weekend (and actually allowing yourself to something like that - leisure time and pizza in bed, unheard of to 2077!Vince). He's doing good and feels good and comfortable, physically and mentally.

Kerry also changed, also embracing the dad bod over abs, probably still experimenting with his looks a lot now and then whenever the label feels like they need to draw attention to him for whatever reason. But to the brown eyes he returned in 2078 already in my headcanon for the Sun ending timeline, and he stuck with them.

Overall I think he might finally care a little less about other people's opinions too, the buzz and the drama, cause he knows that at the end of the day there's always gonna be someone waiting for him at home who loves him unconditionally. He's a bit calmer and at ease, but of course still up to no good whenever he gets the chance to stir shit up xD Vince and him remain to be a dangerous duo you don't wanna mess with. At that point Vince is a well-respected, even if somewhat elusive, fixer, so he's probably even more dangerous now than he used to be as a mere merc with an arsenal of connections and resources at his disposal that can almost rival Kerry's.

I also gave Kerry a lil new cyberware piece on his hand - he is an old man and I think, using his hands as a musician on the daily, at some point there's just gonna be some wear and tear to your bones and joints only tech can fix anymore... Especially if you're stubborn and refuse to retire cause no, you're not done yet, you still have so much to yell into the world and music to make, stuff to add to your legacy and all.

Last but not least: Nibbles is an old lady already as well here, but living her best life with her dads spoiling her rotten, of course!

And then öalkshjdfagsdföasgdfaösfh ;___;

Y'know, "to bad decisions" and all, and two very different pieces still fitting together perfectly somehow, and light and shadows, and the sun and moon and yeah. ;___; Brb crying, the feels are back xD

Thanks so much for reading if you made it this far!! They mean so much to me and aösdjhfajsfhasfk could go on forever about every little detail xD On to the next drawing!

[inawickedlittletown]

How Do I Love Thee (BuckTommy) - one-shot

Summary: A sweet moment between Buck and Tommy where Buck gets to tell Tommy what he likes about him.

BuckTommy Positivity Week Day 1: what they love most about each other.

Rated: G

Words: 1.3k

Notes: Title comes from the poem of the same title by Elizabeth Barret Browning, the beginning of which is quoted below:

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace."

@bucktommypositivityweek

-

Read on Ao3

Fingers traced a line on Tommy’s back. It felt like the ghost of a touch, but he was so attuned to Evan that it didn’t matter how gentle the finger went or how it barely even touched his skin. 

“Hmm, I love how I could just play connect the dots with your back,” Evan said, voice low and warm. 

“What are you drawing back there, then?” 

“Stars. Stick figures. I’m not a very good artist.” 

Tommy laughed and he felt Evan drop his head to Tommy’s back, laughing as well. Laughs turned to kisses soon enough, a trail of them going up his shoulder and to his neck, Evan pressing his nose right behind his ear and lingering there. Tommy didn’t move, felt Evan’s arms circle him and then Evan’s chin on his shoulder. 

Across the left side of his bed was the wardrobe whose right door was a full length mirror. Reflected on it were the two of them. He could see that Evan had captured the reflection too, meeting his eyes on it and earning a smile. 

“We look good together,” Evan said and he pressed his head to Tommy’s. “Especially when your shirt is off.” 

“Is that what you like about me?” Tommy asked. 

“Hmm, yes, that and so much more,” Evan said, pulling at Tommy so he could turn to face him. 

Evan was on his knees, bare except the underwear he’d slipped on after their shower and if it wasn’t for the activities before the shower and in the shower, Tommy might have been inclined to get them off of him. Just looking at him, at all the skin on display and at the warmth that he exuded was enough for Tommy to reach for him and draw him into a slow lazy kiss. It was enough for him to consider if going a third round was an option. 

“That,” Evan said against his lips. “I love that.” 

Evan pulled away to lay down. His curls were free of product, already drying, and they stood out on the pillow. Tommy loved getting to see him like that, in a way that most people didn’t. Tommy took his time joining him on the fresh sheets, taking Evan in. He had scars like they all did, but they didn’t mar him as much as told a story of his survival. His tattoos were a testament to dumb decisions because from Evan’s own admission they weren’t very deep or thought out. In Tommy’s eyes they were a mark of who he had been when he was younger. 

“Come here,” Evan said. 

Tommy settled himself next to Evan, head on the pillow, facing him. Evan’s hands immediately went to Tommy, a gentle touch to his shoulder and his neck and then to caress his lightly stubbled cheek. 

“You want to know what I love about you?” Evan asked. “The list is long.” 

“Yeah?” 

Evan chuckled. “You already know I think you’re hot,” he said. “That’s such a small part of what I like about you.” 

Tommy hated a little bit that it felt so good to hear that. Not that Evan had ever in the four months they’d been together, made him feel like it was the thing that kept him with Tommy. It was just that there was always that niggling thing that asked why he could be so lucky as to have Evan in his life when so many others had only been interested in his muscles and what Tommy could do for them in bed. Evan was different. 

Evan kept touching him. Light distracting touches. Tommy could only watch him as he inhaled a breath and smiled at him. 

“I like that your chin has a cleft. I like that I can actually feel small in your arms. I like that your hands are big but that you can do so much delicate work with them. I like that you have a bunch of hobbies and you’re good at so many things. I like that you wear reading glasses. I like that you snore when you’re tired — no, don’t deny it. It’s cute.”

Tommy closed his mouth, felt Evan’s finger linger over his lips. He kissed the finger and Evan grinned, leaning forward to replace the finger with his lips for a quick chaste kiss. 

Evan kept going, “I like that you run cold so we can cuddle all night without getting too sweaty. I like that you’re patient. I like that you’re understanding. I like that you know who you are. Your confidence.”

Tommy made a noise to interrupt, but Evan gave a subtle shake of his head. 

“I’ve never met anyone so sure of who they are,” Evan said. “And I know it took a lot for you to get to this point, Tommy. That’s why I admire it so much. You changed for the better and you grew into this person…the person you were meant to be all along.” 

“Oh,” Tommy said and why did words feel like a hug felt? How was it that Evan could do that to him?

“There’s more,” Evan said. 

Tommy didn’t know if he could handle that, hadn’t known that there was so much for Evan to list. Evan’s hand had found his and he gripped it. 

“I’m building to something,” Evan admitted. His eyes were shining and Tommy squeezed his hand because he was emotional too. 

“I like how much you love to fly and how you’re freer up there than anywhere else. I like that you can only really make pasta well and not much else because it means I can cook for you and feed you. I like that you have a secret sweet tooth and that you have strange taste in ice cream, I mean whose favorite flavor is matcha? Also you liked that cilantro ice cream which I’m still questioning.” 

Tommy laughed. “It was good, I swear.” 

“If you say so,” Evan said. “Do you want me to keep going?”

He wanted to say no, but instead he nodded because he could tell that Evan wanted to keep going. Tommy also knew that it would take him over the emotional edge. 

“I like that you let me set the pace and that when we finally got to the good stuff you made sure I was alright every step of the way. I like that you text me everyday even when we’re both on shift and busy. I like that you let me talk at you about random things and that somehow you actually listen. I like that I can lean on you and trust you. Most of all, I like that there is no doubt in my mind that you care about me with no strings or conditions or in spite. I like that you like me maybe even more than I like that you’ve let me love you.”

“Evan,” Tommy whispered, his emotions in his voice. He wasn’t a cryer, but he’d already cried in front of Evan twice, what was once more? 

Evan inhaled. He looked close to tears too and he was staring at Tommy with wonder. 

Sometimes, very early on, Tommy had wondered how long it could last between them. How quickly would Evan realize that it wasn’t Tommy he wanted even if he’d served to awaken his queerness. He’d wondered if Evan would get curious about other men or if he might decide it was easier to keep dating women. But, Evan proved him wrong and four months in, Tommy didn’t fear that anymore. He knew Evan loved him, they had exchanged those words and it had been more about saying it than anything else because they had both already known about the love shared between them. 

“I missed one,” Evan said suddenly. 

“Evan,” Tommy whispered. 

“Your smile,” Evan said. “I really really love your smile.”

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | Poly 141 x Fem Fat Reader | masterlist

Part 1: New Girl

You stare up at the sign reading ONE - FOUR - ONE in old English font. It’s an old building, all brick and stuffed in between several others. The windows have a thin, semi-opaque cover them to let in the light without allowing you to see inside.

You make your way to the front door, trying the handle and feeling stupid the moment you do. Your eyes connect with a small intercom beside you and you press it. There’s a small buzz, then silence.

A few beats go by, you debate pressing it again. You don’t want to be too insistent.

“Hello?” A voice comes through just before you reach up to press again.

“I, uh…” You stutter. Despite having many, many tattoos you somehow still feel like a poser every time you enter a new studio. “I have an appointment at one? With John?”

The man on the other side confirms your name before buzzing you in, the door letting out a loud click before you step inside. It both makes you more nervous and more relaxed - you can appreciate a closed storefront like that. Especially for something often as private as tattoos and piercings, but it still feels like you’re doing something wrong. Just a little bit.

The front room is lovely, though. The texture over the glass bathes the front room in a calm, iridescent light. There are a few waiting chairs, a low, black table piled high with books of flash. The front of the high counter is covered with posters and stickers from events going all the way back to the 90s.

The pretty man behind the counter repeats your name absently, obviously thinking about other things. Probably the half-finished design that sits abandoned on the iPad next to the appointment book he’s staring down at. You just nod in agreement.

“I’ll let John know you’re here.” He nods back, turning and pushing through a pair of saloon style doors to disappear down the hall. You take the time he’s gone to look around, flipping through yet another small book of designs on top of the counter. They’re good. Unique. Very gothic and interestingly detailed. Somehow both fine and bold simultaneously.

“Afternoon.” You jump, snapping the book shut and looking up to meet a pair of soft blue eyes and an easy smile. He looks you over briefly before extending his hand. “John Price.”

You murmur your name quietly, trying very hard to not stare at the incredible traditional work patched into a sleeve up his strong arm. Damn.

He leads you back to his work station - past a piercing studio and across from another room with the door shut and an IN SESSION sign on the door. The dull, buzzing sound of a tattoo machine drifts through.

“Now,” John says as he cuts down the extra paper around the stencil. “Just remember if you don’t like the placement we can move it. No problem.”

“Okay.” You nod, appreciative that he mentioned it. Sometimes these older men in the industry are gruff and have an attitude if you do anything less than treat them as if they are anything other than Absolutely Right and Perfect. Not that John came off that way. There’s a softness in his affect that relaxes your muscles and leaves you breathing easy.

“I know y’have several but I’m still going t’do a line and then see how you feel.” He murmurs, voice low.

It’s sweet, the way he’s walking you through it all despite the piece being small and you obviously having done with process several times. The sting of the needle is as expected and you murmur that it was fine before he really gets to work.

“Just let me know if y’need a break…” He mumbles, voice dipping even lower as he concentrates on his work. In any other situation that rumble would probably have you squirming in your seat. There’s a silence for a while before he speaks again, almost as if he forgot you were there. “This design have any significance?”

“I just wanted to get a new tattoo in my new hometown.” You snort - now at the point where most of your tattoos fall under the ‘because it’s cool’ category. “Probably stupid, seeing as I don’t have a job yet but… I don’t know. Feels like good luck.”

John grins. “Well then, thanks f’lettin’ me be your good luck charm.”

Your face heats at the rumble in his voice - glancing away nervously.

There’s another lapse of silence while he works, the only words exchanged are when he asks if you need a break and you decline. Eventually, toward the end you think, he asks another question. “What brought y’here then? If not a job?”

You would shrug, but you try to keep as still as possible while he works. “Just needed a change. Found an apartment easy enough - now I just need a way to make money.”

He hums in agreement. “What do you have experience in? Been around here a while - might be able to recommend somethin’.”

“Oh! Thank you!” You brighten up. “Receptionist work, mostly. Some admin assistant stuff.”

He pauses, cocking an eyebrow. “Y’know, we’re hirin’ right now.”

“Yeah?” You tilt your head. “I don’t have, like, a resume with me.”

“You’ve got enough tattoos I’m assumin’ you know how the industry works. My apprentice is going to start actually tattooin’ soon, an’ I hate t’ have him still pickin up extra duties at the front.” He sits back, carefully smoothing saniderm onto your arm before turning and reaching for the ink-stained sketchbook behind him. “Tell y’what, you write down a few references for me and your number. If they’ve got good things t’ say we can do a trial period.”

You blink at him. He’s awful forward, and insistent, but you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. A temp job is better than no job. “Alright…”

Just like that, you gained employment by way of making a stupid financial decision.

John’s an incredible boss. He pays fairly (generously, but you know better than to accidentally negotiate your pay down). He gives you plenty of hours and trains you well - with the help of his apprentice. He doesn’t get annoyed when you ask questions, seeming content with your determination to do your job to the best of your abilities. The shop goes by appointment only - no walk ins and potential customers have to call to book. John keeps things old fashioned like that. All pen and paper and cash transactions. An ATM sits in the waiting area. The most complicated part of your job is changing out the cash box in it, and that only take a few days to learn. Not that you mind, it’s sort of refreshing to not deal with some fuckass new and “improved” register and appointment system.

Turns out part of the reason they operate in such a way (other than preference) is because John is a big name in the tattoo world. You hadn’t realized until he pointed out a couple of your flash tattoos were from his best-selling book of designs.

“Wait, you’re famous!?” You gasp, staring wide eyed at the old binder of newspaper clippings and book sales. ‘My Mum Wasn’t Impressed At First - Now Even She Has One’ reads the title of one of the older clippings - yellowed with age. John lacks his signature beard in the photo. It almost looks wrong.

John chuckles, crossing his arms and leaning back in his rolling chair. “You could say that. You really didn’t know about our shop before you booked?”

You shake your head. “Nah, I just saw y’all get recommended on Reddit.”

He barks out a laugh at that. It’s a low, pleased sound that sends a shiver down your spine. His beard only emphasizes the apples of his cheeks as he smiles. Yeah, that’s the other thing, having a hot boss is kind of fire.

Plus, he’s not the only one. The whole studio is full of hunks.

Kyle is easily the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Like, run for Miss Universe pretty. Big doe eyes with a little scar on his cheekbone - small golden hoops glitter from both his earlobes. They frame his face so well, creating a perfect diamond from them to his sparkling eyes to his pretty smile; curled and genuine with perfect teeth. He walks you through the booking process step by step, that first day, a warm hand on your back and the other tracing down the columns of the physical appointment book.

His work is as beautiful as he is. At least, the ones done on fake skin. John hasn’t let him tattoo anyone for real yet - but his practice sketches are immaculate. At least to a layman. Kyle himself never seems quite satisfied with them. He gets such vivid color, though.

“Tattooing darker skin is an art form in and of itself.” He murmurs as he works on a piece of very dark fake skin. “I want people like me t’ be able t’ get exactly what they want, with just as much color as they want.”

You nod along, sipping at your coffee from across the street that you’ve taken up stopping at every day before work. Kyle has so much passion for the industry. The look he gets in his eyes while talking about it or designing a new piece makes your heart flutter.

Simon, the other resident artist, you’re the least familiar with. You can’t quite decide how to feel about him, or decipher how he feels about you. John introduced you a couple days after you started, but all you got was a perfunctory nod and a ‘good luck’. You couldn’t help but feel starstruck, despite his blunt nature. Both thick arms covered in full, detailed sleeves. High quality, ornate black work. A man of stature - six feet and some change with a breadth that a barn would envy. Pretty, blonde hair cropped just short of turning to curls and dark eyes that bore through you to the very core.

Sometimes, when he comes to ask about his next appointment, you let yourself indulge in the fantasy that he stands close because he likes you. That his knee briefly knocks against yours because he wants to touch you - not that you’re crazy enough to believe it. Just crazy enough to be a tiny bit delusional for the fun of it.

You meet their resident piercer on the weekend. Apparently, he’d been away visiting family your first week.

He leans up over the counter, grinning at you from ear to ear. A well-built man only a few inches shorter than the others with a perfectly groomed mohawk. “Well, hello there. Aren’t you a bonnie little thing?”

You frown, hackles raising instinctually. “Uh, can I help you?”

“Och, they dinnae tell ye about me yet? I’m hurt.” He pouts, thick brows emphasizing the puppy like nature of his blue eyes.

“Let her be, Soap.” Kyle sighs heavily, walking to his area of the front with a fresh sketchbook.

“Soap?” You repeat.

“Aye. Cause apparently I need my mouth washed out.” He pokes his tongue out, only to reveal a silver piercing. He holds a hand over the counter. “Johnny MacTavish.”

Johnny is the most egregious man you have ever met - always touching you in one way or another when he checks in about appointments and so on. His Scottish brogue rings in your ears, every word loud and confident. A hand finds it’s way around your waist, a finger poking under the band of whatever bottoms you wear that day. At any other job, you would have considered it harassment and tore him a new one.

Johnny’s different, though. If you shrug him off he steps away, if you flinch he pulls back. Plus, he does it to everyone else just as much as you. More, if you’re honest. If Simon is within arms reach they’re touching. You noticed Johnny pushing a hand under his shirt at one point, grabbing at the soft layer over Simon’s abs. (A great view for you, frankly.) Hell, you saw him casually hold Kyle’s hand while they were talking over lunch. Even John isn’t immune to the clinging. You don’t think much of it. Body modding attracts all sorts of people. If Johnny’s just a touchy guy then he’s just touchy. Besides, you don’t mind that much when he slips an arm around your waist or hooks his chin on your shoulder to talk to you. Warm breath tracing the shell of your ear with a quiet ‘bonnie lass’ punctuating ever other sentence. A slight pinch to your hip before he trots away to set up his station.

You feel nauseous when your trial month ends. John sits you down across from him in the back office. A practical space with not much more in it than a desk, computer and the large safe. None of you spend much time back here outside of counting down the cash and dragging the trash bags through the back door to the dumpster.

“Think you’ve done really well, dove.” He grins. You try to ignore the way the pet name looks warmth in your lower belly. “You’ve picked up quickly, you’re good on the phone. Kyle’s been very happy about the extra time to practice.”

You let out the biggest, most relieved sigh of your life, shoulders slumping slightly.

“You don’t seem to mind Johnny, but if he gets to be too much let me or Simon know, yeah? He means well but he can be… well, you know.” John says absently as he reaches for something across the desk. “How are you feelin’?”

You nod. “I, uh, feel good. I like this position a lot. Everyone’s been very welcoming.”

John nods along. “Good, good. I see no reason to not hire you on full time. Here.”

You hold put your hands as John drops a small, silver key into them. Holy shit! You get your own key! Up until now they’d been buzzing you in, but they’re trusting you with your very own key!

John must see the excitement on your face because he chuckles and extends a hand. “Welcome aboard, kid.”

A/N: I was very wine drunk writing most of this and it has next to no editing but I hope you enjoyed it! I just want something I can write that’s episodic and not as serious/brain heavy as Fancy or Across the Way

[silent-stories]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐑 - 𝟓

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Eddie finds a note in his locker and doesn't know that someone has a plan to destroy his relationship with you.

Warnings: mention of drugs

Part 4

"Thanks for staying Friday night and helping me with all that stuff, really." You said as you sat next to Eddie on a bench at the back of the school.

It was a quite hidden place, but not to hide but just to not be disturbed and have a more intimate moment, with just the two of you.

The sun was shining that morning and you noticed that when Eddie's pale skin was kissed by the rays of its light you could see many small freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks.

They were almost invisible, you yourself had never noticed them before but they were there.

And you liked them.

You found yourself wondering if they were more visible in summer, if they were also on the skin hidden by his clothes, if they covered his back and what it would be like to trace imaginary lines with your fingers to connect them.

"Don't worry, I did it with pleasure." He smiled as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and your gaze immediately fell on the bats tattooed on his arm.

"Thanks for asking me to come." He added after a few moments, his words little more than a low whisper, an almost shy edge to his voice.

"Thanks for asking me to come?" You repeated his words bewildered, perhaps a little too melodramatic. "You absolutely saved my night, which would have been boring and lonely without you."

He chuckled. "Then I think we're even."

"Yeah, I guess we are."

Eddie pulled a metal lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead." You reassured him before he lit a cigarette, before bringing it to his lips.

"Anyway, Bones has been sitting all weekend where you were, on my bed. I think she misses you, you know? She probably likes you more than me."

"That means I'll have to go back to your house sooner or later." He laughed. "Just for Bones, of course."

"Oh sure. I know she'd like to have another movie night with you soon or just, I don't know, listen to music and talk about the meaning of life at 3 in the morning. Maybe without half school at my house."

Eddie looked at you with a doubtful expression. Was he really still wondering what you were trying to say?

"Yes Eddie, I'm inviting you to my house." You laughed shaking your head. "Friday or Saturday night, maybe? What do you think?"

Eddie stared at you with his big dark eyes, almost hesitant, and for a moment you thought he was saying he didn't want to come, but then a huge grin appeared on his lips before he covered it with his hand, bringing the cigarette to his mouth.

But you saw it, you never missed it when he smiled. You always liked to see him happy.

"Yeah. Yeah, I would like to."

You smiled. "Good."

"Good." He repeated blowing some smoke out of his mouth, the ghost of a smile still on it.

"So, did you seem them?" Jason asked as he sat across from Aaron at the noisy high school cafeteria table.

"Who?" Asked the other before stuffing half a sausage into his mouth.

"Y/N and the freak. At the party. I was dead drunk but I remember them. Holding hands." He added the last part with a grimace, to express his disgust.

"Gross. Don't remind me." Aaron commented, his eyes wandering around the cafeteria, finding Eddie at the usual table eating in the company of his friends

All losers, just like him.

Aaron spent hours spreading the word about the party, getting all those people over to your house to spend time with you, and when the party finally started you were stayed on the couch the entire time until he came and you completely disappeared, with him.

He ruined everything, as always.

Jason had explained who Eddie Munson was, Aaron knew everything about him: he was a drug dealer, he was part of a satanic cult and listened to some kind of music praising his demonic activities, he was poor, he lived in a smelly trailer, just like him, he no longer had his parents. They probably didn't want someone like him around them either.

Maybe he didn't know everything, but it was all he needed to know that Eddie "the freak" Munson wasn't a good person and he didn't even want to see him around you.

Atound the girl he'd wanted from the first moment he'd seen her.

When he had seen him arrive at the party he had thought that someone had played a joke on him and had invited him, he thought maybe it was you.

And you really had invited him, but it wasn't a joke and when Aaron saw you holding hands he nearly spat out his drink.

You were friends. And he found that disgusting.

"Someone told me they stayed in her room all night. You think they fucked?" Jason asked.

"Okay, stop it!" Aaron blurted out. "I don't know what they did but I have a plan."

The girl he had a crush on since he moved to that shitty town couldn't end up with a sucker like Eddie.

"A plan for what?" Jason raised his eyebrows.

"To push them away, whatever they have going on, I don't like it. And then Y/N will be mine."

Aaron was like Jason, they both wanted what they wanted when they wanted and they thought they were the best at everything they did.

The only difference was that Jason acted without thinking and wasn't as smart as he thought he was, but Aaron could calculate, manipulate people and be convincing.

And that was what made him more dangerous.

Eddie opened his locker and immediately a note fell to the floor.

Before picking it up he looked around suspiciously, it wouldn't be the first time someone slipped some notes with insults written on them into his locker.

Instead, when he took it in his hands and opened it, above it he read:

"The bench in the woods, Today, 4am"

Eddie knew what it was right away, or at least he thought he knew, at the time: someone wanted to buy drugs after school and the woods were the perfect place, away from other people and far enough from school.

That afternoon, Eddie waited for about half an hour sitting on that bench, his old lunchbox filled with various narcotic substances next to him.

When he had lost hope of anyone showing up, a voice made him turn around.

"You can put that stuff away, I'm not here for that." Aaron walked up to the bench with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, casually.

"Then why are you here?" Eddie asked, getting defensive.

He didn't like Aaron. He didn't like the way he looked at you like you were a piece of meat, and the way she looked at him, like he was garbage. He didn't like his fake laugh and mean smile.

"To talk about Y/N." Aaron sat across from Eddie, his green eyes colder than usual as they scanned Eddie. "I wanted to ask you not to sell drugs to her, you know I care about her and I don't want her... to end up in a bad circle."

"She, um- I never sold her anything."

"Oh, you didn't? Well, she told me she'll soon ask you to sell her some of...your stuff." He uttered the last word with disgust.

"I'm not sure she uses that kind of stuff." Eddie couldn't figure out where Aaron was trying to get at. "I'm not sure she smoke at all."

"Of course she does! She got close to you because she wanted to buy from you, and she thought that if you became friends a little, maybe you would give her a discount." He said, as if it were a matter of course that you would never approach someone like Eddie except for having something in return.

Eddie felt a weird sensation in the pit of his stomach. It couldn't be true.

You didn't start talking to him just because you wanted to buy drugs from him.

You weren't the only person who sat next to him in class because you wanted to buy drugs from him.

You hadn't spent all night watching movies with him while there was a party at your own house because you wanted to buy drugs from him.

You weren't the only person at school other than the Hellfire kids and the guys in his band who didn't treat him like a complete waste of space, showing him your kindness and affection every time you were with him, just because you wanted to buy drugs from him.

Right?

When Eddie had realized he was in love with you, months and months before, he thought he had no chance with you, that you didn't even know his name.

He thought the amazing girl Dustin always talked about would never even stop in the hallway to talk to him for fear that someone at school would see her with the "freak".

Over time though, after he started getting to know you and consequently falling for you even more: you had a good heart.

Eddie thought he'd always remember the day you brought to his trailer some notes he said he needed for his math test.

He was in the shower when you'd arrived, and you'd chatted with Wayne like you were friends for about twenty minutes before Eddie had came out of the bathroom with his hair still damp and with no t-shirt on.

He'd found you sitting on the couch next to his uncle, you were both laughing and Eddie had just leant against the door jamb with his shoulder, enjoying the scene with a smile on his lips, thinking "that's my fucking family".

You simply were something else.

And lately he almost thought that maybe he could become more than a friend to you, but perhaps he was wrong.

Aaron left throwing one last look at Eddie, halfway between a recommendation and a threat.

He closed the lunchbox filled with drugs, moving the fingers of one hand to the other, playing nervously with his rings, thinking that the only thing that could stop it at that moment was your hand in his.

Eddie stayed on that bench, alone, for an indefinite time while his mind continued to travel without him being able to stop it.

Aaron must have lied.

Right?

Part 6

Thanks to everyone who is still reading this story <3

Who's ready for a bit of Wayne in the next part?

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat

Love you from afar tags:

@capitanostella @enam3l @saramelaniemoon @ang3lb44by @einkitty @themorriganisamonster @esme-viridian @daisyridleyyyy @whenshelanded @eggo-segual @comfortcharactercraze @callmeyn @expiredcum21 @unholyyylita @squidscottjeans @twilight-love-nochu-main @idkatee @bakugouswh0r3 @amira0303 @greatpizzascissorstaco @ebonybloom @emxxblog @lunaryasha @cherryobx @jasminelafleur @magicalchocolatecheesecake @tracymbcm @harrypotter-imaginees @eli-flower @mrsjellymunson @tttttttttttts-things @miabiar @wayfaring----stranger @princess-eddie @omgshesinsane @littlestarfighter03 @zoeymunson @tanyaherondale @bl4ckt00thgr1n @thebook-hobbit @eris-rose-86 @ly17 @jenuhlyn @ximi1315 @avocadotoastwithegg @lomljigg @1paire2vans @praline357 @alana4610 @urdad-hot @themorriganisamonster @let-the-music-take-c0ntrol @kozuuji @ruinedbythehobbit

[hunnysnoops]

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Ten: Smile Like You Mean It

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

We lost track of the time. Dreams aren't what they used to be, something's slide by so carelessly.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: At the concert there is more in the air than just body odour and guava ice vapes. A striking realisation sends you into a frenzied spiral.

Warnings: crude language and humour

MASTERLIST

Navigating through the bustling chaos of the concert parking lot, you scan the sea of cars, searching for Kyle's familiar vehicle. The air is alive with anticipation and the distant rumble of bass lines from the venue. Everyone walking through the lot and finding their own way around looked like they had grabbed the darkest thing from their closet and ran with it.

That's why Kyle was so easy to spot, he was on his phone, trying to text you in the lobby. Next to him were three girls in leather boots and fishnets chatting amongst themselves, Kyle looked extremely out of place with his fire-red hair, dark green zip up hoodie over a white shirt, and jeans. "Oh my god," You mutter, approaching Kyle "What are you wearing?"

"What?" He looks down at his outfit "This is what I always wear."

"Didn't I tell you to dress for the concert?" You ask him.

"Uh, yeah," He gestures at his clothes "I'm dressed."

Both of you watch as a man with a bright red-dyed mohawk walks by, tattoos covering almost every inch of his skin. "Yeah, you fit right in." An idea hits you and you dig around in your pocket and pull out a black pencil eyeliner.

"No."

"What?" You ask like it was shocking he would say no "Why?"

"I am not wearing eyeliner."

"You didn't even know I was going to ask that," You say and silence stretches between you "Okay, just a little eyeliner, please."

"No fucking way man," He says, firm "I will never hear the end of this."

"It'll be fine."

"No."

"Just be cool," You take the cap off the pencil.

"I already agreed to come to the concert, you're pushing it."

"You bought the tickets," You exasperate "Don't act like you didn't want to come with me."

The back-and-forth continues, both of you speaking simultaneously, words tumbling over each other in a flurry of frustration. The noise around you fades as the intensity of your mini-argument grows, drawing a few curious glances from passersby.

"Kyle-

"No."

"Please!"

You reach the point where everything you say becomes incoherent as you both speak over one another, each of you raises your voice with every word to talk over the other person. Those passing by might have thought you were genuinely angry but that was just how you communicated with Kyle.

"Fine," He says at last, thinking of the comments you had made upon seeing the poster initially. 

"Yes!" You take a breath, composing yourself "Okay, bend down a bit," You gesture for him to lean closer, and reluctantly, he does. With practiced hands, you trace a subtle line along his upper eyelid, your touch light and precise.

The side of your hand connects to the warmth of his cheek. You bite the inside of your cheek as you focus, drawing the black line near his eye, he winces "Ow."

"Guys are such babies," You dismiss him, pulling his undereye down slightly as you fill it in. He shifts again, causing the line to shake "Kyle, stay still!" you admonish, frustration creeping into your tone.

"Can you hurry up?" He mumbles "There's people here."

"Pfft, no one cares but you, get out of your head." 

"Jeez, you're poking my eye out," He counters, his voice rising a notch.

"Poking your eye out? I'm barely touching you!" you retort, both of you talking over each other. "Stop being a bitch," He leans back in. "Close your eyes," Gently, with one hand on the back of his head, you roll your thumb over it until it's smudged, doing the same on his other eye until both of them are equally smokey.

You take a step back, biting your lip to contain your smile. "Are you done?"

"Ready for the moshpit, shakabrah," You tease him. 

Kyle reaches into his pocket for his phone, tapping on the camera and inspecting your work. "I look like Rodrick Heffley." 

"Awesome, he's hot," You grin. "How do you feel?"

"Stupid."

"That's probably because you are," You try to keep a straight face but it eventually breaks into giggles.

"Why are you laughing?" A tinge of redness rushed to his face as he turned his head to look away.

You grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him back and forth, almost bouncing off the floor "Because I'm so excited!" You grab his wrist and pull him along into the lobby.

To one side, a row of sleek, metal-framed windows provides a view of the darkening sky outside, the city lights twinkling in the distance. The floor beneath you is polished concrete, its cool surface reflecting the neon glow. Tall columns, also illuminated by neon strips, rise to support the high ceiling, where a large chandelier made of repurposed guitar strings and metal scraps hangs, casting intricate shadows across the room.

Your eye catches on a booth where t-shirts, hats, and hoodies all hand. Next to the shirts, rows of CDs and vinyl records are laid out, each featuring the band's latest album as well as some of their iconic older releases.

You ignore everything else and immediately head straight for the booth, looking at the t-shirts. 'Suburban Wasteland' emblazoned across the chest in bold, distressed lettering. Beneath the band name, is the art of a zombified woman; large hoop earrings hang from her green weathered ears, she's dressed as a waitress, her yellow dress torn up and soaked in blood. The bottom of her jaw had been torn off completely, in her hands she carries a platter with a brain resting on top while she stares at you with large white eyes. 

"You're out of luck Kyle, they don't sell six XL," You say while sifting through the merchandise.

"Your maturity is admirable," He says, sarcasm hanging from each word. 

"I've been told," You say, grabbing one shirt in your size and another for Kyle. You hold it up against him, assessing the fit. "This one's perfect," you declare, already heading towards the cashier.

"Hey, you don't have to buy it for me," Kyle protests, reaching for his wallet.

You wave him off, determined. "It's on me. Consider it a thank you for the tickets."

Before he can argue further, you hand over the money to the cashier and receive the shirt in return. You turn back to Kyle, triumphantly holding out the shirt. "Here you go. Now you'll really look like a thrasher."

He steps aside to slip on the shirt, and when he returns, you find it hard to keep back your smile. The shirt fits him perfectly, adding to the edgy look you had envisioned though he still has his green hoodie hanging overtop. The eyeliner, the shirt- it's all coming together. 

You tug the shirt on over your outfit, holding your arms out to be sure it fits properly and making your way towards that entrance of the concert hall.

The entrance to the venue is framed by towering pillars wrapped in neon lights, casting a vibrant glow on the throngs of fans filing inside. As you and Kyle pass through the threshold, the dim lighting of the hallway beyond creates an intimate, almost conspiratorial atmosphere, drawing you further into the world of the concert.

Inside, the concert hall opens up into a vast, cavernous space. The stage dominates the far end of the room, a massive structure bathed in dramatic spotlights and flanked by towering speaker stacks. The backdrop features a large banner with "Suburban Wasteland" emblazoned across it, the letters jagged and distressed. The silhouettes of the band's instruments are visible, that alone has you shaking with excitement. 

The floor is a sea of fans, a mixture of restless energy and eager anticipation. People are clustered in groups, some pressing forward to get as close to the stage as possible, others hanging back, content to enjoy the music from a distance. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and excitement, mingling with the occasional waft of concession stand treats.

The lights dim further as you and Kyle find a spot to settle in. You glance around, taking in the sea of faces, all turned towards the stage, waiting. The crowd's murmur ebbs and flows like a living organism, each person contributing to the collective buzz. The floor beneath you vibrates slightly with the low hum of the bass.

As the opening act wraps up their set, the anticipation in the concert hall reaches a fever pitch. The lights dim, plunging the room into darkness, and a collective hush falls over the crowd. You feel a surge of excitement, your heart pounding in sync with the growing energy around you. The air is electric, charged with hundreds of fans' eager whispers and shifting movements.

Suddenly, a single spotlight pierces the darkness, illuminating the stage. The backdrop banner with 'Suburban Wasteland' glows under the bright lights, the jagged, distressed letters standing out boldly. The crowd erupts into cheers, the sound almost deafening as the band members take their positions.

You let out an excited squeal, bouncing on your toes as the band members appear one by one. Your eyes are wide with joy, a huge grin spreading across your face. You can't contain your enthusiasm, and it's contagious-Kyle looks over at you, his own smile widening at your sheer delight.

The lead singer steps into the spotlight, and the crowd's roar intensifies. He raises his arms, acknowledging the fans, and the energy in the room spikes. The first chords of their opening song crash through the speakers, a powerful wave of sound that sends a thrill down your spine. The music is loud, raw, and everything you've been waiting for.

"Holy shit, holy shit!" you shout, your voice nearly lost in the cacophony. You grab Kyle's arm, squeezing it with excitement, your eyes never leaving the stage. "This is fucking awesome!"

Kyle laughs "I know!"

The lead singer's voice cuts through the music, a powerful, gravelly sound that sends shivers down your spine. The band launches into one of your favourite songs, the familiar melody is instantly recognizable. You sing along at the top of your lungs, your voice mingling with the hundreds of others around you. You scream to the point where you think your voice might give out.

The stage lights dance and flash, casting the band in dramatic silhouettes. The guitarist rips into a solo, his fingers flying over the strings, while the drummer pounds out a relentless rhythm that you can feel in your chest. The entire hall is alive with energy, the music vibrating through the floor and up into your very bones.

You're completely trapped in the moment, every sense heightened by the live performance. The sights, the sounds, the sheer force of the music—it all combines into an overwhelming, euphoric experience. "Kyle, give me your bra, I wanna throw it on stage!" You laugh.

The band's stage presence is magnetic, with each member pouring their heart and soul into the performance. You can see the sweat glistening on their faces, the intensity of their movements, and the passion in every note they play. It's a spectacle, a raw and unfiltered display of talent and emotion.

As the concert surges forward, the energy in the room reaches a fever pitch. The band on stage commands the crowd's attention, each song blending seamlessly into the next. The lights pulse in time with the music, casting the crowd in a spectrum of vibrant colours. 

You look around for someone who seems approachable and spot a friendly-looking girl nearby, dancing with her friends. Tapping her on the shoulder, you flash her a warm smile and hold up your phone. "Excuse me! Would you mind taking a picture of us?"

She beams back at you, her eyes sparkling with the shared thrill of the concert. "Of course! I'd be happy to!"

You hand her your phone and quickly move back to stand beside Kyle. As you position yourselves, you feel the warmth of his arm wrap around your shoulders while yours snakes around his back. The proximity sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, the music and the crowd fading slightly as you focus on the moment. You lean in closer to him, your faces almost touching.

The girl holding your phone steps back, finding the perfect angle. "Alright, ready? One, two, three!"

You flash your best smile, your face lighting up with genuine happiness. Kyle matches your energy, his grin is wide and infectious. The girl snaps a couple of shots, capturing the moment as the stage lights cast a colourful glow around you.

After a few clicks, she hands the phone back to you. "Here you go! I took a few, just to be sure."

"Thank you so much!" you say, glancing at the photos. Each on captures the pure ecstasy on your face, with the stage and the vibrant crowd as a backdrop. You show the pictures to Kyle.

As the concert's energy swirls around you both, Kyle leans in close, his voice a soft murmur against your ear "Can you send me those?" 

You pause, caught off guard by his request. "Uh, yeah, for sure," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden flutter in your chest. You fumble for your phone, fingers slightly unsteady as you pull up the photos you just took together.

While Kyle didn't love the obnoxiously loud music or the people headbanging around you, he liked the smile on your face. 

The concert drives on, each song ending with the beginning of the next. During a brief lull between songs, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you see a guy, probably around your age, with a friendly smile. He looks like a younger version of the lead singer, with black shaggy hair, piercings, and dark clothing. 

"Hey, I'm sorry for bothering you but I thought you were really pretty, do you mind if I get your number?" He asks, somewhat sheepishly, his phone in hand. 

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. Before you can respond, Kyle steps closer, his presence immediately noticeable. He places a protective arm around your waist to tug you closer, his expression shifting from relaxed to subtly assertive.

"She's with me," Kyle says, his voice firm but not aggressive. There's an unmistakable note of possessiveness in his tone, narrowing eyes temper it. 

He raises an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the tension. "Oh, sorry, man. Didn't realize," he says, backing off with his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "No hard feelings."

Kyle watches him disappear into the crowd, his arm still securely around you. The guy fades from vision entirely leaving you and Kyle standing there, the space around you suddenly feeling more intimate.

You turn to look at Kyle, a mix of emotions swirling within you. There's a protectiveness in his eyes that you hadn't seen before, and you shudder slightly under his touch. The concert, the crowd, and the music- all of it fades slightly as you focus on Kyle. Your fave drops as you take in the curve of his jaw and the light dusting of freckles on his face.

You suddenly realize that this protective gesture has stirred something deep within you. The way Kyle stepped in, the warmth of his arm around you, the years you've wasted hating him and the months you've spent trying to make up for it—it all coalesces into a sudden, startling clarity.

The realization is terrifying. You feel your blood run cold like icicles were shooting through your veins.

You move Kyle's arm away from you and take step away, you find yourself needing a breather. "Hey, I'm going to grab some water," you shout to Kyle over the noise. He nods, and you make your way through the throng of concertgoers to a quieter spot near the concession stand.

As you sip your water, Kyle finds you, his face flushed from the heat and excitement of the show. "You okay?" he asks, concern evident in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, trying to sort through your feelings. "Yeah, just needed a break," you say, but the words come out more curtly than you intended. You shift your eyes to look anywhere but him with fear that he might see through you. 

"Are you sure?" His lips downturn the slightest "Are you mad that I got between you and the guy? I'm sorry, I just-

"It's not that," You shake your head. 

Kyle frowns, sensing something off. "Is everything alright? You seem upset."

"No, I'm fine," You take another sip, one hand supporting you on a tabletop "Just- cold."

Without hesitation, Kyle shrugs off his hoodie and holds it out to you. "Here, take this."

Your heart skips a beat at the gesture. The thought of wearing his hoodie, of being enveloped in his warmth and scent, makes your pulse quicken. "Oh, no, that's okay," you stammer, feeling a heat rise to your cheeks. 

He shakes his head "You're cold, I'm not, just take it."

 Seeing no way to refuse without seeming ungrateful or drawing suspicion, you take the hoodie from him. As you pull it over your arms, the fabric is soft and still warm from his body heat, making you feel even more flustered. You catch a faint whiff of his cologne mixed with the scent of the concert, and it's intoxicating.

"Thanks," you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper.

Kyle looks at you, his eyes soft with concern and something else you can't quite place. "You're welcome," he says, his voice warm and comforting. "Better?"

You nod, though your heart is still pounding. "Yeah, much better. Thanks."

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

Bebe's bedroom always smelled good thanks to the forever-burning vanilla bean candle on her bedside table. She has fairy lights strung along the frame of her bed, next to you, Bebe lays on her stomach, absentmindedly kicking her cow-slipper-covered feet in the air while scrolling on her phone. On occasion, she'll look at you to show you something she deems funny.

As you pull Kyle's hoodie tighter around you, you close your eyes for a moment and breathe in deeply. The scent is a mix of his aftershave's subtle, clean and piney smell along with the woody fragrance with hints of cedar and musk that belonged to his body spray.

As you and Bebe lie side by side in the nest of blankets and pillows, the comforting sounds of the rom-com playing in the background, you can't shake the thoughts swirling in your mind. You need to talk about it, to get some clarity. "Bebe?" 

“Yeah?"

"How do you know when you start liking a friend as like- I dunno, not a friend?"

"Like romantically?" She turns to look at you. Her hair had been pushed back with a headband while she covered it in a green face mask, still wet on her skin. 

"Yes," You say, eyebrows drawing together as you stare up at her ceiling. 

"Think about kissing them."

"Okay," You bite the inside of your cheek, picturing the scene in your mind. You imagine Kyle leaning in, his eyes soft and warm, his lips approaching yours. You shake the thought from your head before it travels any further. 

 "Is it okay or do you want to vomit?"

"It's okay."

"Then you like them." 

Your eyes go wide, heat creeping up to your face. You cover your eyes with your palms, slowly dragging your hands down your face and settling over yourself to cover the scream you want to let out.

"Who is it?" Bebe asks, a smile on her face as she puts her phone down and turns her whole attention to you "Tolkien?"

You wrinkle your nose "No."

"Kenny?" She guesses again, narrowing her eyes as she delves deeper into thought.

"Jeez, no."

"Okay, um," She thinks for a moment "It's Red, right?"

"No, it's not Red," You swat her on the arm.

"Kyle."

"No."

"It's Kyle!" Her eyes light up "You like Kyle!" Bebe shouts, her eyes widening as a smile creeps onto her tanned face.

"NO!" You scream, hands gripping the bed so tightly you think for a moment that you might rip it. "AH!" You push yourself off the bed, hands moving to grab your hair as you buckle over and onto the ground.

"Oh my god," Bebe laughs "It's okay."

"It's not okay, it's not!" You cry out, thankful that her parents weren't home to hear you screeching. 

"It's fine, you can't control who you like," She sits up, watching you writhe on the ground.

"This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me!" You grip the bedframe, trying to pull yourself up but suddenly your bones have turned to gummy worms. 

"It's just a crush!" Bebe retorts, trying to calm your nerves.

"I DON'T LIKE HIM," You're unsure whether you're trying to convince yourself or Bebe, likely the former. 

"You are clinging to his hoodie like a lifeline."

"NO!" You scream yanking the hoodie off as you do so, you remove it with so much hazard that you stumble around and collapse back to the ground, throwing his hoodie as far away from you as you can get it. "I CAN'T DO THIS!" 

"It's okay," Bebe puts her hands out eyes going wide as she takes in your mini-meltdown.

You take a long and deep breath, trying to sort out the thousand of thoughts shooting through your head "Bebe, I need you to do something for me."

"Yeah?"

"I need you to go into the shed, grab your dad's shotgun, and shoot me in the head."

"Oh my god," She rolls her eyes "I'm not shooting you."

"PLEASE!" You clasp your hands together.

"Jesus Christ," She mutters "No."

"Ugh!" You reach to grab your hair, biting the inside of your mouth in frustration. "I'm going to kill you!" You cry out "I'm going to kill myself!"

"It's fine-

"It's not-

"Do you want me to call Wendy?"

"NO!"

"Be quiet," She says "My neighbours are gonna think I'm putting you through a saw trap."

"What's wrong with me? OH MY GOD!" You frantically pace back and forth around her bedroom, trying to get a grasp on yourself but every time peace even lingers close and you reach for it, it's gone again.

"Hey, calm down!" Bebe finally gets a word in, standing up to stop your frantic pacing. "You're overthinking this."

"I just got this good thing and I'm going to ruin it!"

"You won't ruin it-

"You don't know that!"

Bebe steps in front of you, grabbing your shoulders to make you stop and look at her. "You need to relax. It's not that serious, okay?"

"IT IS THAT SERIOUS-

"CALM DOWN!" She shouts, shaking you by the shoulders "WE'LL FUCKING FIGURE IT OUT!"

You take a deep, shaky breath "Okay."

"Okay?"

You sit on the edge of her bed, hands clasped together so tightly that your fingernails dig into your skin. Your eyes are wide and focused on the flickering candle next to Bebe's bed. You didn't think you would ever be here, trying to cope with the fact that you did in fact have a crush on Kyle. "Bebe, he likes nice girls, remember Adriene? She was so nice."

"You are-" She searches her brain for the right words "Driven, and fierce, and assertive, and ambitious-

"You just used four synonyms for competitive," You point out.

"And that's not a bad thing,"  She gives you a little pat on the thigh "He obviously likes you because you challenge him."

"He doesn't like me."

"Erm, I think he does if you he bought, you concert tickets, gave you his hoodie, and is just super fucking whipped in general."

"I want to die," You groan. "This feels awful."

"Let's make a pros and cons," Bebe digs around under her bed until she pulls out an old whiteboard and a pink dry-erase marker "Okay, so pros?"

"He smells good," You say, almost immediately.

"Okay," Bebe nods, marking it down "What else?"

"Um," You pause to think about it "He's really nice, and he's super clean, er- he's nice to my brother and his."

"Good with kids," Bebe mutters as she jots it down. "Keep going."

"He's smart and athletic," You mutter, thinking back to the track meet "He buys me green Powerade." The pleasant little moments between you are overshadowed by the horror of your feelings, and you're back to being mortified once more "I have a camping trip with his family next week! I can't do this!"

"Yes you can," She urges.

Abruptly your phone rings in your pocket, you read the contact and your heart stops beating "EW, EW, EW! HE'S CALLING ME!" You throw your phone away from you.

"What are you doing? Answer it, you idiot!" Bebe reaches past you to grab it.

"I can't, I can't!" You push it away but Bebe has already hit accept.

"Hello?" You hear Kyle's voice through the other end.

"Hey!" Bebe smiles, hitting you to take it from her.

"Bebe?"

"ONE SEC," She hits mute quickly. "What the fuck are you doing? You like him," She reminds you "Just take the damn phone!" 

"No-

"Yes!" 

"Please don't," You whine.

"TAKE THE FUCKING PHONE!" She yells shoving it into your hand and unmuting it.

"Hey, Kyle," You awkwardly draw out his name, posture stiffening.

"Hey," He says, you can hear the smile in his voice "I'm at the thrift store right now and they have a Weezer t-shirt." In the background, you can vaguely hear Stan and Kenny bicker.

Silence stretches between you as your mind draws a blank, Bebe stares at you expectantly, urging you to do something. "Ooh-wee-hoo, I look just like Buddy Holly. Oh-oh, and you're Mary Tyler Moore," You sing in a flat, and unpleasant voice. It's uncomfortable for all three people who heard it. 

"Are you singing Buddy Holly?"

"Uh, yup."

"Okay, well, do you want the shirt-

"Kyle, man," You cut him off unintentionally "Bebe's dog is being put down so I really need to jet. She's just a wreck right now, I think she might hurt herself. Um, but, yeah, I'll see ya later," You hang up before he can argue, flinging the phone.

Bebe stares at you with her mouth agape and a long stillness hangs between you like birds on a wire "Why did you say that!?" 

"I don't know!" You bury your head into your hands "What do I do?"

A/N: shorter chapter than usual because the next ones gonna be looong. Felt like a good moment to have on the tenth chapter 🧌

[projectjasper]

i started penning a post about how i always find it narratively unsatisfying when an arc ends with a conclusion the following arc breaks, regardless of how realistic the repetition of the same mistake might be, which is still true, but i actually want to talk about something else right now.

i feel like, at least at this stage, jack is in a position that is both generally unrealistic and untrue to the specific events of the series. 'jack and joker' has a clear focus on poverty and money and class issues, but it seems to treat jack in a very special way. he somehow manages to stand on the moral high ground above other characters. specifically, other poor characters. which is, first of all, a little ridiculous, since he was indeed a debt collector and, in fact, almost became the boss's son. and, second of all, is generally Not Great, because it does idolise the idea that if you "just try hard enough", you won't "allow" yourself to be backed into a corner and therefore won't have to do bad things.

now, don't get me wrong, i am not saying that our characters who have made mistakes are completely blameless. tattoo did shitty things (and hoy followed suit), safe did shitty things, hope frankly admitted to enjoying doing shitty things. however, if we zoom out a little, we will see that all these characters are in a situation that is inherently unfair to them. we have all of these poor people in immense amounts of debt and then we have this disgusting rich motherfucker whose entire wealth is literally based on making their lives as miserable and unfair as they are. and i think that, in this particular case, the series would have actually benefited from a dichotomy. don't get me wrong, i'm usually absolutely brimming with nuance and also asking "what lies outside of it?" but this shall be my exception. (though you could say that joke already brings some nuance to it - he is initially from a well-off family and he actively makes choices to the benefit of poor people, despite it resulting in him being ostracised from said family and its riches).

jack walks the line of being poor and managing not to do anything "too bad" like he is a fucking circus performer on a wire. and, don't get me wrong, he is genuinely a selfless character. he makes choices that a lot of other characters in the same circumstances wouldn't make. he remains in debt and continues working for the boss because he keeps trying to help people and pay off their debts first - that is admirable. however, he himself was already set up for more success than others. sure, being forced to become a debt collector isn't a walk in the park, but most other debtors didn't even have that choice. jack has to work for the boss in order to stay afloat - that is an undeniably hard task. the other people the boss collects debts from, however, have to come up with a lot of money out of thin air - that is not simply a hard task, that is an impossible one that is designed to trap them in the cycle of doing this impossible task forever. that being said, ultimately, jack is still poor. his own hamster wheel should be somewhere around the corner, that's always the case. this idea is where i wish they would have taken jack's arc.

from the moment when he refused to marry rose, there was no escape for him. finally, much like our other poor characters, he found himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. (and i think that it's very thematically appropriate for jack's particular "i can't do this anymore, i deserve to live a full life" sentiment to be connected to love, since he is, after all, a lead of a romance drama). he made the decision to say "no" and from that point on, he was completely and utterly fucked. because, realistically, that conversation that he had with the boss after refusing rose was insane. i don't know what he would have done to jack exactly, if that was a genuine conversation and there was no exchange of jack's freedom for the ring, but it would not have been anything good.

so i wish jack had to make the actual tough call there, instead of having joke save him all on his own (and later take the fall for it). and if it was, at least in some capacity, jack's decision to steal that ring, he would finally be placed in a situation where every other poor character already inevitably found themselves in. because the entire system is rigged against all of them and they are eventually always forced to do things that they should have never even had to consider in the first place. but they deserve better than living a life set up for them by evil rich people who literally live off of their suffering and they are allowed - no, at some point they simply have no choice but to - fight for a better life.

this, in my opinion, would have been a much more powerful message and - not to circle back to my personal preferences - would have also not left us with joke making the very same mistake that we decided we should never make again at the end of the previous arc.

[gdjyho]

❝ ecstasy ❞ pt.2

- sypnosis ; jungkook and the reader are having another casual hookup.

- pairing ; jungkook x reader [kind of (?) established relationship]

- warnings ; mentions of cheating, pure smut , nipple play, unprotected sex, p in v, creaming, pet names, crying from pleasure, slight overstimulation, nudity, breeding[ let me know in the comments if there’s any more !!]

- a few ppl were asking for pt.2 in the comments !! i might look into making this a series 🫣🫣

✭ ✭ ✭

“ nmph! kookie!” you almost scream, tears streaming down your face. he wouldn’t admit it, but the nickname is growing on him. kookie, he loves the way it almost slips off your tounge, how you can’t contain it. he groans, taking in the view below him. your sticky skin connecting with his as he fucks you hard from behind. your glossy eyes and your tits, swollen from pinching and sucking.

“you take me so well” he showers you in his praise. he uses the hand that’s not wrapped around your waist to draw spirals up your back. the sudden contact of his cold, tattooed hands sends shock through your body. your hands are sprawled out onto the sheets, gripping them for dear life.

the screams and groans mixed with the smell of sex and headboard squeaking fill up the room, bouncing off the walls to make a sweet harmony. your squelching pussy drowns jungkook’s cock.

“cum in me ! make me yours�� you whine, forcing the rest of his cock into you, as the tears continue to flow down and hit the soft pillows.jungkook drags up your chin, licking a line down your jaw. you try to push your orgasm closer by dragging your fingers over your wet folds.

the stream of his name uncontrollably spilling from your lips grows louder and louder, your mouth agape as you cream on his cock. your organs feel as if they’ve been re-arranged inside of you. meanwhile, jungkook is still slamming into you, riding out his high as his flushed cheeks begin to cool down while he drags his hips into your ass using what energy he has left.

he paints your insides with his liquids, shoving back inside what drips from you. this makes your lips part once again, drool coating them completely. he pulls out from your pussy, making no effort to clean the mess he’s left on the sheets.

he collapses beside you, engulfing you into his sticky embrace. your forehead glistens with beads of sweat, which he wipes off for you. “you’re so pretty like this. all ducked out because of me” you can only smile on his chest, his compliment drawing a crimson shade across your cheeks.

“mmm, baby, all because of you” jungkook plays with your hair, tucking the damp strands behind your ears. he leans down to kiss your forehead, flashing that bunny smile at you. he continues to caress your features with his thumb, going past your cheeks and over your small nose. “ i love you” he states in between kisses, reaching your hands and taking in up to his plump lips.

“ i love you too” you use your free hand to explore his fluffy outgrown hair and massage his scalp. he had never loved anyone like this, besides jihyo. his small smile fades away as thoughts of her enter his mind. his girlfriend. that weird feeling returns. the one where his mind goes foggy and he begins to get lost in his thoughts.

he withdraws from the hug, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. once again, he opens up the camera app, stealing a picture of him groping at your chest. the surprise attack catches your off guard. “ jungkook-ah!” you jokingly push him away, causing him to grin. he presses on the little “add to folder” button.

the picture transfers to a folder filled with your bare chest, ass and many more fucked out pictures of you. he presses on the one from last week. a handful of your ass displays itself onto the screen.

- i’ve edited this so many times but i think i’m gonna stick with how it is now.