#some tattoos are tacky yeah

[cheeriecherrymain]

Hear me out hear me out. tattoo parlor and flower shop au

AU TIME

Viktor x fem!Reader (SFW)

-Now hear me out, anon.

-Viktor already works a lot with his hands, focusing on intricate details and tiny contraptions - that’s basically already an art. I feel like if this is an au where hextech didn’t exist, and he had more of an interest in visual design, he’d be a great tattoo artist. Plus he canonically carved a bunch of runes into himself so we know he can also tolerate getting ink.

-He can probably do a lot of different concepts, but I feel like he’d really have a knack for semi-realistic mechanical pieces - making it look like his clients’ skin has rubbed away to reveal the metal workings beneath. Honestly cool af.

-And then one day, you walk in. It’s a nice parlour that he works at, so there are all styles of people who come in looking to get work done - he’s only surprised when you ask for him by name.

-He doesn’t recognize you at first, since he doesn’t really have any reason to pop across the street to a flower shop, but once you mention that you own the place, he kind of remembers your face. Or at least…he remembers seeing you wipe out on the sidewalk in front of your store during the previous winter.

-But he doesn’t mention that.

-Instead you find a comfortable seat in the little lounge area and start talking. He asks the general questions - do you have a concept or ideas, where do you want it, what colours, how big, etc etc. 

-You pull out a couple pieces of folded paper and hand them to him. “I know it’s outside of what you usually do,” you say sheepishly, “but a friend of mine had some pieces done by you, and I loved your colour work.”

-He looks down at the references you brought, and skims over them. Flowers. Of course it was flowers.

-Your shoulders droop slightly when you notice his brows pinch together ever so slightly. “If you’re not sure about it, that’s cool,” you assure him, “I can ask around and see if I can find someone who specializes-”

- “I can do it,” he cuts you off, folding the pictures back up and putting them in his pocket. “As long as you’re alright with my own style, as opposed to exact copies of the image.”

-The smile you give him makes his heart skip a beat, wide and excited, and you begin buzzing with energy. “That’s what I was hoping for!” you say.

-You set up an appointment for a couple days out, to go over his designs and change up anything you wanted altered. When you skip out the door and head across the street, Viktor can’t help but feel a little mushy on the inside - something about your enthusiasm, or maybe your charm…maybe the fact that you sought him out specifically? Whatever it is, something about you has Viktor wanting to impress you.

-He works diligently on potential pieces for you, staying up later than planned to make sure that every colour and every line was perfect. And by the time your next appointment rolls around, he’s cranked out what is quite possibly some of his best work.

-And you seem to think so, too, staring slack jawed at the sketches he presents you with. “These are beautiful,” you tell him, in awe of how he was able to make something so bright and flowing. It’s hard to make a decision on which one you like the most, but eventually you make your choice, and the process begins.

-You pull your shirt off in one of the private rooms, and shrug off the straps of your camisole, getting comfortable on the chair. Viktor knocks before he enters the room, and you smile at him while he sets things up.

-He doesn’t usually chat too much with his clients while he works, preferring to remain silent and focus, but you’re…different. You ask him question after question about his job, but instead of getting annoyed, he finds it easy to continue giving you answers - where he studied, how he got into the profession, what some of his favourite artworks were.

-The conversation eventually flows into your own line of work, and he finds himself curious about you and your flowers - how you started in your field, what you enjoyed about it. 

-He learns that you wanted to be a botanist all your life, but you eventually fell into flower arranging. He learns that most of your clientele consists of event-planners, and that the little shop is just a front for a larger business. He learns that you do all your arrangements yourself, and hand-select every flower that goes into them.

- “It’s tedious,” you admit, “But it’s rewarding. The money is lucrative, but I get so many heartfelt letters from people about how much they loved the flowers I sent for whatever event they had planned; that’s really what makes it worth it.”

-You chatter back and forth for another hour or two while Viktor works, and when he’s finished, you’re almost sad that it’s over. You’re plenty sore after sitting so long -and after having needles repeatedly pushed into your skin- but you’re still bummed that you don’t get to keep talking with him.

-You pay for the tattoo, and make sure to leave him an incredibly generous tip for all of his effort, and then you leave. Viktor watches you depart from the shop with a little wave and a skip in your step, and then you’re gone from his life.

-Over the next couple of weeks, he finds himself easily distracted. Work goes on as usual - he gets a bunch of people with simple tattoo ideas that he’s done a million times, and a couple of repeat-customers who’ve had work done by him previously.

-But when he’s in between clients and sitting behind the front desk, he often finds himself casting his gaze out through the windows lining the front of the shop, across the street, and over to your shop. He notices you coming and going a handful of times, but you never seem to look over at him.

-He’s honestly a little weirded out by how hung up on you he is, scolding himself for getting too friendly with a client. He knows he’s not actually been too friendly -all he did was have a good conversation with you while he worked- but he’s just. A little taken aback by how you seem to always be at the forefront of his mind.

-He even doodles flowers on his downtime: blooms he finds pretty, or that he knows the meaning behind, designing tattoos that he thinks you might like and thinking of all the places on your body that he could sneak a little bit of art in.

-He fully expects you to be a one-and-done kind of client - you got a flower done because you’re a florist, and you don’t need more than that. But some weeks later, when he’s at unawares, the bell on the front door rings. And you traipse in.

-You’re just as pleasant as when you first met, skipping up to the front desk to greet his coworker. As soon as Viktor hears your voice from the front room, he ambles over and all but steals you away. 

-You exchange pleasantries, and you update him on how you’ve healed. You’re still in love with the little piece you’d gotten from him - so much so that you’re back for more. You admit to him that you don’t really know what you want, just that you want more flowers.

- “It would also be cool to see some of your own style, too,” you tell him softly, “My friend had a mechanical piece done by you - it’s gorgeous. It’s not really my aesthetic, but…I wonder if you think you might be able to combine the two? Plants and machines! Like, um….biomechanical?”

-He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he definitely has a crush on you.

-You talk a little bit more, and he makes a couple of very loose sketches while you do so, to give you a general idea of what might work. He asks the typical questions again, but this time when he gets to sizing and placement, you shrug.

- “I have a high pain tolerance,” you tell him, “so…I was thinking that you might just. Pick for me? If that’s weird, then I totally get it. You hardly know me, after all! Um…”

-Adorable, he thinks, seeing you so flustered.

-But he agrees to make a couple of pieces for a couple of different areas, and then you can decide later depending on which sketch you choose.

-It’s all basically a repeat of the last art he made for you - he works tirelessly to draw out some of the best pieces he’s ever created, though they’re larger and more vibrant than the last. It’s startlingly easy for him to combine his usual style with yours, incorporating delicate plants and tiny flowers into his wired and industrial machines.

-You end up loving all of what he makes, once again having a hard time picking a single design. But eventually you decide on a drawing, and the two of you settle down to get through the process.

-Conversation flows just as easily as the last time you met, except this time you both end up dipping into more personal matters - your childhoods, your relationships, your hopes and dreams. It takes most of the day to get all your ink done, and there’s barely a moment where the two of you aren’t talking the other’s ears off.

-You’re thrilled with the finished product, too, even moreso than the last. You want so badly to trace your fingers over the intricate lines, but you know he’ll only scold you for touching a fresh wound. You settle for tearing up instead, quietly laughing at yourself as you wipe your eyes.

- “It’s perfect,” you tell him.

-You pay him what he’s owed, once more leaving a hefty tip for all his troubles - but this time, you give it to him in cash.

-Only once you’ve left the shop does he go through the roll of bills, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he realizes how much you’ve given him. He’s half a mind to call you back to return some of it, or at least ask if you gave him as much as you intended to. At least, until he gets to the center of the roll, when he finds a slip of paper.

-A little note scribble in your handwriting, thanking him for the beautiful work, and telling him not to stress over how much he’d received. -And there, on the bottom of the paper, is your phone number, scrawled beside the question ‘Wanna get coffee sometime?’

[allthelovehes]

The Author*

Summary: You just moved into your new apartment and your new neighbour turns out to be the author of the smutty book you're currently reading.

Pairing: Author/Neighbour!Harry x Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Warnings: Smut, basically strangers, it's cute tho.

Taglist: @justmystyles @bitchybabyharry @harrysslut7 @swiftmendeshoran @lucasandharold @harrysbabycherry @htaylor18 @rose-garden-dreamz @myalovesharry @mellamolayla @hsonlyangelxo @yousunshineyoutempter @heartateasee @blueheisenbergtragedy @bikestyles @bohemianrhapsody86 Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! 🤗

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The first few weeks of living in your new apartment were, thankfully, relatively uneventful. You had managed to find a new job and keep your finances balanced, and the building you were in seemed to be relatively clean and well-maintained, and you'd never seen anyone who you thought would have a problem with you.

You travel back and forth between work by bus, not really feeling the need to have a car in the big city. Plus it gives you the perfect opportunity to read a good book, something you love but always slips in the cracks of your busy life.

It's the last day of work before your weekend, and you're on the bus home deep into a chapter of the book you're reading, everything is going perfectly fine. You're excited for the weekend as you still have a few boxes to unpack and some cleaning and organization that needs to get done.

You've been so into the book you're reading, that when you realize the bus just drove past your usual stop, you're shocked.

“Oh, shit.” You mutter under your breath as you try to think of what to do. You could just walk the few blocks back to your stop, the weather is fine anyway. You press the button, the bus comes to a halt at the next stop and you step off, thanking the driver for the ride. You begin walking, a tote on your shoulder and the book still in hand.

The streets aren't busy, it's not a particularly busy part of the city, and it's a beautiful afternoon. The sun is shining and there is a slight breeze, but not too much. You can hear the birds chirping and see the small kids playing in the nearby park, all in all a nice day.

You reach your building after a few minutes of walking, and the front door is unlocked and ajar, so you let yourself in and start to head towards the stairwell. When you reach the right floor, you spot your neighbour coming out of their apartment, the one you had seen the first night you'd arrived.

He was tall, much taller than you, and wearing a t-shirt that clung to his form nicely, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal a collection of tattoos that ran all the way down to his hands. His hair was curly and looked incredibly soft and you wanted nothing more than to run your hands through it. His jaw was chiselled, sporting a stubble. He looked good, really good.

“Hey.” He says, his voice deep and smooth, and you can't help but notice the accent he has. “I haven't seen you around before, are you the new neighbour?”

“Yeah, I moved in a couple of weeks ago.” You reply. “My name is Y/N.”

“It's nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Harry.” He extends a hand and you shake it. You notice the rings on his fingers, they're large, but not tacky, and they suit him. He looks at the book in your other hand and chuckles, “A reader, eh?”

“Yeah, I've always loved reading, and this one is really good, I've been wanting to finish it, so I'm glad I missed my stop, I was so deep into the story I hadn't even noticed.” You chuckle and it's then when Harry notices what book you have in hand, his book.

“Hey, wait a second. You're reading my book!” He points at the cover.

“Oh, you wrote this? Well, now I feel kinda embarrassed.” You say, laughing, trying to hide the embarrassment and your blushing cheeks. The story is based around quite a few explicit sex scenes, and you're hoping he won't bring it up.

“I'm just messing with ya. I'm actually quite flattered.” He chuckles.

You talk for a few more minutes and then go on your way. He is funny and kind, and his smile is one that you know you would kill to see. His eyes are bright, and you love the way his curls move when he laughs.

As you make your way to your apartment, you're smiling to yourself, thinking about how good-looking your new neighbour is. He seems kind and easy-going, and you wonder if you'll ever be able to spend more time with him.

When you get to your apartment, you drop your things, kick off your shoes and throw yourself onto your sofa. You sigh and close your eyes, taking a moment to process the day, and what just happened.

Knowing the man who came up with those incredible sex scenes was living right across the hall from you, is driving you absolutely wild. You're not sure why you're reacting the way you are, you have no business thinking about him like that. But he's just so fucking hot, and his accent, and his body, and the way his arms looked...

You feel your skin begin to heat up, and a tingling between your legs, and before you even realise, your hand is down the front of your jeans. You start touching yourself, and all you can think of is him, and the words he has written. Your breathing becomes heavier and you close your eyes, imagining him doing these things to you, his lips and hands exploring your body.

You're abruptly ripped from your fantasy by a knock on the door, and you jump and scramble to pull your hand from your pants.

“Fuck.” You hiss under your breath, and run your fingers through your hair, trying to get it to look presentable. You look through the peephole in the door and your eyes widen, there stands Harry, and he's holding a bottle of wine. You take a deep breath and open the door, trying to appear as composed as possible.

“Oh, hi.” You say, smiling, but you're nervous. “What can I do for you, Harry?”

“Hey, Y/N, I just came to drop off some wine.” He seems nervous. “I figured since you're new it'd be a nice thing to do.”

“That's very sweet of you, thank you.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it.” He turns and starts to walk back to his own apartment.

“Harry, wait!” You shout, and he turns back to face you.

“Yes, love?” His British accent thick.

“Do you want to come in? I'll pour us some wine.”

“Yeah, that'd be lovely.” He follows you into the apartment. You take the wine from him and pour two glasses. You hand him the glass and sit down next to him, making sure to keep some distance between you.

You chat for a while, sipping your wine, and you find yourself enjoying his company. He tells you about his writing and how he's working on another book, and that he's glad that you've enjoyed the one he already published. You tell him about yourself, about how much you love to read, and he tells you he'll send you copies of the other books he has published.

The wine is flowing, and so is the conversation. Harry is really nice, and you find yourself wanting to spend more time with him. The bottle is empty and your cheeks are flushed, but not just from the alcohol.

“Well, I should probably head home.” Harry says, and the disappointment is evident on your face.

“No, don't leave yet.” You protest, and his eyes lock with yours. “I'm enjoying your company.”

“Well, alright. I can stay a bit longer.” He says, smiling.

You're not sure why, but you feel compelled to lean forward and kiss him. Maybe it's the wine, or the fact that he's just so fucking hot, or the stories and sex scenes in the book he had written. You're not sure, but something is driving you crazy, and you need him. Your lips crash against his, and it takes a moment for him to register what's happening. But when he kisses back, your heart flutters and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults.

You pull away and stare at him for a moment, and he looks at you with a mixture of lust and surprise in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You mutter. “I shouldn't have-“

He cuts you off by leaning in and kissing you again, this time deeper, and more passionate. His tongue finds its way into your mouth and your tongues collide, tasting each other. He pulls away and stares into your eyes, his lips slightly swollen and a smirk on his face.

“You're a good kisser.” He whispers.

“So are you.” You reply, a smile spreading across your lips.

He leans back in, kissing you more roughly than before, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. He begins trailing kisses down your neck and jawline, eliciting small whimpers and moans from you. He makes his way down your collarbones and chest, then moves back up to your ear.

“Y/N.” He whispers. “May I take this off?”

“Please.” You reply, almost begging. He grabs the bottom of your shirt and pulls it over your head, revealing the lacy bra underneath. He stares at your breasts for a moment, drinking them in, before he dives down and sucks at the exposed skin. He moves to your other breast and does the same, and his other hand begins to unbutton his own shirt.

He removes his shirt, revealing his tattoos, and you can't help but stare. He has a slim yet muscular frame, and his arms are toned and strong. You trace the ink on his chest and torso with your fingers, and he watches your reaction with a smirk.

He stands up and grabs your waist, picking you up and setting you on the kitchen island. He leans down and kisses you again, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. You can feel his erection through his jeans, and it's big, really big. You can't help but let out a moan at the thought of him fucking you with that monster.

He reaches around and unclasps your bra, pulling it off and exposing your breasts. He leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling at it, while his hand plays with the other. You throw your head back and moan, grabbing at his curls and tugging slightly. He lets out a groan and grinds his hips against yours, and you can feel his cock harden even more.

“Harry.” You moan. “I want you.”

He removes his mouth from your breast and looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust.

“Are you sure, love?” He asks, his accent sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, please.” You beg, and he smirks. You're so eager and it's making him impossibly harder. He undoes his belt and his pants fall to the floor. You stare at his cock hiding in his black boxers, and your mouth waters. It's long and thick, and you know that it's going to feel amazing. He pulls off his boxers, and his cock springs free, standing proudly.

He grabs your jeans and tugs them down, revealing the matching pair of lace panties. He groans as he looks at you, and his fingers hook under the fabric, pulling them down your legs.

“Fuck, Y/N, you're so fucking beautiful.” He breathes, taking in the sight of you. You're completely naked and exposed in front of him, and he can't help but marvel at how perfect you are. He leans in and kisses you, and you wrap your legs around him, pulling him close. He grinds his hips against yours, his cock rubbing against your wetness. He's teasing you, and it's driving you insane.

“Harry, please.” You whine, and he smirks.

“Please, what?” He teases, continuing his slow grinding.

“Please fuck me.”

He groans and searches for his wallet, finding a condom. He slides it on and lines his cock up with your entrance, pushing in slowly. He fills you up completely, and you cry out, arching your back. He lets you adjust to his size before he starts moving. He sets a slow and steady pace, and you're moaning and whimpering.

“Fuck, Harry.” You gasp. “You're so big.”

“You feel so fucking good, Y/N.” He groans. He thrusts his hips, his cock sliding in and out of you. You reach down and begin rubbing your clit, and the extra stimulation has you seeing stars. No wonder the smut in his books is good, the man himself knows exactly what he's doing.

His pace quickens and his breathing becomes laboured. He leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing the sounds that escape your mouth. He picks you up from the countertop and carries you over to the sofa, never breaking his rhythm. He lays you down and continues pounding into you, and you can feel the pressure building.

“Harry, I'm so close.” You moan, and he reaches down to rub your clit.

“Come for me, baby.” He growls, and that's all it takes for you to come undone. You scream his name and arch your back as the orgasm rips through you. He keeps his pace, thrusting harder and faster, prolonging your pleasure.

When you come down from your high, he pulls out and grabs your legs, flipping you onto your stomach. He positions himself behind you and pushes back in, causing you both to moan. His hands grip your hips and he begins pounding into you, and his grunts fill the room.

“Fuck, Y/N, you're so fucking tight.” He groans, his voice thick with lust.

“Oh, god, Harry.” You moan. The sound of skin slapping skin and the scent of sex fills the air. He reaches around and starts rubbing your clit, and the pleasure is almost too much for you to handle. He thrusts his hips, filling you completely.

“Come for me again, love.” He commands.

“Yes, Harry, fuck.” You cry out, your walls tightening around his cock. You know that anyone passing by your apartment would definitely hear the sounds of sex, but you don't care. The only thing that matters is the feeling of him inside you.

You come undone once more, and he fucks you through your orgasm. He moans, his thrusts becoming erratic. You turn him on so much, he never wants to stop fucking you. His cock slides out of you and he pulls you back up, turning you around to face him.

“I want you to ride me, love.” He growls, his voice deep and rough. You straddle him, your wetness coating his cock. He positions himself at your entrance and you slide down, moaning as he fills you again. You start moving, your hips rocking against his.

“Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good.” He moans, and his hands grip your hips, guiding you. Your pace quickens and you can feel yourself getting close again. You look at him and his eyes are filled with lust and desire, and it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

Harry's lips crash into yours and his hands tangle in your hair. He breaks the kiss and his mouth moves to your neck, sucking and biting at the delicate skin. You let out a string of curses and he groans against your neck. He leaves a trail of kisses down to your chest, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. He nibbles and sucks on it, and his tongue swirls around it.

“Fuck, Harry.” You moan.

“Do you like that, love?” He asks, looking up at you with dark eyes.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” You reply, your voice wavering.

He continues his assault on your breasts, switching from one to the other. Your breathing is heavy and you can feel the pressure building again.

“Harry, I'm so close.” You breathe.

“Me too, baby. Come for me.” He growls, his fingers rubbing your clit. The combination of his cock filling you his mouth on your nipples and his fingers stroking your clit sends you over the edge, and you scream his name, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Your walls clench around his cock and he loses it, his thrusts become more erratic, and his breathing is laboured. He moans your name, and the sound is like music to your ears. He comes hard, and his cock pulses inside you.

You both collapse, breathing heavily. Your heart is racing and you can't believe what just happened. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. You lie there in his arms, trying to catch your breath, the scent of sex and sweat filling the air.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Harry says, breaking the silence. “That was incredible.”

“Mhm, you're far better than your books.”

“Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it.” He chuckles. You snuggle into his arms, and he holds you tight. You've never felt so safe and secure in someone's arms, and you know that you're already falling for him.

[tired-teacher-blog]

Characters : Tattoo artist Aizawa/ Florist fem reader

Featuring : Eri/ Hizashi Yamada/ Nemuri Kayama/ Oboro Shirakumo/ Emi Fukukado

Warnings and Genre : Fluff/ Romance/ Smut and Angst in future chapters/ Multi Chaptered Story

Summary : In a desperate attempt to get closer to the tattoo artist dominating every speck of your brain, you decide to pay him a visit one evening as a client seeking his service. This encounter will prove to be the beginning of something much bigger between you two, but will this new found passion be enough to stand against the difficulties your future holds?

Notes : Loosely inspired by this/ Art below is by the wonderful @/ael-draw who gifted me this gorgeous piece.

Masterlist|Second Masterlist|Third Masterlist

Chapter Count : Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11

_ "Good evening Miss."

_ "Uh.. yes, yeah good evening!" did your voice just waver as you returned the man's greeting?

It did, didn't it? Why else would he let out a chuckle while his eyes are lingering on your clumsy hands struggling to lock your shop's front door?

_ "Need any help with that?" his smile slowly disappears as he notices your battle against the entrance lock.

_ "Oh no it's fine I got it! Thanks anyway, good night." and with that, you flee the scene after yet another awkward encounter with the tattoo artist whose parlor just happens to be facing your own shop.

Aizawa Shouta, the man in question, is an intriguing guy.

His ink covered arms— coming to light each time he decides to roll his sleeves or wear a t-shirt, probably hint at more hidden art behind the garment.. his long raven locks that usually sit beautifully on his broad shoulders, are flowing gracefully around his face.. the dark circles under his eyes have never been a surprise to you since his working hours start really late every evening.

However, that harsh exterior does not reflect his personality at all, you're certain of it, and even though your short exchanges have never gone beyond the polite greetings and stolen gazes, something about this man simply mesmerized you..

Who is he anyway? What is his story? Why does he only come to work late when everyone else is heading home?

These questions have been plaguing your brain ever since you met the mysterious guy a few months ago, you've always wanted to know more about him, to befriend him, to have a meaningful conversation, to stand closer to him, to touch..

_ "No! This is not it!" you slap your face with a wince of pain as you snap back to reality, you are daydreaming about the handsome man once again instead of focusing on work.

You flip through the countless search results as you struggle to make a decision, "which one should I get?" it is honestly a big deal.. a commitment.

Getting a tattoo is a matter of great importance, even more so when the person branding your skin is the same one taking over your every waking moment.

_ "I don't like any of these." you mumble irritatedly as you couldn't feel any connection to the art suggested.

Maybe it isn't a good idea after all, do you actually want to get a tattoo? Or is it just a ruse to get closer to.. to him?

You place your phone away and welcome your new costumer with a smile, "good morning Sir!"

Work comes first anyway, everything else should wait till later, it has to..

_ "Here you go! Red roses are the perfect gift, they represent love, passion, beauty, courage and respect, so I'm sure your wife will love them."

The man's eyes light up and his cheerful smile grows wider as he hears you reciting the devine meaning behind his choice, he pays for his purchase and thanks you again before walking out of your shop.

_ "A red rose?" you utter thoughtfully as your eyes study the beautiful flowers before you.

Love, passion, beauty, courage and respect.

Fitting.. although it might seem tacky to some, but if you are to have something inked into your skin, then it has to be meaningful and so, your mind is finally set, "I'll have a red rose."

You take a deep breath and look through your giant glass window at the closed tattoo parlor across the street, "I'll see you tonight, Mr Aizawa."

It is as regular as clockwork— your daily encounter with the dashing man, you are locking your shop's front door when you hear him unlocking his own, and as regular as clockwork your eyes meet and you exchange your daily greeting, except this isn't all that happened tonight, because unlike your usual habit of turning around and walking home, you are advancing towards the man who doesn't seem surprised to see you approaching.

_ "Tattoo, I mean, can I get one?" your cheeks heat up instantly while hearing yourself speak, you're being as awkward as always around him, and wish to disappear right this instant.

_ "Oh.. yeah sure, this is what I do after all," his chuckle is intoxicating, and his silky hair glides elegantly as he cocks his head to the side, "why don't you come in first?"

You have never realized it before, but now that you are standing near each other, he is towering over you, it's almost intimidating to be frank, if not for the gentle smile that seems even more dazzling from up close.

You are right, he truly is beautiful.

_ "My assistant should be here in a minute, but in the meantime I'll take care of you," he offers you a seat at the reception desk before removing his jacket and joining you, "this is a first for you am I right?"

_ "What makes you say that?" is it obvious how ordinary you are?

_ "Well, usually people call to schedule an appointment beforehand, some of them even visit my studio and bombard us with questions to make sure they can trust us with their bodies, but you.." he stops for a moment to clear his throat and shift his gaze from you, "you're something else."

Is that a little blush he's so desperately trying to conceal? No it can't be, you're delirious like usual, and being in a close proximity to him is playing with your mind.

_ "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have barged in unannounced, I'll make sure to do it properly and call for an appointment," you're on the verge of tears as you stand up and bow your head apologetically, "good night Sir."

_ "What? Hey hold on! Don't go," he's fast at intercepting you, grabbing your arm and pulling you back gently, "please don't go."

His grip remains on you, a perfect pressure applied, as if he's afraid you would disappear if he lets go, and you would have.

He's standing close, so close, closer than he did earlier, and you can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin, his beautiful smile is replaced with a little pout, his dark hair falls around his face and you almost.. almost reach out to tuck the loose strands behind his ear.

How long have you been standing there, looking into each other's eyes and saying nothing? Apparently long enough for his assistant to burst out laughing after walking in and finding you in that state.

_ "Good evening boss! Sorry for being late but you know how traffic is at this hour." her eyes move between you two, and her amused smirk hints at something that you cannot -for the life of you- understand.

You return the lively woman's greeting and take a step back, you are still going to leave anyway, despite the inexplicable desire to stay.

_ "Ms Kayama, would you mind passing my seven o'clock client to Hizashi? Also Oboro is running late as usual so would you please give him a call? Aizawa speaks to his assistant while keeping his attention on you.

_ "Sure boss, you can count on me." you cannot understand the reason of her mischievous smile, nor why she looked at you while saying that.

_ "Thank you."

Your blush is reaching your ears and a storm of emotions is fighting within you as you prepare to interject and perhaps save yourself from further embarrassment, but he is quicker to speak, "please have a seat." his voice as soft as ever while waiting for you to do so.

_ "Yes, thank you." and so you do.

He pulls out a chair for himself across from you before picking up a notbook that was already placed on the desk in front of him, "shall we begin?"

You shoot up all of a sudden as it finally hits you, "I.. I'm.." you stutter almost inaudibly, squeezing your fists so hard to stop from shaking, you aren't sure about this anymore, maybe you've made a mistake barging in like that with the pretence of getting a tattoo when all you actually want is to see him.

_ "Is everything okay?" he must've felt your uncertainty towards it since he instantly stood in front of you, his warm hands on each of your shoulders, rubbing soothing patterns while anticipating your response.

_ "I'm sorry I'm just, a little nervous." saying those words is more painful than any needles he could use on you, you feel pathetic, squeezing your eyes shut and wishing you're home alone instead of this.

Maybe you should forget about the whole thing and just leave, you've already made a fool of yourself enough for one evening, what else is there for you to do?

_ "That's fine, having second thoughts is totally normal considering that it would be your first time going through the experience, besides, there are some preparations to go through before getting to the actual thing," his eyes are gazing gently at you as he speaks, "let's take it step by step, and if you ultimately decide against it then we'll stop."

You cannot understand his behavior, he isn't laughing at you, isn't mocking you like you've expected, he isn't even showing an ounce of impatience. Who is he? Trully? And why is everything about him just.. flawless?

You nod slowly and take your seat again, a wave of goosebumps is running up your spine at the loss of his touch.

_ "Alright, so tell me, do you have a design in mind? If not I can help you choose, and it should help if you have a theme in mind." he starts right as he sits facing you.

_ "Oh no that's fine, I already know what I want," you answer quickly before pulling out your phone and showing him the single rose you settled on, "I want this.. this red rose."

He takes the device from your extended hand, studying the picture displayed before letting out a chuckle that travels right through your veins, "I like it, it's soft and pretty, just like you," he comments casually before adding, "what size are you thinking?"

_ "Huh? Umm.. I'm not sure but, I would prefer it to be small, I guess..." you're not even sure of the words leaving your mouth anymore as his previous remark sways you, soft.. pretty.

What is he doing to you? Is it perhaps a part of his job to sweet talk his clients? Yeah, that must be it, why else would he do it?

_ "It's okay we'll circle back to that later, now for the placement, where would you want it to be? This can actually help you determine the size better if you're still unsure about that." his smile never leaves him as he speaks, and for a brief moment your delusions lead you to believe that it could mean more than a friendly smile, but it doesn't, and you know it.

_ "I'm not sure about that either," you feel stupid, it is your first time walking into a tattoo studio sure, but you should've been more prepared.

He remains quiet for a bit and you're struggling to understand what he's thinking, your heart is hammering painfully in your chest as you wait silently for him to reply.

He isn't smiling anymore, infact, the look on his face has turned into one of pensiveness, his lips are sealed in a thin line and his head is tilted to the side, and it is becoming unbearable for you to sit there and wait any longer, it's humiliating.

You open your mouth to speak, to -perhaps- apologize for making his work harder than it should, for being so stupid as to make him dump his work on his colleagues so he could take care of you for the evening, you're trying to speak but don't know how to start exactly, settling for hanging your head in shame instead.

_ "Hey look up," his voice is as soft as ever, "I told you not to worry about it didn't I? Tattoos are not an easy commitment to make."

His chair squeaks as he clearly stands up, circuling the desk until he's mere centimeters from you, the subtle sweetness of his sandalwood scented cologne is tickling your nose as he leans closer.

_ "I'll tell you what, how about I make a sketch of the design tonight, and you can drop by tomorrow to have a look at it, I have what I need for now, so take the night to think more about the placement," his eyes are studying your tense frame as he adds, "and remember, you don't have to go through with it, I'll book your session for tomorrow, same time as today, but you can cancel it whenever you want."

You're overcame with a sudden urge to jump in his arms, and for the nth time that evening you are grateful for the secrecy of your own thoughts as you nod in agreement, "thank you that would be great, but, we haven't talked about the payment yet."

_ "You'll find everything you need stated on our website." he replies while handing you his business card.

You thank him again and bid him goodbye before walking out of the studio that is -unbeknown to you- getting busier and louder.

To be continued..

[captain-mj]

Changling!Ghost attempting to court Selkie!Soap before ditching google and asking Soap's mom.

Hell yeah, love it! I also have the next part of this story already planned and ready to go so hope you guys are enjoying it

Ghost checked the time. Currently 4 am. The screen he was on now was an article of Selkies in Scottish folklore.

After reading about how selkies were sexually dominated by those that stole their coats for the dozenth time, he gave up. Every article held pretty much the same thing. An explanation of how men would force the female selkies to be their brides through their coat or how male selkies would have human families they’d see for a while before leaving. Several stated that once a selkie went to sea, they wouldn’t be seen for seven years and he needed to make sure that wasn’t true because he thought he’d go mad if Soap disappeared from him. 

Ghost set his head down. He wished he could sleep, but alas, it was evading him tonight. It’s why he decided to get some research done. Originally, it was to help him court Soap, but he had gotten a bit lost in the stories. 

There were clear distinctions he could make out. Everything before a certain painted selkies as malevolent or benevolent, some even implying there evil. Then the weird sexual stuff. Then when the catholics came and they could be healed by baptism. Considering Soap was very much still here, that wasn’t true. 

There was nothing on courting. Nothing. Just take their coat and force them. He didn't want that.

He checked the time and did the math. Because of the timezone difference it would be 8 where Soap's mom lived.

Ghost called her before he could second guess himself.

"Hello?" She sounded so soft spoken. Her accent just as thick as Soap's though.

"Hi. This is... Ghost? Soap may have called me Simon."

"Oh. I was waiting for your call. I have to say, I appreciate how safe you keep my son." Her voice grew to a whisper and it was clear she was moving around.

"Yes, of course. I'd do anything for him." He had been honest with Soap about one thing and that's that he really did want her to like him.

"Good. I will admit, I was worried when he said he planned to not tell you. Selkies are sensitive, especially my son." There was a threat right under the surface. "So why are you calling?"

"I want to know how to court him. Properly."

"..."

Ghost stared at the wall ahead of him and shoved himself through one of the most excruciating sentences of his life. "I've been looking into it, but I'm not good at human romance, let alone this. I want... Soap to be my husband and I want to be a good husband back."

"..."

Ghost gritted his teeth and bore the silence for a few minutes before finally getting an answer.

"Did you feel this way before seeing his coat?"

"I've felt this way a while, ma'am."

He swore for a moment he heard her sniffle. "Good. Good. I'll help you, okay? First, please disregard anything you've seen online."

"Already did. They mostly just suggest taking his coat or chasing him."

"Chasing comes later, doing that so early on is seen as tacky and too forward." She explained while Ghost felt a blush creep up on his face. "Right now, you need to prove yourself to be a good mate. Little difficult considering your jobs, but prove you're useful. If you were a selkie, I'd suggest hunting bu-"

"I hunt." Ghost interrupted. "Mostly deer. Would that... work?"

"Excellent. Yes. Bring him food and shiny objects. Also, wear your arms bare more."

"Why?" That didn't make much sense.

"Because Soap likes your tattoos. And your arms. I love my son very much, but I didn't need to know your measurements or how much you can lift. Congrats on getting to 275 on bench presses by the way. According to Soap, that's very impressive."

Ghost had turned bright red under his mask. "Thank you."

She laughed softly before humming. "Can you do something for me and not ask why?"

"Sure."

"Say you're doing this to control him."

Ghost paused and went to ask why before stopping. "I'm doing this to control Soap."

"Thank you. Good luck." She hung up on him.

He decided to brush it off, sure she asked for a good reason. 

So Ghost took her advice and bought him a handful of pens that glittered. Soap held them to his chest and blushed. “Thank you.”

Ghost nodded, staring at him. The next time he went to eat, he noticed Soap had given him some extra food. He immediately looked for him, seeing him talk to Gaz. Something warm spread through his chest before he fled to his room to eat. 

Soap visited him after a while and sat with him, talking casually. 

“You want to come with me on our next leave?” Ghost asked suddenly. “I have a cabin in Canada I go to occasionally.” 

Soap stared at him for a minute, clearly thinking. “I’m sorry, ask me that again.” 

“I have a cabin in Canada. It’s only an hour by foot from a coast too.” He looked at Soap who was still processing. 

“I thought you had a flat in Manchester?”

“Yeah, I do. But I have a cabin I hunt at. It’s pretty nice.”

“And you’re inviting me. To stay there. For a week. Alone. In the woods.” Soap leaned forward as he talked.

“Yes. You and me.” Ghost nodded. 

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll go.” Soap said softly.

-

“How much further?” Soap groaned at him. They had gotten off the plane maybe thirty minutes ago. The cab had driven them as far as the road went and now they had been trekking for maybe ten minutes.

“Stop being a baby.”

Soap groaned more. “Do we have to do this every time we need anything?”

“Yep.”

“I’m regretting this already. I think my feet are going to fall off.”

“We’ve walked way more than this for a mission!” Ghost didn’t understand, turning to look at him. There was a lot of snow... And he didn’t really prepare Soap as well as he could’ve.. 

He noticed that Soap’s face was completely red from the cold. He assumed he’d be immune to the cold, but he supposed without his coat, he was just human. 

Ghost moved closer. “Sorry.”

Soap blinked and stared up at him. His eyes were so big. Ghost really, really like them. 

He took off his mask and grabbed Soap’s face, very gently holding. If hypothermia had set in, rubbing would cause the ice crystals in his skin to tear. Once he thought Soap was a little more warmed up, he moved closer, gently rubbing now to make sure there was plenty of blood flow. Soap was still really red though which was concerning. 

Soap stared at him, a lot more aware of their proximity than Ghost. “Simon?” His breath made clouds but Ghost’s didn’t. It was an odd thing to notice, but they both did. 

Ghost slipped his ski mask over Soap head, tucking in carefully. “There. I don’t really get cold. I’ll carry your bag.” He took it from him and started trekking again. Soap grabbed his arm and followed. Maybe he leaned in a bit too much, making it hard for Ghost to walk, but Ghost wasn’t going to say anything. 

Finally they got there and Soap collapsed on the couch. Ghost turned the heat on and sat with him. He took off both their gloves and did the process he remembered for warming someone up. Start with the extremities. Ghost hummed softly. 

Soap pulled off the mask and tossed it on the table. “You gave me your mask.”

“Yeah, I was worried. Your face was super red.” He continued rubbing Soap’s hands until they felt warm. Ghost hummed. “I’m not rubbing your feet. You can just lose some toes.” 

Soap laughed. “Alright. Understood.” He moved a little closer. “This place is... To be honest, I was expecting a shack.” 

It really was a nice place. Two stories, big lofty rooms and mostly wood from the looks of it. “I’m a little insulted. But I like space. Plus no one can be hiding anywhere.” 

Soap laughed. “Paranoid as always, huh, Lt?” 

Ghost shrugged. “There’s a spare room. I know we’re married and all but...”

“I’ll be staying in the spare room for now.” Soap said quickly, blushing as he looked away.

Ghost nodded and showed him where it was. “Before you ask, there is a hot water heater and it lasts for hours. Unlike the one on base.”

“You’re making me a very happy man, Simon Riley.” Johnny smiled at him. 

Simon tried not to vibrate out of his skin. “I’m going to bring you so many deer.”

“What?”

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕩 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕚𝕣

⋆ ★ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 2023 ʟɪɴᴇᴜᴘ

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴘᴇɴᴇᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱᴇx, ᴀʙꜱᴏʟᴜᴛᴇ ᴡᴀᴄᴋ ɪɴꜱᴜʟᴛꜱ ɪ ᴘᴜʟʟᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴀꜱꜱ, ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱʜᴀɪʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ

⋆ ★ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ꜰᴜɴ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ, ʏᴀʟʟ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

It’s difficult for you to hate almost any of the clones you work with. Though the Kaminoans have some certainly questionable views and methods of raising them, they’ve certainly done well teaching them manners and kindness. Most banter well, and respect your space and your time when they arrive at your office, though some are a little more flustered than others (how many have never even met a woman still baffles, yet nonetheless unsurprises you). You can cooperate quite well with most of the identical-faced troopers without any effort.

Except for Crosshair.

Ugh. Crosshair.

That toothpick-munching, frog-face frown, tacky tattoo, flat-assed, nasally-voiced sniper.

He’s never liked you, starting from the beginning in your first fleeting interaction. You’re still trying to figure out why; there’s little you could’ve done in a split moment of conversation for him to decide you’d be sworn enemies to savor the relationship. But that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things when he’s still a total asshole. 

Flicking toothpicks onto the floor of your office and not bothering to pick them up as he leaves. Smiling all smug when he makes a sudden quip that catches you off guard. Slowly crackling and stretching his long, dexterous fingers as he deadpans in your direction, causing your breath to hitch and body heat to rise rapidly.

You’ll be one right back; you’re not a coward.

Yeah. Crosshair can fuck right off. 

But he can also fuck you if he wishes to.

“Kriff,” You swear, biting back everything in you urging to turn your firm grits into soft moans as you lift your hips, sliding yourself off his cock and sinking again. You let the sound of each of your bodies meeting, the abrupt damp slap of skin ferment in silence, let Crosshair process that the two of you really are fucking on the floor of your office. Though you can’t seem to find your clarity and realize it’s also for yourself, to calm your pounding heart in the intensity of his stare and his grip on your hips. 

“Hmph,” Crosshair pouts like a child. You flash a mean brow, not stopping your motions as he tuts and clicks his tongue with a quick shake of his head. Who does this man think he is, even in such a vulnerable state? 

At least, what might be considered vulnerable for two lovers. This, the rough and disregarding fucking, is just a release for you two. An outlet. A way of coping.

“Is that all you got?” He challenges you with a far too arrogant smirk. A nettled expression etches onto your face, hands digging into the wall space above his shoulders as you slow down your movements. The action seems to make Crosshair even more smug. Your purposeful deceleration is all due to what he does to you. Maker, this is too fucking embarrassing. You need to get your bearings back. You need the control back.

“Don’t,” you warn, biting back another pleasured sound from squeezing its way out of your chest. 

You lock eyes with Crosshair, chest heaving as he holds your hips flush to his pelvis. He begins to rock you himself when you don’t budge, undulating up and down in little circles.  Something of a gasp leaves you, and you’re barely able to contain the whimper bubbling to the surface. Crosshair tilts his head and squints his eyes.

“Don’t what?”

Kriff, he looks like a sentient, pissed-off, visually impaired metal beam. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

You don’t, especially after he decides to thrust his hips up, fucking into you with a harsh snap. Shaky fingers grip onto the steel behind his head as you shiver in pleasure. Crosshair hit that spot perfectly. And he can see it crystal clear on your face. Hissing cruelly, you slap a hand against the wall as you grit out your following words.

“Don’t fucking test me.”

The sarcastic frown he plasters on is incredibly insulting. You’re suddenly lacking the energy to be that upset over it, though. Your pussy twitches and clenches wantonly over his cock when you begin to move again, that mind-numbing feeling of ecstasy nearing with each passing second.

“Aw, what you’re gonna do about it?” He coos in the most condescending manner as his gaze flitters down to your stomach, watching your heavy breaths as you move up and down, up and down… You clench involuntarily again. 

“Hop off?” One hand he rests on your hip readjusts, fingers spread lax as he presses his thumb to your sex, where you absolutely need it most. 

“When you’re so close to cumming?”

That bastard, you think vindictively, criticizing and cruel and cold, all even when you’re still bouncing up and down him with full fervor. When he grips onto your hips, and pinches the softness of your waist as he rolls you around to get on top, you let him, despite the amount of weakness it exhibits. Maker, how you hate it. His power over you is unfathomably catastrophic.

And when the thought really hits you, your stomach drops in dread.

…You’re kriffed, aren’t you?

ragu list: @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @aconstructofamind @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @crosshairlovebot @wizardofrozz @dangraccoon @lickylickylicky @captainfresh501 @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @eyeluvmusic21 @mythical-illustrator @imarvelatthestars

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Then just for fun you take your tongue and run it over my lip | And gotta love the way she does it for the hell of it | We're in positions that most people only say they know | Rub it right up, against my body | You got your hand on a landmine, ready to blow |But the devil can hear you when you say... | C'mon and get up (get up), move your body |Use your body, lose control. |Use my body, make it yours (So get up) | We're gonna light this room on fire | Ya, you and I will burn it up tonight (so get up) | The two of us will fuel this fire | No way in hell we're slowing down tonight

And! Belly button shots with that slutty ass tattoo.

Smut? Implication? Sex dancing?. Edging? That's up to you. I am here to just proved a muse not a direct request.

Well, well, well, Lorde! Thank you so much for giving me the in for write for Darry Jenner for the first time! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it! And now this is officially the last fic of my 20s! A weird and fun smutty fic of an underrated character, how on brand! Let’s get into it, yeah?

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.1K. Darry Jenner X GN! Reader. No Pronouns Or Parts Specified. Warnings: Teasing. Alcohol Consumption. Partying. Body Shots. Mild But Playful Slut-Shaming (Darry Is The Slut Here.). Making Out. Grinding. Hand Job. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Edging. Sex. Riding. Banter. Reader Is Kinda An Asshole But It’s Fun.

—

“Who’s The Real Slut Here?”

—

It’s Friday night, you are in college and so naturally you are out at a party, decently full of people, music playing at a healthy volume and your classmates drinking and making merry, excited the school week was done. You were of course among them, with the same idea in mind, of cutting loose and forgetting your stress, and you were well on your way to do that. You’d been here for around an hour, hadn’t really run into anyone you knew super well, but that was fine, you were enjoying milling and mingling. 

Currently making your way to the living room, looking around distractedly at the goings-on, people dancing, mingling, talking, in the early stages of hooking up, Hell, who knows, maybe you’ll find someone to grind up against yourself. 

That train of thought is quickly abandoned as another body collides into yours, shoulder to shoulder, and sharp contact with a small jolt of pain sends your body turning expectedly and unfortunately makes you drop your drink. You were drinking out of the natural party classic, a red solo cup, so broken glass wasn’t a concern, but the sticky and sweet mix of fruit juice, carbonation and alcohol spills over your shoes all the same. 

Eyes drop with a disgusted sound, your shoes are fairly waterproof so your socks getting wet isn’t a concern, but your shoes are going to be tacky and gross, you just know it. You feel annoyance and anger bubbling until you hear the frantic and rushed, “Oh my God, I am so sorry.” 

You had a response on your tongue, ready to snark out something close to, “Yeah you better be!” with a healthy amount of venom, but when your eyes raise to look at your assaulter in the face that quickly proves to be a difficult task. You become distracted by dark brown eyes and soft looking black hair, his face tinged with worry and what looks like genuine remorse, pink lips parted and hands up, it makes what was meant to be a bitchy barb melt into, “Yeah, you’re okay, I mean, it’s okay.” 

“God, no it’s not, looks like that was full-” You cut him off with a smile, anger was forgotten, “Really, it’s okay.”

“At least let me get you another drink? For my conscience if nothing else.” He is very sweet, reads as honest, earnest. You agree and say, “Yes, okay, I can let you do that.” 

He finally smiled, slow and more beautiful than it had any right to be. You and he make your way to the kitchen and once in there and in front of the drink station you both notice that there are no cups. He says, “I think there are some on the top shelf of this cupboard, hold on-”

“How do you know that?” You ask, and he says as he opens the doors, “Oh, my friend lives here.”

He reaches up to the aforementioned top shelf, rooting around for the cups, and you are just watching him, eyes move down his body and in the process of him stretching. His shirt rides up and you of course stare at the newly revealed skin, what you find there makes you gasp before laughing out, “Woah! Slut alert!”

He pulls the cups down, jaw dropped open as he says, “Excuse me?”

You respond enthusiastically with a point to him as you say, “You! I just realized, you’re a slut.”

The cupboard doors are closed, an eyebrow raised as he asks, “What makes you say that?”

You take the two strides forward to be within touching range, and you reach out, fingers hook in the hem of his shirt, and you yank it up and point to his tattoo with your other hand. “This! Look at this shit, guys who aren’t sluts do not have little whoreish rose tattoos like this!”

“Christ! You’re being awfully forward for someone I just met.” He smacks your hand away and smoothed his shirt back down into place, and you laugh again, “I notice you aren’t disagreeing with my assertion.”

He argues with you as the package of new red solo cups was torn open and one was retrieved, “Didn’t think I had to! I think it’s obvious I’m not a slut.”

You watch as he plucks up one cup and sets it down ready to finally make you that drink, but you aren’t concerned with that anymore, instead you asked, “Oh yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Seriously?” Was his deadpanned reply. 

“Yeah, let's ask ten people, if more than five agree with me that you are a total tart based off your tattoo, I win, and if less than five agree that you are not a slut, you win, and I’ll drop it.” You explained quickly, a wide grin overtaking your face.

He looks considering for a moment before asking, “What do you want if you win?”

You push his shoulder playfully as you ask, “C’mon, where’s the fun in that if I tell you upfront?”

A roll of his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest, the small smile on his face as well as his tone tattles on the fact he is amused however, attempt to fix your drink abandoned, consumed in the current ridiculous conversation, “If you don’t tell me I won’t do it.”

You groan and kick the kitchen island you were next to, “Fine. Spoilsport. How about…” You look him over and then grin lewdly as the thought comes to you like lightning, “A body shot.”

He laughs with a shake of his head, eyes drop to the floor as he shrugs and says, “Fine. You’re on.”

You shake on it, eye contact reestablished, and the game was on. 

Your hand on his wrist, you start to lead him around the party. The routine went as follows, you walk up to a person, ask if they are down to participate in settling a bet you were both in, if they said yes, you would be showing him off. You would lift his shirt excitedly, or he would be reluctantly tugging it up himself to show it off until ten people later you were saying positively giddy, “Seven out of ten college party goers agree! You are a slut.”

He sighs and asks quietly, “What shot are you doing off me?”

To you, there was only one answer possible.

“The classic naturally. Tequila.” 

Soon enough he is splayed across a table that is normally used for beer pong, currently in between games, and you are setting him up. He’d taken his shirt off before laying down, you rubbed the wedge of lime on him, the space of his belly button now slick and salt sprinkled, your other hand gripping the bottle of tequila you’d already taken the cap off of, you tip it and poured the liquid into the hollow of his belly button. He shivers and squirms slightly, some spills, overflows, and you chide him, “Fuck, stay still!” 

Before he can retort, you’d taken that same lime wedge and placed it in his mouth, rind side down towards him, flesh of the fruit upturned. The bottle is set down and you make your move.

You lean down, one hand on his jean clad thigh, higher than it needs to be, fingers curling over the curve of his thigh, your mouth is close enough. Your lips latch, and you drink from him, tongue dips in, and you eagerly lap up the burning alcohol before you swirl along the perimeter and over that same tattoo that set this bet in motion. Next your tongue turns upwards, passing over warm skin and his firm toned stomach, catching the salt you sprinkled before. 

Afterwards you are pulling up and with one smooth stride, fingers trailing up his bare torso as you go, your other hand descends onto his forehead. Your fingers run through dark hair, and you leaned down, you give him a ghost of a kiss as you steal the lime wedge, you linger longer than necessary, if he wanted and responded fast enough he could have kissed you, but he was too shocked. You are pulling back up, your fingers come up too, and you bite down, sucking the acidic delight back. Clean rind is pulled away, and you look down at him, stomach wet and lips shiny, staring up at you, and you say, “I realize something.” 

He sounds just a little out of breath as he asks, “What’s that?” 

“I never got your name.”

He realizes that’s true. A small cock of his head as he tells you,  “Darry. My name is Darry.”

You toss the rind of the lime wedge aside, and you compliment him, “Well, Darry, I have got to say, at least you are a man of your word. You have follow through.”

He sighs and holds one hand out, “Gee thanks, wanna help me up?”

You do so, gripping his hand and pulling him to sit up and get off the table. He goes to put his shirt back on, but grimaces, “I feel all sticky now.”

Taking in the sight of the hardwood and sturdy table that was covered in a million rings from never having seen a single coaster but cups upon cups of drinks and who knows how many spills your expression mimics his, “Yeah, that table was not clean, c’mon, let’s go to the bathroom, I’ll help you clean up.”

Soon you are standing in the ensuite bathroom attached to the master bedroom. You aren’t supposed to be in here, it is supposed to be off limits, but you’ve always been a rule breaker, haven’t you?

You are cleaning him up, warm and damp wash cloth running over his back, and you say, “So why don’t you think you’re a slut?”

“Cuz I’m not one?”

“Are you sure? Letting me parade you around the party like I did, letting me do a body shot off you like that, I mean fuck, dude, I tongue fucked your belly button before you told me your name. Seems pretty whore like to me.” You teased playfully, and he laughs shocked, seemingly speechless. 

You asked, “What do you think?”

He takes a deep breath before, sighing out, “I think no matter what I say, you are gonna think I’m a whore.”

You finish cleaning him and are wringing out the cloth into the sink and shrug, “Maybe, maybe not.” He catches your eyes in the mirror. He is staring. You stare back. 

You turn and there is this tension. You break it by dropping the cloth and flicking some water onto his still bare chest, a challenging raise of your eyebrows asking, “What are you gonna do about it?”

And you get what you want. 

He wants to put you in your place, wants to shut you up, but mostly you think, he just wants to, and so he makes the first move. His hands on your arms, pulling you closer and taking that single step, and he kisses you. 

The make out is speedy. 

A brief thought flits through your mind, that you were getting just want you wanted out of tonight, fun, relaxation, a few good drinks and getting to hook up with someone. You are feeling bold, and you think he wants it, you test the waters, you feel him up, hands over bare and exposed skin, and he doesn’t shy away, no he leans in closer, eager.

You suppress a smile as you deepen the kiss, one hand is on the back of his neck, the other running over the expanse of his chest and one leg hooks over his hip as you grind on him. He gets hard pretty fucking quick. 

The speed is enough to make his head spin. Two minutes ago, he had his hand in your underwear, touching you, but you made him stop and were now on your knees, pants open and pulling him out. You work him over, hand locked onto his shaft, and you stroke, firm grip, a squeeze whenever you get to the head, a twist of your wrist on the down stroke of his shaft and a steady move back upwards to repeat the process all over again. 

He is leaned against the counter when you lean in, your tongue flicking over the tip, and that has him moaning, head back. The view is fantastic, pants and underwear low on his hips, shirt still off, hands gripping the counter edge so hard you can see the flex of tendons in his forearms, it encourages you to wrap your lips around his head. You suck indulgently and keep your hand in motion, he tastes very fucking good, salt and tang, delicious and when you feel him start to throb in your palm you pull back. His head drops, chin tucked into his neck, to look down at you. His expression is crestfallen, he looks sad and confused as he asks, “Why’d you stop?”

You remain on your knees, tongue licking up the pre-cum on your fingertips before you say, “Because I want you to say it.”

More confusion as he asks, “What?”

Pressing him, you say, “I want you to say it, admit it.”

“Admit what?” Asked Darry, still not getting what you were driving at.

You smile and say it as if it were as simple as two plus fucking two, “That you are a whore. Nothing more than a needy slut. Say it and I’ll keep going.”

He looks shocked again. His mouth opens and closes, but he can’t say much more than, “I-...” before you start again, he moans anew, how cute is he? How stupid and gullible? This will be fun. 

You work quickly, hand and mouth serving to wreck him in short order. He is moaning, panting, hips rocking forward, and you can tell, nearly there, he is close, and you stop, he curses, and you tease once more, singsonging out, “You aren’t finishing until you say it.” 

“I’m not gonna-” 

Well, that won’t do. You don’t let him even finish saying that he isn’t going to do it. Your hands on his hips you lean in, and you make one swift move and you deep throat him, take him to the root, and he lets off the best sound he has all night, a choked off moan with shattered breathing, utterly close to ruin. He looks so pretty like this. He had run his fingers through his hair, bit his bottom lip so hard trying to stay quiet you think it might bruise and bleed, his chest and neck is flush, he is unreasonably hard and leaking pre-cum at a steady rate. 

You are relentless. You work him perfectly, swallow around him, suck, lick and more until he is about to burst. “Please, please, fuck, don’t stop, s’ good-”

He sounds fantastic when he begs, you feel yourself in need and aching. You almost want to give in, you are sure he will moan with the utmost gratitude, will sound hot enough that it might get you halfway there on its own without you ever having to touch yourself.

He is still begging, “So close, God, yes, ah-”  He sounds so fucking hot, amazing, he is all but whining, but he didn’t say the magic words you wanted and so, you then pull off of him. Remove his thick cock from your throat and mouth, the wet strings of saliva break apart, the leash that bound you and he no more. You stand up and pull away, are ready to fully leave the bathroom, fixing yourself up in the mirror, and he grips your wrist. He is painfully hard, dripping, breathing is laboured as he asks, “Please, fuck, please don’t leave me like this?”

You give him a nearly apologetic smile, one thumb wipes some stray spit from your chin as you prompt him, “Then just say it, Darry. You say it and admit it, and I’ll get you off.”

A pause, a beat, and he finally relents. 

He says it shockingly smooth and confident, maintaining eye contact with you, he states as if he truly believes it, “I’m a whore, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I’m a fucking slut.” 

“There you go. Good boy.” You step away and your hand locks onto the doorknob, you open it and asked him over your shoulder, “Wanna go dance?” 

He sounds shocked and calls after you, “Wait! I-I thought if I said it that you’d-”

You turn, eyes meet again, and you tell him, “Oh I’m going to take care of that-” And a nod down to his still raging erection, “-but I was thinking we can go take a break, let you calm down a bit and then maybe you’ll be able to fuck me without busting in two strokes. No offence, by the way, I didn’t make it easy on you, I can make an experienced guy bust in two minutes with some serious effort.”

That is a lot to take in all at once. His mouth opens, another unsure sound before as he asks, “You want to-”

You fill in the blank. “Fuck you Darry. I want to ride you into oblivion.”

He was so caught up he hadn’t noticed you were holding his shirt, you threw it at him and said, “Now c’mon you still owe me that drink from earlier too.” 

He caught the shirt and was putting it back on as he asks, “The one you hoovered off my body doesn’t count?”

You lean against the door as you watch him stuffing himself back into his jeans and closing his pants over his still obvious erection as you say, “Not even close.” 

He got you that drink, you did dance and later, on top of the coats in a guest bedroom you kept your promise. Only afterwards, the sound of him whimpering while he came still ringing in your ears while you remain perched on top of him, heaving and sweat slick, coming down from your own orgasm, you tease him and say, “Was that so hard?”

He huffed out with a weak and satisfied smile, “No, suppose not, it was pretty great.”

You hum out, “I’ll say. And hey, Darry, you know this is all in good fun, right?”

He hums unconvinced and shifts under you, and you say, “No really, think about it Darry. I fucked you without ever telling you my name, I’m a slut too.”

The laugh he let out is the second-best sound you’d heard all night, when he sucks down a deep breath and the laughter subsides, he tells you warmly, “You fucking suck.”

You grin as you tell him, “You know it.” 

[shieldofiron]

Meals on Wheels

(Harringrove, just a flirty little drabble for @disabledbillyandsteveweek day 2 prompt-Family)

Steve thought it was maybe the stupidest thing he’d ever thought of. He and Robin had been having a sleepover and somehow the subject got around to tattoos.

“I would get a pin up girl but that might be tacky,” Robin sighed.

“As far as I’m concerned, the tackier the better,” Steve rolled up to his countertop and poured another glass of wine.

“Oh yeah, what are you getting? A nail bat?”

“Only if it says ‘who wants to get nailed,’” Steve snarled.

“What about a tramp stamp?” Robin took the glass of wine and sipped it. “Eat me.”

Steve thew a saucy look over his shoulder, dripping with king Steve charm, “Please. Look at me. It would say meals on wheels.”

Robin giggled, “Yeah, as long as we’re getting tattoos of wishful thinking I should get one on my hand that says, ‘Pussy destroyer.’”

“‘M just in a dry spell.”

“Yeah, okay,” Robin rolled her eyes, “Would you actually get ‘Meals on Wheels?’”

“Eat fast, eat fresh,” Steve quipped. “I’ll do it if you do, Madam Pussy Destroyer.”

Robin giggled loopily, “You know I did see an article about a tattoo parlor that specializes in sensory safe tattoos.”

“What’cha mean?” Steve wasn’t drunk, but he was a little tipsy on their good fortune in securing a wheelchair accessible apartment this close to the city center. Sure, a lot of rent had to come from their was Starcourt hush money, after Steve been paralyzed and a flayed Jonathan Byers has saved the world, but they he still found it and so Steve was happy to fork over the cash. The location was ideal, even if the city noise sometimes wrecked havoc on Robin’s sensory issues so they’d installed some extra sound proofing. But he wasn’t sure how a tattoo parlor was a part of that.

“It’s super cool, the owner has OCD so he made it so each room is private and soundproofed. They don’t play loud music, and offer headphones if the buzzing is too much, though you can bring your own movies. I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but some of those places are just too loud and busy,” Robin sighed.

“So you’ve always wanted to be a pussy destroyer?”

“No, shut up,” she blushed. “A Lilly, for my grandma.”

“Well maybe tomorrow we can go check it out.

“I wouldn’t want to do it alone.” She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t have the guts.”

Steve shrugged, “ok, you convinced me. It’s tramp stamp time.”

“No, you’re not serious,” Robin giggled.

“You’re my family. If you bleed, I bleed. You tramp stamp, I tramp stamp,” Steve said, only laughing when Robin did.

But then the next morning, his head pounding, he didn’t have too many defenses when Robin had looked at him with those puppy dog eyes and said she’d called and made them an appointment. She’d even brought in his motorized wheelchair and said that she’d buy bagels on the way.

But he was regretting it when they were finally there, and Steve was contemplating actually getting something permanently inked into his skin.

He wasn't sure if he was cool enough for this. He definitely wasn't cool enough for the artist that came in and introduced themselves to Robin. Their name was Eddie and they were practically covered in tattoos, wearing some cool unpronounceable band name t-shirt that they'd sewn to a mini tutu skirt to make a dress. They took Robin back to her room after they went over her sketch, a lilly painted with pale watercolor shades.

Robin squeezed his hand, "You're not gonna chicken out on me, right? I booked the only two person room they have so if you don't show up, I will know."

"I'm not chickening out," Steve laughed, "Though I hope your grandma isn't watching from heaven, because she'll probably see my ass."

Robin snorts, "She definitely saw your ass this morning when I helped you out of the shower. She was a tough old bird, a little of your pale ass won't scare her."

Steve snorted, "I'll see you in a moment."

Steve was starting to feel a little nervous. Honestly after Starcourt, he hadn't been interested in hiding his sexuality at all. Life seemed too short, he might as well unapologetically be himself, bi and disabled and ADHD and slutty and everything that was himself. But maybe the double entendre tramp stamp was a little too out there.

And then... he'd come in.

"Hi, Steve, right?" The guy was stunning, with long blonde curls streaked with blue piled up into a big bun on the top of his head. He offered a large, warm hand and Steve almost melted when they shook.

"Yeah, hi."

"I'm Billy, I'm the owner," Billy smiled, and Steve swore that he could see a cartoon smile, like Billy was an anime prince. An anime prince that had a giant seratonin tattoo that was splattered with that looked like watercolor. "I hope you don't mind that I use some hand sanitizer. I'm working on my handshake thing, but..."

"It's fine, ah... do you mind if I have some too?" Steve held out his hand.

Billy squirted Steve out a little of their fancy hand sanitizer.

"So I have to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect when we got the call for a wheelchair themed tramp stamp that said meals on wheels," Billy licked along his lower lip, "But now that I'm seeing you it makes more sense."

Steve could feel himself turning red, "It was kind of a joke-"

"I mean," Billy leaned in, "You do look good enough to eat."

Steve shivered, blush spreading up to his hairline.

Billy straightened, "God, sorry. Sorry, that was so inappropriate-"

"It's fine."

"No, really, I can see if Heather is free to take over the appointment, except that-" Billy bit his lip, "I think I'll still have to be the one to help you onto the table. Maybe if Eddie and Heather work together... God, not that you're like... too big or... shit... I'm sorry."

Steve laughed, "Really, it's fine."

"You're not too big, you're like... perfect," Billy ran a hand down his face, "Sorry. I'm sorry. Chrissy should know she can't give me the pretty guys, I clearly can't handle it."

Steve glanced up, giving him that King Steve sparkle right back, and seeing the way it made Billy's eyes go wide and nervous.

Steve pressed on the joystick to his chair with one finger, running a hand along the tip flirtatiously.

Billy's eyes darted to his hand, and then back to his face.

"I think you can handle me," Steve said smugly, "Don't you wanna try?”

Steve left that day with a bit of a sore ass, though the sensation was soothed a lot by the business card that had Billy's personal number scrawled on the back.

"I can't believe the meals on wheels tattoo got you a date," Robin rolled her eyes as she attached Steve's chair to the floor of his van, tightening the straps down with a shake of her head.

"What can I say," Steve shrugged, "Billy looks like a hungry boy to me."

Robin gagged, "You are my family. But never, ever, say that again."

@intothedysphoria thanks for answering my question on this one.

[maxinemaxmayfield]

sweet gingerbread made with molasses | steddie | t | 10.1k Alternate title: Mall Elves Fall Madly in Love

Steve Harrington has two goals this Christmas: 1. Survive working as a Christmas Elf at Starcourt Mall 2. Convince his new coworker that Christmas isn't all bad

“This has got to be the worst uniform in the history of uniforms,” Robin grumbles, adjusting the red and green elf hat atop her head. 

“And it covers up my best feature,” Steve agrees, pulling on his own matching hat. Not that he’ll be meeting many eligible ladies.

It’s early December in Hawkins, and Starcourt is busy in the run-up to its first Christmas since opening. Shoppers bustle by, weighed down by bags upon bags of gifts and goodies. Cheesy holiday music drifts from the tinny speakers. 

Santa’s Grotto isn’t even open yet, and the line is already growing, kids and parents waiting to meet Saint Nick. He can tell it’s going to be one of those disgustingly busy days.

Their manager approaches, leading someone else dressed in the same elf costume as Robin and Steve behind him. Steve tries to get a good look, but a curtain of dark hair obscures their face.

“Buckley, Harrington, we’ve got a new hire,” Carl says. “This here’s Eddie Munson. Show him the ropes, yeah?” With that, he walks back to his office, leaving Eddie in the middle of the mall with Robin and Steve.

Munson shakes his hair out of his face and Steve recognizes him almost instantly. They had a couple of classes together in his senior year, and Steve vaguely remembers Eddie being on the receiving end of some unsavory comments from Tommy at some point, remembers calling him ‘The Freak’ behind his back. 

He looks completely out of place here, uncomfortable in the tacky red and green outfit, and Steve can see a tattoo peeking out from the three-quarter length sleeves.

[keep reading on ao3]

[hayleytheewriter]

My TimKon fic Can't Shake the Feeling is completed!

Bernard meets Tim's friends and Kon is overcome with jealousy yk how it is

Here's a scene from chapter two:

Kon still looked unconvinced.  

“You don’t have to do something just because Bruce expects you to. It’s your birthday. It should be about what you want.” 

“Yeah,” Tim said, keeping his expression neutral despite the wave of fondness that hit him. “I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be fun. Dick wants to fill the pool with champagne.” 

“But what do you want, Tim?” Kon asked, mock-serious. He leaned closer. “A quiet night at home? Your closest friends at a skatepark watching you shred?” 

Tim laughed. Kon watched him with a soft smile. 

“You can plan my party next year,” Tim slipped his hands into his pockets. 

“What’s your gift bag budget? Because I’m thinking Teslas.” 

“Don’t tempt Dick with stupid ideas like that. It’s how he acts out.” 

“How do you act out?” 

“I’m the good one.” 

“You should get a tattoo. Or a bunch of tattoos.” He felt his bicep, moving under his shirt sleeve. “Get a rose here.” 

Tim kept his cool, despite the warmth of his touch. 

“Like I’m in Poison Ivy’s gang?” 

Kon laughed, and it loosened up his grin when he answered. 

“Okay, no flowers. What about some type of small bird?”  He touched Tim’s neck and added, “Right there.” 

“Too visible. And tacky.” 

“You should get my name.” 

He moved lower so his hand was over his heart. 

“Here.” 

It must’ve been a joke, but suddenly Tim couldn’t decipher his tone. 

[salvatoreren]

Okay, now that this season is over, in fact, i'm glad it was over because I did not feel that it was a season at all, i hate that they basically did not change the opening because it seemed to portray them as lazy or whatnot. The animation always teetered to okay to oh that's not, as I mentioned the obvious and tacky animation of them running to the character, so much for building up the suspense or surprise, in a span of 13 episodes, there are only few that I actually remember, not exactly since Tenjiku is such a scarring arc but Naoto's death, Taiju's fight scene and that Shinichiro flashback scene, like that's the scenes where I was actually impressed, I basically kept skipping the episode because of how lazy and ugly they appeared.

Like, I forgot Tenjiku was supposed to be a heartwrenching arc when all I felt was disappointment, sure, that's on me, I cared about the quality much more than the fact we see the characters animated, but I just wished for proper execution, like a girl can dream and set expectations, you know? Again I don't wish for MAPPA quality animation, I want season 1's animation because that was one of the factors that skyrocketed Tokyo Revengers, why it had the fanbase it had today, the visuals, the openings and the animation was everything, visually appealing, may have been done before but it showed a promising start and that's what gets people going when they start a series or anime especially since black and white characters are coming to life.

I liked the added scenes but the unnecessary ones like again, episode 1, there was no need to take away Smiley's spotlight, since it is the arc in which he is very prominent, Takemichi will have his own spotlight but nah, just give him a win that's from the manga later on which is important because that win was supposed to build up the hype we'd feel for him as he punches Kakucho because we've seen his POV which details all his sufferings, what he went through, what had him go on. Like did they forget Takemichi actually had some wins, very important ones: Kisaki vs TakemichI?

I swear Lidensfilm lost their copy and couldn't tell Wakui or go online to read it and tried their best to remember.

And the unnecessary censorship, like sure, blood, guts but not skulls or tattoos come onnn, why did Disney + have access to this series, give it back to netflix and crunchyroll.

In all the animes I watched the third season has always been peak; MHA, Haikyuu, AOT and I've always loved and cherished them but yeah, this one definitely at the bottom of my rankings unless the upcoming seasons wish to disappoint then well, I'm just sad I won't be able to do my edits. And it didn't even feel like a season, like yes it's a continuation of season 2 so it would be stupid for me to say that but seasons in anime have their own identity? You know?

I just hope now that it's over, Lidenfilms actually slows down and takes their time for the next season especially the upcoming season because it's the BONTEN ARC and everyone loves the Bonten Arc, trust me, Lidenfilms wouldn't want to fumble this arc, this arc changed lives like seriously omg, mine included. So they better straighten the fuck up or i swear to god, i'm actually going to cry

But yeah regardless, since it's tokrev and i have a soft spot for it forever, so i did enjoy it somehow.

[kingofthewilderwest]

I think I've waited long enough to answer the tattoo thing.

Dang y'all know me well. XD

I am betatted times four. All my tattoos are related to music and intend to be reminiscent of the music doodles I do when I'm bored (though none of my resulting tattoos are in "my hand"). One of them I designed completely (though the artist tweaked it for the final), another I added some of my own elements, and the other two are pretty stock.

I have a treble clef with several eighth notes behind my left ear, an alto clef on my left ankle, a banjo with flowers and the Foggy Mountain roll on top of my right foot, and a cross combined with a bass clef, a treble clef, and the flute solo from Beethoven's Eroica Movement 4.

I try to infuse huge meaning into my tats. A reference to Foggy Mountain Breakdown was chosen because Earl Scruggs is my greatest music hero, and Foggy Mountain Breakdown was one of two songs that launched interested in bluegrass one fateful night. Foggy Mountain Breakdown sliced through mental fog I was having, and Foggy Mountain Breakdown inspired me to learn banjo. Getting back into bluegrass restarted my burnt-out mind, and I've been in a fantastic forward trajectory since.

The cross is self-explanatory and ties to my Christian faith. The solo from Beethoven's Eroica ties into several of my best memories. It's not just that I love Beethoven. I learned that solo to perform several high school concerts, including one festival (I have great memories of that one involving people I was close to) where we won. (When we listened to the tape of an overly-critical judge's feedback, he was insulting everything until my solo, gave me a compliment, and our entire orchestra erupted into a cheer ROTFLH.) I played the Eroica excerpt to audition into first chair All State Orchestra that year. All State Orchestra is something I never deserved based on my level of comparative skill, and to this day I wonder if they got the tapes mixed up, but it was the best musical experience I've ever had, and it's what sealed the deal to make me decide to be a music major in college.

I wanted to make sure I had all three clefs I use on my body. Treble alone can account for flute. I needed a treble and bass clef for piano (don't forget to love the bass clef, y'all!), and I am a violist, so the alto clef is a tat of great pride, showcasing my "in group". VIOLA GANG!

Three of the four tats have stupid imperfections on them because I rushed the tattoo process, and I knew it even as we were going into it hahaaaa, but that's okay. XD I can claim it's part of the "these represent my doodles" aspect I guess. :P

Do I want more? Yesssssss but with qualifications. I have to have the right spot, and I'm not like my sister where every part of the body is Equal Opportunity Canvas (she's awesome XD). I like a mix of tat and clear skin. I like tattoos that are both easy to cover for professionality purposes, but easy to show off, too. There are tattoos I've thought about or designed, but held off. Almost did a Mass Effect one with the Paragon and Renegade symbols on my hip and designed them to interlock. For the longest time, I've thought about combining a rose, a flute, a viola, and part of the famous Bach cello suite (though in alto clef because it sounds better on viola, don't @ me). (Roses were supposed to be on the banjo tat but Changes - I use roses because that's my name.) Flute solos from Dvorak's Eighth, one of my favorite pieces of all time, which I played in All State on flute and on viola in college, I've also ruminated over. There's also someone I knew in college who had the viola F-holes running along her collar bones and it looked so good that I've since wondered if it's tacky to copy her, and if I really want to worry about covering collar bones or not, because that's more exposed.

No photos rn because I'm at work rotflh and am just responding while I remember to. So yeah! Uh. A tour of a bit about me. XD

[junkdyke]

do you have limits about what you tattoo? like is there any specific design(s) that you absolutely will not do because of personal values?

besides the obvious hate speech stuff, I think there's a few things yeah! I really like drawing/tattooing sexy girls, but I wouldn't be comfortable tattooing something really explicitly pornographic on someone! I'm cool with doing sexual tattoos, but in a way that's cheeky or subtle or tastefully erotic/pinup-y. I've seen some that are just so blatant and detailed, I wouldn't feel okay putting something like that on someone's body

I'm also very iffy on tattooing anyone's face, unless they're very heavily tattooed already and depends on the design/placement. Once had a girl who wanted one of my cheap flash tattoos of a cactus on her cheek and luckily she changed her mind on placement, but i straight up would not have done it because...i'm not gonna be responsible for fucking up someone's face with a silly ass tattoo lmao

I will not tattoo someone's partner's name on them. Matching tattoos of a design sure, but no names unless it's a family member's.

and then there's just some style I won't tattoo! I don't work in a walk-in shop so i do not have to tattoo anything I don't want to, and there's a lot of styles that I either don't feel are my strong suit so i wouldn't do it justice, or I just straight up think are ugly/tacky lmao. No watercolor tattoos, no trash polka, no american traditional, no paw prints on someone's tiddies, no soft blended clouds with prayer hands and script, no clock-rose-lions...i like doing my anime-inspired babes and delicate lines n shading lmao

[kiwiana-writes]

hellooooooo MJ! while I await your return to the future times, please allow me to tell you just how goddamn fucking talented you are ❤️

can you please tell us about the first time you dyed your hair and what colour you did, how you styled it etc??

I’ve been back in the future for a whole 28 hours, but my body hasn’t quite got the memo yet, hence the stupidly early (for me) reply to this ask.

Stop being nice to me, what the fuck. I will NOT allow this. You’ve seen the behind the scenes now; you know it’s all smoke and mirrors 😂

I have been dyeing my hair since I was 11! Literally two thirds of my life. My husband of a decade has only ever seen my natural hair colour at the root because these days I shave my head every four weeks and re-dye it 😅 BUT you’re not asking about now, you’re asking about when I started!

So, yeah. I was eleven, which I know seems wildly young, but my mum struck the deal with me early: I could dye my hair whatever nonsense I wanted, and get whatever piercings I wanted, as long as I didn’t get any tattoos until I was eighteen. Which I am WILDLY grateful for now, because I wanted some tacky-ass ink at fifteen/sixteen. (We did end up negotiating one tattoo at seventeen but that’s because my uncle died and I wanted his initials lol. No regrets about that one.)

Anyway! I started dyeing my hair because I was ginger as fuck and kids are assholes. (This was like… 2001. The Southpark ‘ginger kids have no soul’ ep came out while I was in high school. You’ll be shocked to hear it was also not a supportive environment for baby queer MJ either 😂) And because it was literally twenty-fucking-two years ago, I don't remember what colour it was; some sort of box something, probably just like a basic chestnut hahaha. I had long hair then -- I grew it out until it was down to my hips when I was like 16 and then I had a tantrum and hacked it off into a bob and dyed it a like purpley-black -- so I doubt I styled it or anything.

If you're curious about the bright colours I live in now, that didn't start permanently until I was 25-ish. I went through a pretty extensive goth/punk phase as a teenager so through the back half of school it was always blue-black or red-black or purple-black, those blacks that have a hint of something else in the light. I'd occasionally do bright colours in a very temporary way, those wash out in 2-3 wash spray type things, for like, school sports days and shit, or I'd do bright red streaks or dip dyes or similar (it was the early 2000s shut up). Then after I left school I was working for the government or adjacent for a long time, and they had lots of "natural colours only" rules so I stuck to the chestnuts and the chocolate browns. Then I changed government departments and mentioned this in passing to my boss, in a "ugh wish I could" kinda way, and she was like "that rule is stupid and you're a great employee and I'll back you up if necessary". So... I went and brought two different bright blues and mixed them together and bleached and dyed my hair that weekend. Rocked up to work on Monday and she just high-fived me.

Nothing that's been on my head since is a colour you'll see naturally growing out of someone's head 🤣

It used to be a whole production of stripping out the old dye when I wanted to change colours, but I started rocking the buzz cut a few years ago and now it doesn't matter what was on there before, it's all gone and I can start again from scratch lol. Weirdly, when I shave my head these days the roots come in REALLY dark brown, so idk if my hair colour has shifted over the hairs (when I was born my hair was BLACK, by the time I was 3 it was blonde ringlets, then settled into ginger by the time I started school) or if I would just have dark roots and if I let it grow out it would still be ginger when it was longer... but I fucking love the buzzcut for Gender Euphoria reasons and also Oh God My Hair Is So Thick And Heavy reasons, so... we'll probably never find out 😜

[dancing-to-architecture]

35 - Elastica - Elastica (1995)

Never heard of them, but all their top songs are on this one album, so... Let's go.

Line Up-

Interesting, discordant guitar but I'm digging it... Except for the guy that sounds like he's puking in the background.

Pretty blatant "anti-groupie" lyrics but some interesting turns of phrase and i can absolutely see the line up in line line up in line part of the chorus getting stuck in heads.

Annie-

I'm digging this, kinda late-punk vibes, everything feels really good, just goes.

Connection-

This one has an order of magnitude more plays than anything else they have. (27 million vs the next highest being 6 mil)

Cool 90s edm noises and synth drums, then a computer has an orgasm and the band kicks in.

The lyrics are interesting but I'm not getting much out if it.

Starting to think I'll never really understand the kind of music British people enjoy.

Car Song-

Cool guitars but the lyrics land somewhere between "Tawny Kitaen" and "actively fucking a shift knob" level of car lover.

Catchy, though.

Smile-

The Ramones fan in me will always love a punk song started with a screamed "1,2,3,4!". ESPECIALLY if it's not screamed in the actual time of the song.

The lyrics listed are incredibly wrong, which is a shame because it's a song about a cheater getting busted. And it's pretty great.

Hold Me Now-

Sounds like Garbage (affectionate).

Tonal whiplash from the last song, from "you cheated, get lost" to "I'll do anybody/everybody at this party, i don't care"

S.O.F.T.-

I really like the intro.

The lyrics feel a bit too pointed to feel so vague, like I'm wondering if s.o.f.t. stands for like someone one of the band members knew named like Shirley Olive Frimbley-Twumpshire or something.

Indian Song-

(Okay, it's a British band, which "Indian" are we referring to... Ah, sitar. Okay.)

Ah, shit, did George Harrison write this one? Who let him in here?

Blue-

The almost shoegaze-y intro just makes me think they could have totally gone shoegaze and pulled it off.

The rest of it feels pretty similar.

All-Nighter-

"Yeah, sure let's hang out all night!"

Five hours later: "oh, so, we weren't gonna take our clothes... Oh. Okay. Gotcha. Your loss."

Waking Up-

As a dedicated night-person who nevertheless wakes up at 5am every morning, this song can kiss my ass, but also i wish i had that easy of a life.

2:1-

A bit slinkier and more laid back than a lot on this album. Kinda wondering why this one isn't the one that blew up.

The dual singing is pretty neat.

See That Animal-

Gotta get that scale practice in somehow.

Also, i cannot abide by the pronunciation of the word tattoo as "tuh-TOO". It's "TAH-tu".

Stutter-

Girl, why are you whining that he's not going to stay with you? You didn't have to let him in and fuck him, but you did. That's on you.

Never Here-

I do like the idea of fighting gaslighting with gaslighting. "You fucked with my head and now you don't even exist and you never did."

Vaseline-

I get it, but actual lube is always better.

Once again, a British album has one vastly more-played sing on the album and i cannot for the life of me figure out why. It didn't stand out in any way, and many of the other songs on the album are objectively better, catchier songs.

I can only assume UK radio is just as much of a wasteland as Florida's is.

Favorite Track: 2:1. It kinda grew on me as a standout from the raunch of the rest of the album, like a classy burlesque performance in a tacky strip club.

There's a difference between being sexy and just shoving a vagina in my face.

Least Favorite Track: Indian song. White British musicians stop appropriating India challenge (impossible).

[mardereads19]

The Bar

Day 1 - April writing challenge

Alex wiped down the counter in lousy circular motions, nose crinkled as the vomit was mostly absorbed by the fabric. He looked to the side and reached for the empty bucket by the floor. He threw the rag inside before taking up the last clean one Mitchell had left for him. The lazy asshole never could do his job right.

Indeed, there against the wall was the makeshift hamper with a week’s worth of dirty rags.

“I have to do everything around here,” muttered Alex as he took up spraying the bar with a multi-purpose cleaner.

Two taps against the counter were the only warning a man gave before calling, “A whiskey on the rocks over here, buddy!”

Alex debated between answering or pretending not to hear him over the tacky music playing through the bar. In the end, he judged that if he just ignored the man, he would only bother him again. That would not do.

He finished up with the rag, deeming the counter clean enough, and made his way over to the left end of the counter. “A whiskey on the rocks, you said?” Alex placed his forearms on the bar. “Would you like something else to go with that? An appetizer, perhaps? Maybe some caviar, hors d’oeuvres?”

The man, dressed in a long-sleeved button-down shirt, pants and a tie, raised his eyebrows in consideration.

Alex smirked. “Take a look around you, buddy. We have no whiskey here.”

The man frowned. “But… this is a bar.”

“Yeah. It tries to be.” Alex straightened, head turning, already scanning for an actual task to do. “The best thing I can offer you is beer.”

The man tapped his finger in exasperation. A sigh escaped his mouth, and Alex could make out perfect white teeth. The polished fella didn’t say anything as he turned to leave. Alex was already making his way to the other end of the counter when the bell over the door announced his departure.

“Hey, handsome.”

Alex looked up. “Estella.”

She looked as lovely as always, a crooked smile lighting up her face. Her black hair framed her face in waves. Her brown eyes reflected the flickering light above. She was a welcome sight in this hellhole. “I’ll have some of that caviar, if you’re still offering,” she whispered, her accent thick and beautiful.

“For you, I’d go to the end of the world to get it.”

She beamed, gifting him his favorite kind of laugh. He would get it tattooed, if that was possible. Though he doubted his skin had any available space for one more.

“What are you doing this Friday?”

“Hmm.” Estella’s lips pouted. “I’m busy all day. Hospital working me hard.”

Alex’s shoulders dropped. “They should let you rest.” Even now, she was wearing her nurse uniform, a dark blue that accentuated her tanned skin.

“No luck, I’m afraid.” She shrugged. “At least I love my job.” Unlike you, was what she left unsaid.

“As soon as I can, I’m getting out.”

“Where would you go?”

Alex shook his head. “Where they’ll have me.” It was bound to be better than here. Anything. Anywhere.

Estella reached across the counter and placed her hand on his stubbled cheek. Her thumb caressed where he knew an inked snake should be. “You’ll find something.”

His chest was near bursting. His heart a wild drum that would only get like this with her. The only woman who had never feared him. Even after learning his story. Never seen him as a spectacle. She was older than him. Maybe fifty. He was forty-three. But he loved her. She had to know. She had to. It was obvious.

Her hand was gone too soon.

“I have to go. A shift.” She waved around the room, a frown furrowing her brows. “This place could use some lightening up.”

“Then you should stay,” he said. Even he could tell the longing in his voice.

A crash of a bottle rang out somewhere to Alex’s right and he could make out the yelling of a fight.

“No chance.“ Estella laughed. “If I stay any longer, I’d start nursing these people, and I have a job to get to. I just came by to say hello.”

“I never heard you come in.”

“I came in behind that fancy dude.” She smiled. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Some times, when Alex allowed himself to, he wondered whether she felt it, too. That pull. That desire. Did it mean anything—that she wanted to surprise him? Or was she just saying hi as a friend? As the only friend he’d made in the last six months.

“I have to go,” she said, glancing at her smartwatch. Alex nodded, disappointment a common feeling he was used to. “See you!” Her hips swayed as she left. A man with missing teeth whistled after Alex’s girl, and Alex shook his head. Estella turned to him one last time before disappearing out the door.

He would never deserve her. She, a nurse with a PhD in whatever it was nurses studied, and him—an ex-convict who would never get hired anywhere decent with his criminal record.

He made his way to where the fight had broken out, boots stumping over wooden floorboards with stains long-ago sustained. “Okay, break it up, you two.” He reached in between the two drunks, and easily pushed their faces away from each other. One of them slumped over the chair before stumbling to the floor. Passed out.

The other threw weak punches at Alex, but Alex just pushed him away until the man burped and forgot what he was doing, laughing instead at his new hilarious ability to dispel gas.

This was what Alex put up with daily.

“You’d think they’d get tired by now.” A man around Alex’s age said. Alex knew him very well.

“Hey, old man,” he greeted.

“Sleep. Wake. Drink. Fight. That’s all these men do. That’s all they’ll ever do. It’s an endless cycle, and they seem satisfied. They don’t even care that it’s not living.”

“What do you know about living?” Alex laughed. “ And you, too, are here constantly. A pest I have to put up with.”

The man smiled. “At least I don’t puke all over your counter.”

“I appreciate that.” Speaking of, Alex saw another drunk doubling over in the corner of room, retching.

The man leaned back on the chair, enough that Alex could see the hole on his undershirt, and a wound underneath. He was bleeding. But Alex knew better than to ask if he was okay. “You going nowhere with that Stella chick.”

“Es-tella.” Alex corrected. “She gets pissed off when people don’t say her name correctly.”

“Sorry. Estella.” The man nodded, his beard twitching as he smiled. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

“She’s too good for me,” Alex admitted, turning his back on the man and leaning against the bar. “She’ll never have me.”

“Aren’t you at least gonna try?”

“Nah.” A fly buzzed over to the wall. “She deserves better.”

There was silence for a while. Or, at least—silence from the man. That damn music kept blaring out of the speakers. It would never allow for a second of peace.

“Your mother deserved better.”

Alex stilled. “She did.”

The man grunted. “I should have been better.”

Alex did not reply to this as quickly. The man was right. “You’re better now,” he settled with truthfully.

The man laughed an ironic kind of laugh. Alex did not join in.

“You’re a good man, Alexander.” The chair scratched the floor as the man stood. “You proved to be twenty-two years ago. And you can still finish what you started in college.”

Alex turned in time to watch the man pressing his hand against the knife wound. It was worse, blood soaking his white undershirt, and leaking on the floor.

“You’re alive. And that woman makes you want to live even more. Do what you have to do to deserve her, but don’t give up so easily. You have a chance. Some of us don’t.”

Alex did not flinch. “Thanks, pops.”

The man nodded, face paling fast with the loss of blood. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but in the end he just nodded again and turned, slowly making his way out. Alex watched as his father reached the door, opening it. No bell sounded as it shut.

The father Alex had killed was not the same one his mind conjured up. The father Alex talked to daily was kinder, softer. A better father than he ever was when alive.

When Alex looked to the floor on the other side of the bar, the blood was no longer there.

His phone vibrated inside his pocket.

It was time for his fifteen minute break.

[chaoticgremlinwholikescheese]

Bad Luck

AO3 LINK

Attempted Rape/Non-Con

Drugged Drink

Angst

much angstier than my normal writing

The calls concerning kids are always the hardest. Not to say that other calls aren't hard, but these ones hit especially hard. Buck takes a sip of his drink, ice hitting his lips. The soda is sweet, if a little diluted by the melting ice. He replays the call in his head. He knows he shouldn't. It's doesn't do any good to linger on things you can't change. But he can't help himself. He knows he should go over to Eddie's, or invite Hen or Chim or someone out with him. But he just wants to be alone right now. Plus, he's not having any alcohol, so he can drive himself home. He'd like to drink, but he can't bring himself to do it. He knows that one drink will turn into two, then three, and so on in order to forget the day.

God, the boy couldn't have been older than ten. The family had gotten into a bad car crash getting off the highway. Some drunk driver ran them off the road and straight into construction equipment. They were lucky that everyone came out alive. When they had pulled up, they saw the mangled car and automatically assumed that there would be at least one casualty. Hen and Chim had checked on the parents while Buck checked on the kid. The mom was unconscious. The dad was fine, just some bruising. He kept screaming for his son.

It reminded Buck of how he screamed for Christopher during the tsunami. That guttural, terrified scream that rips your throat to shreds. The dad didn't calm down until he saw that his son was alright. The boy had a broken leg and a big gash on his arm that needed stitches, but he was otherwise unharmed. The poor thing was terrified though. He wouldn't stop crying. Eddie did his best to calm him down, but he didn't stop sobbing until his dad was there.

The mom was in bad shape when they got her out. She had been pinned, the metal cutting into her chest. She had a broken clavicle, arm, and a bad concussion. She crashed once on the way to the hospital, according to Hen. They brought her back but it was touch and go for a couple of minutes. Buck doesn't know if she made it through or not. Once they drop them off at the hospital, their job is done. Buck hates that sometimes.

Buck takes a last sip of his soda. The few drops that are left are basically just water anyway. The bartender comes over and grabs the cup, asking if he'd like a refill. Buck nods. Usually he's much chattier. But at the moment he just wants to be alone with his thoughts. The dad's screams keep replaying in his head. He can't help but wonder if that's what he sounded like when he was searching for Christopher. And the way the father ran to his son and held him like he could disappear at any moment, that was the same way that Eddie had held Chris. Buck hates that the memories of that seem to permeate through any other thought he could have.

"Is this seat open?" A man asks. Buck nods and the man takes a seat. He orders a gin and tonic. He swirls it once before taking a sip. "You drinking alone tonight too?"

"Yeah."

Buck hopes the conversation ends there. But, like always, he has bad luck.

"Bad day?"

"Yup."

"Care to talk about it?"

"Prefer not to."

The man shrugs his shoulders and takes another sip of his drink. As he's drinking, a tipsy girl knocks into his stool and the drink splatters all over his front. He swears under his breath. The girl is already gone in the crowd, probably not even aware she bumped into anyone.

"Mind passing me a napkin?"

Buck turns to grab a couple from the pile next to him. He hands it to the stranger, who thanks him. He does his best to mop up the liquid, but most of it has already soaked into his flannel. He pulls it off and ties it around his waist, opting to stay in just his t-shirt. Buck can't help but notice that the guy has a small tattoo on his forearm. It's of a wolf snarling. Kind of tacky, but the illustration is well done.

The man notices him staring. "I got it when I was younger. Thought it would make me look cool." He chuckles a bit.

"Wolves are cool. Did you know that that wolves can run more than 30 miles an hour?" He finds himself reciting a fact he had learned from Chris earlier. Eddie always jokes that between the two of them, he and Chris are practically Google. The two of them are constantly trading facts, about all sorts of things. Chris gets the Nat Geo Kids magazine in the mail, and the two of them read it together. Buck would never admit it, but he finds the magazines just as enjoyable as Chris does. They may be for kids, but they've got a lot of cool information.

Speaking of, he promised he would make Chris pancakes in the morning, so he should probably get going. Buck chugs the rest of his drink and motions for the check. The bartender quickly obliges. He places a twenty on the table and signs the receipt with the provided pen. The stranger tries to engage him in further conversation, but Buck ignores him. He really just wants to go home. He has to dodge several people, almost getting elbowed in the neck by one man attempting to dance. At least, Buck thinks it's dancing. It's so bad it's hard to tell.

He finally makes his way out the door. He has a slight headache setting in. Probably from all the noise inside. He rubs his eyes. His arms feel heavy. He looks at his phone. It's not even that late, it's only ten. Maybe the exhaust of today is catching up to him. He starts the walk to his jeep. He's half way there when he as to stop and brace himself against a wall. God, he feels weird. Really weird. His gut churns. He can't get his legs to move. He sinks to the dirty cement below.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

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