#maybe i'm in my hand tattoo era

[doctapuella]

the past 2 years i've done a post to list my top 9 celeb favs and so this is it for summer 2023 because i love overanalyzing myself and the way i experience attraction and how it changes and whatnot. i'm in a very different brain space this year (wrestle instead of music) but it's still very interesting looking at it in one space like this. weird, but interesting.

[satoruhour]

Helllooo!!!! I hope you're doing well<33 I'm not sure if you're taking requests so this can be taken as a random rant as well. (I'm in my exam week-depressed-stressed era lol) but is it just me Or the animated version of choso and the mans voice actor just doubled his hotness!?? Hence why me is here to ask if you could do a choso street racer au, could be anything from him meeting at a race or him taking them drifting? Idk but I just need more racer choso au's😭😭😭

LUCKY DIME

a/n: oh no my love i hope your exams went well and that you’re resting comfortably now ❤️ OFCCCC i planned to write a racer!choso for so long i just didnt have any motivation / tagging @screampied

wc: 3k

warnings: racer!choso, reader is ‘dating’ a weirdo, fem!reader, threat of sexual assault (from weirdo guy), threatening harm, flashback, unsafe driving tendencies (dont follow them in this fic lol pls drive safely), semi-public sex (parking lot), car sex, slight nipple play, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, finger sucking, implied multiple rounds and p -> v sex later on, n*sfw under the cut

choso hasn’t always been open about his origins — moving from the shimotsuma district to shibuya just two years ago in need of quick cash to send back to his struggling mother. it was a hard decision on both ends, with his mother advocating more for him to leave for a better life than the one she could offer. he acquiesced with a promise to earn enough to send back to her every month in return for the secret stash she provided for him and that promise meant everything. he was going to get money no matter what.

even if it meant meddling with the local yakuza, doing petty little tasks of collecting money, escorting the people important to the oyabun to their meeting places, being on lookouts while gambling and prostitution happens indoors. choso would never write back to his mother on what he’s been doing to get so much money, but if he’s able to send a hefty amount back to her on every 29th, he’s satisfied.

that is until he’s met with a couple arguing as they walk along the alleyway, creating such a ruckus that choso’s sure they could power the whole of shibuya — well, more of the man, anyways, saying something about racing and cars that he’s not even sure he catches on.

“well, if you just listened to her and opted for a flat-plane rather than use a cross-plane, maybe you wouldn’t have lost the race!” you’re throwing your hands up, struggling to walk behind in these new heels you bought while you navigate the dark alleyway. for a boy who’s expressed interest in you, he wasn’t doing well in trying to keep you one bit. you’d say he’s rather annoyed that you know so much about cars, trying to genuinely help him while he just sees it as attacks.

“yeah, well, if you kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have embarrassed me about losing to noritoshi.” you roll your eyes, unaware you’re passing a dangerous area with dangerous activities behind the door choso was guarding, nor do you notice the way the bodyguard perks up at the name of noritoshi, who sounds awfully familiar.

you scoff, “trust me, you embarrassed yourself the moment you tried to challenge the dude,” it was meant to be a harmless comment; noritoshi could never measure up to the famous four, but he practised his drifting hard enough and put in the hard work, stayed humble. he was everything that your “man” wasn’t, and it was only deserved that he didn’t win. ultimately, you didn’t expect much from a man in the illegal racing scene who only cared about who had the nicest engines and paint finishes.

“what’d you say?”

choso keeps a close eye on the both of you.

“it was nothing—” you sigh, reaching out to grab at his arm to get him to stop shouting so loud when you notice the person standing in front of a shady door — twin pigtails hairstyle with a dead look in his eyes and a tattoo across his nose, dressed up in a suit. it was scary enough walking through a dimly-lit alleyway, but your fear heightens when your eyes fall upon the surroundings of ashes of late night campfires, dried blood along the walls, and used condoms on the floor.

“no, no, tell me what you said, just so i know that i heard you right,” your “man” insisted, stepping up so close to you that your nerves were on high alert from the proximity and the possibility of that someone just a few feet away inflicting harm on the both of you.

“it was nothing! i just meant that you didn’t have a chance against noritoshi from the st—” it’s like you hit a sensitive nerve, because the next thing he’s doing is grabbing your wrist and dragging you along, not aware of how choso perks up even more, ready to leave his post. it borderline hurts with the way he grasps at your skin, paired with the discomfort of your heels and outfit, you can’t just wait to get home and rest up.

“ohh, so that’s what you said!” the man continues to tug you, not heeding your pleas for him to stop, “might as well just leave you here with the yakuza to see whether you stand a chance.”

that’s what the man was guarding . . wait.

a shout wretches out of you when you notice there’s no shadows at the door that’s lit simply with fluorescence at the same time the mysterious man has one hand each on your arms.

“who are you—” your “man” has the gall to speak first, shocked at the stronger grip of the other when he tears the fingers away from your wrist before stumbling back. the mysterious guy simply tugs you into his hold, levelling the other with just a stare from his eyes that’s got him babbling and stuttering in fear. you hate to admit that once the man beside you speaks, your body curls into his side — it’s like a smooth cup of coffee that you gravitate towards.

“do you want to repeat what you just said?” choso puts you behind him as he approaches the other, one step taken while the cowering one takes one step back. “because i can always open the door i’m guarding and let them take care of you, instead.”

“t-that wouldn’t be necessary—” he’s adamant on his threatening, taking out a flip phone and dialling numbers one by one, no doubt the number of his boss. he doesn’t even look at you, eyes trained on the pigtailed man as he continues to dial the number and pressing call. if choso’s being honest, he’s about to shit himself just as much, never having called his saiko-komon personally before so he only fakes the number, thanking the heavens that someone somewhere decided to call his boss’ phone just at the same time.

they all hear it, the familiar nokia ringtone from behind the door, but in choso’s ear, all it says is that it’s an invalid number that garners no answer. he talks over the operator’s voice anyway.

“yeah, i need you to take care of this guy. just outside here—” that’s enough for him to go running away, puddles splashing and his voice crying out for civilisation, although you’re not too happy yourself, afraid for your own fate. kept like a pet for the yakuza? made to work for them to pay off this small helping hand? commit—

you sit up from the hood, “you called a fake number?!” it’s hard to say when that fateful meeting turned into this over the past few months, asking choso to recount the night the two of you met out of curiosity when you realise that your yakuza-accountant boyfriend had dialled a fake number the whole time.

“i had just joined! i wasn’t going to phone my boss . .” he sheepishly says with head turned to you, and while you’re giving him brutal smacks on the shoulder (“what! if! he! hadn’t! run! away! were you going to let a phone operator beat him up?”), you’re still thankful he decided to step in at the right time even if his heroic act had been brought down a notch by this revelation.

it’s then that he asks about the whole racing thing you were involved in but you’re taken aback by the fact that he wasn’t going to make you do anything in return. even if the alley had boasted its dubiousness, you realise than the man standing in front of you was not much older than you, a childish sparkle in his eyes when you entertained the question. with a random number in your phone, it was up to you if you wanted to text him, but after a few races, you think that he was just too handsome to pass up.

choso picked up racing and drifting fast, joining your small group of friends of yuji, megumi and nobara who were all rising up the ranks. it was difficult, knowing the famous four, but it didn’t hurt trying to build a reputation in the underground scene. he practised around the docks, crashing into crates, sending the seagulls flying, and almost sending your scrap car over the edge.

“tokyo is pretty at this time of night,” choso mumbles as he sits up, too, liking the way you scooch closer to him on the hood of his 1967 Ford Mustang.

“tokyo is cold, i’m lucky i’m not freezing to death.” you tease him even when you’re wearing his warm jacket, squealing when his cold hands make it under the jacket and your shirt.

“how are you cold, that jacket’s wool!” he nestles his face into your neck, freezing nose touching the skin there and you giggle, trying your best to push him away. choso says that, but he’s happy to see you in his jacket while his arms tingle with both frost and lovesickness. “you’re just extra sensitive to the cold.”

before you can retaliate, though, he’s pulling away from your body heat to look you in the eye; it was a wonder he even got you, a girl who’s just so passionate about cars and who taught him everything he needed to know about it. six months down the road, he’s writing about something other than living paycheck to paycheck again, getting in some extra money from racing as well.

“wanna drive?”

you grin, hopping off his hood before jumping into the car beside him and he only laughs at your enthusiasm, hopping in after you and starting the ignition. you wish it was like this before every race: you beside him in the passenger seat as he gets ready to race against his opponent. the rev of the engine always excites you, knowing you contributed to the many modifications of his Mustang. but choso always says it’s dangerous for you — so you’re left to watch from the sidelines.

but now, as choso drifts down the mountain, you can’t help but stare at him as he changes gears every few seconds, hair blowing everywhere from the wind outside before he reaches the base and races off into the main road. you’re shouting in excitement, music blasting loudly from the cassette player while you dominate the streets at night.

“d’you think i can break 190, sweetheart?”

your jaw drops, “while drifting?” he nods, “you’re insane . . yeah, do it.”

choso’s laughter feels infinitely heavenly, stepping on the accelerator on a fairly empty road. he’s familiar with the traffic of the roads too, so at 4am, it’s basically deserted when he speeds down the gravel while he tries to break the speed limit. you feel on top of the world, a pretty road full of green lights on every turn; there’s a couple of sharp screeches from his tires as he navigates shibuya.

“hear that increased throttle response . .” you whistle when he presses his foot into the accelerator again, Mustang speeding off into the streets while you look over to him: hand holding the stick shift and one hand on the wheel. he’s as pretty as you remember him six months ago and his beauty truly hits you in the moment that you unconsciously rub your thighs together.

“all thanks to you, baby,” feels like the final blow, not knowing the effect he has on you until you’re waiting until he slows down to place your hand atop his on the steering wheel. there he lets you steer where you want to go, face melting into recognition at the place you’re taking him to.

“you’re nasty.” in the abandoned car park, he giggles when you’re shushing him as you make your way to the backseats, levelling him with a stare that begged him to hurry.

“yeah . . whatever, you like it.”

choso grins, switching off the ignition and climbing in after you, making you forget all about the cold season of japan in mere minutes. his lips collide with yours and his body naturally pushes yours to the leather seats, driving you crazy just with his mouth. his hands make quick work of your skimpy outfit, inching past your tight halter top and to your tits. you gasp softly into the kiss.

“may i?” even after all this time, choso still asks for permission, pulling down your top and bra when you nod.

his mouth is both warm and gentle when it meets with your nipple, tongue swirling around the bud and eyes looking up at you just to relish in the hooded lids and soft moans you give him. his free hand fondles your other, squeezing and playing, rolling the bud between his thumb and forefinger.

“just s’soft . . always,” he hums into your chest, kissing you down bit by bit and making you wait for it with each teasing journey he makes. there, he manoeuvres himself onto the floor, kneeling on the carpeted finishing as your knees hook onto each shoulder. the car is filled with your laboured breathing, watching him slowly undo the straps to your uncomfortable heels. it’s excruciatingly slow, pulling at the strings and removing each shoe before his lips leave fire along your shin, up to your thighs and to your pulsing core.

“choso . .” you whine, hips bucking off the leather.

all he does is laugh, hands spreading your legs before he’s licking his lips at the mess you made in your skirt, panties and back of the fabric soaked right through. your boyfriend pulls you forward with a certain fervour that makes you yelp and you match him with a nervous grin as he tugs away the underwear and marvels at the arousal that just sticks to your pussy, pretty and dripping right in front of him.

you have no warning before choso indulges himself in your cunt and you cry out in surprise, hand tangled up in the mess of his hair that falls from his pigtails. his warm tongue laps at your clit like a man starved, slurping up all of your arousal into his tongue. the cold weather is just the cherry on top, cold wind wafting through the walls and the windows, making you extra sensitive.

“c-cho—” you hum, one hand lost in his black locks while the other clutches tightly onto the seats for any sort of anchor while choso only pushes his face further in between your legs. he can feel your pussy clench around nothing, switching between sucking and flicking his tongue with a relentless pace that threatens your sanity. “t-too much . .”

all he does is laugh into your centre, eyes flitting to meet yours while he continues his ministrations, arms wrapping around your thighs. choso moans at how good and sweet you taste, a curious hand moving from your legs right to your hole where he plays with your folds. gently, he pushes past your walls and you whimper from the intrusion, clamping down around his finger.

“relax, darling, i got you,” he softly says, relaxing his pace just a bit as he starts to thrust his finger. while slow, his tongue doesn’t stop, however, still continuing to make the lewdest noises.

“pussy so damn sweet,” he groans, nuzzling his face right into your sloppy core before teasing a second finger; it’s easy to slip in but he still warns you wordlessly, inching them right in until they reach the knuckles, “and so tight, too—”

the car is filled with the smell of sex, the sounds of your pussy and your endless moans as choso starts to pump his fingers in and out, reaching so much deeper than any of your toys can and stretching you out just right. your hips buck uncontrollably as you feel that coil in your stomach, knowing that you were only going to get even more of this before choso properly fucks you — but it’s all he promises, that to make sure you’d cum on his fingers and tongue thrice before he even thinks of railing you like you deserve.

“c-choso, your fingers—!”

“yeah?” it’s breathless, bottom half of his face all soaked and wet, but he goes right back in.

“mmfuck— cho, cho, p-please . .” your words are jumbled up, babbling through your teeth while his fingers gathers all of your juices, “i’m g’nna—”

choso thinks you’re just perfect like this, moaning as much as you want in his Mustang and spread out just for him to eat. he cannot keep his eyes off you, curling his fingers just a bit to find your sweet spot as he flicks your bundle of nerves as his eyes stay on the way your lips part for little pants to escape. your eyes have fluttered close by now but he doesn’t mind as you continue to push his head towards your cunt.

“cum on my fingers, my love,” the other groans, words muffled a little, “cum on my tongue like a good girl.” 

“cho— f-fuuck . .” you writhe around on the leather seats as you reach your peak, voice descending into a silent scream while your jaw hangs open. at his peripheral he can see and feel your thighs tremble while you chant his name like a prayer, over and over until you think your voice is hoarse. his seats are wet, no doubt, and you wince seeing your cum decorate the leather, but choso quietens your worries as he leans up to give you a kiss. you can taste yourself.

“taste good?” you’re ruined despite it being your first orgasm, answering half-heartedly before slumping, a soft moan leaving you when he removes his fingers and strings of your arousal stick to each digit. his hand naturally gravitates towards your mouth, fumbling with your lips before he pushes in — distracted, he takes the opportunity to latch his mouth onto your cunt again and you mewl loudly.

“that’s just the start,” choso grins, laying a long stripe up your pussy and groaning softly at the way your tongue swirls over his fingers, “i’m sorry in advance . . hope you’re able to get out of bed tomorrow, baby.”

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-one

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: This story takes place during the era between Finding God Before God Finds Me and The Death of Peace of Mind. Tags will be open, send in an ask or comment on the chapter. I'll try to catch every one!

Swearing from below caught my attention as I reluctantly dragged myself out of my bunk to the noise. It was angry and loud followed by a kick then some more swearing. I ran a hand through my hair while I exited the tour bus and raised a brow to my fellow bandmate and boyfriend, Trey. 

"What's your problem?" 

He shot me a look, one that he thought would scare me, but I nearly chuckled at the sight of it. 

"You forgot to pack my laptop. I can't find it on the bus or down here." 

Now my eyes sliced into him. "I didn't pack shit of yours, Trey. I told you I was already stressing out about this tour, the last thing I needed was to take care of you." 

He scoffed before slamming the door to the under compartment of the bus shut. "Why the fuck are you stressing out for? It's not like it's our first tour." 

As he walked past me, I smelled the lingering scent of vodka and nearly strangled him. Leave it to Trey to drink before eleven a.m. Tonight was the first night of our month-long tour across the United States and here he was, drunk before soundcheck. And he dares to ask me why I'm so stressed out. 

"Maybe I'm stressed out because this is our first sold-out tour and you're already drunk," I seethed while following him down the street. 

Trey pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Calm down, Y/N. It's not like I can't perform drunk." 

The long locks of his curly hair fell into his face and he ran a hand through it to push it away from his eyes. The tattoo on his palm caught my attention like it always did. 

Rose. 

No, not a tattoo of the flower but a name; his ex-fiance. 

I absolutely hated that tattoo and after two years of dating, I begged him to get it covered up but he refused. Which should have been the first sign to leave him but I was desperate for some kind of relationship with him so I overlooked it. 

Like everything else about Trey. 

Plus, our band Hollow Souls was his and if I broke up with him, Trey would turn the rest of the guys against me. I couldn't afford for that to happen. When Trey came to me, as a friend, four years ago with the idea of starting a band, I thought he was crazy. Especially when he wanted me to sing for the band, he was the screamer and guitar player, so why would they need me to sing?

"Your voice is amazing, Y/N. Think how cool our band would be with my screams and your soft singing. There's nothing like it." 

Now four years later, Hollow Souls were one of the most popular bands in the metal genre and this was our second tour in the last year. We might have been exhausted but the prospect of touring with another band that was just rising to fame made us all giddy with excitement so of course we agreed to another tour. 

Well, not all of us were excited to be touring with this band. Trey made his distaste for them pretty damn clear; hence why he was drinking already. 

"Why don't you go sleep off your hangover, I'm sure you still have and I'll come find you when our soundcheck starts," I suggested. 

Trey tossed down the butt of his cigarette and walked away, without stomping it out. Rolling my eyes, I crushed it beneath my boot then slowly followed him back to the parking lot of the venue where our bus was parked. 

"Fuck sleep. I want to be wide awake when those assholes show up." 

I shook my head at Trey. "Why do you hate them so much? We haven't even met them." 

He whipped his head around. "You haven't but I have. Their vocalist is a young entitled prick who thinks just because they had one hit off their last album that they deserve to have their name bigger on OUR tour poster?" 

Oh, here we fucking go. Again. 

I pushed past him to make my way to the bus. "You're so fucking stupid, Trey. You're believing bullshit you read online. When have they ever come out and said that themselves?" 

"Don't walk away from me," Trey hissed while grabbing my hand; a little too hard.

I ignored the pain by keeping my gaze hard on his face. "Trey, let me go. Now." 

Movement sounded behind him and I peered over his shoulder to see Chase, our drummer, poke his head out from the bus. 

"Everything alright?" He gave us a curious look. 

"Yep," I ripped my arm from Trey. 

Chase patted my shoulder as I climbed up the stairs of our tour bus and didn't bother to look toward Malcolm, our bass player, as I retreated into my bunk. Our soundcheck was in a few hours and if I wanted to make sure our first show went off without a hitch, I needed to calm myself. 

Three hours later, I was dressed in one of our merch hoodies and a pair of black biker shorts ready to get soundcheck over with. Trey didn't bother coming back to the bus and after waiting for him, Malcom suggested we should head into the venue without him. The wind blew through my hair as I stepped off the bus and gave a worried glance to Chase. 

"Did you find him?" I asked. 

He shook his head. "I texted him but no response. You know him, Y/N. He's probably at a bar right now but he'll be here in time for the show."

Reluctantly, I nodded and followed Chase into the backdoor of the venue when a large bus pulled up right next to ours. 

"About time," Malcom chuckled as he appeared almost out of thin air right next to me. 

His red hair was pulled back tight into a bun, his emerald eyes shining with the rays of the sun. Chase, whose blonde hair was buzzed short and blue eyes were dark as the night ocean, waved to the mystery bus as the door opened. 

"The next time I take your directions, Malcolm I'm having you pay to fill up the bus' gas tank," a man with long hair and a thick accent said as he took the final step from the bus. 

Malcom rolled his eyes before doing the typical man/bro hug. "Fuck you, Jolly. My directions were perfect. It's the only venue in all of Texas that has a blue roof." 

I looked over to my shoulder so I could look at the venue but smacked Malcolm in the chest. "You dumbass. The roof isn't blue; it's red!" 

He gave a sheepish smile while shrugging. "Oh shit. I forgot I'm colorblind." 

"No, you're not," Chase noted. 

The man, Jolly, chuckled while extending his hand to me after he hugged Chase. Clearly, they already knew each other. 

"I'm Jolly, guitar player of Bad Omens." 

With a bright smile, I shook his hand. "Y/N, clean vocalist for Hollow Souls." 

"Oh trust me, I know who you are. We listen to you guys pretty often; huge fans. Noah talks about your vocal range all the time," Jolly admitted while stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

A red hue crept over my face at the simple compliment. It wasn't something I heard often because everyone always talked about Trey's screams and how long he could hold a note or how deep his growls could go. 

"That means a lot to me, really. Few people compliment me, it's usually something they save for Trey," I admitted while tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. 

"Well, it's true," a different man slinked up beside Jolly with a goofy, bright smile. "I'm Nick but you can call me Folio." 

"Oh, let me guess." I tapped my chin. "Drummer?" 

Folio chuckled while nodding. "What gave it away?" 

I pointed to his hoodie pocket. "The drumsticks." 

Another guy with hair down to his shoulders emerged from the bus and nodded towards the group of us. "Blue roof my ass." 

Malcolm rolled his eyes and flipped this guy the middle finger. "Sorry, Nick. I forgot I'm colorblind." 

Chase pinched his eyes shut. "No. You're not." 

"Wait," I pointed between the two men. "You're both Nick?" 

They nodded and Folio spoke next. "Which is why you can call me Folio." 

Nick then extended his hand towards me. "Nice to meet you. I'm sure they've already said this but we're huge fans of Hollow Souls. Noah has your music on the playlist we play during the wait time for our shows." 

I don't know why but that small tidbit of information made my heart stutter. I had no idea who this Noah was but apparently; he thought pretty highly of me. 

"Shit, you guys sure know how to make a girl blush," I laughed lightly while bouncing on the soles of my feet. 

Then as if the air around me shifted, taking all the oxygen from my lungs, I watched as the final member of Bad Omens exited the bus. A black beanie covered most of his long hair and the brown jacket he wore did absolute wonders for his skin. The black jeans hugged every inch of his thighs as he walked towards us; no, almost stalked towards us in a way that practically screamed confidence. His plump lips parted to speak and my ears were hit with the most angelic voice I ever heard. 

"Malcolm, your directions-." 

My bandmate groaned while rolling his eyes. "Yes, I already fucking know." 

As the guys chatted amongst themselves for a moment, my eyes were glued to the tall man in front of me. Easily he had to be six foot three because being only a few feet away from me, he towered over me. Tattoos were peaking out from the collar of his shirt and when he extended his hand towards me, I trailed over every single tattoo on his fingers. 

Long fingers that could make the devil weep in sin. 

"Hey, I'm Noah." 

When I realized he was talking to me, I blinked a few times and stammered out my name. 

"Y-Y/N. Nice to meet you," I shook his large hand, and the immediate warmth his gentle touch brought made me weak in the knees. 

"Trust me, I know who you are," Noah smiled. 

Suddenly gaining more confidence from his smile alone, I playfully raised a brow at him. "Yeah, your bandmates kind of told me you're a huge fan." 

Oh fuck, even his laugh sounded breathtaking. 

"Yes, I'll be the first one to admit that. When the record label told us who we're touring with, I may have fanboyed." 

Chase hummed in response before ruffling my hair. "Rightfully so. Y/N is what makes Hollow Souls." 

I pushed his arm away. "Whatever. All I do is sing." 

All of this attention towards me wasn't why I was so defensive. It was because if Trey heard me getting all the praise, he would blow a fucking gasket. He always thought he was the center of Hollow Souls since he started the band so whenever someone else besides him got even a hint of praise, he would throw a fit. 

Noah snorted. "You're too hard on yourself, Y/N. The range your voice gets is insane." 

The blush never left my face, only intensified, so I stared down at the toes of my shoes because I wasn't sure how to take yet another compliment. 

"Speaking of which," Chase sighed. "We should probably find out where Trey went." 

"I'm honored you're all worried about me." 

Internally, I cringed when an arm slung around my shoulder and a wet kiss was plastered to my cheek. I was avoiding the gazes of everyone and I nearly missed the look of shock that crossed over Noah's face as Trey left another kiss on my cheek after I wiped away the first one. 

"You stink," I muttered under my breath. 

"Sorry, sugar. I had a few drinks at the bar down the road," Trey admitted while brushing his hair away from his face. 

The sides were shaved, but the rest lay on top of his head in a curly mess. His dark eyes held no light behind them, it dying so long ago, and the array of tattoos that littered his arms were as dull as his soul. The alcohol and stardom over the years changed Trey and not for the better. Before we started dating, Trey was the most vibrant soul I'd ever met but once we got together and Hollow Souls took off, everything changed. He became the asshole that now stood next to me. 

Many would ask why I was still with Trey but he was familiar and I didn't want to go through the fear of starting over. Also, I liked my position in the band and didn't want to mess that up. 

Trey nodded to Chase and Malcom, completely ignoring the guys of Bad Omens. 

"How'd soundcheck go?" 

Chase scoffed. "We haven't even started. We were waiting for you." 

"Oh, you guys don't need me. Since Y/N here is the heart and soul of our band," Trey pushed himself off of me but then smacked my ass. "Let's get moving, babe. We're wasting time out here." 

I bit my lip, suddenly feeling very embarrassed with the way Trey was treating me, something Noah immediately picked up on. 

"Nice to see you again, Trey," he said. 

"Noah," Trey gave him a curt nod then linked his fingers in mine to drag me away from them. 

NOAH

Holy shit. She's real and absolutely beautiful. 

The pictures on her Instagram paled in comparison to the real thing standing in front of me. The way her hair blew across the softness of her face or how when the afternoon sun casts over her eyes at just the right angle, they shined with so much light it made my heart flutter. And when her cheeks flushed red as I complimented her voice or the way her eyes cast downward, it made all the blood in my body rush straight to my dick and I suddenly cursed myself for wearing such tight jeans. 

Then that prick Trey came along and treated her like she was nothing as he dragged her away. I nearly stepped between them but with the stern look that Jolly gave me, I knew it was best not to get involved. 

"This is going to be a long few weeks," Nick said as we all watched the members of Hollow Souls walk into the venue. 

"I'd be happy if Trey wasn't a part of it," I said truthfully. 

Folio hummed in agreement. "He's always had a problem with us even before you flirted with his girlfriend." 

"I didn't know they were dating," I retorted back. "And I wasn't flirting with her." 

"Right," Jolly nodded. "Because the looks you two were giving each other weren't all that heart-eye shit they talk about in romance novels." 

Thankfully, our crew's bus pulled up right on time so I didn't have to explain myself and for the next while, we helped everyone take our equipment from the bus to the venue where Hollow Souls was still doing soundcheck. Every so often, Y/N's ethereal voice would pierce into my soul causing me to stand still in place, watching her on that stage. 

As much as I disliked the guy, with his deep guttural screams and her siren-like voice, they were perfectly made for this. 

"You're staring," Nick whispered as he walked behind me to set down one of the large crates. 

"Fuck off," I grumbled before adjusting the beanie on my head and reluctantly walked away from the stage.

[whereforarthur]

I Didn't Know Punk Girls Blushed

Request: Can you do a Chrismd imagine where he’s into an edgier girl? Like maybe she has tattoos and piercings and is the complete opposite of him? Idk how i want the story to go so you can have free range lol

Pairing: ChrisMd x Reader

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 3k

*****

Chris sauntered into the dimly lit vinyl record store, his eyes immediately drawn to the wall of albums that seemed to breathe the very essence of London's vibrant music scene. The sweet, nostalgic scent of old records filled the air, a stark contrast to the bustling street outside. He was on a mission to find the perfect gift for Arthur Hill's birthday, something that would make his old pal's face light up like a Christmas tree.

Behind the counter, a girl with a shock of different streaks of colored hair and a smattering of tattoos peeked out from under her beanie. She was the epitome of edgy, with a piercing gaze that could cut through the fog of a London evening. Her name tag read 'y/n', and she looked as if she'd rather be anywhere but here, serving customers in a store that seemed to be a relic of a bygone era.

Chris approached, a smile playing on his lips, "Hi, I'm looking for something special for my mate's birthday. He's into some old school stuff, you know?"

Y/n nodded, her expression unchanged. "What's his taste?"

Chris thought for a moment, "Arthur's a classic rock kind of guy, but with a bit of a twist. Nothing too mainstream."

Y/n's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the rows of records. "I've got just the thing," she murmured, slipping behind the counter and disappearing into the labyrinth of vinyl. The sound of her boots tapping against the wooden floor echoed through the store, and Chris couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement. There was something about her that was different from the usual girls he encountered at games or in the pubs.

When she reemerged, she held a vintage-looking album with a faded cover. "This is 'The Dark Side of the Moon' by Pink Floyd. It's a classic, but it's got that edgy vibe to it." She placed it on the counter with a gentle thud. "Your mate Arthur might like it if he's into something with a bit of depth."

Chris's smile widened. "Perfect! I think he'll love it." He watched as she pulled out a dusty record sleeve and slid the album into it with a practiced ease. Her hands were adorned with rings that glinted in the soft light, hinting at a hidden creativity beneath her tough exterior.

As she worked, y/n spoke up again, "What's your name?"

"Chris," he replied, watching her closely. "ChrisMD."

Y/n looked up, a flicker of recognition crossing her face. "Ah, the football YouTuber," she said, her tone flat.

Chris's cheeks flushed slightly. "Yeah, that's me," he said, trying to keep the conversation going. "What's yours?"

Y/n rolled her eyes and tapped her name tag. "It's right there."

Chris felt a twinge of embarrassment and leaned in closer. "Oh, right," he chuckled. "So, y/n, do you work here often?"

Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, he saw a spark of something—amusement, perhaps? "It's not the worst gig," she replied, sliding the record into a paper bag with the store's logo stamped on it. "Keeps me in vinyl and coffee."

Chris felt his heart flutter in his chest. He wasn't usually one to get flustered around girls, but there was something about y/n that threw him off his game. Her edgy allure was like nothing he'd ever encountered before, and he found himself desperately trying to think of something to say that wouldn't make him sound like the cheesy, over-eager fanboy he feared he was coming across as.

He took a deep breath, willing his cheeks to return to their normal color. "So, y/n, do you like football?" He cringed internally, knowing it was a cliché question, but he was desperate to find some common ground.

To his surprise, she looked up at him with a smirk. "You know, I've been known to kick a ball around," she said, handing him the bag. "But I'm more into the indie scene myself."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Indie music and football? That's an interesting mix."

Y/n shrugged. "Life's full of surprises."

Their conversation was interrupted by the jingle of the shop door as it opened, letting in a gust of cool air. A customer walked in, and y/n's demeanor shifted, her eyes focusing on the new arrival. "I've got to get back to work," she said, turning away from Chris.

Chris felt a pang of disappointment but nodded, understanding. "No worries. Thanks for the help." He took the bag from her outstretched hand, feeling the warmth she had transferred to it. "Maybe I'll see you around?"

Y/n glanced back at him, a hint of curiosity in her gaze. "Maybe," she said noncommittally before returning her attention to the new customer.

*****

The next few days passed in a blur for Chris. He found himself counting down the hours until he could return to the vinyl record store, hoping to catch another glimpse of y/n. He'd never felt this way about a girl before—his usual type was more of the cheerleader variety, not the edgy, tattooed girl who seemed to see right through him. But there was something about her that drew him in, a challenge that he couldn't resist.

On the third day, he mustered the courage to return. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, and y/n looked up from the stack of records she was organizing. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker in her eyes that made his heart race. She didn't look surprised to see him, just… resigned, as if she'd been expecting his return.

"Back again?" she asked, her voice holding a touch of amusement.

Chris felt his cheeks warm, but he held her gaze. "Yeah, I had to come back. That Pink Floyd album was a hit."

y/n nodded. "Thought it might be." She paused, her hand resting on a nearby record. "So, what are you looking for today?"

Chris shrugged, playing it cool. "Just browsing, really."

y/n raised an eyebrow, her piercings glinting in the soft light. "You're not here to see me, then?"

Chris's heart skipped a beat. "Well, that's not entirely true," he admitted, a grin spreading across his face. "I just wanted to, you know, say thanks and maybe get to know you a bit better."

Her expression remained neutral, but he could see the corners of her mouth twitch. "What's there to know?" she asked, a challenge in her voice.

Chris took a step closer, leaning on the counter. "Everything," he said, his eyes scanning her tattoos, trying to decipher the stories they held. "You're like a walking mystery, and I'm a curious guy."

Y/n's smirk grew into a small smile. "Alright, what do you want to know?"

Chris's mind raced with questions, but he decided to start simple. "How did you get into vinyl?"

Y/n's eyes lit up, a softness coming over her features. "My dad," she said. "He had a collection that was his pride and joy. When he passed, I inherited it all. It's how I keep him with me, you know?"

Chris nodded, feeling a sudden kinship with this girl who had, until now, been a complete enigma to him. "That's really cool," he said, his voice earnest. "I bet he had some amazing records."

Y/n nodded, her eyes misting over slightly. "He did. Some of the best." She paused, then took a deep breath, as if deciding whether or not to let him in further. "He taught me to appreciate the artistry of music, beyond just the sound. The feel of the vinyl, the smell of the sleeves, the way the needle hits the record… It's all part of the experience."

Chris found himself drawn into her world, a place where the music wasn't just background noise but a living, breathing entity that connected people in profound ways. "That's beautiful," he murmured, genuinely moved by her words.

Y/n's eyes searched his, as if looking for signs of mockery or insincerity, but all she found was genuine interest. "You get it," she said, sounding slightly surprised.

Chris nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from her. She looked so pretty when she talked about something she was passionate about, her features softening and her eyes lighting up with an inner fire that made his heart race. He'd never seen a girl transform so completely when discussing something she loved. It was mesmerizing.

"I do," he said softly. "I think that's what's been missing from my music experience. Just playing it on my phone or computer doesn't quite capture that… magic."

Y/n leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Exactly! That's what makes vinyl so special. It's not just about the music; it's about the connection to the artist, the history, the culture."

Chris nodded, feeling more at ease now that they had found common ground. "So, what's your favorite record?"

Y/n's eyes sparkled as she thought. "It's hard to pick just one," she said, scanning the shelves. "But if I had to, it'd be 'The Queen is Dead' by The Smiths."

Chris nodded, scribbling down the name in his phone. "I'll have to give it a listen," he said, his thumb hovering over the screen. "You know, I've got a turntable at home that's been collecting dust. Maybe it's time to put it to good use."

The conversation flowed easily between them, a dance of shared interests and laughter. Chris found himself drawn to her sharp wit and her ability to challenge him. He'd never felt this way about a girl before—like he was discovering something new and exciting, something that made his heart race just a little bit faster.

Finally, as the shop grew quiet and the last rays of sunlight streamed through the dusty windows, casting patterns on the floor, he took a deep breath. "So, y/n," he began, his voice casual but his heart hammering in his chest. "I was wondering if you'd be up for grabbing a coffee or something, maybe show me around some of the local indie music spots?"

Her gaze remained on the records she was sorting, but her hand stilled. "Why me?" she asked, her tone teasing.

Chris felt a thrill run through him. She was playing hard to get, but he could see the curiosity in her eyes. "Because you're the vinyl whisperer," he said with a grin. "And I've got a feeling you know all the hidden gems of London's music scene."

Y/n finally looked up, meeting his gaze. "Flattery won't get you far," she said, but her voice held a playful note. "But okay, I'll bite. How about tomorrow night?"

Chris felt his heart soar. "Really?" He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, not wanting to scare her off.

Y/n nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, really. But don't get your hopes up, football boy. I'm not going to make it easy for you."

Chris chuckled, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. "Fair enough," he said, trying to play it cool. "Where should we meet?"

Y/n thought for a moment, her eyes scanning the ceiling as if the answer were written there. "How about The Lock Tavern?" she suggested. "It's got a decent selection of records, and the coffee's not too bad either."

Chris nodded eagerly. "Sounds perfect. What time?"

"Eight," she said, her eyes finally meeting his. "Don't be late."

Chris couldn't believe his luck. He'd scored a date with the edgy vinyl goddess of his dreams. "I'll be there," he promised, trying to keep his voice steady.

*****

The following evening, Chris found himself pacing in front of The Lock Tavern, his heart thumping in his chest like a drum. He'd chosen his outfit carefully, aiming for a look that was casual but cool—a nod to her indie style without completely abandoning his own. He glanced at his watch. 7:58. Two minutes to go.

As if on cue, y/n appeared around the corner, her hair a riot of color in the streetlight. She was wearing a vintage band tee and a leather jacket that made her look like she'd just stepped off the set of a music video. She spotted him and raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips.

Chris took a deep breath and walked over to her. "Hey," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"You're early," she said, sounding slightly surprised.

"I didn't want to be late," he replied, his cheeks reddening. "So, shall we go in?"

The Lock Tavern was a cozy, dimly lit pub with a distinctly vintage vibe. The walls were lined with shelves of records, and the air was thick with the scent of beer and good music. The jukebox in the corner played a mix of indie hits and obscure tracks that made Chris feel like he'd stumbled into a secret club.

They found a table in the back, the light from a flickering candle casting shadows on y/n's face. She ordered a black coffee, and Chris went for a pint, hoping it would calm his nerves. They talked about music, her favorite bands, and the history of vinyl. Chris found himself hanging on her every word, her passion for the subject contagious.

As the night wore on, the conversation grew more personal. y/n talked about her life growing up in London, her love for the city's underground music scene, and her dreams of becoming a music journalist. Chris shared stories from his childhood, his love for football, and his journey to becoming a YouTube sensation. Despite their differences, they found common ground in their shared love for the art of storytelling—whether it was through music, videos, or the written word.

Their laughter grew louder with each shared anecdote, and the tension between them grew palpable. When the topic of tattoos came up, y/n leaned in, her eyes locked on his. "Do you have any?"

Chris felt a shiver run down his spine. He'd never considered getting inked before, but the way she said it made him want to show her something only she knew about him. "No, I don't," he admitted. "But I've always been curious."

Her smirk grew. "Well, if you're going to keep hanging around these parts, you might want to get one," she teased. "It's practically a rite of passage."

Chris swallowed, his heart racing. "Maybe I will," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But only if you come with me."

Y/n's eyes searched his, and for the first time, he saw something other than amusement or challenge in them—there was a softness, a hint of vulnerability. "Alright," she said, her voice just as soft. "But only if you let me choose the design."

Chris nodded, feeling a strange thrill at the idea of letting her mark him in some way. It was a bold move, but he was ready to step out of his comfort zone for her.

The night grew late, and the pub began to empty out. They lingered over their drinks, the conversation never waning. It was as if they'd known each other for years, despite their stark differences. But as they sat in the warm glow of the candlelight, sharing stories and laughs, it was clear that they had a connection that was more than just skin deep.

When y/n suggested they head out, Chris couldn't hide his disappointment. But as they stepped into the cool London night, the buzz of the city seemed to energize them both. They strolled down the cobblestone streets, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the quiet. The stars above were obscured by the city lights, but the magic of their evening was undiminished.

As they approached the tattoo parlor, y/n's hand slipped into his, and he felt a jolt of excitement. The shop was small, nestled between a vintage clothing store and a tattooed bakery, the neon sign flickering in the dark. The walls were lined with flash art, a kaleidoscope of images that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the punk rock playing in the background.

The artist, a burly man with a gentle smile, took one look at the nervousness etched on Chris's face and gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "Don't worry, mate," he said, his voice gruff but kind. "You're in good hands."

Y/n whispered the design into the artist's ear, and he nodded, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're sure about this?" he asked, turning to Chris.

Chris looked at her, her edgy beauty illuminated by the neon glow. "Yeah," he said, swallowing hard. "I trust her."

The process was surprisingly painless, the needle a gentle hum that seemed to sync with the rhythm of his racing heart. As the artist worked, y/n held his hand, her grip tight and reassuring. When it was over, he looked down at the fresh ink, a simple but meaningful design that represented their shared love of music and their blossoming friendship.

They stepped out into the night, the cool air soothing the sting of the tattoo. y/n turned to him, her eyes shining. "So, what do you think?"

Chris smiled, feeling a sense of belonging he hadn't felt in a long time. "I think it's perfect," he said, squeezing her hand. "Thank you."

Their walk back to the tube station was filled with a newfound ease, the awkwardness of their first meeting a distant memory. As they parted ways, the promise of future adventures hanging in the air, Chris couldn't help but feel like he'd found something special in this edgy, pierced girl who'd turned his world upside down.

In the weeks that followed, they explored the city's hidden music venues, discovered new bands, and shared quiet moments that felt like secrets whispered between friends. With each passing day, their bond grew stronger, the lines between fan and crush blurring into something more substantial.

Chris found himself looking forward to their meetups with an anticipation that was both thrilling and terrifying. He knew that the girl who had once seemed so unattainable was now someone he could see himself with, not just for a fleeting romance but for something real.

The tension grew with each shared smile, each brush of their hands. And when y/n finally leaned in and kissed him under the glow of a streetlamp, the music of the city fading into the background, he knew that he was falling for her—for the girl who had shown him that sometimes, the most beautiful melodies were found in the most unexpected places.

*****

@gvf23

@xxkatxgracexx

[oatsmeall]

Friendly strangers.

Jk! x f!reader | smut | not proof read

Warnings: suggestive themes and language.

College au | strangers to lovers

When you started your year at college you didn't think it'd be so lonely.

You didn't really make friends or talk to people at the campus. Your closest friends went to another college, it sucked. You weren't completely disappointed though. You just minded your business and went on about your day.

However.. you and this complete stranger would often see each other throughout the day, that being your AP chemistry course And often even in the library. You didn't know him but you sometimes talked to each other. Not conversation wise but you would ask for a sheet of paper or a pen and he'd do the same. Occasionally when you'd see him in the library, you'd sit at the table he sat at and he'd do the same again. It was a routine, the game of "Friendly strangers".

You will admit though he was very handsome, tall with dark hair in a wavy mullet and tattoos so beautiful, accompanied by piercings on his brow, lip, and all around his ears. His eyes were alluring, doe eyed when he'd ask questions and siren eyed when tension arose.

You're now sitting in the library in a comfortable silence but you really want to get to know him. You've been seeing him all semester and yet you've never exchanged names. This could be a new start to finding friends.

"psst.. hey" you whispered throwing a small ball of scrunched paper.

"hm?" He seemed to become surprised. His doe eyes were prominent.

You moved from one chair to the other to get closer to him.

"what's your name? I figured I should ask... Considering I've got class with you AND we sit together anytime we're in the same room anywhere."

"Right, uh- I'm Jungkook. Your name?"

"Y/n. Nice to.. formally meet you?" You said in a confused tone.

"yeah, same."

It fell silent again, this time somewhat awkward. You looked around the library thinking of something you could say next, to your dismay, nothing came up.

"uh- so...what're you studying for?"

"that chem test we've got next week. Better prepare now to get it out of the way.."

"mhm.. that's great. You're better than me, I just come here to scroll through my laptop and skim through class work or homework. And read, of couse." You say laughing at the last part.

"well it is a library after all. I'm actually about to finish studying. I'm going to head to a corner store right now... If you'd like to come along I wouldn't mind. Maybe we can get to know each other better?"

You were surprised he asked you to go with him. Even with such a straight face you couldn't tell if he was being genuine or if he felt bad...

"sure, give me a sec." You agreed anyway.

"No way? I thought that was from a whole different era? Huh? Who would've thought."

"pay attention more in class Y/n."

"mmk..Mr. Perfect."

You and Jungkook had been conversating out on a random picnic table for what felt like forever, it felt as if you've known him for eternity, like you've known him so long. He had a strange familiarity to him. Unexplainable really.

"you know... I never thought I'd ever talk to you, ever. Or that you'd talk to me at all. I just thought you were so quiet and shy. Which you're quite the opposite.." he laughs saying the last part.

"I could say the same for you Mr. Perfect, but honestly me too. I don't know where I got the guts to talk to you." You shrug eating your ice cream.

"I used to think you were so pretty..I still do. I just couldn't get the attention of the pretty girl." His eyes became lazy, the siren eyes. Oh my God...

His head in a tilt, staring you in your eyes, you felt embarrassment arise. Your face felt warm.

"you're too generous. But you know what... I was thinking.. that you're not so bad yourself, I would stare at your tattoos.." you were trying to sound like a confident woman but you felt awkward.

"yeah? Hm. What about my tattoos did you like?" He asks quietly staring at you deeply.

"I like your big arms and hands...and the way your tattoos adorn them beautifully." you say touching lightly over his hand and up his arm.

"Really? Hm.." his gaze became dark. His big hands suddenly gripped your forearm. He got up from across the table and walks over to you still grabbing your arm.

"how about I go show you what these hands can do? Would you like to come to my apartment?" He says with worry at the end. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"your apartment? U-um.. yeah sure. You don't have a dorm?" You asked in genuine shock.

"no actually, I moved out my dorm about a month ago... I like privacy." He says in a laugh.

"right.. lead the way."

All you could feel was the subtle pain in your back, Jungkook slammed you into his wall by his entrance to his apartment. Excitement rolled within you.

"Can- uh,, fuck..- may I?" He said between his kisses, he really knew how to get your spots on your neck. It felt so erotic.

"yes- mm yes- of course" you were trying to catch your breath.

"fuck- I want you bad, you're so fuckin beautiful" he said smirking while sucking your neck.

"mhm? Auh fuck, You're good at that"

He then grabbed you and carried you bride style into his living room onto his couch.

He sat with his legs spread apart, such a sexy position for such a sexy man you thought.

You crawled onto his lap causing him to close his legs together slightly, you put your own legs on either sides of his legs now sitting on top of him completely.

You lowered your body completely on him, you felt his hard cock poking your ass.

"excited?" You asked teasing him.

"very" he says shortly after continuing by devouring you in kisses.

Gripping your sides with eagerness, you began to grind on him, he encouraged you more by moving you as well with his tight grip.

"mm fuck baby, you make me harder and harder by the minute" he hisses

"fuck- you're so aggressive, I love that." You say staring at him. Your eye contact felt lethal this amped up your high.

"yeah? You like that?" Jesus, you just met the guy formally and now you're riding his lap?

He grabs your face with his big hand, forcing you to look at him. Your heart literally skipped a beat, you just discovered yourself in this moment, you loved his aggressiveness, THEE aggression.

"Jungkook- I want you...in me.." you say quietly.

"okay.. if you're okay with it then okay."

You nodded quickly. He grabbed you off of him and got up and disappeared into the dark hallway coming back shortly after with a silver foil packet. He sat down next to you. You then took over from there. Without notice you made eye contact with him while your hands went down into his sweats, stroking his cock slowly and teasingly in his pants. You just smirked at him. He threw his head back and hummed lewes noises while you stroked up and down.

"fuck- Y/n...."

You then pulled his sweats down and let his cock spring out. His cock was big. You took in what was eventually about to go into you.

He grabbed the foil packet and ripped it open with his mouth and pulled the rubber out, rolling it onto his dick.

While he was getting situated, you too we're doing the same. You took your short biker shorts off along with your panties, leaving you in your oversized sweatshirt.

He stared at you while doing so mesmerized at your beautiful body.

He pat his lap indicating to sit on it, slightly smirking at you. You did and again you put your legs on either side of his legs, you slowly sunk down onto his cock, you felt your pussy stretch out, but if felt so good to you. Your pussy throbbed, already wet you slid onto his dick nice and easy.

"mm-fuuuck, y-youre s-so big" you winced.

"baby you're so wet, all for me." He hissed throwing his head back.

"oh my God auh-fuck" you moaned as you fully plopped onto him.

He grabbed your waist hard.

"alright baby, hang onto me."

Before you could do or say anything he slammed into you hard, slowly pulling out and doing it again. Your ass smacking his balls and thighs became a louder noise, he began going fast and hard.

"o-oh my- a-auh ffuuuck" your moans were out of this world, it sounded like music to Jungkook's ear.

"yeah baby- take this cock, good girl."

The pet names made your stomach do cartwheels, you became wetter and wetter.

"yes, yes, yes, s-so good" you moaned again and again.

The lewd juice noises where on full ear display, the sound of ass on balls was amplified and your moans and cries were on blast.

"yes baby, you're doing so good, yes" he hissed. He grabbed your waist with one hand and his other reached over to your throat.

This felt so pornographic but the throat grab made your pussy throb and gush.

"uah auh, my god, f-fuck Kook I'm gonna c-cum! Fuuuuck" your pussy began to clench and so was Jungkook's hand around your throat.

"come on baby, cum, cum for me." He was also reaching his high, he felt your clench and his dick felt like it was gonna burst.

"yes, yes, fuck aughhh" you moaned in agony, your pussy was pulsating from the high you just came down from.

"yes baby, good girl" he was out of breath, breathing hard, his from hair drenched in sweat, he moved his hand from your throat your face again forcing you to look in his eyes.

"Kook- what the fuck." You say shaking. Your legs went numb. All that rough fucking made your legs weak, and your pussy throbbed and pulsated from all the force.

"yeah? You liked that?" He said still tying to catch his breath a little.

"yes." You say shyly. Even after that, you can't help but feel shy.

"here, let me get you cleaned up. I'll be right back" he stood up also taking the condom off and disposing of it.

All you could think about is how you absolutely got demolished by a stranger you only met formally today... Maybe you should continue on with these activities.

[honeys-hotties]

loved your recent jb fic!! was wondering if you had any hcs for her and actress!reader??

OMG OMG OMG I LOVE U THIS IS SO GOOD

Okay so, I've never done hcs officially before so I hope these are okay!

actress!reader is my bby i've been acting for so long so i love her

i hc that julien is a big fan of her work and has loved her for years, like maybe she's jb's unofficial celeb crush?

the major swiftie in me has actress!reader and taylor as good friends, so i think actress!reader met phoebe through taylor and the two of them rly hit it off

and actress!reader loves phoebe's music but doesn't know bg that well, so she starts listening and (like all of us) immediately loves julien

and phoebe knows julien loves reader and now reader likes jb, so she's scheming to get them together so hard

so maybe actress!reader goes to the eras tour, to one of the shows phoebe opens for and sees the boys on stage and is just SO enamored with julien

and jb knows she's there and is freaking out the whole time

and then after they finish their set the boys go to hang out in the tent and actress!reader meets lucy and julien and they're both totally freaking out

and jb gets all flustered and is like "omg i love you-i mean, i love your work" and the reader is just so happy

and when she compliment's julien's singing and guitar? it's over for baby jules

so throughout the whole show jb and reader can't keep their eyes off each other, julien is like sneaking glances as her and is just so in awe

reader is so into the show (the best concert of all time i will forever be reliving it) and is dancing with pheobe, and eventually pheebs pushes her onto julien and they're all over each other dancing and singing and just being in each other's presence

and after the show they all hang out together and jb and reader just can't get enough of each other and everyone can see the sparks flying

they exchange numbers and are talking and texting all the time, and eventually jb asks her out, and the rest is history!!

okay dating hcs!

i think jb is insanely protective of the reader, like any time they're out together she has her hands on reader, she's always keeping an eye on her, just guard dog vibes

julien is also her number one fan, every project, every event, every award she is just so proud and hyping her gf up at any given moment

actress!reader and jb bring each other to all of their awards shows and premieres and stuff and there are SO many pictures of the two of them just being so in love

the boys (and muna<3) are in love with actress!reader

phoebe and reader are besties, but after reader and jb start dating lucy loves her too

muna is literally obsessed with her and will tease jb constantly, like "you better watch out or one of us is gonna steal your girl"

hyping each other up online like "FUCK YEAH LOOK AT MY SUPER AMAZING TALENTED GF"

the cutest photo dumps of each other online

actress!reader and jb both have really crazy schedules and they're both traveling a lot, so constant facetiming is a must, but I feel like they send snail mail and love letters too

she gets tattoos for actress!reader, like her initial or maybe a reference to one of her roles or smth?

matching tattoos! (if that's something ur into ofc)

the hickeys she had on snl and the red carpet? some of actress!reader's best work

omg matching hickeys yes please

lots of reassurance for each other, like "i love you, you're the one i want to be with" especially when actress reader has to play someone's love interest or reader sees jb kissing the boys on stage

LOTS of physical touch, her hands on actress!reader's hips or in her back pocket or around she shoulders at ALLLLLLL times

actress reader has a shirt that says something like "i'm with the band" or "i <3 guitarists" that she wears to bg shows

literally just them being so obsessed and in love it hurts

constantly telling each other how grateful they are to have each other

jb definitely writes songs for & about actress!reader

hopefully you guys liked these!! ty for the requests, love you all infinitely <3

[angst-is-yumyum]

possesion era hc

!!TW for misgendering and doing bad dysphoric shit to trans people as a form of torture!! (bill during ford's paranoid era)

ok so kinda unsettling but im trans and having a bad time and I keep thinking about this

what if ford, who is trans (either way), in addition to all the terrible things bill did to him during the paranoia era (nailing his hand to a desk, making him do embarrassing things, inflicting awful pain all while controlling his body) also did things to ford's body that were bad and caused him to have awful dysphoria.

If ford was transmasc, bill could do things like destroy his binders /packers or purposefully hurt his rib/chest area in a way that would never allow him to safely get top surgery. He get a could tattoo of something terrible (like a slur or something suggestive), as we've already seen he has no qualms with disrespecting his body like that.If ford were on T he could flush them or cancel any further orders of them. He could fill ford's things with 'girly' stuff or make him wake up with dysphoric outfits...just overall bad stuff.

If ford was transfem, bill could, again, destroy any breast padding/fake boobs, throw away tucking stuff, makeup, etc. He could make disparaging comments on ford's appearance via sticky note on the bathroom mirror, which he already does, but these target her voice, body hair, and clothing. again, real bad stuff. (I'm not transfem so this is my best guess sorry)

Anyways, just some thoughts...I've been looking at lots of trans pines family stuff lately and this just logically seems like something bill would do. bonus points when ford's internalized transphobia (from growing up in the 60's/70's/80's combined with this gives him some insecurities that are fixes with lots of fluff and family hugs post-weirdmaggedon (and you KNOW bill would bring it up during weirdmageddon)

anyways billford in a "extremely toxic ex who did horrible things to his bf and cant get over the divorce but i love the angst and also maybe the marraige au by @ honeqq"

but fiddauthor TRUTH in a "god theyre meant for each other and they grow old not quite together but its the healthy old man yaoi / college yaoi we need and deserve also could fiddleford please be in a beard couple relationhip plsssss it would make me feel much better"

[ninyard]

Hey! Do you have specifics for your prompts? Do you want just one person or is a couple ok? If just one person could you do something with Seth? Maybe a what if he didn't die and got his shit together?

And if a couple Kevin and Seth getting along?

(I'm in my loving Seth era...)

Thank you for sharing your writing, you are awesome!

THANK YOU okay so here’s what I offer you: Seth survives and nobody believes him when he says he didn’t do it (but Kevin can’t live with himself if he doesn’t tell him he knows who did) TW: drugs, suicide mention, overdose

-

It was Halloween, and Seth was not stupid enough to think that the bar would be quiet. Wall to wall bodies in costumes, a fire hazard waiting to happen, he wasn’t even sure they would get in, but when the bouncer noticed him and Allison at the back of the line, he waved them up and let them go ahead. He was a decent guy like that. A larger man with a buzz cut, tattoos creeping up his neck, donning a pair of devil horns on his head for the night that was in it. He smiled at Seth when he entered the building.

It was his third drink in when he started to feel wrong. He chalked it up to too many sweaty people in one room, each ones body heat raising the temperature a few degrees. Only a minute after he noticed something felt wrong, did he really start to know that something was really wrong.

Allison had asked him if he was okay. He didn’t remember answering. One minute they were there, stood by a table they’d managed to squeeze their way over to, and the next he was sat on the cold and dusty sidewalk out the front, not enough cool air in the world enough to ease the growing nausea that grew from the pit in his stomach. “I feel like I’m coming up off a real fuckin’ bad pill.” At least, that’s what he thought he said, what he meant to say. He could barely hear his own voice, his neck not strong enough to hold up his head.

“Look at me, open your eyes.” Allison held his head in her hands. “Oh, your- what the fuck?” Seth wasn’t sure what she’d seen in his eyes, but her phone was in her hands, and then by her head, and then he woke up in the hospital two days later. For some reason he was surprised that Allison was still by his side, her hand wrapped so tightly around his, as if letting go would mean she would never hold it again. She didn’t look like she’d slept, or taken a break from crying, either, hair unkempt and out of her face, makeup non-existent. She was wearing his sweats with a hospital blanket across her lap, and she cried and kissed around the medical equipment when she finally got the courage to touch him. She was so gentle, like he would break; It felt like he would, more fragile than he’d been in a very, very long time.

Allison told him that he’d overdosed. His heart sank at that, disappointed in himself before he remembered that he hadn’t taken anything. Then he noticed the nurse sitting in the corner, who smiled his way. The psychiatric team came up not long after they were informed that he was awake. He was confused, but given his history, he wasn’t that surprised. He was surprised, however, when they told him what the concoction was that he’d overdosed on.

The blood test showed a toxic level of his anti-depressants, alongside traces of both heroin and painkillers that had been an opiate he favoured when he was actively using back in the day. He should’ve died. It was a miracle that somebody in the queue had naloxone in their bag, and they’d saved his life by administering it. He would never find out who they were, or why they’d helped him, but the consequences of surviving were much more painful that the death he would’ve never remembered anyway.

He wanted to die when Allison looked at him with tears in her eyes and whispered, “how could you do this to me?”, or when the psychiatry team asked him for the tenth time in an hour if he had plans of ending his life. He wanted to die when the nurses who had him on 24/7 suicide watch had to accompany him to the toilet, and when Dr. Dobson accompanied David to the hospital the day he was allowed to leave. They’d proposed an involuntary stay in a psych ward, but Betsy had managed to convince them to let him go.

Nobody wanted to hear it; somehow he’d overdosed on his own medication, and even when he counted out the pills and tried to prove that he hadn’t done it, nobody seemed to believe him. They only sent him this look of pity, as if a failed attempt was worse than a successful one, as if he was simply trying to cover for the fact it hadn’t worked. Allison tried her best to support him, but it was hard for her. She’d watched him seizing outside the bar, foaming at the mouth and choking on his own vomit. She’d sat in the ambulance as the paramedics resuscitated him the whole way to the hospital. Betsy told him she hadn’t left his side since he was admitted; and it was really difficult for her to watch him lying there with tubes and wires blocking her view. She’d broke down two days after they returned to campus, and begged him to just be honest, that there was no way he’d been coincidentally spiked with his own medication, one that had seizures at the top of the list of warnings. Even just doubling the dose of his meds had the potential to be fatal, and he knew that. He hadn’t been depressed for a long time. His meds worked, so much better than any of the others that he’d tried, and he wouldn’t have risked being taken off them by doing something so stupid for no reason at all. It felt as though he was being gaslit into believing he had in fact taken too many pills before leaving, but none of it made sense. He took his pills in the mornings. He had been clean from hard drugs for months. Even on the off-chance that he had taken a handful of the little circular pills, how did the heroin get there, the opiates he hadn’t touched in years?

He’d been curled up in a ball in the corner of the couch, alone in the dorm when a knock came at the door. It was no more than two weeks after the incident, and he’d just returned from a session with Betsy. He didn’t respond to the knock, but kept his eye on the door as it creaked open. The last person he expected to see peeking around it was Kevin, but there he was. He shut the door behind him and sat on the opposite side of the couch. If he tried to sit any further away, he would’ve fallen off.

“I’m not interested, man.” Seth glared at him. “Fuck your game, and fuck you if you’ve really just come in here to ask me to come back to practice.”

Kevin sighed and looked away. “That’s not why I’m here.” His hands were clasped together on his lap, thumb running over the opposite hands knuckles. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Seth snorted and threw his head back. “Yeah, right, asshole. You don’t give a shit.”

“Did you do it?” Kevin had paused for a second before blurting out the question. His eyes searched Seth’s for the truth, with his shoulders practically touching his ears and hands locked together as he stopped himself from fidgeting.

He laughed again, shifting positions so he was better facing him. His voice turned serious, and he pointed towards the door. “Leave my room.”

“I’ll believe whatever you say, I just have to know.”

“Oh, you have to, do you?” He said. He was angry, and after a draining session with Betsy, he couldn’t handle another person insinuating he was lying. “You don’t deserve a fucking thing. None of you do. Stop looking at me like that. Tell them all to stop fucking looking at me like that.”

“We’ve not friends, Seth, and I don’t give a shit about your history. But I know you didn’t do this.” Kevin considered his words. “Because I think that… If you didn’t do this to yourself, man, I think I know who did.”

Seth froze and sat up, far more alert than he’d been in days. “How dare you, you pretentious piece of shit? How fuckin’ dare you? Are you going to give a status report back to your little toddler squad, is that what this is? Finally your fucking…” He mimicked dangling something in front of his face. “Ammo? Something you have over me?”

“I get it.” Kevin didn’t look back to him. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me.”

“I haven’t trusted your crippled ass since the day we met.” Seth leaned forward. “But humour me, then. Who somehow knows exactly what meds my crazy ass is on, and tried to murder me in a packed bar, busiest night of the week? Because your explanation is bound to be better than mine.”

“I owe it to you to let you know.” Kevin lowered his voice. “But I can’t explain it. I just have to tell you that I think it was Riko.”

“Fuck off, now, or I’ll start screaming.” Seth was frustrated, feeling like the butt of a joke, feeling like Kevin was just trying to stab another dart into a board that was already full. “This is not a fucking joke. Al has to give me my pills because nobody trusts me with them right now. The shrink calls me twice a day. Everyone is so fuckin’ disappointed in me, man, I could’ve died, and you’re telling me your little bestie over there did it? You’re a coward, Kevin. You’re a fucking liar and a fucking coward.”

Kevin held up his scarred hand as if that was explanatation enough. “Neil humiliated him on live TV. He wouldn’t think twice about killing someone to get back at him. You’re an easy target.”

In all the chaos that had ensued, he’d forgotten about what Neil had said on Kathy’s show. None of it made sense to him, why he would be an easy target out of all of them, why, if Riko was capable of such a thing, he would go after him and not Neil himself. As if reading his mind, Kevin continued. “Neil’s too public now. He couldn’t have done it to him.”

“Who else believes this shit?”

Kevin held back on whatever he really knew, and settled for, “Anyone who understands it, agrees with me.”

“Explain it to me like I’m a helpless little kid.” Seth said, straight faced and seething. “Tell me how it could have possibly been him.”

“Did they check you for track marks?” Seth shook his head, but in all honesty, he wasn’t sure. They’d seen the evidence of his pills in his system, and his charts said he was a past user. They didn’t have to, really. Everything they needed to know was right there in his blood work. “If you have a prescription out there, it’s not that hard to find out your meds. You wouldn’t even feel a needle through your clothes with so many people around you. Mix it with your drugs of choice and nobody is going to believe that you didn’t do it yourself.”

“You’re joking.” Seth repeated again, disbelief at how serious Kevin was, at how his face sunk as he spoke, how his eyes trailed off somewhere into the distance while he explained. “And you really believe that?” Kevin nodded. It was infuriating to Seth to finally hear something so outlandish still that actually made a little bit of sense. He knew himself he hadn’t done it, so why was it so hard to believe it had actually been someone else? It hadn’t happened by the grace of God. Somehow the drugs had gotten into his system, and by the amount they’d found, they hadn’t been there long before he’d lost consciousness. So he’d been spiked in the bar. It also made an annoying amount of sense that he’d been poked by a needle and not had something sprinkled into his drink, because Allison had been across from him the whole time they were there. She was smart with her drinks in that way, and she was always aware of wandering hands near their beverages. She would’ve noticed. “So he fuckin’ failed, then. What happens next? He’s gonna just, what, try again?”

“I don’t know.” He said. “I just had to let you know. You’ve been going crazy in here trying to understand it.”

“If I mention your theory to anyone other than your little gang, they’ll fuckin’ have me committed. They’re just waiting for an excuse.” Seth rested his head on his knees, his feet up on the couch. “Nobody is going to actually believe this other than you, you know that, right?”

“I’m sorry.” Kevin’s voice was small. “And for what it’s worth, I know what Riko is like, and you’re just a meaningless pawn in his game. I don’t see you that way. I don’t hate you like you think I do.”

“Don’t push it.” Seth grimaced. “You only tolerate me because your lineup can’t handle the loss of another body.”

“Maybe.” Kevin admitted, and Seth laughed, because he didn’t even try to hide that it was the truth. He didn’t say much else before nodding at Seth and leaving the room, and suddenly Seth felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulder and quickly replaced by another, heavier tonne of bricks. He hated Neil, he hated Kevin, he hated Riko. If it was the truth, if it really was him who’d orchestrated this whole thing, he’d fucked with his life in ways he didn’t even understand. He had people he cared about in his life, people he wanted to live for, but Riko was happy to ruin it all, all for the sake of petty revenge. For a week he’d been in some sort of state between withdrawals and a heavy craving to fall back into a hole he’d assumed he’d crawled out of for good. Nobody trusted him, and everyone looked at him differently, no matter how much they tried to hide it. He looked at himself differently, a brush with death an untimely reminder that his life was finite. He’d avoided death too many times, and his chances had to have finally been depleted. Riko didn’t know what he’d done to Seth’s bare minimum instinct of survival by fucking up and letting him live.

He had looked Kevin in the eye, as the only one who seemed to understand him when he felt like screaming from the rooftops it wasn’t fucking me! Kevin who he’d despised since the first time he opened his mouth, Kevin who was too good for them all, full of himself, in love with himself; he’d felt so alone since waking up in that hospital, and God, did it feel terrible that Kevin Day was the one person who seemed to understand.

[recurring-polynya]

Izakaya Kamenoya, part 3

It's been so long, and I kept getting busy with stuff, but rest assured, I have not stopped thinking about every shinigami's favorite watering hole, Izakaya Kamenoya, for even one second of that time, and today I am going to talk about what's really important: what kind of booze can you get there.

The multiplicity of drink options is honestly the thing I really love about Kamenoya. On a meta level, someone has to draw all this stuff, like, with their hands. I have no idea, actually, if the animators consider this sort of thing a break from all the powering up and sword fights and rolling across cave floors, or if they consider a Trip to the Bar to be really tedious. My point is, they very well could have just always drawn people drinking out of the same cups, except they didn't, they drew a series of loving close ups of sake-pouring and a variety of drinkware styles. On a more Watsonian level, I just like the idea that, like Alice's Restaurant, you can get anything you want at Izakaya Kamenoya. So let's get into it!

I think the thing that really made me notice this was this scene from the Amagai Arc, where you see Kira doing mokkiri, or overpouring his sake. (At least I think that's what he's doing. The articles I read sounded more like the server is supposed to do it, which emphasizes the establishment's generosity, so maybe Kira is just being a messy drunk. I'm pretty sure you're also not supposed to pour yourself sake, you're supposed to do it for your tablemates)

Often, mokkiri is done into a masu, which is a small square box that was used as a standard measure for rice. You can see Nanao drinking out of one here!

What kind of cup to drink your sake out of is a huge topic, but basically, it depends on the flavor and characteristics of the sake. The fact that Kira and the Lads are drinking out of clear glasses might imply that they're drinking chilled, summer-style sake (or possibly trying to appreciate the clarity of the vintage, as if this is what you call up Iba and Renji to go to the pub for).

I am not an expert, so I'm not going to attempt to identify exactly what these different cups would be classified as, but you can see a variety of shapes, sizes and materials.

I found less information on different shapes of tokkuri (that's the slightly bigger bottle that you serve from), but those come in a variety, as well. Mostly, they have either the large, oval-shaped jugs you can see in the first picture, or the more slender white ones in the second. I am really fond of these tall boys that Kira and Hisagi have, which seem to have straighter sides than the other kind, kind of like a milk bottle.

While we're looking at that picture, there's an ad on the wall for beer. Beer!

In modern times, beer is actually the most popular alcoholic beverage in Japan, which Wikipedia tells me came about after WWII because of restrictions on the use of rice. They've had beer since the Edo era, though, and many of today's major breweries got started in the late 1800s. I love the idea that beer is a thing you can get in Soul Society, but it's clear that it has not overcome sake in popularity the way it did in the World of the Living--which makes sense, because of they never had those restrictions. (In other words, throw this in the bucket of stuff like tattoos and attitudes toward homosexuality that I think diverged from the Living World because of weird quirks of history).

In fact, Kamenoya apparently imports beer from the World of Living (maybe it also has local brews as well).

Look how lovingly that bottle of Kirin is drawn. 😂 The fact that it's shown in a glass mug in the ad, but served in a Pilsner glass here supports the idea that there are multiple kinds of beer available. Now, I believe that Kirin Zero is non-alcoholic. It's surprisingly hard to do research on beer labels from 20 years ago. I couldn't find a label that looked exactly like that, and Kirin's non-alcoholic offering seems to be called Kirin Free now (Kirin Zero is now zero-carb and I couldn't figure out if it's alcoholic or not). In any case, I am choosing in my heart to believe that this is because of weird TV censorship and in no way implies that Rukia is not one of the champion drinkers of the Gotei-13.

Don't get me wrong! I love a bar that offers non-alcoholic options! You can also get tea at Kamenoya, which you can see Tobiume and Okyō drinking below; Momo has some as well (they also have a discussion about it)

earlier posts in this series: (part 1) (part 2)

[elgatt0]

Inside Wolves

Hoie ^3^)つ

I always liked the villain/evil AU theme, and after reading this wonderful fic by @tashilover, I decided to put into practice an idea that was hammering in my mind for a long time!

⚠️Note: the following story will tackle some topics that may not be suitable for everyone (death, blood and such) But I promise to hold back and not leave anything too absurd. I will try

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

======================

Chapter I

"Rabbits that live in burrows dug by wolves do not spend on burials"

==============================

Legend pov

"It's late. The sun sets and darkness rises, we better stop here." Mr. blue scarf speaks very politely.

Everything he does is always politey, I'm sure he's like that even when he shits.

To be fair, Mr scarf is a captain in his era. He fought in wars and led troops, so barking orders and having nice hair is his second nature...

Being a bastard is the first.

Everyone knows, he knows and seems to be proud of it, I wish hylia have mercy when that vain being starts talking about women.

"We're not going to use a bonfire tonight" he still didn't get tired of talking "Terrain is unknown, as well as the monsters here. The strong flames will attract unwanted attention, an oil lantern should be enough for us." I hate to admit it, but he's competent at what he does.

"Now that you mentioned , we've been walking through the forest all day , strange that we haven't encountered any monsters...or anything alive" Someone comments. Little guy, being observant as usual. If the trees could hear I'm sure they'd be offended by that last sentence.

Ah yes, new adventure, new faces, same name. But I already solved the last problem.

"Strange don't you think? It seems as if the forest is mourning" Cloud head agrees "It doesn't match at all what the villagers told us."

"Not only words, nothing was matching in that village."

The old man, many things with him don't match either. The tattoos that go with that pale eye emanate something ancient, dangerous, maybe divine? I don't know, I feel a strange sense of unease about them. But that doesn't matter, for now.

Everyone in that village was hiding something, far beyond secrets. I felt like I could find a corpse at any moment.

"I think we were fooled, one way or another" Looks like I'm not the only one who feels this way.

All the others fell into silence as morbid as the forest, lost in their minds as they prepared for the night. I bet that just like me, everyone is processing everything that happened these last days.

Having your butt ripped out of your house through a dark portal and thrown into a totally unknown place with 8 other incarnations of your spirit to travel aimlessly and fight demons is a really wonderful experience, I don't blame them.

May Hylia pay my therapy.

It hasn't been long since we started this journey, despite knowing that we have shared the same spirit, yet we are not the same person.

It feels like we've become more strangers than allies with each passing day. Not hating each other but not fully trusting either.

I shake my head as if to throw my thoughts away and toss my bag and boots aside. Lying down, I don't bother to take off the extra layers of my clothes. I'll likely wake up sore, but I don't care.

Behind me, the sailor brat seemed uncomfortable with the silence. Not enduring these calm seas, he decided to break the awkward silence and started talking about food, which seemed to liven up the tense atmosphere a bit. But I wasn't interested in joining, eating now seemed cloying.

Using my hands as a pillow, I gaze up at the dark starless sky. It's odd, we are in the middle of nowhere far from any dazzling light from towns or villages, I should be complaining about the brightness of the stars, not the absence.

I keep facing the darkness until an apple shakes my thoughts out of my head, again. I sit up, rubbing my aching forehead and look at the one who will wake up with a mouth full of ants.

"Stop the drama and eat. I bet the poison that comes off your tongue is more potent than anything I could put in food" Forget the ants, I'll smother him with his damn fancy scarf.

"And I bet my kick can make that butt flatter than it is" I don't normally put salt on the wound...

I use oil and set it on fire.

And it burned badly, leaving the captain's face flushed a pure red. "Why, you little s-"

"Enough" The old man intervenes with a firm voice "Veteran, eat. Hunger won't do anyone any good" I think about arguing until he gives me that look which reminds me that I have more important things to do.

Mister Blue Scarf snorts, a bit awkward after being scolded. "Your little shit" He mutters as he turns his back and stomps out, not being much polite in hiding his annoyance.

I salute the captain with my middle finger as he leaves, even I can be polite sometimes. My good manners elicit a few giggles and eye rolls.

That sharp eye was still piercing through my skull, so I decided to pick up the apple and eat it, not caring if it's really poisoned or not.

It's not like I need to have worries in the matter, the captain may be a bastard, but he has strong morals. He would never kill me like that, his death language is sword against sword, I respect that.

That damn wolf is what really worries me.

Wolfie gives me a strange feeling every time I see him, something wrong. Those eerily human eyes, the way him appears from the shadows no matter what era we're in, the beast always follows us. A wolf that herds sheep.

I remember the time the crazy cook said it was okay, he knew that wolf. Apparently, Wolfie acted as a guide on his journey, a kind of divine beast. I'd say it's about time he got some glasses, 100 years in darkness takes away anyone's eyesight.

There's nothing divine about that beast. The brutal way Wolfie shatters his victims and the pleasure he seemed to take in it was so wrong, I've seen demons be more merciful.

"Wolfieeee! You're back," the Sailor exclaims happily. Perfect, just as I was thinking about demons. I wonder if whispering his name three times will make him appear too.

I watch Wolfie approached slowly, each step calculated and deliberate. His claws dragged along the ground, producing a low, grinding sound. His tail wagged in excitement, making large arcs in the air.

Why is this so familiar? Where...when...who?

I don't know if it was because of tiredness, the low light from the lantern, or even if everyone needed glasses too.

There's no way anyone didn't notice the fresh blood that adorns the wolf's fur and stains the ground.

There's no way anyone didn't notice fangs ripping off sailor's throat.

AO3//Next>>

[hearts4robs]

Hi, I wanted to request a marauders era matchup!

My name is Ollie, short for oliver, i use he/they/she pronouns and im 18. Im queer and have a preference for men. I am also from the netherlands!

My personality type is infp, and to go into more detail:

Im usually more shy in at the start, but can get quite talkative when i warm up to people. Im more of a listener though.

I love singing, reading, writing daydreaming, baking and making art.

My love language is physical touch, i love hugs or sitting next to someone and having our knees or shoulders touch. Laying on someone's shoulder is a big yes for me i love it.

I struggle a lot with my feelings and communicating them, but im getting better.

I have social anxiety and autism which can make social interactions and parties and such things difficult for me.

My ideal date is difficult. I've never been on a date before so its hard to judge. I think I'd like going to a coffee shop, maybe stargazing or going to an arcade. The ideal date for me is something relaxing where i can get to know the other person well. I want it to be intimate.

My ideal type is also difficult. I've never really dated anyone (im going to be a virgin until retirement i swear). I think I'd probably just like someone who makes me feel seen and appreciated, who reminds me I'm loved and helps me feel less self-conscious.

My favourite tropes would probably have to be friends to lovers and mutual pining. Im a sucker for hurt to comfort.

Physical appearance stuff:

5'6, bit chubby, pretty darn pale skin, short straight brown hair that i usually tuck behind my ears, grey eyes with glasses, black nosering in my left nostril, L and R tattooed on my wrist (yes for left and right lol). I mostly wear skater or cottagecore style clothes, usually dark and earthy colours with the occasional blue and red.

Hope thats enough (or not too much lol)

Have a great day :)

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝

“Hold my hand, sweetheart. It’s okay.” James reassures, blindly waving his hands around behind his back for you to grab.

Your hands finds James’s and his warm hands immediately dwarf yours. He pushes through the crowd, making sure you’re right behind him.

James smelt of alcohol, but he still seemed grounded as he lead you out of the Gryffindor common room and up the stairwell. The party continued at the bottom of the stairs.

James let’s go of your hand and holds your face in his hands, finally facing you probably.

“What’s the matter, handsome? Too loud?” James questions, moving his hands over your ears. You don’t answer, your throat was tight. He just nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re okay.” He murmurs against your temple.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t give me that, you’re okay!” James assures you by pulling you into a tight squeeze.

“What do you say to a cuddle with that weighted blanket we bought last week?”

James struggles to repress his smile when you nod. Oh, he was so up for a lazy cuddle.

Headcanons:

James learned morse code and basic sign language to communicate with you when everything was too much.

James is such a physical touch/quality type kind of guy, and taking you for a walk to Hogsmead for a coffee + browsing date is an every other week occurrence

He’s a yapper. You know everything there is to know about quidditch. Whenever you read or do anything that doesn’t make James the center of your attention, he yaps.

Writes you dumb notes whenever he can. Like, not cute. Dumb.

i rlly hope you like this🫶i’m SO SORRY for how delayed it is, i’m only just now getting back into the flow of writing.

[nuclearspring]

i know there's a little bit of info on him currently included in my roster but ! i wanted to cobble together a more detailed rundown of my courier (the sixth one) + his verses. he is a bit of an unreliable narrator, so i'm leaving gaps in this - thing is he doesn't know what's up, so neither shall we.

(that said, if anyone has ncr muses who could maybe piece some things together, hit me up. he can't keep getting away with this).

rough bio under the cut. trigger warnings for death, violence, drug use, the military, addiction + memory issues.

name & aliases: sasha dubrovhsky / boris medvedev / courier six. tag skills: unarmed, survival, guns. (note: given his backstory, he's proficient in these, and in stealth). age: late twenties / early thirties during the events of fallout new vegas. moving into his late thirties if in the tv show era. sexuality: bisexual. you know, for the extra damage. alignment: chaotic something. personality types: estp. enneagram 8. physical appearance: 6'3", buzzcut, brown eyes, cheekbones, numerous tattoos. imagine a large russian man who has clearly broken his nose more than once. he is russian jewish & roma ft. general slavic aura. always clean shaven if he can help it, but stubble happens to him frequently. if in the verse in which he's courier six, he will have two scars on his forehead courtesy of benny. notable features: speaking to six, one may get the sense that english isn't his first language. he doesn't really have much of a russian accent, but his cadence (especially when he is particularly tired), as well as his word choices can sometimes give him away.

he is also autistic, and may have adhd. both are undiagnosed. the latter may have something to do with six's mentat habit.

his face is rarely shown - he tends to wear full combat armour, helmet included.

the man who eventually becomes courier six is born in ncr territory to a family who are descended from vault 13, if a tad distantly (nobody in the family can track the exact lineage, nor have they tried).

six is born alexander dubrovhsky. his branch of the family are loyal to the ncr in some ways, though their primary ideology is born not of the ncr, but of memories of their heritage. sasha receives more of an education than he feels he needs, but he is a curious soul and enjoys picking apart the way of things. devours books when he can get them. is in trouble more than once in his childhood for taking things apart to see what makes them tick.

he is not yet of age when he enlists. he's tall and broad enough to pass for it, and nobody in ncr recruitment looks too deeply into the issue. even before taking two bullets to the forehead, he is an improviser - there's no real plan tied to his enlistment. he makes it through basic easily enough - can remember that fine. can remember being passed up for first recon so as not to waste his hand to hand abilities - he is, in a word, large. can remember being filtered into the rangers instead. can remember later leaving his dog tags on a corpse about his size. tossing the tags that had originally been on the corpse in question into the colorado river.

the why of it is unclear. but he remembers the bloodless panic, and in hindsight is certain he had something to do with that death. can't say for certain whether or not this is unlike him, but the potential will keep him watching himself out of the corner of his eye, waiting for some similar slip up.

he knows he picked his new name out of the past. boris was the name of some relative, he thinks. perhaps a distant cousin, perhaps not. medvedev, on the other hand, is born of the bear tattoo adorning his ribs. (two-headed, stick and poke, slightly weathered, scar cutting through it).

recalls a time, too, when he burns his armour and weighs his options. he knows how to kill things, and is the sort of person with at least a chance at surviving the wasteland. so far so good, anyway. he passes a town with a mojave express office, and volunteers himself for a job. from that point on, he is a courier.

post gunshots to the head, he'll wonder if the memory issues are new. thinks they must be. things improve with time, but some things, he thinks, will never come back to him.

he remembers just enough to feel like helping the ncr is the most deranged thing he's ever done. he does it anyway. that said, six saunters vaguely in the direction of socialism whenever possible.

he identifies a chem habit, but can't be sure he had it before he was shot. can remember snippets of things he used to know, and understands that a great deal of the information is barred now. one hobby of his is gathering it again.

choices in game:

these will be updated in time (i'm going to play again to refresh my memory on him), but he can either pick the independent or ncr route depending. if we're writing post game, his default is independent, though that was a difficult decision for him and he still feels two ways about it. he isn't a blind ncr loyalist by any stretch, and is aware that there are some in the ncr who'd string him up if they knew he'd deserted, but he is not immune to propaganda.

alternate depictions:

i have written him before as an ncr ranger spy who is only moonlighting as a courier, never properly deserted (because the desertion catalyst wasn't there; he made it through the battle of hoover dam in 2077 just fine in this verse), and didn't end up shot in the head in goodsprings. in that verse, he can be recruited as a companion - for anyone who's into that.

this version of him isn't as fleshed out right now (read: i don't remember most of the development i did when i was writing him this way) but i'll update this later, and i'm happy to plot things out on a character by character basis. he is generally motivated to fight the legion, and will in time become somewhat disillusioned with the ncr.

[gbyjmz]

I met the coolest middle-aged man

I met the coolest middle-aged man yesterday and I never caught his name. (I am not using the term middle-aged as derogatory)

Last night I went to see the band Pulp. I don't really listen to their music and I got my tickets very last minute for only $16 and I mostly just went to see my friends. After about an hour or so of standing in a dance-less crowd while Jarvis Cocker danced like a robot (this is a compliment), I decided to venture from my group in search of water and a quiet place to sit. I went to the bar at the back of the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium and got the only water option available was a $7 can of Liquid Death. What a RIP OFF. I walked out of the venue and into the hallway, where I went to sit on the only bench in the area. Another man was already sitting there and as soon as he saw me he made some room for me on the bench and motioned his hand welcoming me to sit. He mentioned that it seemed like no one at the concert was dancing and this made us explode into a mutual agreement and frustration that no one, as he said, was "throwing down". I told him that maybe it's because Pulp attracts an older crowd; people who don't think it's cool anymore to pump their fists and headbang. He agreed and said he wished more venues would "throw down", and in my head, I told myself that it was my time to shine. With my maybe two years of show-going knowledge, I went into an in-depth TedTalk of the types of genres teenagers are into as of recently and what venues have been the most #crunt. Because the man was wearing ripped army-looking pants, I assumed that he listens to rock or punk music so I mentioned venues like Stay Gold and Gilman and some others that I know are still active in keeping the Bay Area rock scene alive and well. I also introduced him to scene music and at first he had no idea what that term meant. I explained to him that scene-core, inspired by the early 2000s, has influenced local rave culture and local artists. I played some music for him for my playlists that I used to listen to more when I was in that scene-rave era (the worst era of my life). 3rd and Army was another place that I mentioned has some shows, and the man said that when he was younger he also went to shows there. For reference, he is 51 years old. And he hasn't been to 3rd and Army in years so it's not like he a pedophile or anything, he also told me he came to the concert with his wife who was still inside the venue. He was wearing a yellow wristband and he let me put stickers all over it, calling it DIY show merch. He asked for my age just to get a scope of my relevance among the Bay Area show scene in regards to what generation I'm in and I told him I just turned 19. My favorite part of this interaction came next. I told him that my friend funded my first-ever tattoo for my birthday just last week and that no one has recognized the origins of my tattoo yet because of how dated my tattoo inspiration is. You can probably what happened next. HE RECOGNIZED WHERE MY TATTOO IS FROM!!!! I showed him my Nancy and Sluggo tattoo and his jaw literally dropped because I unlocked something from his past. He said he would never ever find another girl with a Nancy and Sluggo tattoo, and I was glad to be considered unique. I showed him the comic panel I got my Nancy tattoo inspired from and he once again dropped his jaw, or as he would say, his jaw "threw down". He told me how fucking sick my tattoo is and that I chose a really niche panel to gain inspiration from. This directed the conversation to notable moments from the one-hundred-year-old comic strip and we talked about our favorite panels. He asked me if I knew the one panel where the character Sluggo floats in the air with his hand behind his head. I said yes, and that everyone knows that comic panel because it is the most iconic Sluggo panel. I talked to him for almost an hour. I didn't get his name and he didn't get mine.

[japhan2024]

I just don't want to be perceived anymore

Author's note: I'm so sorry about this lmao. This is all FICTION

word count: 691 rating: general read on AO3

The room was brightly lit. Cloudy blue wallpaper, calathea plants on shelves, a cat purring in on a small soft stool.

"I guess it's just really hard, you know? Or, maybe not hard... It's weird. Off."

"Please, elaborate?"

The therapist's smile was kind, and Anthony felt at ease with her. He sat on the couch as she sat behind her desk, not facing him directly. It made him feel more relaxed.

"You see... I've been 'on camera' for twenty years now. Sure, I've had my ups and downs, different looks, different eras. Still..." Anthony scratched the back of his neck. "It's like every time I see myself on camera now, I can't help but measure it to my best days. So I always lose."

"Why do you compare yourself to past versions? They are never coming back."

"No, and that's the problem. I'm beginning to see my losing battle with time. Little wrinkles, different kind of face shape..."

"Face shape?" The therapist raised her eyebrow.

"I know, I'm being very vain. And I know it's a part of life and it happens to everyone, if they're lucky to live long enough. Except Oprah of course, she's Benjamin Buttonning."

"Anthony. Let's stay on topic. Obviously everyone ages. But you've done more than age. I'm talking about your tattoos."

Anthony looked at his arms. Long brush strokes ran all the way down them, even over his fingers. He turned his hands. One palm was entirely covered in ink. "I really like them."

"Obviously you do. But, do you think you getting them has something to do with your self-image?"

"I just really enjoy getting them set, and I feel like I am expressing a truth from within me, on the outside. So maybe it does."

You said you're comparing yourself. Did you do that before?"

"I did. I've really done it my entire life. I've never felt like I was enough..."

Anthony looked out of the window. It was a sunny day in California, like always.

"How come?"

"You know my life's story by now, you know why. I can't help it, and I really am trying to work through it, but I don't want to broadcast an embarrassing set of displays of mental breakdown like I did when I first left."

"Left?"

"Smosh."

"Right. Is that all, though?"

"No, of course not."

"Please, Anthony, don't make me pry it out of you." The therapist shot Anthony a look and he laughed.

"Alright. So. I just don't want to be perceived anymore. This last year has been so so good, truly. Buuuut, I've also noticed myself falling into old patterns again. I keep trying to get validation from strangers, it's so addictive. I know better and still I keep doing it.

Anthony sighed.

"And now I have Ian back, it feels... sacred? What we have now, it's so special, truly, right? Like, we've won the lottery, we got our soulmates ending, we did the whole Your Name thing. And making the sketches together has been magical."

He fought back a sob.

"But when we're doing these public appearances, videos, podcasts and all the rest, people I don't know get to butt in on that sacred space. And I don't want them to see, you know? We're finally in such a good place and I don't want it to get contaminated."

The cat jumped from its stool and pushed it's little body against Anthony's tattooed calf. It purred loudly, and left Anthony no other choice than to pet it.

"Have you two done things together that you haven't shared with strangers online?"

Anthony's face lit up. "Yes, and those are the best days. We're in fact planning a short trip to Europe together right now."

"That's good. And do you think this holiday will make you feel differently about all of this?"

"No. In fact, I have made up my mind. I am taking a step back. I will be on screen a little, here and there, but that's it. It's been a long career. And I am ready to retire."

"Fair enough. How does that make you feel?"

"At peace, honestly. At peace."

[5and3nevermind]

Listen, I have no idea if there is anything other than platonic between Yoongi and Jimin, and it's none of my business to know, but there is something about debut era content (also content from throughout the years, but there's a special concentration that happened during debut era) where I sometimes feel like I can't watch it directly, because it's so loud. Some days I've convinced myself that it was an attempt at shipping fan service, and there are moments that that could probably be the case, but there are other moments where I don't know that it could ever fall under the scope of fan service or a deliberate show for the fans vs a slightly altered version of how they acted with each other without a camera around them, and I have a hard time watching content from 2013-2014 without occasionally thinking I'm just watching some kind of crush/developing of feelings forming in front of my eyes.

Yoongi may not be in love with Jimin in a romantic-sense, but he has a special kind of fondness for Jimin that just is not the same that he has for Tae and Jungkook. He's always treated those two like a big brother who is endeared by his younger siblings and has a lovely, special relationship with both of them. And then his relationship with the rest of the hyung line are all lovely and supportive and filled with deep respect and love and friendship, but there is just something different about his relationship with Jimin, maybe it's them being best friends with a combination of deep respect and endearment, or maybe it's something else, but my god watching them together sometimes hits me right in the gut.

Hi anon!

I have no doubt that Yoongi and Jimin love each other. Platonic? Romantic? In a way that’s just an extra detail. (Of course, I have an opinion, but in a way it doesn’t matter, right? The truth is the truth regardless of what we say or what we believe.)

In terms of fanservice, I really don’t think that’s what we’re seeing. Fanservice, by definition, isn’t hidden or subtle. It’s purpose is to delight the fans! It’s on-stage and on-camera.

So many yoonmin moments do not fit that description. Jimin’s nevermind tattoo is not for us. Jimin knowing what kinds of toys Holly has is not for us. Jimin sending flowers to Yoongi’s mom, Yoongi instinctively starting to reach out for Jimin’s hand but stopping himself mid-gesture (many, many times), Jimin saying “be careful of his left side” and it not being picked up in subtitles, the two of them going out for sushi and not posting about it…none of that has anything to do with us. So we are safe in assuming that none of that is fanservice.

I agree that both Jimin and Yoongi are different with each other than they are with the other members, which says a lot considering they’re all very close!

💛 Here’s a cute yoonmin pic:

[prettyypenguin]

Tattoo recommendation: I think you should get a scissors tattoo (maybe like some elegant gothic scissors if that’s more of your vibe, there’s a lot of different scissors out there to really make it your own), placement obviously entirely up to you.

Btw your post from earlier? You’re gorgeous as hell omg you’d be cute af on my lap (with consent, of course)

Gothic scissors, i didn't even think of that!! Omg. I had/have an obsession with the late victorian era/early edwarian era, so that's like... the best thing ever. Also, scissors always remind me of Jade West, and she's a gay awakening, soooooooo👀

I'd be cute anywhere🤭 but I'm especially cute with someone's hands on my hips