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neochan · 8 months

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RULE BREAKER (M)

PAIRING: rockstar!mark lee & fem!reader

GENRE: rockstar au! band au! pwop

SUMMARY: another city, another girl, another broken rule.

WC: 3.3k

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol & drugs, cursing, explicit sexual content, fingering, pretty tame smut ngl, spanking, choking, hair pulling

NOTE: this was just to get me back in the groove of smut writing since it's been a couple months. this is also a submission for @nctpromptmeme . this is prompt 1 of this list!

mark lee knows it’s against the rules to take a fan backstage.

it’s not the venues rules. staff members barely spare a glance when he tangles his fingers in yours and pulls you down the nearly abandoned hallways just left of the stage. he doesn’t get a second look from a wandering sound engineer when he escorts you through the jungle of metal rails supporting the stage from beneath. and no one bats an eye when he slips past security to an empty green room nearing the back of the building.

it’s not his own personal rule either. mark has done this plenty of times; choosing someone within the first few rows at his concert, playing up the eye contact, having a security guard slip them a note telling them to wait up after the concert — and it almost never fails. after the band bids goodnight, and fans filter out on the street, mark hops back on stage to greet his lucky winner.

and they’re always there, eyes aglow with excitement and shock when they realize that yes, this was real. mark lee wants them for the night. leader of pop punk band parasocial wants to meet…y/n.

the taste of your name rolls off his tongue so beautifully, so intoxicatingly, he has to repeat it a few more times once the green room door is locked and the curtains are drawn — not too loudly though.

because while it might not be the venues rules, and it certainly isn’t his own, he promised his band mates this couldn’t happen. he swore up and down they wouldn’t become those kinds of rockstars. everyone knows the type — scandal starters, excessive partiers, seen with a bottle of alcohol or tightly wrapped blunt in hand, escorting fans backstage at every show to....well, to do exactly what he was doing right now.

but mark isn't stupid, so he hides it from his bandmates; despite them breaking the rules so brazenly. jaemin stacks up scandals like spare drum sticks, jeno gets off on the attention & fame, renjun self medicates with alcohol, and haechan couldn't be labeled as anything other than a junkie. but he can't be like that, because mark is the leader. the one that has to walk a straight line — at least in public.

so when he's finally locked away in private with his lucky hit, he let's go. there's no need to be an upstanding, careful leader — he can shake off the tension, relax his shoulders, and focus on what's right in front of him.

which, at the moment, just so happened to be you.

"you're gorgeous, you know that?" a tender hand tucks stray strands of hair behind your ear, "couldn't keep my eyes off you tonight."

you can't believe mark lee is right in front of you, touching you, praising you. it's every fantasy you've had of him rolled into one. so when his hands wash over your top, fitting themselves so perfectly on your waist, you giggle and take a little step forward. his body is warm, and he smells smoky with a tinge of bourbon, but what's catching you off guard is how much prettier he is up close. eyeliner is smudged underneath his lashes, and there's blue hair dye running down the side of his neck, on par with rivulets of sweat. the metal bar through his eyebrow is real, and when he flicks his tongue out to lick at his lips, you find a matching tongue piercing.

he loves this.

the wide eyes, taking him all in. the giddiness. the oh my god mark lee is touching me; and while he might not get off on it as much as jeno, he can't help the feeling rushing straight to his cock.

after a few beats of becoming completely starstruck by him, you respond, clasping tightly onto the front of his shirt, "i mean i'm not all that special, but you...." a blush warms your cheeks, "you're out of this world."

it's a reference to one of the songs he sang tonight, so he let's out a forced chuckle and mumbles the rest of the line, "if galileo could see you, he would fall to his knees." he catches himself by surprise when he slowly sinks down onto the floor, the cold tile seeping through the rips in his jeans. his fist curls around the waistband of your skirt, eyes raking your figure. hunger clouds his eyes, but you don't care.

you want this.

he almost thinks you're backing out when you clamp a hand around his arm, but then you say something that makes his head spin on it's shoulders, "you don't have to be gentle...."

it's the desire in your eye, the same glint that matches his own, that permisses him to yank the flimsy skirt down around your ankles, nearly throwing you off balance in the process. "pretty girl wants it rough, huh?" mark pulls himself back up to his feet, one hand winding through your hair, the other knocking your thighs apart, "don't worry, i'll make you scream." his fingers open you up, just the tips of them pushing into you. already you're stretched on your tip toes, trying to run from the warming sensation below your navel. but mark catches this and gives a harsh tug on the roots of your hair, "feet down."

you're basically sinking down on his fingers when you settle on the balls of your feet, the stretch welcoming yet too intense for your body, "f-fuck." you curse.

"baby," he coos, "if you're drooling over two fingers, i don't think you'll be able to take my cock."

"i can, i promise." you mumble, face burning with embarrassment. not because you were under the rough hand of your favorite singer, not because he was teasing you about how tight you were, but because he was peering so fucking deep into your eyes, like he was searching for your soul.

"oh she promises," he mocks, pushing his fingers deeper. he can feel your walls fluttering around his digits; pulsing when they curl and brush the sweet spot he knows all too well.

you're out of breath, eyelids drooping with the weight of having to keep them open, "s-stop toying with me." you plead, nails raking the arm that's holding your body against the cinder block walls.

theres no snarky comment that follows. instead, he leans forward and captures your trembling lips with his own, and you see stars. it's exactly like you imagined it be — feverish, rough and demanding, exhausting every bit of willpower from you. his tongue swipes at your bottom lip, and his piercing clacks against your teeth, forcing a shiver down your spine. he smirks, that much you register, before bullying his tongue into your mouth, the hand between your legs matching.

too many sensations cloud your head — his hot tongue swirling around your own, forcing you to open up and taste each other, the metal ball on his tongue sticking against your teeth, and his fingers culling you into a head high. your eyes drift shut and you push your hips into his hands, all but grinding down.

mark lee might not have been a guitarist, but he sure did know how to use those hands of his. he sets back and licks his lips, letting out a shaky breath. the wet heat of you was drawing him in; he eases two fingers back inside until his knuckles pressed against your folds, and you sighed his name again. he was hard and aching now; listening to the soft pants that fell heavy as he thrust his fingers in and out. the hand that was threaded through your hair finds home on the sides of your throat, squeezing just enough to get your eyes fluttering open.

"whaddya doing sweetheart? sleeping?" he teases, his voice a drawn out purr in the quiet room, "i can't be that boring now, can i?"

when you try to shake your head no, this was far from boring, you find yourself stuck in his grip.

"maybe you want my cock instead?" marks eyes go soft, melting with the way you try to squeak out a response, "what was that?"

"p-please," you cry out hoarsely, his fingers finding that sweet spot again — but, only for the last time. just as fast as he was in you, he was pulling out.

"look at how wet you were for me," he groans, showing off your arousal that dripped from his fingers. he doesn't hesitate when he sticks them both between his lips, the most vulgar sound emanating from his throat, "you taste good as fuck."

warmth returns to your face at his remark, and it's only then that you realize your state. he was still covered head to toe in his stage outfit; metal chains and dark black alt pieces of clothing hung off his body, but you....you only had your top on. from the waist down, you were completely exposed.

mark seems to realize this too. "take this off for me?" he asks, fingering the strap of your top. "don't worry, i'll do the same." the grin you'd seen splashed across magazines and album covers lights up his face when you do as he asked. and true to his word, his shirt was on the ground in a matter of seconds - right next to yours. dark spills of ink swirl up and around his torso, nearly becoming a second shirt, but you see the muscles. the abs everyone goes crazy for, and with a tentative hand, you reach out to touch them.

"aw, don't be shy baby, i won't bite." he grabs your wrist and makes contact for you. another wave of arousal rushes down your spine when the hard lines of his stomach flex in response to your graze. "you like that, huh?" furiously nodding your head, he chuckles,

"alright, let me give you what you want," he says it like his cock wasn't nearly bursting from his pants, swiftly aching at the mere thought of sinking into you. his gaze darts from yours to the couch to the wall to the table shoved in the corner of the room. where did he want to fuck tonight... "come here," his hand tugs you away from the cinder block walls, over to the soft looking leather couch, "let me see you bend that pretty body over...." he purrs, a wide sweeping gesture to indicate that he knew exactly how he wanted you.

face down, ass up...wasn't that the saying?

and you don't mind, gleefully shimmying across the arm of the couch, cold leather nipping at your skin.

"fuck, man...look at you," you can't see him, but you bet his gaze is hungry again, soft, but visibly desperate, "you really are out of this world."

a chuckle passes your lips at the joke, and for a fleeting second you wonder if you weren't the first girl to hear the phrase. but the thought is swept clean from your mind once you hear his pants slipping on the ground, his metal pocket chains scraping the linoleum.

"stop taking your time and fuck me."

he cocks his head to the side...did he just hear that right? a harsh smack lands on your ass cheek, the throbbing, searing pain causing you to lurch forward and cry out. marks hand rubs over the spot immediately, trying to soothe the sting.

"now come on baby, i just need you to be patient with me." you mewl out an incoherent acknowledgment. "here," he grins, "is this what you want?"

a gasp is pulled from your chest at the feeling of him dragging the head of his cock between your folds. "mark please, fuck." slowly, he pushes into you. one hand guides himself, the other is lazily wrapped around your hip. but you can't even think of that right now, because he was filling you to the brim. you've never felt this type of stretch before. it was mind-numbingly delicious,"you're so big."

both of you share a shuddered breath of air when he pulls out and pushes back into you, "damn." he swats at your ass again, this time not bothering to rub his hand over the sting, "you just keep getting tighter...."

his eyes flutter close for a second, lost in the wet heat of you. he's never felt this before — the mutuality of getting off. every other time it's felt forced from the other end; the overdramatic moans were always a turn off but you... you take it like it's real. like it's truly the best cock you'd ever sat on.

mark loves that the most.

"feel good?" the question is drawn out, too focused on keeping his pace even and sharp so that you wouldn't go face first into the couch cushions. you babble out some sort of response that mark can't quiet understand, "words baby..use your words."

"so f-fucking good," you choke on a gasp, "oh god, please don't stop." each word feels like it's ripped from your throat as mark works behind you, thrusting so deep you're left on your tiptoes again.

mark lets out a dark chuckle, fingers digging into your side so he can keep leverage, "be careful what you pray for baby, the devil might hear." it's another musical reference, one that you catch immediately, but you're too cock drunk to form a coherent thought much less a sentence. he feels the way your pussy clenches at his words though, "you liked that, hm?"

you shake your head, arms stretching out in front of you to keep yourself from slipping further down the arm of the couch before a squeal is wrenched from your throat. "you're so deep!"

before he can tease you about going deeper, a loud buzzing sound goes off on the coffee table next to you. it's his phone, lit up with someones caller ID. your eyes are glazed over and blurry, too unfocused to see who the hell was interrupting this. but it didn't matter, because mark ignores it and keeps fucking into you — a little more enthusiastic than before. his fingers still dig into your waist, yet this time, they pull you back to meet his cock. essentially you were bouncing on him without having to do most of the work, "look at that ass bounce."

the buzzing finally stops, replaced with another harsh smack to your ass. you cry out in pain, quickly drowned out by a moan as mark swivels his hips so that he was hitting your sweet spot. white hot pleasure courses through your entire body, and you all but thrash against the leather. "almost there, fuck, keep going. gonna c-cum."

the words are like music to his ears. "just a little longer," mark typically had great stamina, but after the performance tonight, and the way your pussy was sucking him in right now, his willpower was melting away. he was edging himself within your walls at this very second. he needed release. "you're so fucking wet, i can't... oh fuck." his phone starts buzzing again, and this time he glances at the name flashing across the screen and groans, "be quiet okay baby? i need to take this."

furiously, mark jabs the green button on the screen of his phone, "what do you want." through gritted teeth, he keeps his pace, thrusting into your warm cunt. it's difficult, but you manage to stuff your fist in your mouth and bite down, stifling any sound that threatened to come out. hot electricity was still running through every nerve in your body, but as mark mindlessly slows to concentrate on not moaning into the phones receiver, it slowly dwindles.

"i'm..." he glances down at the way your waist curved in, the jiggle of your ass when his hips met yours, "i'm outside. why."

you can't hear who's on the other end of the line. maybe it was his manager, or another member of the band. the only thing you knew for certain was they wanted to know where the fuck he was at.

"don't you dare talk sideways to me." the warning in his voice nearly makes you moan out loud. this side of mark lee was something to marvel at. but you don't. you just push your hips backwards onto him.

a breath of air rushes past his lips, "shit." he mumbles.

"i wasn't-" he grits his teeth, "i wasn't cursing at you......because i dropped my cig on the ground, i don't know jaemin."

ah so it was na jaemin - drummer of parasocial. hot head. scandal starter. covered in more ink than you thought possible.

"okay..." mark sighs, his pace slowing, "okay, i'm coming....yeah whatever." he presses the end call button on the screen and tosses the phone on to the couch in front of you.

"baby..." he warns, now lazily fucking you, "i gotta go..."

"why?" you whine, hips pushing back against him in an attempt to get his pace started again. you so desperately wanted him to keep bullying his cock into you.

"they said the vans packed up... if i don't go now, they're gonna leave me behind." he pulls out and helps you flip over to face him, hands instinctively come up to cover your chest, "i'm sorry," he breathes.

"it's okay."

maybe you didn't get to orgasm, but mark lee between your thighs was enough of a treat. as long as he felt good, it didn't matter. so it doesn't irk you when he says, "i'm sorry this couldn't be more..i'm worn out from the show, and...." his voice trails off into a sheepish shrug, his wrist flicking towards his phone.

"i know." it wasn't your job to reassure him, but you knew what this was. what his life entailed, even if it was from an outsiders perspective.

mark sighs, settling back against the couch while he watches you hurriedly throw your clothes on. there's something different about you.

"i can walk you to your car if you want," he offered, his voice tinged with a mix of earnestness and hesitation. he knew he couldn't, not really. the risk of being seen outside the venue with a fan was far too great — jaemin learned that the hard way. but still, there was something about your presence, something that made him want to break the rules just a bit more.

you responded with a wry smile, "nah, i'm good. appreciate it though."

he returned the smile, though a hint of disappointment flickered across his features, swiftly masked by indifference. "alright then, take care."

as you turned to walk away, his gaze lingered, a mixture of longing and apprehension in his eyes. the echo of the performance still reverberated in the air, and the cacophony of the crowd faded into the background. the isolation that often accompanied the applause and adoration settled around him—a sense of detachment despite the proximity to his admirers; to you.

"hey, wait up!" his voice rings out, more desperate than he intends. you stop and turn back to him, a questioning look on your face. "here." he thrusts a piece of paper into your hand, his fingers brushing yours for a moment. in messy scrawl, a ten-digit number is scratched across the paper. he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, the stage persona melting away to reveal the vulnerability underneath. "call me when you get where you're headed."

you take the paper, feeling surprise and curiosity bloom in your chest. "sure, i will." a smirk tugs at the corners of your lips as you tuck the slip of paper into the pocket of your skirt, a secret kept close to your heart. "have a good night, rockstar."

his eyes meet yours, a silent exchange that speaks volumes. in that moment, no other words are needed to understand that this is a fleeting connection, a chapter in a story that will continue for him in different cities, with different faces. another show, another night, another girl.

another fake number.

A. NOTE: this can be read as a standalone, but it is also part of a bigger series i've yet to release. so if you like this one shot, please let me know! you can send in an ask, or comment, reblog, or like <3

TAGLIST: @peachjaem00 @mrkis @downtonbabyah @vangoes @cutiepeas @yujuvly @nuttie-nv-blog @seuomo @mrkleelvr @kazuhateez @chardonnayyyy @hyuckiegirlfriend @jwijii @meowniee @leep0ems @hibye02 @girlwholoveslpreppyattire

#nct dream smut #mark lee smut #nct mark lee x reader #mark lee x reader #nct mark lee smut #nct dream x reader #nct dream band au #nct dream fic #mark lee fic #nctpromptmemedone #nct dream mark

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hellyeahskwisgaar · 1 year

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MTL characters but in totally different metal genres

Hope they make side projects with these

I think Nathan actually doesn't go well with black metal because of his deep death growl vocal and he isn't skinny enough so yeah death metal is best for him but as Dethklok plays MDM/DM music so I had to choose something different.

Pickles, he really fits in stoner genre things cause he's an ACTUAL stoner, smoking bunch of weeds and bongs. Plus its stereotypical outfit looks pretty good on him too. Smoke weed everyday

Skwisgaar should start another side project which plays viking/folk metal but not the kind of Korpiklaani/Equilibrium folk style, more like Moonsorrow or early Ensiferum. Oooor kinda like Falkenbach. Well I kept listening to Bathory albums(viking metal era) when I drew him.

Toki may play power metal for ✶ 🎀 𝓀𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝒸𝒶𝓉𝓈 🎀 ✶ just like Hevisaurus does to kids, tho he's Norwegian and looks like he's somehow connected with black metal - his appearance on 1x16, having a friend who is a fan of black metal - everyone knows he's the naÏve guy in the band so only power metal can protect his childlike innocence.

Murderface was the hardest one to come up with but I guess 80s thrash metal will be the best. Curly hair(I guess so, no one has trapezoid shaped hair in real life) and his vest which reminds me a battle jacket. Planet Piss is sounding to groove/industrial/nu metal and groove metal was inspired by thrash/heavy metal so it makes sense.

And these are my inspirational songs for this post

#metalocalypse #mtl #dethklok #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #william murderface #pickles the drummer #nathan explosion #my art #hysmtl

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auroravictorium · 1 year

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high infidelity (pt. 2) (k.b.)

do i really have to chart the constellations in her eyes?

Summary: the crows arrive to help reader, and kaz finally gets his revenge. once reader is in safe hands, kaz is forced to make a decision on where to take her to heal.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship)

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: LOTS of blood and violence (stabbing, vague description of gutting someone), death of non-canon character(s), use of guns, shooting, lots of pain, shrapnel

Genre: angst and action

Author's Note: again, PLEASE read the warnings if you haven't! here is part two of high infidelity, told from kaz's pov :)) enjoy!

part one

Kaz marched down the final row of warehouses, his expression stormy and eyes dark with fury. His leg throbbed from all the walking, but he pressed on with a soldier's determination. He was treating this like any other job, trying as hard as he could to not let his growing panic show. But it swelled to his ankles like he was wading through the cold sea despite his attempts to ignore it. It threatened to slow his steps, and a rough wave tried to crush his chest every now and then when they found yet another empty warehouse.

Each abandoned building broke the dam holding back his emotions a little more. Kaz felt himself swimming away from the shore, plunging into the water's depths. He couldn't help but wonder if you were still in Kerch. Had the Crows come too late? Had Inej's fears of the mercenaries passing you to slavers come true?

Is she still alive? Will I find her as a corpse?

The questions, persistent and growing louder in his mind, sent a shudder down his spine that he tried to hide with his quick pace.

His sleep in the past near-week was restless. His recent nightmares hadn't contained bodies with Jordie's face. They'd all been you, beaten and bruised and twisted into odd angles. Each dream was a taunt, a condemnation of Kaz's failure thus far to find you, and a nauseating mix of every fear he'd ever had.

Kaz had to stop walking as last night's dream came to mind. You, black and blue and broken, while Kaz was powerless to stop it. His shoulder slammed into the brick wall of a building, jolting him out of his thoughts before his dream self could scream, and Kaz lowered his head as he fought against his traitorous lungs. His fingers tightened around the crow's head of his cane, letting the detailed metal grooves dig into his palm through his glove. He fought to breathe past the lump growing in his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the grimy, empty avenue of warehouses.

Shit, Brekker. What is wrong with you?

It was the first time he'd admitted that to himself since Kaz Brekker emerged from the harbor ten years ago. Since then, he'd never allowed himself any moment of weakness. He couldn't; weakness was for children, people who hoped, who dared to dream of good things. His weakness killed his brother. If Kaz couldn't pull himself together, it would kill you too.

"Boss-," Jesper began, stepping beside Kaz and peering at his face. Jes opened his mouth to tell Kaz they would find her, that they had to be getting close. A finite number of warehouses sat on the street, and the Crows would find Pekka and the mercenaries if they were there. And if they weren't, they would track them down.

A loud scream echoed down the street, cutting Jesper off and making him turn his head toward the sound.

It was a scream of pure agony, the kind that made the heart feel like it might split in two, made legs feel like they may collapse, made horror choke the air from your lungs and hold it captive. It was a sound and a feeling Kaz had experienced only once, as a blade pierced your chest nine months ago.

It was a sound Kaz wished he would never have to hear again.

Kaz unhitched himself from the wall and ran toward the sound. He forgot about the pain in his leg, his panic, his worry that they'd never find you. He didn't even register Inej, Jesper, and Nina sprinting behind him, their shoes pounding against the cobbled ground. All Kaz could think about was you, your wail of agony, his desperation to get to you.

He skidded to a stop outside the warehouse, finding a set of double doors with a padlock and chains looped through the handles. "Sons of-" Kaz snarled, raising his cane as if he meant to swing it downward. It wouldn't do anything, but he didn't care. His worry had yielded to white-hot fury that muddled his mind and made him think only of the vengeance he was about to inflict. It burned beneath his skin, anger red as the blood rushing in his ears and muffling his hearing.

A hand interrupted the swing, catching the cane's head and gently pushing it down. "Move," Jesper said. He slipped between Kaz and the door as the former moved away, seething. Jes pressed his hands to the lock and warped it until it fell to the ground, deformed and useless. He ripped the chains from the handles and dropped them next to the hunk of metal before pulling his pistols from their holsters.

"What do you want us to do, Brekker?" Nina murmured, reaching out to feel for the heartbeats of those inside. One was irregular, accented by the fast, shallow breathing of panic and pain. "Four of them, and Y/N."

"I take Pekka. You three kill the mercenaries and get to Y/N." Kaz slipped a phosphorous bomb from his coat pocket and weighed it in his hand. His gaze was fixed on the door, filled with rage cold enough to freeze over the True Sea. "No mourners."

"No funerals," Jesper grunted. "Let's kill these bastards." He kicked the door open and moved inside, twirling his guns in his fingers. His eyes fought to adjust to the dim lighting, straining through the cloudy darkness, and Jesper blinked furiously to clear his vision. He spotted Y/N across the room, clearly injured and ill but alive, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he aimed his pistols at the four figures gathered around a table.

Kaz threw his smoke bomb down and made a beeline for Pekka Rollins as the air filled with smoke. Pistols fired and metal scraped against metal; the sound echoed off the warehouse walls, accented by the sound of the Crows and mercenaries launching at each other. Someone hit the ground with a loud groan that lapsed into silence; Kaz could only hope it wasn't one of his Crows or, Saints forbid, you. To make it this far, only to fail, would be his breaking point.

Kaz tackled Pekka out of his chair, barely registering the clatter of a filled gun against the stone ground as it fell from Pekka's hand. Their bodies collided against the floor, skin scraping and bones groaning from the impact; Pekka grunted and rolled, trying to shove Kaz off of him and retrieve his gun.

But Kaz was already swinging, bashing his fists down again and again against any part of Pekka he could hit. His face, his throat, his chest. His punches were sloppy, his vision blurred by bright red anger and the image of Y/N bound to a support beam on replay. Blood on her skin, bruises everywhere he could see and definitely where he couldn't. The memories she would have to live with and the nightmares that would plague her.

He could hardly see through his simmering rage, and he secured his gloved hands around Pekka's throat and squeezed. Nothing would drive his anger away like the sight of Pekka's life leaving his face, light draining from his eyes as death swept over him like a heavy cloak.

Pekka seethed and grabbed Kaz's wrists, struggling to shove them away. But his grip was iron, locked in place through the sheer force of his wrath as everything Pekka had taken from him flashed before his eyes. His money. His brother. His Crows. You.

You you you you you.

Your laugh, replaced by an agonizing scream. Your smile, replaced by a grimace of pain. Your soul, too kind for the Barrel and certainly more than Kaz deserved, cracked or even shattered by whatever the mercenaries and Pekka had done to you.

Kaz's breathing came fast and hard, his teeth gritted together as he pushed as much of his weight down onto Pekka's windpipe as he could. "You killed my brother," he snarled, watching Pekka's eyes bulge and his face redden from lack of oxygen. "You hurt my Crows. You took my love. You made me think that to care was a weakness, to let someone in was a death sentence." He dug his fingertips into Pekka's throat so violently that his arms shook with the wrath he wanted to inflict. "I've let you think you're king for too long. I've let you win. But no more."

Pekka lifted his fist and slammed it into Kaz's ribs. Kaz grunted but didn't break, even as pain sparked through his chest. He forced a smile as he leaned down to get nose-to-nose with Pekka. "You'll have to do much worse, Rollins," he breathed. "You've made me immune to your tricks, and I fear you've run out of them."

He removed a hand from Pekka's throat and brought it down on Pekka's wrist, bashing his hand back to the floor as Pekka pulled the trigger on the gun he'd barely managed to reach. The bullet shot wildly into the air, flying somewhere past Kaz and shattering a window. Cold air rushed into the warehouse, nipping at the back of Kaz's neck.

Kaz wrenched the pistol from Pekka's hand, unloaded it, and slammed the butt of it down against the older man's palm in one swift movement. Bone crunched beneath the impact with a sickening, nauseating snap, and Pekka groaned. The veins of his neck bulged against Kaz's hand, and Kaz wanted to laugh. That's the least of what I want to do, old man.

"You don't know what you're getting into, boy," Pekka wheezed, bringing his unbroken hand up to try and pull Kaz's hand from his throat. He dug his nails into the skin of Kaz's wrist in the struggle, dousing Kaz in ice-cold water that soaked his clothes and froze him to his bones.

Kaz released Pekka's throat before he could stop himself, thrown off kilter by the contact. Slimy fingers. Touching. Lifeless but trying to shove his head beneath the water. Harbor filling his lungs.

Weak. That's all Kaz felt as his vengeance stood suspended in time, replaced by the simultaneous urges to vomit or inflict so much violence that even his rising panic would cower. One touch, one unsuspecting brush of fingertips against skin, and every victory he'd reached over his past was wiped away. Your pride went undeserved, and your words of encouragement crumbled to dust.

Pekka shoved Kaz to the ground and struggled to his feet, cradling his broken hand to his chest. He lifted a hand to his throat to massage the bruising skin. His tongue swiped over his cracked lips as he looked down at Kaz, clutching his cane and breathing hard as he pushed himself back to his feet.

"A damned shame you came all this way for her," Pekka rasped, dropping his hand from his throat. He unbuttoned his disheveled vest and shrugged out of it, tossing it to the side. "Now she has to watch you die, and she won't even be able to give you a rat's burial in the Harbor."

Kaz didn't give Pekka the dignity of a response, lifting his cane and lurching toward him again. He swung, and the metal crow cut through empty space as Pekka dodged and reached for Kaz to push him back toward the wall; the cane fell from Kaz's hands and rolled a few feet away. Kaz grunted as his back collided with the wall, and his head jerked to the side as Pekka punched him. Hard.

Blood filled Kaz's mouth, and his jaw seared with pain as he probed the swelling flesh of his cheek with his tongue. Despite the pain, the promise of death written in Pekka's eyes, Kaz laughed. A mirthless, mocking sound that he couldn't bring himself to cut short, even as Pekka pulled another gun from the back of his waistband and held it to Kaz's throat. But his arm was unsteady, his hand trembling with the gun there. As if he'd never held it before.

Kaz didn't so much as flinch, meeting Pekka's murderous gaze with one of his own. "Do it," he said quietly. "If you kill me now, you might have a fighting chance of getting out of here before my Crows are done with your precious mercenaries and turn their attention to you."

His gaze settled over Pekka's shoulder, landing on Jesper and Inej, fighting the tallest and most muscular of the mercenaries. His energy was waning, and Inej was gaining the upper hand as he attempted to deflect each of her swipes at him. Jesper approached from behind, pulling his rings from his fingers and molding them into sharp little spikes that flew out of his hands and straight into the mercenaries spine.

Past Inej, Jesper, and a dead mercenary with a shot through the forehead, Nina had her hands outstretched, strangling the last mercenary as he grappled with you for control over a weapon. He seized above you, unable to move, and the interruption allowed you to secure your hold and drive the dagger up into his chest. It took all of Kaz's self-control to not let any of his relief show as you shoved the mercenary off of you and knelt beside him to pull the blade from his chest.

Pekka followed Kaz's gaze, turning to look over his shoulder.

Got you, you twisted son of a bitch.

Kaz slipped a blade from his coat and slashed it across Pekka's chest. It parted his shirt and skin easily, and a dark red stain bloomed across his front. The intent was not to kill; just to surprise, buy a chance for Kaz to throw him off long enough to pull the single bullet from the cylinder. He had the bullet in his pocket before the dagger had left Pekka's skin.

Child's play.

Pekka whirled to face Kaz, a hiss of pain whistling through his teeth, and he unclicked the safety of his gun. He pried the dagger from Kaz's hand and tossed it to the ground with a clatter; his chest heaved from anger, and he jabbed the end of the gun into Kaz's throat hard enough to force a choked cough. "You're a fool, Brekker," Pekka snarled.

"Am I?" Kaz hissed back, jerking his chin toward Pekka's dwindling number of allies. Behind him, the fight was slowing; the clashing of weapons and grunting of pain had faded as the mercenaries fell at the hands of the Crows.

The final mercenary standing collapsed at Inej's feet, a slash across his throat spraying blood across the pristine stone floor. Jesper fired one of his pistols once, striking him just below the ear and silencing his cries instantly.

The mercenary at your knees twitched as death took hold, even as you cut him open from the navel to the sternum. From a few feet away, Nina was working to regulate your blood pressure, unwilling to let you die but unwilling to take your chance at revenge away from you. She would be there to catch you when you fell, as your blood pressure suddenly dropped and you teetered unsteadily, the knife slipping from your hands.

Pekka was alone, and he knew it. He would not be walking out of the warehouse. But would he die having killed Kaz Brekker, or would he die by Kaz Brekker's hand? Would Alby be proud, or would he be ashamed of his father's name?

"I once told you the trick to survival was not to love anyone," Kaz said quietly. He leaned closer, angling his head. The moonlight caught in his pale blue eyes, washing the color from them and letting Pekka see every speck of icy rage within. Kaz's bloodied lips curled into a smile before he could stop them. "I was wrong. The trick to survival is making enemies who are too foolish to check that their gun is loaded."

Pekka pulled the trigger as if he expected Kaz to be wrong. But no bullet loosed itself, no blood splattered the walls, and no sudden darkness enveloped Kaz. It was empty, the lone bullet sitting uselessly in Kaz's coat pocket. He'd been banned from every gambling hall in Ketterdam for a reason.

"You bastard," Pekka seethed. "How did you-?"

His gun suddenly exploded in his hand, crumbling into a variety of metal chunks that thumped to the floor. Some rose upward and shot toward Pekka's face, burying themselves into his skin and eyes and anywhere they could hit. Blood streamed down his face, and Pekka stumbled back, covering his eyes as he roared in pain and anger.

Kaz turned, finding Jesper with his hand outstretched. He was gasping, looking between his palm and Pekka as he hunched over and dug his fingers into his eyes as if he could pull the metal shards from them.

What the Saints did I do? Jesper thought, staring down at his fingers as power sang beneath his skin. One moment, he was thinking about Pekka's gun jamming, the next... Kaz's cane. He blinked and ducked down to grab Kaz's cane. "Finish it," Jesper said roughly, then tossed the cane to its owner. Before he could think too hard about the look of awe in Kaz's eyes, Jes turned and rushed toward Nina and Inej as they worked to start treating you.

Kaz secured his grip on his cane and jammed the end of it into Pekka's knees, toppling him to the ground. He crouched beside him, ignoring the searing pain in his leg, and tucked his cane under his arm. "I'll do you a favor," Kaz hissed, grabbing a fistful of Pekka's hair and jerking his head back. "I won't tell your precious prince how easily you fell."

He slammed Pekka's head into the ground. His nose crunched beneath the impact, and blood sprayed across the floor. Kaz pulled his head back up as Pekka panted, and silent, unheard pleas passed his lips. He tilted his head, meeting Pekka's terrified, unseeing gaze. "I won't give him the details. I'll even be merciful and make sure he doesn't end up on the streets."

Kaz could leave Alby Rollins to starve, to risk wasting away on the streets as news spread of his father's death. The Dime Lions' fortune was finite, easily spent or misallocated without a leader. Not a drop would end up with Alby; if any did, by some act of the Saints, he would be manipulated out of it before he had the chance to escape the city.

But as Kaz stared at Pekka, at the unintelligible pleas and prayers leaving his lips, he only heard your voice. He saw your wages leaving your hands, given to the very woman who had passed your name to the Dime Lions. All so she could escape Ketterdam's unforgiving violence and return to some lover, someplace safer and more secure.

It would have cost less for you to kill Amalia.

It would cost Kaz less if he didn't make this promise to Pekka before he killed him.

A lump rose in Kaz's throat as his battle against himself raged on. He didn't owe Pekka or Alby Rollins anything, and yet... He had to be close to the age Kaz had been when Jordie died. Just nine, on the cusp of ten, still hopeful that there was good in the world. It was almost poetic how the cycle of tragedies repeated itself.

"He won't end up on the streets," Kaz repeated. But his voice sounded far away to his own ears, and he hardly registered the relief flickering across Pekka's face. He was nine years old again with the firepox ravaging his body. Between one blink and the next, he would be moved from the streets to the Reaper's Barge. Then he was fourteen, breaking his leg during a bank heist. Sixteen, trailing a girl causing chaos in the wealthy side of the city and convincing her to join the Dregs. Seventeen, he was ignoring his feelings for that girl. Eighteen, he kissed her. Nineteen, he was burning Kerch to the ground to find her and killing the man who set all this into motion, good and bad, his hate and his love.

Beneath it all was one simple truth. We both are beyond saving.

But one unfortunate boy had fallen into the mix. Nine years old, his life and his father's in Kaz's hands. The same position the father had once been in, and he had made the wrong choice. Ripped Kaz's future from him with the stroke of his pen and threatened his yet unborn son's own.

Alby Rollins has a chance.

Kaz clenched his jaw and brought Pekka's head down into the stone floor with a sharp, sickening crack. Death was simple and quick, claiming Pekka Rollins between one moment and the next. It was as if he'd never existed, but the damage within the warehouse and outside of it said otherwise.

Kaz Brekker stood up and felt nothing at all, despite what had just happened. He turned and left Pekka's body behind him, limping over to his friends huddled around you. It was only when he saw the mess of bruises and blood across your skin that he realized he wasn't breathing, and his emotions flickered back to life as he knelt beside you and turned your right arm to the sky.

Horror, when he saw the damage, your tattoo slashed in half. Concern, when he saw the blood seeping from your arm despite Inej's attempts to patch it until Nina could get to it. Fear, when he saw your eyes slipping shut, your chest slowing its intake of air.

He didn't have enough space to allow his rage back in, enough air to feed its flames. All he felt was terror and the very real truth that you could die.

"Nina, her arm," Kaz said, trying to control his breathing. His lungs were speeding up without his permission, a mass of fear setting in his windpipe and threatening to choke him. "Jesper, the coach. Take Inej. Go."

Jesper rose from where he was bandaging a shallow cut on your other wrist, likely from your bindings, and Inej followed as he ran toward the warehouse doors.

Kaz dropped his cane and ripped a piece of fabric from the inner lining of his coat to start staunching the blood flowing from your arm, trying to buy Nina time as she worked on a gash on your head that Kaz hadn't noticed. He watched your eyes slip shut, and he forgot all about bandaging your cut arm.

No. You're not allowed to die.

He grabbed your hand and squeezed it as if he could tether you here. With him. Long enough that he could free the hesitation and fear from his lungs and tell you exactly what he felt. How he blamed himself, how he was sorry, how he loved you, and how that love had consumed every cell of his body; how he breathed it in from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep. How it soothed every wound, healed and fresh.

Kaz had to squeeze his eyes shut and look away as his breathing sped up from panic. I need you to live. "Nina," he rasped. He didn't know what he wanted to say to her. He only had words that he wished he could say to you. No room for anything, anyone else.

Not even Jordie's ghost, whom he was keenly aware of in the back of his mind.

"We need a place for the night. She won't make it back to Ketterdam." Nina's words were clipped, matter-of-fact as she traced her fingers down the deep cut down your forearm. A thin layer of skin knitted together to stop the bleeding, and Nina turned her attention back to the infection she could feel surging beneath your skin. "She needs water. Food. Rest."

Kaz nodded, a short dip of his chin. "Will she make it to Lij? Four hours from here if Jesper takes his time."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I hope the paths are clear."

The warehouse doors thudded open again, and Kaz glanced over his shoulder to find Inej gasping in the doorway as, behind her, Jesper sat atop the coach while the horses neighed and shook their manes in indignation. "C'mon!" Inej called. "Locals heard of a disturbance."

Kaz slid his arms underneath your shoulders and knees and carefully pulled you into his arms, letting Nina pick his cane up from a puddle of blood on the ground. The cold harbor nipped at his ankles and threatened to rise as he cradled you against his chest, occasionally glancing down at you as he limped out of the warehouse. Your head lulled backward, exposing the bruised skin of your throat, and Kaz had to look away, toward Inej as she pulled the coach door open and shielded your head with her hand as Kaz carefully lifted the both of you into the coach.

"Head just north of Lij," Kaz ordered, settling you on one of the plush coach seats and tugging his coat and vest off. He bunched up the vest beneath your head to act as a pillow and covered you up with his coat, bloodied side facing out. "No sightseeing."

Inej and Nina joined Kaz in the coach, and Nina carefully lifted your legs so she could sit at your feet and continue stabilizing you. Inej sat across from Nina and pulled her necklace from beneath her shirt, clutching it in her palm and turning her eyes to the sky. Meanwhile, Kaz sat in the spot across from your head and tried to avoid letting renewed sparks of rage consume him.

Outside the coach on the driver's bench, Jesper chewed on the inside of his cheek, turning his gaze firmly toward the horses before him instead of letting them linger on the puddles of blood he could see just beyond the warehouse doors.

Bruised, bloody, and seething, the Crows left Zierfoort, heading toward the town of Lij. None of them said a word the entire ride.

reader's pov (part 1)

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3, @statsvitenskap, @sapphiccloud, @casualladyinternet, @d34drapunzel, @noctemys, @whitejxsmine, @so6, @franzelt, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @marlene-the-witch, @thestudiouswanderer, @lyjen, @rideacowb0y, @weasleybuns, @dal-light, @mariatpwk, @dreammgc, @elysian-chaos, @breadbrobin, @poppyflower-22, @halfofagayallofaqueer, @battleraven, @amarokofficial, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @poppyflower-22, @madnessinwrighting, @ponyboys-sunsets, @circus-of-thoughts, @empresspenguin18, @mediocrestuff, @stonksman8, @alanis-altair, @thefandomplace, @alohastitch0626, @the-royal-paintbrush, @just-here-for-ff, @whos6claire, @jodiereedus22, @be-lla-vie, @despoinapav05, @arianyo, @willowpains, @geekmom3, @dark-academia-slut, @aeslenya, @directioner5life, @notjustsomeblonde, @osteopsycho, @travelingmypassion, @tiana76, @angelhxneyy, @princessatoru, @despoinapav05

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scalpho · 23 days

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ur driver post made me think of this but what do you think the usual configuration is in the hangvan? like who navs, who’s on aux, who sits shotgun vs in the way back etc?

OOOH. i think they normally let zaphriel play DJ (smooth chill tunes that are funky enough to groove to if you so desire, but unobtrusive enough to ignore if you don't), but if someone goes for the aux it'll be fig. most of the bad kids agree that gorgug's metal is a little much, especially for long car drives, and although fig's music taste veers into more hardcore stuff occasionally it's generally more palatable than gorgug's. once in a blue moon they'll try put on their collective fantasy spotify blend but the genre whiplash is Bad. and they've had one too many enthusiastically heated discussions about fabian's preference for bad dance/house remixes of perfectly good classics for the blend to be a popular choice

fig will normally start in shotgun but end up crawling over the seat into the back to hang out with everyone else. riz will usually fill her spot. when he's not up front, him and adaine take the seats right behind the driver/shotgun; they play navigator (frankly, none of the others can be trusted) when needed and fiddle with controls if asked to. besides that, they like to know what's going on up front and when Shenanigans start happening it's normally in the back, so they put themselves in a nice middle ground. kristen's always liked sitting further back, initially for girlfriend reasons but now a) out of habit and b) it's chill back here! great for snacks and chatting but also napping or listening to a podcast when they're all a little tired out. also, furthest back from the front means she's least likely to be asked to do something which is a win for her and also probably for the safety of everyone in the vehicle. fabian is primary snack supplier, but is usually out on the hangman, adjacent to the van where possible and following shortly behind otherwise. he'll sometimes dart ahead, either to scout or just out of pure boredom but will always loop back around. when he is in the van, he'll often take shotgun as is his god-given right to have the alleged best seat (it's not really the best and napping would be more comfortable in the backseats where he can lie down but he wants to kick his feet up on the dashboard and feel important ok).

in general i think there's a lot of Movement - people crawling forwards and backwards and gorgug reminding everyone to please put on your seatbelts because you are not allowed to be mad at him if something happens to you when you are seatbeltless. and it depends on trip length/purpose too. they have their preferred places and some settle in said places more than others but in general on a longer drive no one is going to end in the same place they started

#sorry for the length of this but this was SO fun to think about #thank you v much for the ask!!!#dimension 20 #fantasy high #the bad kids #ask tag

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starlitmark · 3 months

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Summary: You've always pushed his buttons. What's the harm of pushing them a little more? Pairing: Park Jihoon (Treasure) x fem!reader Tropes: biker/badboy au Genre: Smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: piercings, language Smut Warnings: genital piercing, nipple piercings, tongue piercing, dirty talk, praise, degradation, sir kink, spit kink, oral (m receive), mentions of oral (f receive), dacryphilia, unprotected sex, clitoral stimulation, creampie Word Count: 1,785 Note: Happy birthday to my irl bestie @minjaeluver I wanted this to be much longer, but we both know we suffer in academia right now. A huge thank you to @anyamaris for the song assistance and @wooahaeproductions for the title help

BEFORE YOU INTERACT

Listen to ♡ Mmm by Treasure

“What’re you up to, pretty?” Jihoon calls from his place, leaning against the wall.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You scoff, “I’m minding my business, unlike some people.”

Jihoon smirks while looking away for a moment. He pushes off the wall and approaches you. He stands a mere foot from you. His eyes were transfixed on you the entire time. You’ve always pushed his buttons with no repercussions in the past. You never expected it to bite you in the ass. Seeing him so close to you makes your heart beat through your chest. He leans forward to intensify the situation so his face is barely separated from yours. You can feel his breath puffing against your face. His dark brown eyes bore into you.

“Jihoon…” you trail off, looking away for a moment.

He reaches a hand up to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His dark-painted nails have always driven you a bit crazy, not that you would ever admit it. He forces you to look at him.

“Look at me.” He commands, “I need your undivided attention for what I’m about to tell you.”

All you can muster is a weak nod in his hold.

“If you agree, we’re taking my bike back to my place, and I’m going to fuck the attitude right out of you.” He gives you a closed-lipped smile.

“And if I don’t?” “We move on as if this conversation never happened.”

The next few moments are a whirlwind. Suddenly, Jihoon’s lips are pressed against yours in a heated kiss. That’s when you feel a warm metal ball rolling across your lower lip. You gasp against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. He drops his hands to your waist and pulls you closer to him.

“That’s not my only surprise for you, baby.” He practically growls.

“You just gonna talk about it, or will you show me?” You tease back.

“Watch it, slut. You’re going to eat your words.”

You chuckle against his lips, “I’d like to see you try.”

Next thing you know, you’re being dragged into his apartment. You barely get a moment to breathe before he practically throws you into the wall beside the door and pins you there. One hand is tangled in a vice grip through your hair while the other holds your hip against the wall. In all honesty, you had been lightly teasing him the entire ride here. Small touches brushed over his growing bulge, little kisses along his throat, even trailing your hands up and down his abdomen and tracing the grooves of his muscles whenever you had the chance to loosen your hold around him.

“You just can’t behave, can you?”

You smirk at him instead of responding.

“You answer me when I ask you a question, understood?” His grip on your hair tightens, eliciting a whimper from you, “Understood? Or are you that brainless already… I haven’t even properly touched you yet, pretty little whore.”

“I- I understand.” You gasp when he presses against your hip harder, “I understand, Sir.”

“There’s my good girl.”

You nearly melt at the praising comment. You don’t get very long to revel in it, though. He pulls you off of the wall and throws you over his shoulder. His hand is secure across the back of your thighs. The only view you have is of his lower body and the floor as he carries you down the hall to where you assume his room is. You’re thrown down onto a mattress and are met with the sight of Jihoon smirking at you.

“I told you I’d fuck the attitude out of you. I’m a man of my word, doll.”

He reaches to pull his shirt off of his body. The first thing in view is the tattoo on his hip. It’s a harsh, dark pistol pointed downward. You’ve seen a peek of it before when he occasionally stretches, but to see it in full now is enough to have a flood between your legs. As his shirt rises higher, you are stunned by a set of pretty silver bars running through his nipples. Earlier, when he mentioned more surprises for you, you hadn’t expected more piercings. The fact that they’re there has your mind diving off the deep end for the potential for more. He drops the shirt to the ground, leaving it an issue for later.

Sitting up, you try to reach toward him to place your hands against his abdomen and commit each grove and detail to memory. He doesn’t allow you that luxury. He catches your wrist midair and pins you back down to the bed with your arm above your head. He brings his other hand to your free hand and puts it into his already occupied hand.

“You’re a curious thing, aren’t you?” He smirks, letting his tongue come out slightly afterward, “When I let you go, you’re going to take every damn piece of clothing off your body.”

You find your voice finally, “And if I don’t listen?” “Would you rather I cut it off of you?” He challenges.

As tempting as the idea is, you’d rather not lose clothing today. You buttoned your lips together, and without a word spoken, Jihoon knows you’ve agreed to his terms. Releasing you, he watches with a calculated, heated stare as you strip. Soon enough, you’re bare before him. With a jerk of his chin, he commands you to sit down on his bed again. Jihoon starts moving toward you again while undoing his pants. Your thighs rub together in anticipation, earning a low teasing chuckle from the other.

When his pants drop to the ground with his underwear, you swear your soul leaves your body. Another pretty piercing is displayed. Through his tip, you see two silver metal balls. Before you can even process it fully, you find yourself scrambling to the floor and suckling on his tip. Rolling your tongue around each end of the piercing, you hold eye contact with him. He has his staple smirk on his lips as he watches you have your fun. His painted fingers thread through your hair, almost gently compared to what they were doing mere moments ago.

“You’re already cock drunk.” He teases, “It’s fucking pathetic, you know that?”

“I’m not-”

Your words get cut off by him forcing his entire length down your throat. A low growl escapes his throat. His hair falls in his face as he bows his head forward. His smirk grows wider on his face when he sees small tears springing from the corners of your eyes. You swallow around him, feeling the warm metal near the back of your throat as you do so. He holds you there for a while; the lack of air starts to get to you, and the tears brimming in your eyes finally drop down your cheeks.

“So fucking pathetic. It’s cute.” He coos, “You ready to not talk back now?”

You nod to the best of your ability. He finally pulls his cock from your mouth. A shiny strand of spit connects your lips to the tip of his cock, only snapping when he pulls your head back by your hair.

“Open your mouth, my sweet little whore.”

Your mouth opens wider without a second thought. He chuckles at you before spitting into your mouth. You shudder out of pure desire for the man above you. He uses his other hand to tap your chin to close your mouth. You swallow his spit and loll your tongue out after to show him you followed his silent command. His hands let go of your hair to lean down and wrap both his arms around your waist.

He tosses you back on the bed and starts to rub the tip of his cock between your pussy lips. The wet sounds that come from the action are beyond pornographic. Before you can beg, he pushes into you in one smooth motion. The feeling of his cock alone makes your eyes roll back. The added sensation of his cock piercing makes you want nothing more than to fall apart then and there.

“Such a good fucking slut. Taking my cock like you were made for it.”

“Jihoon-” you gasp, “Please, I need–”

“You want me to fuck you like the good little cocksleeve you are? Maybe you should address me properly before I treat you nicely.”

He pulls out until only his tip rests inside you. Slamming back in, you let out a loud, shameless moan. The piercing drags perfectly against each spot inside you. You throw your arms around his shoulders and dig your nails into the toned muscles. You know, small crescent shapes are going to be engraved in his skin for at least the next day or so. He drills into you at an animalistic pace.

Eventually, he lays his chest against yours, and his nipple piercing presses against your breasts, adding just enough to add extra stimulation. His kisses up and down your throat, leaving red and purple marks to bloom after each one.

“You’re practically trapping me in your soaked cunt.” He laughs airily, “Like you’re trying to keep me stuck in here.”

“Sir–” You moan.

“There we go.” He praises, “What does my pretty little whore want?”

“Cum– please–”

Not a single coherent word can formulate in your mind anymore. Between the drag of his pierced cock, the stimulation of his nipple bars against your breasts, and the feeling of his tongue ringing against your throat with each kiss, there’s no way you are able to think. His fingers slip between your bodies and rub tight circles against your clit. Your legs wrap tight around his waist, trying to hold back your orgasm.

“Sir, please!” You practically cry.

“Cum.” He groans against your throat, “I’m close too.”

You shake below him as your orgasm tears through you. You orgasm for what could be two seconds or two minutes. All you know is that you’ve never cum that hard before. To add to your intense reaction, you feel Jihoon release inside you. His hot cum floods your pussy, making you whimper at the feeling. He gives a few shallow, slow thrusts as he rides out his high while you come down from your own.

“Have we learned not to test me anymore?” He questions, pulling out of you slowly.

His cum starts to drip out of your abused cunt.

“I don’t know. I might need to test you more often now.” You tease.

“Watch it. I might keep you locked up in here for the next week.”

“Seem’s fine to me.”

Networks: @kwritersworld @k-vanity @cultofdionysusnet

#park jihoon smut #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #cultofdionysusnet #treasure fanfic #treasure x reader #treasure smut #jihoon fanfic #park jihoon fanfic #jihoon x reader #park jihoon x reader #jihoon smut

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 1 year

Photo

#pantera #Dimebag Darrell Abbott #dimebag darrell #Vulgar Display of Power #Mouth for War #Genre: Groove Metal #guitar hero #diamond darrell #usa #my gif #gifs #my edit #gif

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sungbeam · 2 months

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BIRD HUNT — two

nonidol!choi line x f!reader

gotham city is a gutter running rampant with the ill, corrupt, and the insane. at times, justice and vengeance must be served by one's own hand... no matter the lengths one must go to do so.

▷ genre, au, etc. bat family au, dc comics inspired, dark, vigilantes au, slow burn, ceo/billionaire au, cat woman!reader, murder mystery au, action, suspense, angst, slow burn-ish?, love square??; choi line inspired by dick grayson (csb), jason todd (cyj), and tim drake (cbg), including bruce wayne for choi minho and damian wayne for nishimura riki, inspired by 2022's The Batman

▷ chapter warnings. swearing, mentions of death and murder, mentions of weaponry, blood, mentions of suicide but no actual act thereof, one suggestive comment

▷ word count. 4.3k // taglist. open

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FILE_02 : behind every man

gotham city.

[three days since your mother was murdered.]

You had no real friends or allies in Gotham City besides your mother and your extended family of stray cats. The metallic smell of blood had begun to cling to the walls after an hour of holding your mother's body close to you.

The police had come when you called.

They deemed it a suicide for simplicity's sake.

When you pointed out the note in a rage, they left it embedded in the wall as it laughed at you. Your hands were covered in your mother's blood like a morbidly crimson finger paint, and the damn cops weren't going to do anything about this. Not for someone like you. Not unless…

Not unless you used what you had in your arsenal.

It was stupid, you had thought at the time. It was an open invitation to get yourself thrown in the ringer by… oh Hell, you shivered so violently, it could be compared to a Magnitude 7 earthquake. No, you could never forgive yourself if you did that—the stupid idea popping into your head. And yet…

You knew that your mother would have never allowed you to sacrifice yourself so vulnerably. (The irony of the matter was that your mother would probably do the exact thing you were considering, had she been in your position.)

But by the third day of not leaving the apartment at all, you had made up your mind.

It was time to go see your father.

"We're investigating the murder of a mayoral candidate, Yeonjun, not a stripper."

Yeonjun rolled his eyes from where he sat in his armchair, legs crossed neatly over one another and his elbow perched on the armrest. There was a distinct look of boredom on his face as the flames of the fire in the hearth flickered across the sculpted grooves of his features. "Well, I know that. Strippers are more fun."

Soobin pretended he hadn't heard that. He pressed his index finger and thumb to his eyelids with a deep sigh. "So at least one of us has to be present at the company for the Choi-Palmer Merger. And at least one of us has to be present at the meeting with Commissioner Kim about the investigation."

"In unif—"

"In uniform," Soobin confirmed.

Beomgyu sipped his third cup of coffee this morning (it was approximately seven in the morning and he had a brief nap from one to two). There was something so addicting about the bitter taste and the buzz at the back of his head. He didn't feel like himself without it. Definitely not healthy, but he hadn't been healthy for a while. "You say at least one of us for both. So which one needs two of us?"

Yeonjun closed his eyes. "Why can't dad and Riki go?"

Soobin sent him a glare that Yeonjun pointedly ignored. "Because they're out of town? They've been out of town for a week, dude. Where have you been?"

"Serving justice," Yeonjun droned.

It wasn't difficult to sense the tension in the front parlor of the Choi Manor. There was always some sort of tension present, especially between the brothers. Riki never really dealt with it because they all had a soft spot for their half brother, and because Riki was too much like their father, Choi Minho, to care about what other people thought. It was no surprise as to why Riki was the favorite child. Soobin, Yeonjun, and Beomgyu had long since accepted it and wholeheartedly agreed. It was one of the rare few things the Chois could all agree on, actually.

Soobin strived to hold in another sigh. "Okay, fine. Whatever. I'll go meet with Kim to talk about what the Hell's going on this time." He slipped his phone out of his pocket to double check the details of the meeting and where it would take place. Usually, they would be in uniform under the cover of night, but there were exceptions. Plus, corruption nor crime waited for nightfall, so why should they?

Yeonjun nodded as he pushed up from his seat. He stretched his arms over his head, the popping of joints dull yet satisfying. "Cool."

As the two older brothers began to make their way out of the room, Beomgyu bolted upright. "Hey, wait! Who's doing the Palmer Merger?"

"You," Soobin and Yeonjun answered in sync—then promptly gagged to themselves. That was the cringiest thing they could've ever—

"Where the Hell are you going then, Yeonjun? There's no way you would entertain politicians," Beomgyu complained with his arms crossed firmly over his chest. "Even the dead ones."

Soobin's eyes narrowed at the slight dig at himself, but Yeonjun simply waved a flippant, uncaring hand. "I have a hot date."

Soobin scoffed. "With who? Your hand?"

Beomgyu didn't even bother suppressing his giggles of utter delight, especially when Yeonjun sent a look at his younger brothers. "You're both so rude—"

"Whatever you say, old man," Beomgyu jested. He picked his coffee cup up from the table and made his way past his brothers. "Have fun or whatever." As he walked away, his footsteps were so light that even in the hollow hallway, not even the dust stirred. His voice was distant and muffled as he called out for the family's butler and right-hand, Alfred Pennyworth, about what tie might go well with today's soon-to-be successful merger.

While he was away, Soobin clapped a hand on his older brother's shoulder as they too went down the hallway, but traveled further past the grand staircase in the foyer and into the chamber of a small elevator. "You know, Lee would murder you if you called your meeting with his girlfriend a 'hot date.'"

Yeonjun folded his arms over his chest. The elevator carriage began descending deeper into the manor's land to its subterranean levels. He scoffed. "Who said the hot date I was referring to was his girlfriend and not him?"

"Just marry him already," Soobin rolled his eyes, his head shaking.

The elevator came to a smooth stop, the door sliding open to reveal the massive, yawning cavern below the grounds of the Choi Manor. The squeal of bats echoed against the cool, stone walls and the LEDs installed into the ground and in select areas of the cavern roof blinked to life as the two brothers walked past them. It was a generous basement space that acted as headquarters for the family's alter egos as well as housed their vehicles. Beomgyu had called it the "Bat Cave" at one point, to which everyone in the family pointedly disagreed to. Their father was not pleased with it at all, but it had unfortunately yet gradually begun to stick.

Soobin stopped at a doorway that came up just before they would have reached the massive set of computer monitors and controls. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Yeonjun don a pair of matching brown leather gloves as he headed for the garage levels. "Hey."

His brother's split eyebrow quirked upward.

"Stay outta trouble, will ya?"

Yeonjun smirked. "I thought you knew me better than that, Bin."

Soobin huffed a sigh. He really couldn't control his older brother, nor his younger brothers, but he could definitely hope and dream. "At least wear a helmet, dickhead," he shouted after him.

The lights built into the perimeter of the runway shuttered to life as Yeonjun skipped up the steps to his beloved motorcycle. He cooed at his vehicle, hands gently caressing the handlebars and polished metal that he lovingly maintained. "Hi, baby. How we doin'? Can you hear that? He wants me to wear a helmet like you won't protect me."

"Oh my god, he's talking to it again." Soobin turned away from his strange, strange brother. He had much bigger fish to fry than worrying about Yeonjun. Contrary to popular opinion, Yeonjun could unfortunately take care of himself (most of the time).

Soobin pushed into the doorway and into the arsenal chambers. These were lit in dim, blue-white lighting—colors that Yeonjun and Beomgyu detested because of the clear "bias" toward Soobin and their father's uniforms, but Minho had simply rolled his eyes and approved the order for blue and white LEDs. There were separate rooms for uniforms, weaponry, and other gadgets that might be needed while out on patrol, but since this was simply a… conference of sorts, Soobin donned his black and blue uniform, along with the black domino mask fitted over the upper half of his face.

While Yeonjun was partial to his beloved pearl-handled pistols (and things that went BANG BANG, in general), Soobin preferred his escrima sticks—twin batons that were wired with tasers. Hand-to-hand combat and close combat was his specialty, and it was how his father had first taught him to fight. Everyone in the family could fist fight, but some preferred it and some didn't.

Once everything was in place, Soobin headed out to meet with Commissioner Kim about a man's murder. He hoped this wouldn't be a massive waste of his time.

You had never liked the look of the Iceberg Lounge. Its front door was like a rusted garage, and it was fixed below an active metro line. The train rattled on by every ten minutes or so and blew your hair behind and to the side of you as you monitored the exclusive club across the street from you. You had only ever been to the Iceberg Lounge a couple times, and that had been years and years ago when you had been pint-sized and your mother still acknowledged your father's presence. You wished you could carry on her routine of no longer acknowledging him, but desperate times called for incredibly desperate measures.

There weren't many ways you supposed you could break into the lounge without having to go through the front security. You could probably try to scale the wall to reach that one window way up there…

Or save yourself the trouble by simply going through the front. You sighed, clambering out of your car and making your way over to the front door, where a pair of big bouncers stood stationed outside. There wasn't a line, not when it was still day and there was too much risk of people recognizing other people.

The two men eyed you, and you them. You bet they could manhandle you if they wanted, but you flashed them your ID, and the one on the right lowered his mouth to his communicator. "Capo's daughter is here."

Ah, so he had been keeping an eye on you.

You were granted entry.

The smell of sweat and booze hit you like a massive gust of wind. The men behind you chuckled at the way you gagged, the doors slamming shut behind you. Your eyes shuttered like a camera lens in an attempt to quickly accustom them to the dimmed, blue-white lighting.

There weren't many people around at this time of day. You came upon a balcony railing that looked down to what you assumed to be a dance floor below. Above, you caught the gleam of the upper offices that overlooked the rest of the club with walls made of thick panes of glass. But your destination was further up, and so you made your way to a set of elevators to the left.

If you ventured down to the floors beneath the dance floor, you would find the VIP lounge—the real Iceberg Lounge. You remembered recognizing famous people you'd seen on TV down there before with scantily dressed women hanging off their arms like jewelry.

The elevator carriage brought you up to the top floor that opened up into a penthouse suite. Washed out white light poured through the window at the far wall and shelves of books and manuals and ledgers lined the walkway into the living space. There was a muted jazz tune playing from the record player in the far corner; you never thought your father would listen to jazz, really. He had always been a classical guy when you were young.

"It's been quite a long time—" You whirled around to find a tall, lanky man stepping out from one of the doors on the right side of the room. He wore crisp, black silk clothing, his face sculpted and well-kept. The hair on the back of your neck stood. "—but I suppose the phrase is 'better late than never.'"

You swallowed and steeled yourself. You didn't cry, you really didn't. "Mom—" your voice broke, "—mom's gone. I don't… I didn't know what to do or where to go…"

Your father hushed you as he enveloped you in his hold. You wondered in the back of your mind why he was so cold.

"It's okay, Yn. It's going to be okay."

You didn't cry. You really, really didn't.

But this was your mom. You loved your mom. "She's gone," you croaked into the expensive material of his shirt. "Someone killed her." There was a sort of grit in your voice from the congestion, but you liked to think it was passion.

His hand came up to smooth the hair at the back of your head in a sort of comforting gesture. You would take what you could get at this point. "Then they will pay, Yn. I will find them—you know I can."

You felt as cold as your father's body heat. "Do you know who could have done this?"

"I have ideas," he said quietly.

How was he so calm? You were close to shaking the information from him and going to deal with them yourself. Your father pulled away from you to take a look at your blank face. He placed a hand on your shoulder, guiding you to the sectional and offering you to sit with him.

"You know I have my enemies," he murmured. He leaned against the back cushion, eyes glazing over. "I'm just sorry you and your mother had to suffer because of them."

"Who?"

He glanced at you. "I don't know who exactly—"

"Then give me options." Your voice had steeled again, like your resolve. You swallowed—but you were still just a scared, little girl. You knew your father had enemies, but he had double the amount of connections and triple the power. You would exploit it if it meant bringing your mother the justice she deserved.

"Would you like to help?" That piqued your interest. Your father lifted a hand. "I understand that this is dangerous… this is a dangerous world, but you can be even more dangerous, if only you were given the proper guidance."

Those words… you didn't realize how much they could send a jolt through your veins. You weren't sure if it was good or bad though. But at this moment, it seemed to be what you wanted to hear.

"Could we… could we have a funeral for her?" Perhaps that was one of the only things you wanted. That, and justice. And maybe for your mother to come back.

Your father's eyes shone—with what, you couldn't tell just yet. "Of course, Yn. We can have a funeral. That is a small thing." You wished you had known just how small it was compared to all of the things he would ask of you.

There was a vintage diner located far from the Choi Enterprise building and far from anyplace anyone would think to find a member of the prestigious family. That was why Yeonjun loved it so much. Plus, the waffles weren't half bad.

A plate of said freshly made waffles had just been placed before him when the bell above the diner door jingled its merry, little tone. He hummed in delight, dancing in his chair a little bit, as he fed himself a chunk of the waffle smothered in melted butter and sweet maple syrup.

"Ooh, that looks so good, Jun."

Yeonjun grinned as another chunk of waffle went into his mouth. He glanced up from his plate only for a second in greeting to his so-called hot dates. "Mhm, she's a beauty."

He dug his fork and knife into the waffle piece, moaning softly with his eyes closed. "Mm-mm! Hear that crunch? Music to my goddamn ears."

Felix Lee rolled his eyes, tongue poking his cheek through an ill-concealed smile. There was a young woman next to him, who was already sliding into the squeaky, red vinyl booth across from Yeonjun. She was pretty—that much Yeonjun knew. After all, he was the one to have introduced his best friend, Felix, to her. It took a lot of courage to give him away like that.

Felix himself was a blond—well, not fully blond, but—wait a second.

Yeonjun shoved his bite into his cheek. His eyebrows furrowed, and he gestured to the tips of Felix's hair. Said tips that were now burned a scarlet red. "It's red."

Felix slid into the booth beside his girlfriend, who most everyone referred to as Nana, and braced his arm over the booth behind her. "Good to know your eyes still work, Choi."

It was always so strange, the contrast between the little nose and freckles to the deep, ass voice. Even after years of knowing him, Yeonjun still did a double take sometimes. He supposed it was good for scaring the shit out of the baddies when they couldn't see his face, and they only heard his voice and felt the sting of his arrowheads.

"Don't give me that, Arrow Boy—"

"Just saying, Red Hoodlum—"

Nana hit the table with her palm. "Hey! Can you bozos wait until I've had coffee before you start your lover's quarrel?"

Yeonjun averted his eyes to his waffle plate, and Felix winced. "Ah, sorry babe." Felix flicked his wrist to signal a waiter. The kid who arrived was the same bored, overworked and underpaid one who had delivered this golden plate of Heaven to Yeonjun. "Can I get a plate of that—" he gestured to the Heaven, "—and two cups of coffee? But both with a bit of milk as well."

"Thank you!" Nana called after the boy after he gave a dull bob of his head in acknowledgement. She then settled her elbows on the shiny, white table and braced her chin on her hands. "How're you, Jun?"

"Great," he replied between bites. "Managed to dip out on company duties and 'good guy' shit—"

"A normal day," Felix added.

Yeonjun lifted a shoulder like a half-hearted shrug. He wasn't about to disagree. "So everything's comin' up—"

"Order up!"

Nana perked up as the waiter kid set down twin mugs of steaming hot coffee. The woman delicately blew over the scalding hot surface while her boyfriend scarfed the shit down like it was water. It was funny, Yeonjun thought as he watched the two of them. So different, yet so similar. Felix was usually quite sunny and polite, like his girlfriend, but sometimes Yeonjun brought out the worst (he liked to think it was their true best) in people. Felix was actually a neighboring city's own watchdog and resident bow and arrow enthusiast, Speedy.

Yeah, Yeonjun loved that name when Felix told him what his vigilante name was. Tch. Speedy. He bet that was exactly how one could describe their experience with him in—

"That's good coffee," Felix said as he set the cup down. Empty. He glanced over at Nana who had just finished stirring in a packet of sugar and took a generous gulp of her drink. "Cheap but good, hm babe?"

"Mm," she hummed in affirmation. She set the mug down. "Okay, okay. Shall we—"

"Here's those waffles." Another plate of Heaven touched down onto the table, was slid over to Nana, and suddenly the words disappeared from her tongue as she indulged in pure goodness.

Yeonjun finished off his first waffle and vaguely gestured in the air with his fork. "I'm starting to think the universe just doesn't want me to find my mom."

Felix shrugged. He turned his head, eyes still looking at Yeonjun, as Nana fed him a fork of waffle. He swallowed, then replied, "Maybe. But it's not like the universe has done you any favors."

"That is so true, my friend."

"Why do you say the universe doesn't want you to find her?" Nana queried between bites.

Yeonjun set his utensils down then drummed his fingers against his chin where he had braced against his palm. "Well, for starters, it keeps interrupting you."

"Well," she emphasized, "you can stop thinking that, because I found a trail."

His breath hitched.

Felix grinned at his friend's reaction, arms holding his girlfriend by her shoulders. "See? Isn't she so good? She's so talented, such a genius."

"Nana Lee—" Yeonjun began.

"Yeonjun, that is not my name."

"Hey, let the man speak! And what do you mean that's not your name?"

"—I love you so much," Yeonjun finished, hands clasped together in prayer. As for whom he was praying to… well, he believed in no god, only himself. And perhaps the woman seated across from him.

Felix narrowed his eyes. "Okay, bro."

"Chill," Yeonjun said with a pointed look. "Nana, please do tell me what lead you have caught and how I may repay you."

Nana shook her head at this. "Oh no, you're not repaying me, Jun. Not for this."

"Oh, come on," he protested. He nodded to his best friend. "Back me up."

Nana sent Felix a sharp look, to which he could only raise his hands in surrender. "Baby says no, I say no."

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes at Felix this time, face twisted into an expression of pure disbelief. "Oh my god, you simp. Every other moment I give you a chance, you're begging me for money."

Felix coughed as Nana's eyebrow flew upward. "I've changed my ways, babe."

"Mhm," she hummed in disbelief, then returned to her waffles. Sometimes Yeonjun wondered how this pairing even worked, and then he realized that he needed to give himself more credit. Because this pairing definitely worked. He suppressed a chuckle to himself, but he knew Felix saw the way his eyes were alight in silent laughter.

Shut up, the blond seemed to say.

And in proper Yeonjun fashion, he smirked. Make me. "So, the lead?"

"Oh, yes. Right." Nana swiped a napkin over her lips. "She was put in witness protection quite a while ago." Yeonjun and Felix paused their squabbles, both of them fully tuning into Nana's findings. "Usually, they don't release such records to the public for obvious reasons, so I don't know much about her new identity."

Yeonjun cocked his head to the side. "Much? So you know something."

"She doesn't live in Gotham," she said. She paused, considering something. "But again, I found a trail. It's faint, but a trail is a trail."

He couldn't agree more. "Send me it when you can."

Soobin found that domino masks were relatively comfortable. They were definitely more comfortable than the entire cowl thing that his father wore as the Batman, and they didn't make him feel like he was suffocating. The rooftop of the police headquarters allowed for lots of breathing room, so as he inspected the photos of the scene the commissioner had given him, he didn't feel like he was being caged in. Most of the time, he figured out how to shut himself off and to focus on the details and the job. Others… it was a little more difficult.

The man in the pictures had been murdered executioner style with a kill shot to the head at close range. The victim would have been at the mercy of his killer. There was blood spatter on the floor, the walls… all standard stuff. But the most curious thing about the scene was the note that had come with it.

"Hey." Soobin lifted his head up from the folder and pictures. A figure in lean, armored red and black touched down onto the roof with his grappling hook, feet as light as a feather. Beomgyu also had a domino mask fitted to his face to hide his identity. He made his way toward his brother, his black cape moving with his footsteps. "What'd he give you?"

Soobin shifted the images slightly so Beomgyu could tilt his head and see for himself. "That was quick."

"Yeah, Palmer didn't fuckin' show up," Beomgyu grumbled.

Soobin clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Guess we can say bye to him, then."

He grunted. "We better. If he comes crawling back, you're dealing with him because I'm not wasting another nicely ironed suit again for that idiot. Or Alfred's time, for that matter."

Soobin could get behind that.

"What the fuck's that?" Beomgyu picked up the photocopy of the note.

Right. That. It was a simple piece of paper, but with the words "A Debt Repaid" typed in large letters and basic sans serif font. There was a bit of the victim's blood on it, but that was expected. The note had been dusted for prints, but as expected, none were lifted. Based on this, it might have been a crime of passion, especially since this mayoral candidate would have made lots of political enemies. But looking at the method of death, there was something still detached about it.

Majority of the signs pointed to an assassin—a skilled killer of sorts, probably for hire. What Soobin couldn't hit the mark with was why? A Debt Repaid, was the supposed "explanation." But why? Who decided this man had offended someone so badly that he deserved to die? Soobin didn't like researching politicians, but politicians were so easy to dig up shit on. And if they deserved it (as most did), finding the shit and exposing them for it was always a job well-done in his books.

Justice, after all.

"A note from the killer," Soobin said plainly.

Beomgyu considered it for a moment. "Why does it look familiar to me?"

His brother turned to him. "Huh?"

"It just looks familiar for some reason. Maybe déjà vu or something," he dismissed with the flick of his hand.

"Mm." Soobin stared at the lifeless eyes of the mayoral candidate. His name was Lee Sungjae. He had a wife, three children, a house in the suburbs. And he was dead.

Guess he had some research to do. Soobin balked though; he really didn't like politicians.

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comatosebunny09 · 11 months

Text

moontide | r. kyojuro

summary: he looks at you with certainty in his eyes, as if he’s ready to dive into the crevasse with you. he'd do it a thousand times over. after all, he's waited years to take the leap. genres: romance, friends-to-lovers, modern au cw: use of alcohol, mutual pining, language, stream of consciousness, incomplete music: l'amour, les baguettes, paris - stella jang

It begins innocently enough.

Or as innocent as a reunion between friends can be, given the setting and people involved.

The bottle of Casamigos being passed around exacerbates things. Loosens tongues and inhibitions while dredging up memories of a childhood long-passed.

A cacophony of sounds typical of longtime friends paints the space beneath the gazebo. Shot glasses slam against acacia. Varying pitches of groans and laughter stain the atmosphere. Music spills from the Bluetooth speaker. Nostalgia hangs overhead, nebulous like the galaxies littering the sky.

Your laughter is amongst the fray, high and light. Soaked with Tequila, but it’s genuine. Your cheeks simmer with it, alongside the balmy caress of the breeze. Lips ache with a smile as you toy with the drawstrings of your blouse. You feel full. You missed this.

It’s divine, being home. Being tucked beneath willowy palm trees, the briny wind stinging your lungs, and sand grating the interstices of your toes. The sea at your back, singing its gentle cadence. Sandwiched between companions who have filled the gaps between your ribs for two decades. Recounting memories stashed between the folds of your mind for safekeeping.

Though the years have dragged you all apart, you’ve floated back. Eventually returned to the shoreline like driftwood.

Your gaze shifts. Caught by watercolor swatches of gold and crimson. Your smile loses a bit of its luster. Falters, because there he sits. At the edge of the bench, cheek propped on his hand, gaze swimming, mirth coloring his features. Mitsuri’s beside him, siphoning his attention.

The liquor does little to stop the envy curdling in your gut. Your mouth pulls into a grimace whilst another set of chuckles leaves Kyojuro’s lips. It’s not you eliciting such a sound, after all. It’s not—

How immature you sound—a brat forced to share a toy in the sandbox. You could smack yourself. Mitsuri is your friend. Been here since you were a teen, all awkward juts of bone and metal filling your mouth. Known of your infatuation with the blond for years. She wouldn’t dream of coming between you. Besides—a glance beneath the table reveals pale fingers twining shyly with tanned ones in her lap—Iguro holds her heart. Always has. Always will.

“—alright?”

You blink away your reverie. Vision ebbs and flows like cerulean waves lapping at the shoreline. His eyes bring you back first, wading beneath furrowed brows. Glimmering like the sunset against the ocean. Posing a question you know you’ll lie to.

Next are the worn pads of his fingers skating between the grooves of your knuckles. Gentle and homely like the caw of the seagulls in the distance. Thumb slipping beneath the clutch of your hand, memorizing every stitch and line. You flinch beneath the weight of it when he squeezes. Veins working overtime. He doesn’t seem to notice, his stare heavy and drawing you in like a whirlpool.

Sand fills your throat. Funnels into your chest. Gathers in your stomach, and your heart sinks with it. You somehow forget how to breathe. How to—okay, it goes like—

In.

Out.

In—

How—

Embarrassing. You’re 30-something. Seasoned, yet pining for your friend like he’s some grade school crush. He’s always had this way of wheedling himself beneath your skin. Peeling back the layers like an onion, leaving you raw and exposed. Even after all this time.

“I’m good,” you chuckle once your voice returns. The dissonance in your mind congeals like sea foam. You swallow against a tidal wave of anxiety. Avert your gaze to your lap, errant splinters from the table biting into your palm.

“You will let me know when you are ready to leave, right?” Kyojuro queries, dragging your stare back to him. A pang shoots like lightning through you. The softness of his voice. Warm like the summer sun beating on your chest. You don’t deserve it. Yet, it’s typical of him to ask. He’s long since assumed the role of your DD. He doesn’t drink. You’re envious of his resolve.

“Yeah,” you say simply. Lashes stained with kohl shutter, your gaze flitting down to where your hands meet. You turn your palm skyward to hold his. Harmless affection between friends. You convince yourself it means nothing when Kyojuro clutches you tighter, as if letting you go will cause you to disappear in a plume of smoke.

Mitsuri’s look is telling in your peripheral. Twinkling like sea glass beneath the golden glow of the gazebo’s lights. A beam threatens to take possession of her features. But she remains quiet, diverting her attention to Iguro. A friend through and through.

She’ll tease you about this later. You just know it.

Sanemi is the first to notice. Or the first to vocalize it.

He’s always been infuriatingly observant despite the aloofness he exudes. The low gravel of his voice cuts through the amalgam of merriment, shining the proverbial spotlight on you from the opposite end of the table. “Your glass has stayed pretty full over there,” he husks, your name added with a snort. “Wonder what our little angel has been up to in the big, bad city.”

You cut your eyes at Sanemi, your laughter petering. He looks at you from the tip of his nose, throwing back another shot of Tequila. A silent challenge leaving tension clinging to the air like sea salt.

He isn’t wrong. Since the festivities began—a wholesome game of Never Have I Ever that of course erred down a suggestive path—your shot glass has remained surprisingly full. You’ve lived several lifetimes since you left your sleepy hometown. Had a few lovers. Experimented. Unlocked different rooms of your psyche when you traded your flip-flops for high-heels and knee-length skirts. No longer the innocent husk you left behind, molded by time and experience.

“What haven't you done?” Sanemi quips, garnering the scrutiny of your friends.

With a shrug of your shoulders, you idly fiddle with your glass. Feel eight sets of eyes boring into you, kindling with various degrees of interest. Stripping you down to the marrow.

The cool glass turns in your fingers, light crystals reflecting off it. You scan the library of your muddled mind for something to dispel the silence. Something to make you human. You find your voice amid the sea, stained with nonchalance, the alcohol having thoroughly loosened your tongue.

But, of course, you would admit something so brazen. So intimate. And, of course, a particular set of sunset eyes would find yours through the discord of your friends, their collective gasps and laughter rivaling the static filling your ears.

And of course, he hasn't taken his eyes off you since.

It comes through the slurry of your thoughts. A lighthouse beaconing through the storm.

Tengen’s voice, laced with agave, crackles like pebbles dragged by the surf. His breath skates along the outskirts of your ear as he slurs, “You act like you're hot shit, but you haven’t changed one bit.” He dangles on a tightrope between sobriety and inebriation. Always been better at holding his liquor. A man his size has to.

You turn towards him in the violet haze of the night, head swimming. Catch sight of garnet-spun eyes dancing, dancing with amusement, chin propped on his palm.

Confusion occupies the space between your brows. Your lips quiver with a question you already know the answer to. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

Tengen shrugs, much to your chagrin. Gaze flicks across from you, confirming that creeping suspicion. He combs through gossamer strands whilst you peek at a certain blondie you’ve been playing peek-a-boo with all night. A smirk cants Tengen’s lips when your gazes realign, browbones waggling. The warmth blossoming in your neck stems from more than just alcohol.

It’s harder to swallow now. Harder to breathe, your throat pulsing, and your blood thundering in your ears. The frayed threads of a hole in your jeans are suddenly more interesting, twirling between shaky fingers. You chew your lip, heat spilling into your chest. Ten’s never been one to letup, cornering you like the proverbial lamb laid to slaughter.

“Better tell ‘em before I do, city girl,” Tengen drawls. Side-eyes you whilst throwing back another shot, his glass striking the table with finality.

You shrink beneath his scrutiny like a scolded child. Know that he’ll do good on his threat. He’s never one to pull punches. Your idle crush has run Tengen ragged over the years, to the point where he’s come close to diming you out on numerous occasions. Would it be selfish of you to ask him to hold on a bit longer?

He casts you another warning look before hauling himself up from the bench, the acacia groaning beneath his might. You wince at the shrillness of it. Sink further, left at the mercy of your pride and anxiety.

You reach across before you know it. Find his hand through the discord, snatching Kyojuro away from his conversation, hesitation hanging in the air. His eyes shine with worry, fingers curling into your palm.

“Think I’m ready to go,” you breathe, fluttering your lashes against the wetness gathering beneath them. You offer a facsimile of a smile. “Tequila’s not sittin’ right with me.”

He doesn’t ask questions. Rarely does. Crow’s feet line the corners of his eyes. “Let’s go,” Kyojuro mouths, drawing you up from the bench alongside him.

You don’t bother with formalities, creeping away from your friends like two teens taking part in a naughty secret. You’ll beg for their forgiveness later. For now, you need a breather. Though, it’s become increasingly difficult to breathe with him beside you, his hand warm and reassuring in yours whilst he tugs you towards the surf.

A walk along the sea-line and the glittering stars before he takes you back to the icy, lonely clutch of your home.

#rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfic #kny reader insert #rengoku kyojuro fluff #kyojuro fluff

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thedemonofcat · 7 months

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Jaskier, an immortal, has immersed himself deeply in the ever-changing landscape of popular music, adapting to each decade's dominant genre with the passing years

1900s: During the early 1900s, Jaskier immersed himself in the world of Ragtime, even spending some time on Vaudeville stages. However, Geralt had little fondness for the theatre manager in charge.

1910s: In the 1910s, Jaskier's musical journey led him to become a blues singer.

1920s: The 1920s saw Jaskier embracing the vibrant world of Jazz, often performing in Jazz clubs.

1930s: Jaskier transitioned into a swing singer during the 1930s, a decade Eskel particularly enjoyed for its music.

1940s: Jaskier ventured into country music during the 1940s, and he fancied himself quite dashing in that hat. Well, he will never tell anyone Lambert likes this the most

1950s: Rock 'n' Roll became Jaskier's musical calling in the 1950s, much to Ciri's delight but not so much to Geralt's, who found it too loud.

The 1960s: Jaskier took on the pop-rock scene in the 1960s, oddly becoming Yennefer's favourite genre during this period.

1970s: While singing Rock in the 1970s, Jaskier's life took a tumultuous turn due to a problematic tour manager, leading to a regrettable battle with drug addiction.

The 1980s: The 1980s saw Jaskier experimenting with metal music despite his immortality, which didn't sit well with Geralt, who despised finding Jaskier unconscious from drug overdoses.

1990s: Jaskier believed his best musical era was in the 1990s when he embraced Alternative Rock, possibly because drugs no longer plagued him and he could think more clearly.

2000s: Jaskier found his groove in the Indie music scene. For Geralt, this decade held special significance, marking when his and Jaskier's love bloomed.

2010s: Jaskier continued to dabble in Indie rock in the 2010s, with a brief, forgettable stint in hip hop. The less said about that, the better.

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victorspindrop · 1 month

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Music Artists I think the HOA Characters (Season 1 Specifically) would listen to!

Note: First head canon type thing I am putting on here (yay!). This is something I have thought a lot just myself in my lonesome so Id thought Id share it here! If you have any other ideas of what certain characters would listen to I would love to hear!

Nina

-> I think we as a fandom have collectively decided that Nina would 100% be a swiftie (and I agree). Her favorite album would be either Speak Now or Folklore, however, her fav song would probs be "London Boy" off of the Lover album though (for obvious reasons)

-> I can see her listening to some other softer artists like beabadobee, Clairo, and Boygenius (shes a softie at heart what can I say)

-> "All American Bitch" by Olivia Rodrigo is her confidence booster song for sure

-> Her and Amber have 2000-2010's pop music dance parties in their room together (which make annoy some of the housemates from them jumping around and dancing; also get in trouble with Victor about it but its worth it to them)

->Ok I need you guys to HEAR ME OUT with this one, but...Nina definitely is a little (just a little bit) of a theatre kid. I mean let's be real, she wrote an entire play for the school AND performed in it,,,my girl def is a little bit of a theatre girl. So with that being said, she listens to some show tunes from musicals (mostly Waitress and Mamma Mia)

Amber

-> She would so be a Y2k pop listening type of girl

-> Favorite songs would be "Rich Girl" by Gwen Stefani, "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga, HEAVY ON "Stars are Blind" by Paris Hilton!!!!!!

-> Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, Gwen Stefani, Beyonce, if its an iconic pop girl, she listens to them

-> Marina and the Diamonds. IDK IT JUST MAKES SO MUCH SENSE TO ME I CANNOT EXPLAIN. Some of her songs just give that "it girl" energy and if there is an "it girl" of the Anubis house its miss Amber Millington. "Bubblegum Bitch" is blasted in her car with the top down (because she def has a convertible and its pink)

-> Ariana Grande stan. Probably had a stroke when Ariana came out with a makeup line and bought ALL OF IT.

Fabian

-> Fabian def listens to alternative music old and new.

->LOVES THE SMITHS! Like its almost the only thing he listens to

-> Favorite songs by the Smiths include "There is a Light that Never Goes Out" and "Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want"

-> Listens to the Arctic Monkeys for sure

-> Some other artists he listens to are Radiohead, The Cranberries, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, and TV Girl.

-> Fabian is my favorite awkward loser boy... he listens to Weezer

Patricia

-> Didn't Alfie call her like a "Punk rock/goth vixen" or something like that? (I can't remember the quote or the episode it is in for the life of me)

-> Regardless of whatever the quote was, this is our punk rock alternative queen right here

-> PARAMORE SHE LIKES PARAMORE (has a crush on Hayley Williams because I said so)

-> Had a Panic At the Disco and FallOutBoy phase for sure

-> Listens to the Smiths a little bit (because Fabian showed her some songs)

-> Also listens to some metal rock, loves Poppy and always liked her weird concepts

Alfie

-> Alfie listens to anything and everything I feel like

-> alternative, pop, rock, jazz, electronic, DISCO, hell even fucking dubstep.

-> If he likes it, that's all that matters to him. He doesn't care about the genre or style of music it is

-> I feel he would listen to a lot of artists from the 70s and 80s (idk if that's because of Jeromes quote about him being stuck in the 80s but it would make sense!)

->Loves ABBA, BeesGees, Earth Wind and Fire, and WHAM

-> When "Lets Groove" by Earth Wind and Fire was trending on tiktok, he played it every chance he could. That song has been banned from the house since.

Jerome

-> Like Fabian, he's an Arctic Monkeys fan

-> ADVID LISTENER OF I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

-> Favorite song by IDKHBTFM is Choke

-> I feel like he would also love Childish Gambino idk why I just feels right

-> Secretly listens to Mitski. That boy has been traumatized even BEFORE he was at Anubis, he deserves to cry to Mitski

-> The Neighborhood is a favorite of his (especially their song Daddy Issues because of,,, obvious reasons) Second favorite song of theirs would be Single (if you haven't heard that song highly recommend)

-> Hozier feels right for him idk

Joy

-> I think as a fandom we have concluded that she is also a swiftie. Her favorite album is Midnights and Reputation imo

-> HEAVY ON OLIVIA RODRIGO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-> The Sour album was life changing for her (same can be said for Guts)

-> Literally her top songs of the year were all from the album. Jealously Jealousy, Favorite Crime, Hope You're Happy, Good for You to be specific

-> I can see her being a Harry fan

-> Definitely forced Patricia to go to Love on Tour (Patricia liked it, but she definitely won't tell you that)

-> She was a One Directioner so naturally, the love carried on into the members solo careers (had to miss class when Zayn left)

Mara

-> LAUFEY LAUFEY LAUFEY LAUFEY LAUFEY!!!!!!!

-> Also just listens to old Frank Sinatra, Doris Day, Dean Martin

-> Listened to 5SOS during her brief "bad girl" era to help prove her point but she actually ended up really liking them!

Mick

-> Ed Sheeran and Jojo Siwa

*AUTHOR NOTE* I really hope you guys enjoyed this! Tbh it took a while because a few were tricky for me. Please fell free let me know if you have any you would add. Sorry some descriptions are longer than others

#alfie lewis #fabian rutter #joy mercer #mick campbell #mara jaffray #nina martin #house of anubis #amber millington #patricia williamson #jerome clarke #hoa

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drapopia · 9 months

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la squadra headcanons

authors note: hello everyone! i've been dead for a while, but my la squadra fixation has once again returned, perhaps even stronger than ever. honestly, i'm not phased. but my brain has stronger, more coherent thoughts about this bushel of babes. enjoy, and my inbox is always open to thoughts!!

risotto

joined la squadra at age 21 shortly after his cousin's accident/incident.

he is egyptian and sicilian.

he is the leader of la squadra, and appointed gelato as his second in command due to his intelligence in the area of arranged killing and his general ability to command a room/read his teammates (with the help of his stand, of course)

risotto may be slightly standoffish, but he truly does care for his team. he is also a natural worrier, and tends to check in with them often. whether it be strict business, or just in general keeping up.

his sclera are tattooed because of his stand's general changing of his appearance and his eyesight. after the gradual change of his whites, he decided to jump the hurdle and get it professionally blacked out.

considers himself to be on good terms with everyone on the team, but gets along best with formaggio. he appreciates that formaggio is spunky, and makes him chuckle to himself.

loves to draw, and has a notebook in his room of nonsensical drawings. one of ghiaccio's greatest treasures is a drawing risotto did for him after an especially bad morning (he accidentally left his car windows open during an entire night of rain without his knowledge) it's of a cat on a park bench! it is framed and on his dresser

his favorite ice cream flavor is either double chocolate, or raspberry.

he wants to learn how to ride a motorcycle so badly, but is scared of being too big and crashing. he knows how to ride a bicycle, it's just hard to find something that adequately fits his body.

his favorite genres of music are goth (duh), metal, and shoegaze. he wants to feel the bass in his feet. has gotten into several (mostly) lighthearted arguments over the punk rock scene with formaggio and gelato

he sleeps in a tanktop and extremely large sweatpants. he wears socks while he sleeps, an abysmal sight. he does have some trouble sleeping at night, but once he's out, he lays stiff as a plank. his thoughts before he goes to bed are of the general day, and random thoughts. often times he will remember something random, like he forgot to switch clothes from the washer to the dryer, and will bolt up and ruin his sleepy groove. (we're all guilty risotto, it's okay)

his favorite movies are the exorcist, carrie, and trainspotting. he likes most movies, but he HATES jaws. it makes him viscerally upset to think of the way sharks are treated because of these movies

prosciutto

he joined la squadra shortly after illuso, did, still one of the first to be initiated. he joined because he it was just the family business, it was why his father had moved his entire family to the country. while he doesn't consider it to be in his blood by any means, he finds it is remarkably easy for him to take on the role of a mafioso.

originally born in prague, his family immigrated to italy when he was around 4 years old. so while he grew up in florence, he had strong czech influence in his childhood

he feels like he should be the one in the team that people should feel inclined to go to for advice. he also thinks he's mysterious and seductive, and while he has an air of confidence and and elegant stride, the others have all seen him standing in his bathrobe screaming at the espresso machine for not working (it's not plugged in prosciutto.)

despite seeing him at his goofiest, the others on the team know that they can go to him for a lot of stuff that needs help. after all, he's the best marksman on the team and taught melone how to shoot. he's also the best to go to for advice on high end stuff.

his favorite genres of music are big band music, jazz, and psychedelic rock. he also loves blues and some occasional soul.

he used to have his bellybutton pierced for an entire year, but he almost had it ripped out on a job, so he had it retired.

he is a surprisingly good cook, and makes a mean roast pork, and knows exactly how long to bake a good sourdough bread to get a pleasantly crispy exterior. also, he somehow learned how to make an absolutely delectable hummus, and will not tell anyone how he knows. (prosciutto, spill your secrets, you devilish man!)

his favorite flavor of ice cream is either plain vanilla bean or coffee. would much rather have a pastry of some sort, but he gives in too quickly for anyone to believe that he hates sweets.

he sleeps in silk jammies, with no socks on. he is serious about his bedtime, and hates whenever people interrupt his sleep time. his thoughts before bed are similar to risottos, going through the day meticulously. he also thinks about his errands for the next day, often stopping to think of his grocery list for the coming day or so.

he does not exercise often, only opting to do some light walking, and uses the small personal gym that la squadra owns occasionally. has a freaky fast metabolism

his favorite movies include overboard, the man who fell to earth, and what ever happened to baby jane?

gets along best with sorbet. regularly lament over old man things, even though sorbet is substantially older than him. the stingy old bastards are fond of sitting on the veranda outside and mocking each other

pesci

pesci was the last to join la squadra, and joined because of pressure from his family, and low income from his family back in prague.

he is prosciutto's cousin, and immigated to italy with prosciutto's family when he was around 2. his family was in dire straits, and could not afford to provide for themselves, let alone pesci. he is still in contact with them, and regularly sends most his income to them. he hopes that they're doing better.

he is very unsure of his abilities as an assassin, and of his abilities in general. he has so many good traits though! illuso would never admit it, but he finds himself spending a good chunk of his socializing talking to pesci because he's so personable. he has good advice outside of work, and prosciutto is proud of him for being a good source of wisdom. (even if it's just for pesci knowing where the best place to fish is.)

pesci has tattoos! (and he also gets bitches!) he has the third most tattoos out of anyone on the team. his most special one is an intricate vine piece on his thigh representing his journey from prague to italy. only prosciutto and ghiaccio know that though. his second most fond piece is a petite tattoo of a turtle on a skateboard that he got on a night out with formaggio and melone. does not regret it whatsoever.

pesci's favorite genres of music are surf rock, pop, and a bit of hip- hop! he loves a good surf guitar.

his favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, proud defender until he passes

pesci is BUFF, let's get that out of the way. he, formaggio, ghiaccio, and risotto often work out together. he thinks it's genuinely so fun, and loves that good content feeling after a rewarding session. he spots for ghiaccio, and risotto spots for him. (formaggio HATES lifting weights)

gets along best with everyone, but he does have a soft spot for gelato. gelato was worried about pesci's adjustment to mafia life, and checks in with him personally. whether this is lunch at a local thai restaurant, or just a chat while brushing their teeth at the sink in the base. pesci often feels incompetent next to prosciutto, so he appreciates gelato's encouragement.

makes a mean baklava, like is such a good baker

he sleeps in comfy jammies, and no socks. such a deep sleeper, will not wake up even for the apocalypse at his door. does not remember falling asleep at all, so no coherent thoughts are really going through his head while he drifts off for the night.

his favorite movies are steel magnolias and uncle buck, loves john candy almost reverently

illuso

was the next to join after sorbet and gelato were assigned to risotto's team. is a former mercenary for hire from argentina. he emigrated from argentina to multiple different countries, but stuck in italy because he got into some trouble with passione. nothing too serious, he paid his debt, but he vibes with mafia life.

south american and italian!

illuso wouldn't admit that he gets along with anyone in la squadra, he enjoys teasing them a little too much to ever admit that out loud. he is an avid gossiper, and tends to bond with everyone in the group because of this. he's an information fiend, and this reflects in his work.

illuso's room is a calculated mess, and it is BEAUTIFUL. a comfy bed draped in luxurious blankets and throw pillows, extravagant rugs and lush carpeting, and ambient lighting that makes you instantly relax. he loves shoplifting, and uses his stand to his advantage. he used to steal jewelry from his grandmother when he was a child, and you can find it draped over a lamp or two.

for workouts, he loves pilates. (pilates princess all the way). he will occasionally join melone to work out, but that's just code for jogging on the treadmill and talking shit lol. melone tries to cajole him into yoga, but illuso ate shit stretching once and his ego was bruised

his favorite genres of music include psychedelic rock, pop, disco, and hip-hop. he occasionally enjoys metal, but he has to be in a very specific mood or else it just gives him a migraine. he just loves some sensual music that makes you wanna lounge on a love seat dramatically

has a smattering of ear piercings, his favorite is his conch piercing. formaggio is trying to convince him to get his nipples pierced, but illuso hates needles. he especially doesn't want needles near his sensitive bits.

his favorite ice cream flavor is either blueberry cheesecake, or bubblegum. not bubblegum with huge chunks, but just the flavoring.

of all the people on the team, he is closest to either melone or formaggio. being partners with formaggio is comfortable, and puts him at ease whenever they're on the job. formaggio can reciprocate his crude and teasing humour, so they mesh well. they watch trashy soap operas together. he can't explain why he and melone get along so well together, only that they're both smarmy bitches.

wears silk jammies to bed, and sleeps with a silk eye mask as well. has his hair in a bonnet, and has a complicated bed setup. he is a light sleeper, and sleeps in the mirror world to reduce the risk of being woken up super easy. his thoughts before going to bed are of things he wants to buy, and an uneven flow of things that happened that day.

has skin care nights with ghiaccio and melone, or anyone else that wants to join. risotto and formaggio join occasionally

his favorite movies are black christmas and girl, interrupted.

formaggio

formaggio joined after ghiaccio, so right in the middle! he fell into the mafia, and was originally a part of polpo's squad after gelato was reassigned to risotto's squad. after polpo discovering how useful and destructive formaggio's stand ability was, he was reassigned to risotto's squad.

if you want fun and some healthy emotional balancing out, formaggio is your guy! he is the one on the team who the others go to for some fun and laughs. while he is a calculated and malicious killer, he is also very lazy and loves a good nap.

spanish and italian, his mother is from spain and his father is from genoa, italy.

he has the second most tattoos of anyone on the squad. while some are emotionally rooted, like the heart tattoo of his mom's name, some are for goofs, like an american traditional pinup of a woman with a cat tail. (formaggio what are you telling us)

his cat is named amoreena, and he is exceedingly fond of her. he used to have two cats, amoreena and cecilia, but cecilia passed away from a urinary tract infection. at the time of his death, he was actively looking for a kitten for amoreena to bond with. that is why she seems so agitated, she's just a sad girl at the moment (and formaggio shoved her into a damn bottle LMAO)

his favorite genres of music are soft rock, blues rock, and punk! he loves himself some music that reminds him that he's a tough guy and that he is rough and tumble! is a sucker for some celine dion and cher though

formaggio makes his own clothes from punk diys, and is very proud of his fashion. sticks very true to punk ideals and tries not to consume what fashion he could just make himself. definitely owns crust pants lol

as stated before, he regularly works out with pesci, ghiaccio, and risotto. he's mainly a cardio guy, and some light agility based stuff. i don't believe he likes weight lifting mainly because he hates how his arms ache a little the next day. he finds it irritating, and just generally agitating. my mans also loves jump roping

his favorite ice cream flavor is chocolate and cookies and cream! will genuinely eat any flavor though, he is not picky by any means, he loves food

is such a good cook, i am being so serious right now. his food has that home cooked and feel good taste, one bite will have you pleasantly smiling. he will casually say "let me make something super quick" and make the most mouthwatering, delectable meal known to man. he used to get put on timeout often when he was a kid, and spent that time watching his momma make food from his seat at the table.

formaggio considers himself a fan of everyone on the team! sure, ghiaccio may be prickly, and illuso can be a little too catty sometimes, but he vibes well with everyone. if you forced him to choose, it would be either gelato or pesci. he thinks they're both fun and down to earth, and he admires that they know who they are pretty well!

he sleeps shirtless with some boxers or lounge pants. his bed, to put politely, is kind of a mess. he snores, and he is also a deep sleeper. his thoughts before he goes to bed are goofy, like "i wonder if prosciutto has ever pissed himself" or "is ghiaccio's hair naturally that color?" also thinks about things he said that day, or he could have done differently.

his favorite movies are jurassic park and interview with the vampire (don't ask him why, he'll just talk about how sexy antonio banderas is)

melone

melone joined after formaggio, and before pesci. he joined the mafia as a means to pay for his university tuition, but got in way too deep and lost much more than he ever imagined he could,

melone knows the nature of his stand is offputting, a reflection of his mind that he tends not to reflect upon. however, he does find that despite that, his relationship with the others is well off. they come to him with strange questions that they know melone would have the best answer for. he is the only one on the team with a higher education. (highest being melone, lowest being sorbet).

korean and italian! his mother is korean, while his father was born in florence. he was raised in florence, but he visited korea with his mother every year or so for the summer. he feels very in touch with his roots on both sides.

melone has his nipples pierced! he has one tattoo, a small gene sequence of his grandmother on the inside of elbow. besides this, i don't believe he has any more body mods. he likes to make his fashion more flashy instead.

he is most fond of ghiaccio on the team, they mesh well. ghiaccio and he spend so much time talking about such strange topics, and he doesn't get offended by ghiaccio's frustrated and impassioned outbursts. he finds them endearing, actually. melone is a naturally levelheaded person, so ghiaccio appreciates him for that. they can be caught playing games on their nintendo 64 at 3 am

i don't believe that melone is a sexually oriented person, if that makes sense. i think he's someone who believes very strongly in sexuality being an inherent part of the human experience, whether you feel it or not. he thinks nudity is natural, and being a person is naked! we are all born naked, and we leave the world just as naked when we decay. (in the manga, he isn't as much of a pervert as the anime portrays him). he is a very logical person, but his spiritual beliefs are wide and varied. he shares them with ghiaccio and have conversations frequently with him about culture and their views on things similar to sexuality, natural expression, etc.

don't get me started on how his stand is a small reflection on trans parenthood

he does workout, and he does mainly yoga and pilates. he likes to stay toned and fit, not overly muscly. he workouts mainly with illuso and ghiaccio. ghiaccio tries to make him lift weights and he gets fussy.

his favorite genres of music are r&b, bedroom pop, and anything sensual! he loves him some britney spears. he also dabbles in techno and perv digital. (he likes the sound)

his favorite flavors of ice cream are strawberry and lemon! he prefers a nice melty sherbet.

he has only purple lights in his room, and he wants to own a ferret.

owns extremely expensive hygiene products, just like illuso

sleeps naked lol, likes to let his body breathe. (again, firm believer in casual, non-sexual nudity) he likes to meditate before he goes to bed, and has a nice linen bedspread and fluffy pillows. has similar thoughts to formaggio before he goes to bed, like "hmm, should i buy a fish tank?... probably not." drools SO MUCH

favorite movies are suspiria and phantom of the paradise

ghiaccio

joined la squadra after illuso, was officially inducted into the squad after a disastrous turn of events after dropping polpo's lighter and killing multiple people. with the destructive ability of his stand, it made sense to assign him to risotto

ghiaccio finds it hard to control his temper and be a welcoming person. he resents that he can be so anal-retentive about stuff. thankfully, most of the team just accepts it as part of ghiaccio. they know that he's just.... very passionate about stuff. however, ghiaccio is very knowledgeable about most topics along with melone, so anyone can go to him about the most random thing and he will probably know. he also has good workout tips!

he is italian and he is very, very proud, don't get that mixed up.

has no tattoos, but he has his ears pierced. he just doesn't think he would look that appealing with tattoos. and no, he doesn't mean appealing to others, he could care less about what others think about his appearance. he just doesn't believe he could be truly comfortable with something on his body for the rest of his life.

ghiaccio gets along the easiest with risotto and sorbet! risotto took him under his wing whenever he entered the criminal underworld, and he internally thanks him every day. sorbet is also very caring towards him, doing for him what gelato is doing for pesci. sorbet is levelheaded and solemn, and can keep ghiaccio's temper where it needs to be, and assessing where that feeling is coming from. risotto and ghiaccio also love metal, so it's a funny pairing (tiniest on the team and the tallest on the team)

ghiaccio's favorite ice cream flavors are green tea and lemon. he prefers sorbet, but those two flavors together are heaven to him. he once tried a limoncello cake ice cream and he went bonkers. (this actually exists in america guys, it's in most chain stores, PLEASE TRY IT, it's limited edition)

workouts so much, with literally everyone! loves cardio, and is extremely in shape. he uses it as an outlet for pent up energy. he's like a cup of water with energy, it keeps filling up so he has to drain it using excess means.

collects books about his favorite topics, and regularly watches lectures online about culture and linguistics.

LOVES LINGUISTICS, he knows three languages fluently !

his favorite genres of music are glam rock, some bedroom pop, and METAL. he loves metal because risotto introduced it to him when he was formative, and now we have this amalgam of music.

ghiaccio sleeps with a band shirt too big for him and some lounge pants. his thoughts before sleep range from "oh my god that is the most embarrassing thing I have ever done, please stop brain" or "wow ghiaccio you are so smart and funny and everybody on earth wants to give you a smooch to show that you are the coolest boy ever!!" and sorbet and risotto give him an award. he sleeps the earliest and wakes up the latest out of the team.

his favorite movies are the dark crystal, what's eating gilbert grape, and poltergeist.

sorbet and gelato

first guys to join the team! they were both first on polpo's team as reconnaissance and information, but gelato switched over to risotto's team. at polpo's reluctance, he allowed sorbet to go with as well. both joined the mafia to find something. sorbet joined because he thought it was the last thing he would do, gelato joined after the military. they found one another, and the rest is history. both were late teenagers.

gelato is belarusian, and sorbet has no clue of his ancestry because of lost adoption records. he suspects he is italian and some asian descent.

as second in command, gelato is sought after for advice and direction commonly. his job is to keep the risotto's schedule and jobs for everyone bundled together, and to keep everyone else's shit together. as a bubbly guy, leadership comes naturally to him, although he doubts that often. sorbet may not have a leadership position, but he does have seniority over all in the squad, seeing as how he has been in passione longer than a lot of them have been alive even.

as of being fond of anyone in the team, they are biased towards one another. they are a package deal, and everyone is aware. if you see sorbet, gelato is lurking close by, and vice versa for sorbet. otherwise, gelato is closest to formaggio because they're both lighthearted guys with superstitious hearts! as for sorbet, he is closest to prosciutto or risotto. gelato and sorbet both have a fondness for ghiaccio, he's so pumped up!

sorbet will only eat plain vanilla ice cream, and gelato loves strawberry!

gelato loves cooking! sorbet is so bad at it <3

sorbet collects knives, and gelato collects old vintage vinyls, especially the ones with vintage sexy music lol.

sorbet and gelato take dual self defense lessons in lieu of working out. they also do martial arts lessons, and regularly teach everyone as best they can, or if the other members ask. sorbet also sticks to weight lifting, and gelato does cardio mostly.

for music, these two like different things. gelato is a pop fan! he's fond of 80's pop mainly, but he also rolls with psychedelic rock if he's feeling nostalgic for his younger days. sorbet prefers jazz and blues. the best way to describe it is lower class songs that remind you that everyone is just a normal common person. (examples: tom waits, johnny cash, warren zevon, the talking heads, dolly parton)

sorbet sleepwalks, and gelato splays out on the bed like a ragdoll. neither of them are the type to remember what they thought about before they slept.

their favorite movies include the rocky horror picture show, the labyrinth, possession (1981) and 9 to 5.

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