#on the other hand at least you CAN tune it and have some control over it

[dantesunbreaker]

Cold Cuddles with the Papas(Headcanons)

No warnings apply, just some tooth rotting fluff from our favorite old men!

Primo 

As the eldest brother, it is safe to assume his circulation isn’t as great as it once was. Thus, blankets and warm fuzzy socks are always in abundance with Primo

When you approach him complaining about the cold, Primo is pulling out a pair of double layer socks before you have even finished getting the words out

If he still has work that needs his attendance, Primo will usher you both to the loveseat in his office. An end table will be pulled up to use as a desk, blanket wrapped around you both so you can nestle against him for warmth

But when there is no work to be done, Primo will brew a nice hot pot of tea for you both to share

Together you retire to his chambers where the heat is always turned up to the perfect comfortable temperature

Always takes up the chance to put you in one of his older sweaters because Primo loves the sight of your sleepy face while bundled up in his clothing

If even all of that does little to fight off the could, Primo will sit and cuddle with you beneath a layer of thick blankets until you are warm enough

Your favorite is the occasions where this turns your evening into soft warm cuddles the rest of the day and sharing some delicious soup made with vegetables from Primo’s garden

Secondo

Seems very much like a tough love kind of guy. First response when you come to him complaining about the cold is “well damn, I can’t control the weather”

But a quick flash of the puppy dogs is all it takes to change Secondo’s tune

If you are outside together and you begin to shiver, Secondo will groan, but always will offer up his coat. Pretends he walks with his arm around you to further keep you warm, but you know it because he also feels the cold

When inside and you mention being cold, Secondo simply offers to turn up the heater. 

He often takes things for face value, so either prepare to work for it if you want cuddles from him or simply be blunt about it. No matter the method, you end up getting what you want. 

Sometimes, when you can’t manage to pull him away from his work, you will rest on his lap with a blanket pulled snug around your shoulders as he continues going through paperwork

Other times Secondo will take the time to sit down and relax with you lounging under a throw blanket together in his office

Offers to make you something hot to drink, whether it be coffee, tea, or even hot chocolate. 

Don’t tell his brothers, but he loves when you pick hot chocolate because he uses it as an excuse to also indulge in the delicious chocolatey drink

Terzo

Most likely to be over dramatic about the situation, and also most likely to be equally as affected by the temperature

Do not expect Terzo to offer his coat! “But the outfit was planned around the coat! Taking it off will ruin the look!” He will however walk with an arm around  you, pulled tight against his side so that you can share his body heat

Getting Terzo to accomplish any work when it is cold is a difficult task, but you don’t want him getting in MORE trouble with Sister Imperator

So cold mornings you find yourself accompanying Terzo throughout his day, hot drinks always in hand, warm coats and blankets at the ready constantly

You will stand behind his chair, arms around him with blanket hanging over so that you can wrap him up in your loving warmth as you coax him to get through at least half the stack of papers on his desk

But when Terzo does not have work, expect an extravagant yet cozy night ahead of you

Expertly gets the fireplace going, all the lights off so only the firelit illuminates the room. Absolutely has a huge furry rug in front of the fireplace, which is where you spend the evening cuddling with dozens of pillows and extra blankets

Special occasions you can also expect to share some mulled wine as you bask in the warmth of the fire together, tangled up in each other’s limbs

Copia

Always one to worry, Copia will instantly be fretting over you if you mention being cold around him

Before you can even say anything else, Copia is pressing the back of his hand to your forehead to check for a fever followed by rapid fire questions asking if you are feeling ill

Takes a couple of minutes to settle him down enough to explain that you aren’t sick, you are just a bit chilly and in need of some Copia cuddles

Worry is quickly replaced with affection, throwing his arms around you and holding you tight against his chest. “Oh! Why didn’t you just say so!”

Often one to work too hard, Copia however will set aside his work in these kind of occasions

The couch in his office always has a rather thick throw blanket on it, strategically left by you entirely for the purpose for when you have days like this

Copia will get you both nice steaming cups of hot chocolate, mini marshmallows included!

Both of you curl up together on the couch, blanket thrown over your laps as you carefully sip on your drinks and talk about whatever comes to mind

On some occasions you fall asleep against him, and Copia absolutely refuses to wake you from such a pleasant slumber. So, he instead he simply does his best to complete whatever work he can from the couch until you eventually wake up on your own

[animeomegas]

I wanted to ask if you can do a more in-depth, for Shikamaru in his obsession. Like, A more in-depth look at everyone’s reaction when they found out and a more in-depth look at how they treat each other. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I am obsessed with Shikamaru and his obsession

Hehe, I think lots of people love Shikamaru and his obsession~ I decided to write about what happens just after they met for the first time, hope you enjoy~

Omega!Shikamaru x Alpha!Reader

Summary: Meeting his obsession at only age 5, Shikamaru is lucky enough to have his entire lifetime with his obsession at his side. Shikaku doesn't feel quite so lucky.

Word count: 1.25k

Warnings: None.

Shikaku didn’t know whether to be proud, irritated or resigned at the situation that had been suddenly dumped in his lap. The burn of your parents’ suspicious eyebrow raises had him leaning towards the latter two emotions, but the happy purrs his son was letting at his feet, massaging his baby Obsessions hands in his own, tipped the scale back towards proud.

He still couldn’t believe that his son, barely five years old, had already found his obsession. He had been dreading the day this happened, remembering the way his own father had had to reign him in when he fell for Yoshino, and anticipating an older Shikamaru giving him some good old-fashioned karma. But it happening this soon wasn’t something he had predicted, nor something he was ready for. Even in his worst-case imaginings, he had thought about a hormonal fifteen-year-old Shikamaru, never a five-year-old that had only just started learning how to control his emotions.

Shikaku sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. The whole situation was troublesome.

“I understand that this is shocking, it is a surprise to us as well, Naras rarely find their obsessions this young,” his wife explained to your parents.  He was so glad she was here to help him handle this. “But it isn’t something that can be taken back, nor something that can be stopped, so our best course of action is to figure out how we’re going to move forward.”

“This isn’t our first-time hearing about the Nara obsession instinct,” your mother said, seemingly the more relaxed one of your two parents, if the way your father was perched on the edge of the sofa like a tightly coiled spring was anything to go by. “But we had planned on only allowing sleepovers once they turned eight, so hearing about the expectation of sleepovers so suddenly isn’t easy to digest. I don’t understand why playdates can’t suffice.”

Shikaku tuned out Yoshino’s response, knowing that she would handle everything while ruffling as few feathers as possible. Well, provided your parents remained civil and open-minded. If they started demanding things that would hurt Shikamaru, Shikaku would have to pull her back before she decided violence was the best way to solve the problem. But seeing as the coast was clear for the moment, he turned his gaze towards his only son.

Shikamaru still had a tight grip on your hand, but his full attention was on your face now. He was leaning in just a little too close as you spoke, but you didn’t seem to mind. At least the silver lining was that Shikamaru had picked a relaxed baby alpha to obsess over.

“Your hair is very pretty,” you said quietly, a little smile on your face. “I like it.”

Furious purrs erupted from Shikamaru, his little face flushing in pride. Shikaku watched with amusement as Shikamaru immediately used his free hand to try and pull his hair out of his ponytail. His tiny fingers fumbled for a moment, but he eventually got it loose and yanked it out, pulling a few strands out along with it without so much as a flinch.

Shikaku remembered that feeling all too well, the way the desire to please Yoshino, make her happy with him, overshadowed everything else, even pain. When he first chose her, he would have been able to walk over a field of glass without flinching if he thought it would make her smile.

“You can touch it if you want,” Shikamaru said, practically vibrating with excitement as he leant his head forward, his now loose hair falling forwards towards you. “I don’t mind.”

“Wow, so soft!” you exclaimed, running your fingers through his hair. “Do you wash it with fairy dust?”

“No, just shampoo, but I also use conditioner,” Shikamaru announced proudly, pushing his head into your hand like a cat.

Shikaku smothered a snort. He imagined that Shikamaru would no longer roll his eyes and try to get out of using conditioner at bath time, something he was sure would delight his wife.

“We just can’t agree to that many nights with them away from home, away from us, they’re our child,” your mother said, just as Shikaku turned one ear back to the main conversation. “We might be able to divide the four nights in half though. We could have Shikamaru stay with us for two nights, but we’d need support navigating their relationship because we don’t know what’s normal or-“

Confident that things were going well enough that he wouldn’t have to restrain his wife, Shikaku turned back to his son and the baby alpha sitting on the floor beside him.

“Can I plait your hair, please?” you asked his son, still idly petting him.

Only yesterday, the same question had come from Ino, although the tone had been a little more demanding, and his son had rolled his eyes, refused, called Ino troublesome and gone to hide upstairs to take a nap.

His response now was like night and day. Shikaku watched his son’s face light up, his head bobbing up and down instantly.

“Yes, yes, whenever you want,” he said, falling over himself to turn around and present you with the back of his head. He scooted backwards until he was almost on your lap and then folded his hands together on his lap, waiting with barely contained excitable energy.

It was so strange seeing his son like this. He was used to his lazy petulance when face with chores, the competitive gleam in his eyes when they played shogi, his thinking face when he was presented a new puzzle or mystery, but this tidal wave of genuine, open affection and eagerness for companionship was something Shikaku had never seen.

“Thanks! You’re the best, Shika!” you said, separating his hair into three parts.

His son looked ready to ascend to a different plane of being.

This whole thing was a mess, Shikaku though, rubbing at his eyes. He wasn’t looking forward to the hundreds of tantrums he’d have to diffuse, the weird impulses he’d have to redirect or having to host another five-year-old in his house all the time. However, the pure happiness radiating off his son was more than worth all the bad. He was glad that Shikamaru would have his obsession with him for his entire life, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but hopefully Shikamaru would be used enough to his obsession and coping mechanisms that the hormonal nightmare of teenagerhood wouldn’t be so bad.

Shikaku gave the two children one more glance, vaguely amused to see Shikamaru silently mouthing ‘my alpha’ over and over again as you focused on plaiting his hair, before properly turning back to the conversation he was supposed to be a part of.

Everything would work out; he would make it so.

…

BONUS:

“Well, we should probably head off now,” your father said, standing up, holding the newly drawn up custody arrangement. “We’re having dinner with my parents tonight. Darling, time to leave, go and get your shoes on, please.”

“WHAT?! NO!”

“Here we go,” Shikaku sighed, trying to intercept Shikamaru before he got a hold on the baby alpha. Too late.

“Shikamaru, let go, they have to go home,” he said, kneeling down on the floor with them both.

“No!” his son whined, tears gathering on his water line. “They’re my alpha! Mine!”

“Shikamaru, that wasn’t a suggestion. Let them go.”

Shikamaru only growled at him, so Shikaku just started pulling him off you by the scruff.

“Shikamaru, stop struggling, stop- Ow! You little- He just bit me!”

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

HI OKAY SO IM THINKING LIKE VOX X READER AND VOX OWNS READERS SOUL AND THEN HE GETS JEALOUS OR ANGRY ABOUT SOMETHING SO LIKE WE RECREATE THAT SCENE WITH HUSK AND ALASTOR WHEN ALASTOR HAS HUSK ON A CHAIN BUT INSTEAD OF ALASTOR ITS VOX AND INSTEAD OF HUSK ITS READER IF U KNOW WHAT I MEANN TYYY

Guess who's baaaaaaaaack~

Lock and Key [Vox x Reader] - Part 1

It had been weeks. Three fucking weeks. Three weeks since the Radio Demon tuned back into the spotlight of Hell. Three weeks since Vox had been anything more than a vengeful shell of himself fueled by broken memories and spite. Three weeks since he'd so much as looked your way. You walk into his surveillance room, smiling softly at the sharks swimming in the inky depths far below the path. They'd made you a bit paranoid at first, but you've come to grow fond of the cyborg creatures. Your smile dims as you look up at the silhouette of Vox crouched over his dashboard, his eyes flickering as he obsessively drums his claws against sleek metal.

It had been ages since he'd even acknowledged your presence, let alone addressed you directly. His attention had been entirely consumed by his revenge fantasies and bitter recollections of the past.

“Vox, you should take a break,” you sigh, putting a hand on his shoulder as you try to get enough of his attention to at least warrant a glance. Vox's fingers pause in their drumming as he looks up at you, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face as he shrugs your hand off him.

"I don't need a break," He mutters, his tone as sharp as his clawed fingers. "I need Alastor dead."

His eyes are fixed on one of the screens displaying Alastor's image. He's been obsessively watching his every move ever since the Radio Demon's return. "Besides," he adds, his voice taking on a mocking tone. "Why would I listen to you? I didn’t take you on as a babysitter.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath as your worries are confirmed. Ever since his descent into obsession, he'd become sharp-tongued. He was always like that with the Vee's or his assistant Reef. But not you. Never you. Not until Alastor appeared.

"Vox, it's been weeks. I can watch the monitors for you if you're that worried about missing something. Just sleep. Eat. Go for a walk. Something," you plead. As you speak, Vox's jaw twitches slightly, his gaze flickering over the cameras trained on the hotel and Cannibal Town. "You don't understand, do you? This isn't a game." He taps a clawed finger against the screen, frustration growing in his voice. "You have no idea what this fucker is capable of. He's got something planned with that Morningstar bitch. I just know it.”

He turns away from the screen to fix a cold glare on you.

"And I don't need you to tell me how to handle MY business." You look to the side with a hurt frown, no longer bothering to hide the way his sharp tone makes you flinch. You'd fallen for him and there were times you wondered, hoped that he felt the same. But before you'd ever been able to find out, Alastor returned, destroying any hope you had left being crushed in the process.

"The other Vee's still need you Vox. The company still needs you."

I still need you.

Left unspoken. Because you didn't have the right to say it. You were a lowly employee he had taken an interest in and swept out from under Velvette with a deal after he grew fond of you. He kept you by his side like some sort of pet. You didn't have to work. In exchange for your soul, your only purpose was to stay by his side. 

As you bring up the subject of the company and the Vee's, a flicker of something almost akin to regret crosses his face. He knows that his current state is taking a toll on his work life.

But he shoves it down with a sneer of irritation.

"The others can manage without me for a while," he says dismissively. "And the company practically runs itself anyway. I've got everything under control."

He glances at you again, his gaze lingering on your hurt expression. Despite his efforts to push you away, a pang of guilt shoots through him. However, it's gone the second he thinks he hears a sound from one of the drones watching the hotel. His head whips around and he curses as he reviews the missed footage. The drone footage shows nothing but mundane scenes of the hotel, with no sign of Alastor or any suspicious activity. This only fuels Vox's irritation, and he slams his fist on the dash in frustration.

"Damn it!" He hisses, his gaze darkening. "I knew I shouldn't have let my guard down."

He stands up abruptly, turning to look at you with an accusatory glare.

"Out. Now." Your eyes widen and you hold up a hand as you try to calm him. "Wait. Just hang on a second, there wasn't even anything on the-" "I don't care," he snaps, interrupting you mid-sentence as his eye flares. "I told you, I can't afford to have any distractions. And you, with your endless nagging, are the biggest one of them all."

He steps closer, towering over you and giving an icy glare that cuts off any further protests.

"I said OUT. Now." You're teleported out of his lair and fall on your ass in the shared penthouse lobby of the Vee's upstairs. Valentino blinks, looking mildly surprised from where he lounges on the couch. Val watches curiously as you stumble, a sly smile spreading across his face. He rises from his place on the couch, slinking closer to you with a lazy grace.

"Looks like Voxy is getting a little bit cranky again, hm?" he teases, his voice low and sultry. "What'd you do to get on his bad side this time, darling?" "I had the audacity to suggest he take a break," you laugh dryly as you flop into the chair beside the couch. Val chuckles, settling back into the couch and taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Big mistake there," he muses. "Vox gets prickly as hell when he's on edge, and right now, he's on edge 24/7. Ever since that damn Alastor got back."

He gives you an appraising look.

"Though I gotta say, you do seem to have him in a bit of a twist."

A small chuckle would leave Valentino’s lips upon hearing that as he reached over and patted your head a few times.

“I just wish he’d get Alastor’s cane out of his ass,” you groan as you drag a hand down your face. “He’s a fucking mess.”

“Oh, you sweet summer bitch. This is nothing compared to how he was when the Radio Demon first fucked off,” He remarked as he picked up his bottle again, taking a swig of his vodka.

"He wouldn’t eat, go to work… Wouldn’t even leave that stupid bunker he made for himself back in the day. All the dude did was obsess over Alastor. I nearly ditched his ass, but then his obsession took a new turn. Being better than the old prick. Now we have the Vee's."

Valentino’s eyes softened with a distant look as he spoke. It was the most contemplative you’d seen him. But it’s gone as he takes another swig of his bottle.

"So... what? Just wait it out?" you ask as you take in his experiences, opting not to comment that instead of breakfast, Valentino was nursing Vodka like it was his morning coffee.

Valentino chuckled. “Pretty much. He’ll either run himself into the ground or eventually snap himself out of it. He won’t bend for you. He wouldn’t bend for me. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for me… Doesn’t have to be for you, either,” He said as he frowned at his empty bottle before tossing it to the side.

“If anything, consider it as time off. Let loose. Make the most of it,” he shrugs as he snaps and Kitty brings him a new bottle. 

“If he's not giving you dick then go get some fucking dick. I can't remember the last time I saw you anywhere but at his heel."

You sigh as you lean back and consider it. You and Vox weren't exclusive... Even if you wish you were. Sure, there were the occasional moments of something more. Something real. But he's Vox. And you're... just you.

Ultimately, there's no reason for you to be so devoted to a man who probably sleeps around just as much as Valentino. Especially when he obviously cared so little for you now.

Valentino watched as the gears in your head seemed to turn, a small smirk making it’s way across his face as he watched you. He didn’t need to ask what you were thinking. He knew exactly what was going on inside that pretty little head of yours.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” He teased, the smirk on his face only growing.

"Not with you, if that's what you're hoping," you say as you stick out your tongue at him.

A small chuckle left Valentino’s lips upon hearing that as he shook his head.

“You know me so well~” He remarked before pausing for a moment, resting his head on his hand as he continued to watch you. “But seriously, do it. It’ll do you some good. Want me to set you up with one of my whores?"

"Maybe nothing that direct," you wince. It wasn't that you hated the idea. You preferred things to happen in the moment, rather than schedule getting bent in half. "Got any club recommendations, though?" -----

And that's how you found yourself in a loud club, sitting at the bar and regretting the life choice of listening to Valentino of all people. The club was loud, your skirt kept riding up your thigh, and the drinks were overpriced as fuck. This had sounded like a fun idea at the time, but now you remembered why you never really did this.

You're just about to call it a night when a sinner comes up next to you and waves down the bartender.

"Two shots for me and the pretty lady who looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here," he says before grinning at you with a wink.

You hadn’t even noticed this man’s approach to the bar, let alone that he was now sitting beside you as he called over the bartender.

As you listened to him order two shots for the two of you, your eyes rolled a little as you found yourself internally groaning at the prospect of needing to talk to someone new. You’d much rather be sulking at home, staring at the wall as you waited for your boss to finish up with his obsession. Yet, here you were.

"That obvious?" You chuckle sheepishly as the bartender puts two shot glasses down and pours a glowing blue liquid into them.

He chuckled alongside you as he watched the bartender pour the shots before turning to you, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Pretty obvious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so unhappy in a club before and trust me, that's saying something." He commented with a wink as he picked up one of the shot glasses, offering it to you.

You hesitate for a moment before taking the shot glass with a small smile and a nod.

You both chuck back the drinks, though the stranger does it with far more ease than you. You cough and sputter as you feel an icy hot feeling rush through your chest as you put down the glass. "Oh, wow. That's..." you laugh as you try to adjust to the feeling and hit your chest.

The stranger chuckled as he watched you struggle to handle the shot, clearly amused by your reaction to the drink.

"That's a strong drink, sweetheart," he remarked. "First time in a club? You seem a little out of your element."

"Just a bit," you chuckle before sighing and turning to lean on the bar and watch all the people on the dance floor.

"An... acquaintance suggested I come here and try to get laid to get over this dick I've been pining over,” you hum. “He's too busy obsessing over someone from his past. Plus, he's my boss. Unrequited doesn't even begin to cover it."

The stranger chuckled once more as he listened, his eyes roaming over your form for a moment before resting his head in his hand on the bar. He took a moment as he watched you before speaking up again.

"Let me guess. You're the secretary to some important and well-known Overlord and you're a little too fixated on him, huh?"

Your eyes widen before you throw your head back with a groan. "Oh my god, Valentino sent you, didn't he?"

The stranger laughed as he watched your eyes widen and your head fall back in frustration, clearly entertained by your reaction.

"He didn't 'send' me, per se. He just mentioned how miserable you've been lately and how he suggested you come here and get lucky."

He paused for a moment, his eyes raking over your form once more. "Although, I can definitely see why he'd want you to get laid."

You sigh and open your mouth to reply when your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket. You hold up a finger, asking for a moment as you pull out your phone and see who texted you.

There's a single message from Velvette that reads, "You owe me for this."

You quirk a confused brow at the lack of context, shaking your head and pocketing your phone before turning to face Valentino's employee again.

"Tell you what," you hum. "Two more of those shots, and I'm yours."

His grin widens. "Now that's something I like to hear," he remarked as he leaned in a little closer to you as he motioned over the bartender again.

"Two more shots of the good stuff. And make them both a double."

Everything becomes a blur after downing the alcohol. Hands on your body, lights flashing, music pounding in your ears as he grinds against you on the dance floor.

It's supposed to feel good. In a way, it does. But as you close your eyes, you can't help but find yourself wishing the soft fingers brushing over your skin were cool metal claws. That the sweeter smelling cologne was the sharper scent of your boss's. That it was him instead of a stranger.

The stranger's hands continued to roam your body as his lips found their way to your neck, littering your skin with kisses and small nips with his teeth. His hands grabbed your hips firmly, pulling you closer to him as he ground against you.

As you closed your eyes, your mind was filled with thoughts and memories of your boss. The way his claws felt against your skin, the familiar scent of his cologne, and the way he looked at you like you were a rare piece of art. It was a stark contrast to the current situation.

Is this really supposed to make you feel better? If so, why does your stomach feel like it's tangled in a knot? Why do you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes despite the heat pooling in your core?

Despite the pleasure you were feeling from the stranger's touch, you couldn't shake off the feeling of emptiness and disappointment. Every moment that passed felt more and more wrong. It all served as a cruel reminder that the person you truly wanted wasn't the one touching you.

Your stomach was in knots, and tears were threatening to fall as the stranger's lips trailed along your neck, leaving small marks in their wake. You clenched your fists as you fought the urge to push him away and run out of the club.

And then suddenly a hand grabs your wrist and yanks you to the side. Your eyes widen as you drunkenly stumble into arms that only take a moment for you to register as familiar. 

The stranger's eyes widen in surprise as Vox suddenly grabs your wrist and pulls you roughly towards him, his claws digging into your skin leaving small impressions in their wake. His glare towards the sinner who had just been feeling you up was sharp and deadly, his eyes fixated on the man as he held you tightly against his chest.

"Your services are no longer required. Beat it." He growled, his voice low and filled with anger.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest as you found yourself pressed against Vox's chest, the feel of his claws still digging into your skin. He held you tightly, possessively almost.

Before the sinner can reply, you and Vox suddenly disappear with a flash of cyan light. He takes you back to his office in the Vee's tower and you're only given a small moment to reorient yourself from the electric buzz in your veins.

"You," Vox's voice broke the silence, his tone filled with a mixture of anger and something else you couldn't quite place. His claws dug harshly into your arms as he forced you to look up at him.

"Ẃ̴̡ĥ̵͚a̸̗̎t̷͕͌.̶̻̐ ̶̰̃W̸̹̅e̴̡̅r̸̬͝e̷͎͘.̶̤̎ ̴̻͠Y̴͎̋ō̵͎ủ̸̯.̷̬̈́ ̷̬̾T̸̛͍ḧ̸͉́i̴̭̅n̸̞̆k̷̡͐i̶̦͝n̷͉͐g̸̱͝?̴͚͋"

Later on, you'd blame your bold honesty on the alcohol. But in the moment, there wasn't any rational thought or self-preservation left in your mind as you frowned and pulled his hand off of you despite how much you had been craving his touch.

"What does it matter to you? Shouldn't you be in your little stalking cave trying to watch the Radio Demon? It's all you ever do anymore."

Vox's eyes widened slightly in surprise as you pulled his hand away from you, his expression hardening at your words. The tone in your voice was bitter and laced with anger. But he didn't miss the underlying note of hurt underneath.

"So you go and throw yourself at a stranger instead? How is that better?" He shot back, his tone sharp and laced with irritation.

"Maybe it is!" you lie as you throw your hands up. "At least that guy looked at me. It was one thing when you would blow me off for Valentino. That was something I already knew I was getting into when whatever this started," you say as you gesture between the two of you.

"But you never so much as mentioned Alastor. The guy reappears and suddenly he's all you care about," you huff as the tension builds. "If you can't be damned to so much as look my way, then it isn't your business if I find someone else to fuck me, now is it?"

Vox's eyes darkened at your words, his jaw clenching as he took in your words. He could feel the tension between you growing, the air in the room thick with anger and hurt.

"Oh, is that what this is about? You're jealous because I've been focused on Alastor?" He questioned, his voice low and sharp. "Did it ever occur to you that this is important to me? That there's a reason I've been so preoccupied?"

"Of course it did!" you snap. "You think this is just about sex? I tried to be there for you! I tried to ask! I tried to understand! Tried to pull you away from your obsession long enough to at least sleep! But it was like I was invisible."

You pinch your brow, trying to keep yourself from crying angry tears. You didn't want to look weak. "Look. I got the message. Okay? Valentino and Alastor. You clearly have priorities and as your little fucking pet or whatever, far be it for me to get in the way of that."

You turn on your heel to walk away and to your credit, you make it a few steps before the air charges with electricity. Your breath catches in your throat as a collar made of his signature cyan plasma materializes around your neck, linked to a chain that suddenly goes taught as he pulls.

You yelp as you're spun around and forced to the ground, just barely catching yourself with your hands as he seethes above you.

He had almost felt guilty. The burning in his chest told him that he still did. But then you tried to walk away from him and he found himself unable to let you leave. As soon as you turned, something in him born of all the exhaustion and frustration of the past month made him snap. He yanked at the chain, his eyes focused and intense as he glared down at you.

"You're not going anywhere," he growled, his voice filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and something else. His hand gripped the chain tightly as he pulled you closer, forcing you to stay on the ground at his feet.

"You don't get to just walk away like that. Not after all this. I own you. He pulls on the chain, looping the excess length around his hand. “If I say you're not fucking around with other lowlifes then you're not. If I say you will sit at my heel every day for the next week to make up for this insolence, then you fucking ŵ̶͔i̵͕͛l̵̖̓l̸̩͠.̴̙̋ You whimper as he yanks harder, making you choke and stumble forward.

He continues with a feral edge to his grin as he pays you no sympathy. “Because you're mine, damn it. You don't get to vanish on me. You don't get to leave me for a dumb w̸̩̍h̵͔̕o̷̡̓r̸͍̃ȅ̷̹," he grits his teeth as he pulls the chain taught. Memories of Alastor and Valentino race through his mind. He wouldn't be second place to someone else. Not again.

"I won't allow you the luxury,” he says with a quiver in his voice as his screen dims temporarily.

He shakes his head, the light returning to his face as his grip tightens. "You're not going anywhere," he growled, his voice filled with a mix of anger, frustration, and something else.

The anger in his voice and his rough treatment of the chain around your neck surprised even him. He was possessive, that's no secret, but he had never acted like this before. The idea of you slipping away and finding comfort in someone else's arms made his blood boil.

His hand gripped the chain tightly, forcing you to look up at him as he stood over you. His eyes were intense, one spiraling with his unbridled emotions.

You instinctively crawl forward as he tugs on the electric shackles, wrapping the length of it around his other hand in a way that really shouldn't be doing things to you the way it is.

He leans down and takes your chin over his claw. "Even if my attention is pulled away temporarily, that doesn't change our contract,” he hums with an almost bored expression as he tilts your face this way and that before tightening his grip. “You're mine,” he growls as he lifts you off of your knees by your face. He ignores your yelp of pain, opting to revel in the blood blossoming across your jawline. “If I say you're to stay by my side, then you stay by my side. That is your only purpose and you'll fulfill it. Do you understand?" He hissed, his voice low and filled with two opposing fires of frustration burning away at the core of his very being.

"I tried to be by your side, but-" A scream cuts off your protests as the chain sparks to life and shocks your entire body. Your head drops down as you pant heavily, squeezing your eyes shut tight as stars dance across your vision.

Vox's eyes darken further as you try to protest again. His irritation only increases as he remembers the scolding he got from Velvette. She was the one who told him about Valentino’s plan to send you to a club to meet one of his employees. Valentino had been waiting for a way to get back at Vox for something else and he’d found it. 

It took Velvette’s lack of tolerance for his shit to finally snap him out of the dickish headspace he’d been in. She sat him down and forced him to watch the footage of his behavior the last week and to look at the business’s declining numbers. He knew he had been short with you, but he didn’t realize for how long he’d neglected and snapped at you.

He never did know how to deal with the feeling of guilt.

Without warning, he gives the chain a sharp yank, causing the chain to spark to life, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your head drops down and your eyes squeeze shut as you cry out in surprise.

"I don't want excuses. I want you to o̵b̶e̷y̶,” He growls, pushing down the squirming shame in the depths of his synthetic chest. “You do what I say, when I say it. You will not go behind my back and do whatever the hell you want."

A grin worthy of a showman like himself spreads on his screen, displaying the nature of his rage as he uses the tip of his boot to lift your chin. "Now. Let's try that again."

to be continued...

[ash-says]

Hush Hush Honey:

A guide on how to regulate oversharing and balancing the conversation flow.

Each one of us has at least been in a situation where we accidentally ended up spilling more than we should. We do recognise the patterns but are unable to control ourselves. That's why your girl Ash-says is here to say a lot about it.

1) Find the why

What are you trying to achieve by sharing that piece of information? Drama? Attention? Get it off your chest? Is it important to inform them? Is it valuable to them?etc.

First tackle the why. Before you go in to reveal something ask yourself if it goes with the conversation flow and if yes is it really important to share it.

2) Are you a celebrity?

No like why? Who is interested in your life so much? Are those people paparazzi to broadcast your current events and bring you fame? No right. So shut up.

3) Who puts their dirty laundry on display?

When you overshare you are basically putting all your secrets, stuff that you do or did on blatant exposure. People are going to judge you. That's the very nature. So breathe and keep it inside.

4) Try to listen more

Train yourself into listening more than speaking especially in group settings or around people that you don't know much about. Gossip is real. You don't want to be the next tea time sensation.

5) Alternatives for talkative people:

Now I know you might be thinking can't say this can't say that then how the hell am I going to bond with people or what should I converse about?

I have developed a solution for you. It's Ash verified because I myself have been using it unknowingly for around 7 years of my life.

Never open your mouth for passing judgements, expressing your opinions on things that do not relate to you, your dirty laundry, secrets, family issues, relationship issues, your sex life, your goals and aspirations, your daily routine, your political standpoint,etc you get where I am going right?

Instead speak about the experiences you had while travelling somewhere, some goofy stuff that happened to you, your harmless vice for example: I am clumsy so I have a lot of incidents that occur due to it which can be told in a funny way. It adds a nuance to my perfectionist image plus helps people warm up to me. Movie shows, songs, etc here also there's a catch if you relate to a show/song/ piece of literature strongly never reveal it. The smart ones will understand the inner workings of your mind.

Never let them know your next move.

If nothing of this then goof around being nonsense. Do little hand gestures, funny faces if you are bored but never overshare.

6) Be mindful of interruption

Practise practise practise. Literally that's the only way. Try not to interrupt people while speaking. There's no roundabout way. It is what it is.

7) Be comfortable in silence

You have to be okay with the conversation dying down. Running your mouth dry will only result in one sided convo. It's more useless and harmful than the one mentioned before.

8) Know your limits

Fix in your brain what you can share and what you can't. Stick to it. Even over your dead body.

9) Be genuinely interested in people

Ask yourself are you asking questions to really get to know the other person or just looking for a chance to talk about yourself? Dethrone yourself first and then interact with others.

10) Put out stuff that you are over with

Always remember what you say can and will be used against you. Drill it and from next time when you speak be mindful that every word can stand against you. Do you have the capacity to handle the consequences? Yes then go ahead. No, then stop live streaming.

Bonus point: Be as private as possible on social media. People don't need to know what you are doing nowadays. Privacy is power. What they don't know they can't ruin.

Strategically put things out. I am not saying be inactive. In Rome you live like the Romans. Do it smartly.

That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.

[tadpolebrains]

With patch 6 giving us new kissing animations, I’d like to present:

Companion Hugs

Because we deserve a hug update.

“Can I have a hug?”

Gale buries his head into your shoulder, inhaling deeply. He wants to get lost in your warmth, feel completely surrounded by you. His hands grip firmly at your waist, or his arms will sling around you snugly. If you ask for a hug during a moment where you need comfort, he’ll instead take a hand and cradle the back of your head, guiding it down to rest against his shoulder, fingers woven into your hair. His other arm wraps around you, hand settling between your shoulder blades. When you go to pull away, he’ll pull you back in for a moment, letting your foreheads rest against each other for a few moments of silent understanding before letting you go.

Astarion doesn’t understand exactly what to do at first. Hugging isn’t something he’s used to. I’d imagine in-game, act 2 hugging animations would be a bit stiff and awkward. Slightly uncertain pats on the back, not knowing when to pull away. But being unable to drop the lingering smile on his lips afterwards. By act 3, he’s more used to it. Less hesitant in pulling you in. Will even nuzzle into your neck- not even to bite, but because he knows you trust him not to bite unless given permission. It’s rare for that kind of trust to be extended, and it warms his undead heart to have it.

Wyll likes fully leaning against you, your chests flush against each other, lightly swaying back and forth, almost as if you’re slow-dancing. One of your foreheads rests against the other’s chest, or perhaps an ear over the other’s heart so you can hear the heartbeat. He hums lightly, some random tiny tune that is sometimes a known song, and sometimes something random. Going to him for comfort will get you a gentler embrace, a hand rubbing along your back.

Karlach gives the best fucking hugs. This woman is taking every excuse to hug you as soon as she gets her engine fixed. They can range from strong, excited hugs that lift you off the ground to soft, tender ones where she just surrounds you with her heat like a heated blanket, tail curling around your legs just to keep you a little bit closer. She loves nuzzling her nose into your hair, feeling the softness against her cheek. Platonically or romantically, she’ll also give little kisses on your forehead and cheek, just as an extra show of affection. She doesn’t really do quick hugs unless she really has to- ask her for a hug, and you’re getting at least a solid minute. At least. If you need comforting, that minimum time extends.

Lae’zel doesn’t understand it at first. You… want to trap her against you? Is this some sort of battle maneuver, or a show of dominance? She doesn’t see the point of it until you mention someone else in camp gives ‘the best hugs.’ Well, clearly she must be the best at this ‘hugging’ of yours. Once she either watches you do it with someone else or demonstrate for her, she seems to take it as a personal challenge. Will squeeze you tightly against her. Tight, crushing hugs that you feel like could break a rib. If you two are close and you go to her for comfort, she might just let you squeeze her tighter than she squeezes you. Just this once.

Shadowheart isn’t as eager to hug at first; not under Shar, at least. She prides herself on her self-control and independence, and doesn’t see hugging as something she needs. If you ask her for one while she’d still under Shar and you’re close, she’ll do it for your sake, and hate that she likes it so much. Denies it. Doesn’t want to come to rely on it. But once she starts coming into her own, she begins accepting the hugs, even letting herself enjoy them. She’s a gentle hugger, loosely wrapping her arms around you and letting her eyes slip closed, enjoying the moment.

Halsin is literally a bear. Bear hugs, all day. Will scoop you up in his arms and hold you tightly so you feel that nothing could possibly harm you while in his arms. The muscles combined with that softness is perfect hug material. If you need comfort, he’s your man. Comforting hugs from him can feel almost paternal, and he’ll make sure to reassure you that the want for touch is entirely natural. It’s a human need, and you should never be ashamed of giving into your natural urges. Those large hands rub along your back and twirl your hair, grounding you in the moment.

[merbear25]

Them fawning over a musician

After some time, you've finally made a name for yourself in the music industry, albite still not the biggest star. At one of your gigs, you catch someone's attention who just so happens to be a well-known pirate.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, headcanons, suggestive in Kid's

Zoro, Sanji, Law, Kid

Zoro: The type of music: folk/indie. He enjoys the traditional aspects of folk and feels like it paints a story of that area or country. Likes that indie has no restraints, leaving more control in the hands of the artist.

Walking through the city center, tunes started fading in from the distance. He followed them and came up on a small crowd of people, who were listening to you with contemptment. You were radiating confidence with each note played and sang.

Watching you preform wasn't just entertaining, it was admirable. You'd clearly put a lot of thought into your stage presence: the melody was pleasant, the lyrics were meaningful, and your voice was breathtaking.

After your performance, he casually approached you. Upon seeing him, you couldn't help feeling at least a little intimidated—a large man marching up to you who has scars and also carries three swords would cause anyone to take a step back. However, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. The question was innocent; he came to ask you about a verse in your song.

You two ended up having a genuinely interesting conversation. Without realizing how much time had passed, you offered to grab a drink (your treat), so that you could continue this in a more comfortable setting. He shrugged at your suggestion but accepted none the less. You were not prepared for the tab that would be waiting for you.

Sanji: The type of music: blues/jazz. He would admire the soul and emotion that goes into the lyrics and playing of the instruments. Can get caught up in the passion of those performing on stage.

He was out shopping for a few ingredients but decided to pop into a cavern for a drink. Once ordering, that night's talent started. You didn't have his full attention at first: the beginning of your first song was instrumental. His head was bobbing along to the tune, but when he heard your voice, he became entranced.

Promptly turning towards the stage, the realization of being in the presence of a rising star was more than aparent. The emotion being conveyed in your voice tugged at his heart strings. The slight sway of your hips were mesmerizing.

Even though he wasn't far from the stage, he needed to be closer to fully appreciate your elegance. So as not to have his view of you obstructed by other onlookers, he took a seat near the front of the stage.

When your final song came to a close, he was left feeling astonished, so much so that he forgot to applaud. You shot a charming grin his way, which instantly bewitched him. He took that as an invitation to come and talk to you. Complimenting each and every aspect of you and your talent, he managed to stay gentlemanly, although he'd jump at the opportunity to swoon over you if you let him.

Law: The type of music: pop/rock. He would never admit it, but he loves the upbeat side of pop. Even though rock is very different to pop, it shows the raw emotion that he can connect with.

There was an event being held downtown that just so happened to be taking place during one of his outtings. From the first note, he snapped his body towards the direction of the stage. Momentarily forgetting where he was and what he was doing, he made his way to you, only being led by your allure.

He would know exactly who you are. Not just that, but he'd secretly be your biggest fan. Despite standing in awe while you were preforming, he'd be suppressing his excitement throughout it all. Showcasing it wasn't his style, though he was still anchored at the corner of the stage, mouth gaping from the sheer bewilderment.

When you finished, he awkwardly loomed around the stage. It was hard to ignore what with his pacing back and forth and hesitation. He just seemed overly nervous to you, so you opted against giving him the cold shoulder.

You asked him if he liked the show, making him gasp quietly. After you acknowledged him, he found the courage to ask you for an autograph. You gladly wrote one out for him and ended up chit chatting a bit, mostly one sided since he's still a bit starstruck.

Kid: The type of music: punk/metal. Probably headbangs to it in his free time but also listens to it casually when he's tinkering in his workshop. He gets worked up and ready to take everyone on.

This city was just intended to be a quick pit stop to reload on resources. The sun was already setting which signaled to the Kid Pirates that it was about time to crack open a few cold ones. While taking a short-cut through an alley, a flashy poster caught Kid's eye. No fucking way. One of the bands he jams to was playing in this city? Tonight?? Snatching it off the wall, he rushed off.

Upon reaching the, somewhat, junkyard where your band was playing, he unabashedly shoved his way to the very front. Hearing how heavy your band memebers were coming down on the instruments and the rasp in your voice made the beast within him unleash. He would undoubtedly be the one to start a mosh pit, and in doing so, you wouldn't be able to take your eyes off of him.

After he was satisfied with the chaos he'd spread throughout the crowd, you received his undivided attention. When your eyes met, you gave him a sly smirk for the mess he'd caused. Seeing that gave him the ego boost he needed to chat you up after the show.

Following the last song, you were met with a more than eager Kid waiting for you. You sauntered your way over to him, cooly asking if he liked what he saw. Leaning in closer to you, Kid now had the impulsive idea to get with you. He wasn't being subtle about his intentions in the slightest, leaving the ball in your court.

[solarisensun]

Firsts & Lasts

Boss! Al Haitham x Employee! F!Reader (Modern Au) 

- random fic that i concocted cause i couldn’t get the concept out of my head 

Al-Haitham breaks all workplace rules for his favorite employee

Warnings: NSFW, slight jealousy/possessiveness, mentions of clubs + threats (not at reader)

As much as Al Haitham wishes to deny it, your presence always seems to draw his attention no matter the situation. 

The click clacks of your heels descending the stairs immediately disrupts his usually unwavering focus as he forces himself to read the first line of his email for the second time. Unfortunately, his brain is once again distracted by how he knows that you are approaching from behind. Knows that if he turns around, he’ll see you in your green bartender uniform with the logo of his bar printed right above your right breast. 

And for some absurd reason, the uniform, despite being intended to make you look professional, instead makes you look like you just stepped out the page of a 1950 pin up girl magazine. Smart and professional is the last thing that anyone would use to describe your current attire. A spark of annoyance oozes down his spine when he catches himself thinking of you, and he hasn’t even actually seen you yet. 

In an effort to rid himself of those thoughts, he hunches even further over his laptop. But it’s even harder to ignore your presence when every other red-blooded male in his bloody damned bar has already noticed the way you saunter behind the bar as they perk up like hounds.

Already, a young man has shouldered his way to you with a swagger in his step Unable to help it, Al Haitham yanks his gaze from his unread email to watch the way you rest your elbows against the bar as you lean forwarded to gaze up at him with that shy little smile dancing on your lips. Of course, the man drinks up your doe like gaze like its fuel to his ego. 

Al Haitham glances away and wipes a hand over his mouth to conceal his annoyance as a heavy exhale rolls through his back. He rolls his shoulders back in his suit and takes a sip of whiskey. 

You’re irritating. That’s right. Maybe he just doesn’t like the way you laugh so loudly at whatever the man tells you. You’re bad for him. Bad for his self-control, and for his image. The scowl on Al Haitham’s face deepens when he realizes that he’s staring at you again. It’s not as if he can tell you off for not doing your job because that’s what you are doing. Flirting with the customers gets the bar more cash, which means more revenue for him. But do you really have to lean that far across the bar to let the man whisper something in your ear that closely? 

Irritation, hot and itchy, creeps back down his spine. Finally, you seem to notice that your boss has been glaring holes into the side of your head as your bright gaze finds him across the room. You don’t break eye contact as you bend down to pick up a glass, all while the man talks your ear off. 

His jaw ticks. But Al Haitham refuses to be the first one to break eye contact. At least not until you smile at him and give him a twiddle of your pretty nails when the irritation in him morphs into something much more… electric. 

Your only response is a terse nod as Al Haitham slams his laptop shut. He’s not going to be able to get any work done if you’re here. Instead, he opts to pulls out his phone. 

“Nilou.” His voice is too sharp, too tense. 

“Yes, sir?” Nilou replies over the phone, her soft voice filled with confusion. 

He exhales through his nose to soothe himself. To tune out another round of giggles that erupt behind the bar. “I want the uniforms changed.” 

“In what way, sir?” Nilou asks, the puzzlement still evident in her tone. 

“Changed?” 

Al Haitham flinches a little when he hears your voice echo just behind him. Steeling his nerves, he turns around and fixes you with a steely look. “Swap the skirts out for pants.” 

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. 

He looks down to the sinful piece of fabric that hugs your thighs. 

Before Nilou can offer a reply, he hangs up the phone. 

Across the bar, you raise an eyebrow. “Why the sudden change?” 

Al Haitham feels his fingers twitch at your casual tone. It’s rare that people, let alone his employees, dared to speak to him so leisurely. He had half a mind to teach you how to address your boss properly. Maybe with that stupid skirt hiked around your waist and your palms against the counter as he spanks your-

He forces himself to come to a screeching halt. 

Instead of enacting his fantasies, Al Haitham glances at you with an almost bored look. “I thought that it would be a nice change once in a while. Also, it’s sir. It’s inappropriate to address your boss so casually.” 

“Well,” you pipe back, “I don’t think it’s appropriate to issue sudden changes in the dress code without consulting your employees first.” 

The image of you across his lap and his handprint across your ass resurfaces like an insistent plague. Curse you and your stupidly smart mouth. Though he can’t deny the amusement that he enjoys whenever the two of you quip at each other, nipping at each other’s heels. Testing to see which one would stumble first. 

“Talk back to me like that again and I’ll put a dent in your salary.” An empty threat. You both know it as clear as day. 

Your brilliant smile blossoms from the glow of a flickering candlelight to the roaring rays of the summer sun. “And risk losing all your customers?” you tease him. “We both know how much they love my drinks. I’m the best bartender you have up your sleeve.” 

Your drinks aren’t the only thing that keeps them coming. 

At that, his amusement quickly withers away. 

Before he can say anything more stupid, Al Haitham scoops up his laptop and rises to his feet. “You’d better start serving them then.” It’s a bitter sentence, delivered through his clenched teeth. 

“Wait-” 

Without sparing you another glance, he strolls out of the bar. Barely resisting the urge to slam the door on his way out. 

—

It’s a Saturday night when Al Haitham next drops by his bar. Usually, he preferred spending his weekends in his study. But word had spread that the Fatui would be dropping by town. Despite the alliance treaties that he’d signed with them, it wouldn’t hurt to be extra careful around his long-time business rivals. Plus, he was hoping to glean some extra information out of his guests. 

The magnetic roll of bass vertebrates through the room as Al Haitham is escorted to the VIP booth that is usually only reserved for the most esteemed of guests. 

He feels almost out of place here. Despite owning the entire establishment (and the street that it’s on), Al Haitham has never quite gotten used to the rowdier nights that occur in his club. It’s not as if he doesn’t appreciate the sight of the dancers or the music. But something about the primal atmosphere just makes him wish that he was back in the peace and quiet of his study, with his chosen book open on his lap. 

Don’t worry. Al Haitham straightens the non-existent wrinkles of his shirt. You’ve got everything under control.

As he pushes the heavy curtains open, he instantly sees Ajax, the 11th Harbringer, with a glass in his hand and those intense blue eyes fixated on a scene in front of him. The younger man takes a sip from his glass. Yet, not once does his predatory gaze shift.  It is unlike Ajax to not even notice his presence, and curiosity jerks Al Haitham’s gaze to where Ajax is looking. 

Al Haitham feels his throat dry up. 

His ears ring with all the blood that rushes up to his head. Al Haitham’s heavy stare rolls across your body as you extend a leg mid-air, with both of your hands wrapped around the pole. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, you make your way down the pole in time with the music. Whilst just seeing you in uniform has his slacks tightening, the sight of your ass in those thongs and your breasts practically spilling out lacy bra has him hard to the point of insanity. 

When your body reaches the floor in a graceful descent, Al Haitham has to lift his attention to the multi-colored spotlights in the ceiling to take a slow, deep breath and to stop himself from drooling over you like a pervert. 

Why are you here? 

Only after his second breath when he finally meets your electric gaze. Your eyes spark with amusement. You know. You know exactly what you’re doing with your boss. You know just how much you get on his nerves. Do you know that he’s thought about you every hour over the past three days? Do you know how his stomach tenses whenever he thinks of you? 

As if reading his frayed mind, you rise to your knees, sliding them open to reveal that darned thong that barely covers anything as you lean against the pole without a care in the world. The heat burning in your gaze makes his fist curl deeper. You really are going to set him ablaze. 

He takes in your… costume. The jade green set is complimented with trims of red lace around the edges. A perfect match to his eyes. The realization digs its sharp claws into him. On the stage, you continue to slink your way over on your knees. The sight of your ass in the air tugs on his cock as lust crawls under his skin. 

And he tenses when you reach the edge of the stage. Gracefully, you make your way down in those ridiculously high heels. Click clack, the familiar sound makes his jaw clench. 

“Al Haitham.” He’d nearly forgotten that Ajax was also in the room. How ironic. He’d just frowned upon the Harbringer’s foolishness for not noticing his presence. 

“Yes?” Al Haitahm feigns indifference in his voice as best as he can. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had such a gem hiding here?” 

All of a sudden, he’s hit with an impulse to smash a glass over the ginger’s head. 

Before he can reply, the brush of your bare shoulder against his forearm causes the words to choke up in his throat. 

Already, Ajax’s attention has shifted over to you. His manic grin is a little too wide for Al Haitham’s liking. And there’s that hungry glint burning in the Harbringer’s eyes that Al Haitham knows all too well. It’s the exact same gleam that licks in his irises whenever he thinks about you. 

“Hello gorgeous.” He hears Ajax tell you. “What’s your name, hm?”

Just as Ajax’s fingers are about to close around your bare waist, Al Haitham grabs his wrist in a deadly iron grip, stopping the latter in his tracks. “No touching.” 

Ajax studies his face for a beat as a slow grin tugs at his lips. “I was just going to ask for her name. It’s not everyday I meet a woman as stunning as your employee. Perhaps you’d prefer if I took her out on a nice dinner first?” 

Red mist swallows Al Haitham’s vision. “Get out,” he rasps. 

When Ajax doesn’t move, he leans forward, making sure that the Harbringer sees the animalistic fury roaring in his eyes. “Get out before I send your body back to Snezhnaya in a coffin.” 

As soon as the door closes behind Ajax, his fingers find purchase at the nape of your neck as he yanks you towards him. “When did you turn from a bartender to a fucking stripper?” he demands. Never in his life has he swore. Not until now. 

A flash of surprise darts across your delicate features at the unusually rough timbre of his voice. Despite the fact that he’s practically breathing flames into your face, you merely shrug. “I tried telling you about it the other day. Nilou needed a replacement. And I stepped in to help her fill the spot.” 

For a tense moment, the two of you glare at each other. Al Haitham is all too aware of your soft breasts pressing into his chest. The way you're looking at him underneath those long lashes, and the pout of your bottom lip that tempts him to brush his thumb across it. He’s so hard that he can’t even think straight. 

He cocks his head, tension lining each plane of his broad shoulders. The raging fury in him solidified into something much more familiar. “Are you wet?” 

Finally, your insolent facade crumbles into dust as you let out a squeak. “What?” 

“If I push aside those pathetic strings that you’re wearing right now, am I going to find you wet?” He repeats the question, slowly and calmly. 

Your skin feels all too warm from his touch. Carefully, Al Haitham drags his calloused palms down, savoring your soft flesh until they rest at your waist, where he guides your half-naked body onto his lap. Almost instinctively, your hips rock forward along the hard plane of his thigh. And his second curse falls out of his lips in a breathy whisper when he feels the warmth of your pussy pressed against his slacks. 

He’s probably breaking every workplace rule imaginable. But with the way your body feels against his, Al Haitham can’t quite bring himself to care. Already, he’s planning on the next time he can get you like this in his bed, naked and under him. It was like giving a recovering drug addict another good snort of crack. There was no turning back in his maddening obsession. But this time, he was glad to be able to drown in it. 

His wandering hands cup your breasts through your bra. Resting ever so lightly on your hardened nipples poking through the sheer material. Your back arches forward as he watches you with an intensity that makes you shiver. Without warning, Al Haitham squeezes. 

A little unexpected motion that has you keening like a kitten for her master.  

Cruelly, he bounces his knee upwards, forcing another mewl out of your painted lips. One of his hands tangles into your hair, pulling you forward until your parted lips are almost brushing his. Until the both of you are breathing the same air. He can smell your stupid perfume clouding his already disorientated senses. 

“U-Usually, I get paid for this.”

He gives you a half-hearted scowl. “I’ll triple your next month’s salary.” 

Your head falls against his shoulder with a whimper as you continue to buck your hips forward, leaving a wet stain across the material of his pants. He doubts that you’ve even heard his offer. “Are you going to come on my thigh?” Unable to help himself, Al Haitham wraps his large hands around your waist and presses you down against his thigh, making sure that the seam of his pants catches against your clit. 

You respond with a strangled whine, your fingers scrabbling for purchase against his shirt. 

As you reach your high, Al Haitham captures your lips with his, swallowing all your moans as your orgasm forces you to melt against his chest. Though his cock throbs in his slacks, demanding for attention, he rests his forehead against yours, drinking in the lust in your eyes like a starved man. The smell of your sex fills him with a deep hunger that prompts him to tighten his grip around your still trembling body. 

It takes every ounce of self-control in him to keep his voice steady. 

“The next time you strip for another person, I’ll have their eyes gouged out of their skull.” 

[luimagines]

IT IS I! THE WIZARD!

I wanna write a story, but it would be weird to write so here it is:

(Warning: swearing)

A reader who can speak to the dead, can see spirits. They chat often with the villains because they hang around them often, and often ask the reader to tell the Links messages.

The reader collects cursed items, having the strange ability to quell the corrupting powers (for example, they can use Majora's Mask with no negative effect). So they have like cursed knives, Majora, a few shards of the mirror of twilight glued together (I know it's impossible but let me dreeeeaaam-), that kind of stuff.

So like, something like this would happen:

»»————-　★　————-««

Reader walks up to Four, listening to thr whispers of their spirit friend, Vaati. He had asked to give a message to Link, 'The short one that looks like a f*cked up kinstone', and Reader was too kind to say no. They always knew that spirits that lingered often suffered in pain. Maybe it would help Vaati pass on?

"Hey, Four." Reader said, and Four turned.

"Oh, hello, Reader. Do you need something?"

"I have a message for you." They said, eyes glowing a dim blue, like a luminous stone. "Vaati said 'You're a loser, no maidens?'"

Four passed, a mix of confusion and horror on his face. "I'm sorry, WHO told me WHAT?!"

»»————-　★　————-««

Reader held Majora in their hands, staring into the great yellow eyes, invested in its whispers. A cough pulled them out of their trance, and Time sat next to it, giving a caughtous glance at the mask. "You seem enamored with that thing."

"I do. . . don't i?" Reader said wistfully. They sighed. "Do you know what it's like. . . seeing the dead? Hearing their woes and being able to do. . . anything? It's painful, watching them suffer."

"Why do you keep it, of you know it's story?" Time asked, frowning. Reader sighed, running a hand on their head.

"You probably wouldn't understand." They explained. "Spirits are more complex than a dungeon clever could be. . . this one has taken a liking to me. . . or. . at least is trying to control me."

Time stiffened. "I've worn it, Majora. He always throws a fit when I do because he cannot invade my mind." Reader explained, turning back to Time and pointing at the marks under their eyes. "These marks are like the ones you have. Proof of my power over it."

Time huffed and Reader suddenly snapped their head back to the mask, eyes glowing blue. Time watched them nod to it, and slowly turn back to Time, eyes still glowing creepily as they slowly asked "He wants to know if you've become a mask salesman too. . ."

»»————-　★　————-««

"You've lost someone important to you. . . haven't you?" Reader asked Legend on night. He was on watch duty, and the others were asleep. He glared at Reader.

"What?" Legend asked, sounding offended.

"I don't mean to insult!" Reader said quickly. "It's just. . ." Their eyes turned blue, as they looked next to him. The familiar humming of a tune oh so forgien yet familiar to their ears clwas heard only by them, sung by the spirit next to Legend in the pretty blue dress and red hair. "I can see her. . . Was she close to you?"

Legend froze. "What the hell are you talking about? Is this some kind of sick joke?!"

Sensing and watching him grow angry, Reader gave a sympathetic smile. "She likes to hum a pretty tune, you know. as if she is trying tell you it's okay. She can't speak, sadly."

He continued to glare, about combust until they began to him the tune. That tune which he missed of so dearly. The tune he'd trade EVERYTHING he own To be around again.

Reader continued to hum the tune, closing their eyes and doing their best to match the woman's tune when she felt Legend shaking next to them. They stopped and opened their eyes to see him shaking, head in his hands.

"D-dont stop" He said, his voice breaking and shaking. Reader nodded and continued, and his shaking voice started to sing the lyrics softly, leaning into Reader. They wrapped their arms around them, providing some warmth, to comfort the tired, broken, hero, that the lady in blue could not anymore. . .

»»————-　★　————-««

Either blunt as a dull butter knife or extremely creepy, or comforting. No inbetween. They've got three looks. And That's IT.

Thats all. Thanks for comeing to my Ted talk

I mean.... this could be a pretty decent story if you chose to write it out.

Thank you for sending this in.

This would be like... every Link's worst nightmare. The idea that the people who taunted them and nearly destroyed everything they held dear is still dissing them from the beyond? Horrendous.

They will never be free.

[chloesolace]

Is It Over Now? - Homelander x Reader

summary: You are one of the most famous popstars of your generation, a real America's Sweetheart - who also happens to be the ex-girlfriend of the world's greatest hero, Homelander. When you write a song about your past relationship, portraying him in a not so positive light, it creates a shitstorm online that Ashley somehow tries to manage. The solution? Start dating Homelander again. But first, he has to convince you. After all, it isn't your reputation that's on the line.

pairing: Homelander x Supe!Reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: a bit of gore

a/n: Newest addition to my Swift Series <3 based on the song of the same name. This one shot will be a bit different than the other ones from the series, because the song itself exists in the story and the reader is the singer who wrote it (in this fic ofc). Expect usual moral corruption a la The Boys universe.

Masterlist - Discord Server - Request Info - Taylor Swift Series

And did you think I didn't see you? There were flashing lights At least I had the decency to keep my nights out of sight Only rumors 'bout my hips and thighs, and my whispered sighs

Ashley stared at the screen before her, her nostrils flaring and hands shaking while Homelander looked at her with an unimpressed expression. He rested his fingers against his temples in case he needed to massage away a headache that would undoubtedly arise if Ashley started shouting. 

“This is a PR nightmare,” she exclaimed, turning abruptly to look at the man whose face remained unreadable. His blue-eyed gaze jumped between Ashley and the screen, where you were seen on a stage in front of thousands of adoring fans, microphone in hand. You waved at them and blew them kisses as they cheered your name, but the sound was muted. It did not matter, though, since Homelander had watched every recording of your world tour he could get his hands on, so he knew precisely what the crowd sounded like. 

Ashley kept staring at him as she rested her hands on the table between them, pressing a button on the remote in her hand to turn up the volume of the recording. 

“Thank you so much, Sydney!” You said in the recording, continuing to wave at the crowd, before signaling them to quiet down. It did not take long for the cheering and screaming to stop, and you took a few steps across the stage as your expression turned more serious. 

“As you all know, I have been through quite a lot recently. Including a breakup.” The crowd immediately began reacting, expressing sympathy for you before you once again signaled them to quiet down. “But good things can sprout from bad experiences. So I would like to debut a new song right here, right now.” Your fans cheered, screaming your name as the music began; it was a slow tune at first, which gradually increased in speed and found its climax in the chorus. 

Homelander’s gaze shifted back to Ashley, who pressed the pause button on the recording. “She is calling you a ‘lying traitor’,” she remarked. “She is implying that you sleep around and that she wants to jump off a fucking building just to get your attention.” Ashley straightened her back and took a deep breath, burying her hands in her hair. 

“Calm down, Ashley. Didn’t you make her sign some kind of nondisclosure agreement?” Homelander said, jaw stiff as he observed the woman. 

“No, Homelander. I didn’t,” she replied with a voice somewhere between annoyance and panic. “You didn’t want her to sign one because you said you had her under control. We need to fix this.” She pulled out her phone and shoved it in his face. “You are trending on every social media and not for the right reasons. Look at these comments, look. ‘If Homelander can’t even make his own girlfriend feel secure, how are we supposed to feel secure with him?’”, she reads out loud, the panic still evident in her voice. “Or here, another good one. ‘Turns out even superhero men are trash’.” 

Homelander shifted in his seat, beginning to massage his temple while his eyes landed on you again. A part of him loved the attention he was getting. A song about him was proof that you were still thinking of him, and he loved leaving an impression, despite the fact that these words were most likely ghostwritten for you by a lyricist who had never met him before.

“Are you even listening?” Ashley furrowed her eyebrows, exhaling deeply before pinching the bridge of her nose. 

Homelander gave her a practiced smile, the smile he put on for viewers at home every day. He had become so good at it that sometimes it even felt real to him, and he briefly felt disgusted by himself. 

“I’ll handle it,” he said, standing from his seat before clasping his hands together behind his back, cape dangling from his shoulders. “I’ll talk to (y/n).” 

“Homelander,” she replied in a very serious tone, never breaking eye contact with him. “I know you don’t listen to me a lot, but please consider getting back together with her, if just for PR’s sake, and clearing up those misunderstandings.” 

He smiled faintly as he approached her, making her tense up visibly. He loved how afraid she was of him. Perhaps the only thing she was more afraid of was losing her job. 

Homelander placed a hand on her shoulder, and Ashley jumped a little. Her heartbeat quickened; she was afraid she had overstepped, possibly only now realizing her mistake. But his demeanor was calm and collected. Cheerful, an untrained eye might even say. 

“I will handle it,” he repeated, before leaving the room, and a breathless Ashley, behind. 

….

A few days later, you were in your dressing room, preparing for the next show of your world tour. Australia had finished last week, and now you were back home in America, humming soft tunes as you plucked the strings of your guitar to gain some inspiration. Miami was the first city on the list, and although you were never that big of a fan of the sunny weather in Florida, you had made some friends along the way here. 

The dressing room was rather large, with a full-body mirror in front of you and the huge, comfortable couch in the center you were sitting on that dominated the room. Feet dangling from the couch, you continued humming the soft tunes as your voice harmonized with the guitar. You sang a randomly made-up lyric, while the instrument became an extension of your voice in a way a regular musician could never achieve.

A smile played on your lips, which quickly faded again as you heard a noise from outside. Pressing your palm against the strings to silence them, you turned towards the door of your dressing room, trying to listen more closely. First, you heard nothing, but then a loud thud made you jump up from your seat, almost dropping the guitar in the process. 

Someone on the other side of the door struggled for air before a loud shot silenced them. You gasped, your guitar landing on the carpet as you kept your eyes locked on the door, which was being banged at by someone from the other side. 

“Open the door!” An unfamiliar male voice said, but you did no such thing. “Have it your way, missy,” you heard him add under his breath before he kicked the door down. Three men stood before you, heavily armored and carrying guns which were all pointed at you. Laughable, really, considering you were bulletproof.  

Taking on a fighting stance, you readied yourself for the attack which you would not have to wait long for. The man in the front approached you first, firing bullets that entered through your dress but bounced off you once they made contact with your skin. 

You punched the man, using his temporal confusion to bang his head against the other man’s, their helmets not doing much against your superhuman strength. Another one started shooting, but those bullets, too, did not penetrate your skin the slightest. 

Raising your arms, you focused on the bullets aimed at you and redirected the shockwave they created in the air, amplifying it with your powers to hit the three men, knocking them into the wall. One flew threw the open doorframe and hit his head somewhere in the corridor, as the other two were lying on the floor before you. 

You already had a triumphant smile on your face, when you were forced to the ground by a frequency so high, that not even your control over sound could aid you in any way. Releasing an excruciating scream, you covered your ears as you cowered on the floor. The dress you were wearing was now reduced to rags, perforated by the bullets that had passed through the material.

While you were trying to shield your ears from the deafening sound, the three men gathered their strength and got up, pointing their weapons at you again. With the sound essentially putting you out of action, you were at their mercy. 

Then the frequency stopped. Your breathing was quickened and your eyes wide as you realized what was happening, but before you could react, Homelander appeared in the doorframe with eyes glowing red. In a matter of seconds he had halved the three men, their guts and body parts falling around you as you looked up at your ex-boyfriend, not believing your eyes. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, placing his hands on his hips as he smiled at you, drops of blood covering his skin. The same drops that had fallen on your dress, and splashed on the mirror to your right. You frowned deeply, rising to your feet while your eyes remained locked with his, and a grin began pulling at your lip. 

“Red does look good on you,” you said, not at all bothered by the bodies around your feet. Contrary to your image, you were not at all the little sweetheart your record company wanted the world to believe, but you had not graduated from Crimson Countess School of Performing Arts top of your class for nothing. 

Homelander chuckled, letting his eyes wander up and down your body, before locking with yours again. Then, he remembered the bodies lying around you and pointed at them in circling hand motions. “Maybe someone should clean that up.” 

“What do you want, John?” You cut him off, crossing your arms in front of your chest, and he sighed, the muscles in his jaw tensing for a moment. 

“Did you purposefully try to wound my ratings with that song, (y/n)?” He asked, his voice full of mistrust as he tilted his head to the side a little bit, eyes calculating. When you chuckled, it visibly irritated him. 

“Of course,” you said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You didn’t fulfill your part of the contract. I played the part of your girlfriend, and I did it well. Where is the movie deal I was promised?”

Homelander scoffed, looking around the room as if the answer were hidden somewhere around you two. “You know this isn’t only my decision to make,” he explained as if you were talking about who was supposed to buy groceries this week. 

You raised an eyebrow at him, fingers drumming on your arm. His expression turned a bit more serious then, and something in his eyes twinkled. “You actually missed me,” he said with an amusement in his voice that made you roll your eyes. 

Sighing, you stepped around the guts and blood on the floor, making your way around Homelander when you almost slipped on a piece of stomach. Just in time, he grabbed your arm and prevented you from landing head-first in the gore at your feet. You met his blue eyes, the knowing smirk on his lips remaining there as he pulled you back to your feet. 

“Now I even saved you twice today, would you look at that.” 

“Oh, please,” you replied, but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped you, despite biting your cheek. 

For a moment, the two of you simply looked at each other, your gaze flickering between his as you inhaled his scent. You had not even properly registered that you were now close enough to do so. 

“If I get you that movie deal, will you become my partner again? For PR sakes.” 

You studied his face for a moment, considering the offer as you raised your chin towards him. “If you never hire anyone to use that frequency on me again just so you can look like the hero, I might consider it. And if you do use that frequency on me again, you can kiss your ratings goodbye.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, but there was also something playful about the way his lips twitched, as if wanting to prevent a grin. You two had thrown a lot at each other when you had been officially dating, so you had no problem getting rough, but even you had limits.

“You don’t have to keep pretending to save me to get my attention,” you said, voice dropping to a whisper as your eyes briefly fell to his lips, your own parted. “But I’m sure the internet will love the footage you no doubt got on camera from this.” 

His warm breath tickled your skin as you closed more of the distance between you. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted in the song? For me to come save you?” He asked with a hint of pride and playfulness in his voice while you let your hand brush over his arm slowly until you reached his shoulder. You wrapped your fingers around the golden eagle sitting there, never breaking eye contact. 

“Wait until you hear the other song I might or might not have written about you,” you whispered, the tone in your voice becoming low while your hand slid down his chest. “I am sure these words would cause a scandal from America’s sweetheart’s lips. But that is not the most scandalous thing that has ever left my lips, is it?”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a grin appearing on his lips. “Perhaps I can convince you to release that song.” 

You pulled your hand back, biting down on your bottom lip as you stepped away from him. “Perhaps you can.” 

Chuckling, you left him standing in your dressing room, his scent still ghosting around you as you walked down the corridor. You took the stairs down and reached the entrance hall of the building just in time for your manager, bodyguards, and label representative to run into you, all of them carrying worried looks on their faces, but you calmed them down, stating how Homelander was there to save the day.

As they all began talking about Homelander excitedly, you looked back at the staircase leading up to the room you had just been in with him, brows furrowed and lips pressed together.

Games, you had to realize, were enjoyable only as long as they did not develop into anything more.

Oh, Lord, I think about jumping Off of very tall somethings Just to see you come flying And say the one thing I've been wanting, but no

[headedstraightforfrankcastle]

Anakin Boyfriend headcanons SFW

SO lately I’ve been obsessing more and more over Star Wars - mostly over Kylo, Poe and our boy Anakin. I’ve been thinking about some things lately and now you have to think about them to :)

!: no gender specified, Revenge of the Sith!Anakin (but no downfall lol just cute vibes here)

A/N: not proof readed, please let me know if you notice any typo! sorry about it <3

-

we can all know he basically he’s a gentleman 

his love language is small acts of service.

you would help him get ready for his missions, he would help you get ready for yours

he would make sure you have everything packed with you, and if you’re a particularly forgetful person he would place all your thing on your bed so you don’t forget anything

if you don’t understand how soomething works he’s ready to explain it to you again an again, if you lose something he’d help you find it, if you’re feeling down he won’t leave your side unless he absolutely has to.

he would kneel in the middle of a corridor just because your boot is untied

your official styler

he would bring you small gifts from his missions 

everytime he sees you treasure them like jems on your shelves he smiles like a proud baby

constantly sitting on top of him

like - this man is the only chair existing for you

he would love to balance you on his leg, with your back against his chest and his hands slowly caressing your wast

whenever you two are alone he gently pushes you against the first wall he finds only to kiss you so slowly and kindly it hurts

he holds your hands in his when you’re cold! 

I told you to bring your gloves, baby, why don’t you ever listen to me?

little did he know, it was your plan all along

if you can walk side by side keep one harm aroud you waist or shoulders so you have all the space you need to hug his side 

one of your favourite things in the whole galaxy is seeing him try to hide a smile when you stroll like that

if you two are separated but still in sight, he would keep an eye on you 24/7 to make sure you’re okay and no one is bothering you

when your eyes meet his, you swear you can see them shine

this king would bring you breakfast in bed

most of the times he just asks C3P0 to do it, but when he’s in a good mood he tries to cook your favourite dishes

i’m not sure he’s good at cooking but he tries with all his heart, and you both finish your food with the promise of you teaching him your secrets in the kitchen

constantly makes sure you stay well fed and hydrated

training sessions with him! (propably would write something about it, stay tuned)

everytime he passes next to you he leaves a small kiss on your forhead, or a soft stroke on whichever part of your body he finds first

you have to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up and the last one he sees before he fells asleep

would tell you you are beautiful even when you’re at you worst (you’re always an angel to him) and mostly when you feel like everything but something remotedly good

kisses your tears away and keeps you close to his heart when you’re crying

literally there for you wheneve you need him

the. way. he. looks. at. you. you are the only person for him, he is the only person for you - and the galaxy must know it, because it stops when you linger a bit too much in the glance of the other

when you’re in a dangerous situation he keeps one step in front of you 

he knows you are fully capable of protecting yourself, and you’re damn good at it, but it keeps him calm to think he has at least this under his control, so you let him 

also it allows you to watch his back, so it’s a win win

little spoon (I will not elaborate)

Thank you for reading, let me know what your thoughts are on bf!Anakin and if we share something!

[starpirateee]

so I had a dream where Owen is drunk and outs himself to Curt...

do with that what you will.

Oh god 👀

Okay that could go a number of different ways, but fortunately, we all know how fruity Curt is, so let me try and take this in the least(?) Angsty direction that I possibly can...

Owen woke up on the morning of a bleak Sunday, with a headache perfectly tuned to the grey morning it had turned out to be, and a weight against his chest. At first, he thought it was a strange way the sheets had fallen over him, but then he came to realise that he wasn't actually in bed at all, but draped across the couch in the place he was temporarily sharing with his American operative partner.

And the weight on his chest?

Well… That was the American in question.

Laying on top of him. Fast asleep.

Owen startled, shifting so quickly out of this position— that was evidently comfortable for the both of them— that he managed to wake his partner up in the process. His eyes were wide, and he looked down towards Curt for an explanation, hoping to god that there was some way to rationalise how they had clearly slept the entire night.

"Mega? What the… hell are you doing?!"

He was beyond the point of words. There was something in the back of his mind that said he had done something last night that had led to Curt waking up on top of him, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what. They were talking last night, weren't they? Trying to get to know each other a little better…. And there was alcohol involved, as far as the headache revealed, anyway.

But he'd always been so controlled. Ever since figuring himself out, and figuring out for himself the reason his agency would want to hunt him down if ever they found out, he'd made sure not to drink in the company of anyone he wasn't comfortable with. While Curt was a nice man, as far as these things went, and while the two of them had been professional partners on more than one occasion, Owen wasn't entirely sure whether he'd go as far as saying he trusted him enough to get drunk in his presence.

But apparently, that very thing had happened the night before, and it had left them here.

The two of them resumed a position on the couch that separated them, and Curt shot him an apologetic glance. "Must've gotten late…" He excused quickly, lacing one of his hands within the other and trying his hardest to avert his gaze. It was hard to do that, though, after what the two of them had gone through last night… He was making excuses for himself, of course, because it was clear that Owen didn't remember what they'd talked about, at least not in the immediate moment.

He tried to offer a kind of peace. There was little he could do to explain the fact that he'd woken up— and had, in fact, fallen asleep— leaning against his chest, without Owen having the proper context as to why. Once the blur of sleep had passed and he'd woken up a little bit more, they'd talk it over then, but there was really only one thing he could do while the tension was still this high. "I need to wake up before we dive into… That. Coffee?"

Owen scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded blearily. "Please." And god only knows he was going to need it, too. How had he let himself make a mistake of this weight? How had he let himself slip, if indeed that was what had happened… There was no other explanation for it, and it was barely something he could blame on the alcohol.

He stared at the mostly empty bottle of liquor that was sitting on the coffee table as if the two of them had only just finished their late night of boozing, wondering what had been said and what he'd done to end up asleep… with another man… on a couch.

===

"Nah, c'mon. I barely know anything about you! sure, the first couple times we've worked together was nothing more than a coincidence, but damn, they're making us do it again, and I think there's a point this stops just being chance…" Curt pointed out, leaning against the counter in his kitchen. Owen had been assigned to the states, and because he'd worked with Curt a few times before, Curt had offered to put him up for the duration of his stay, instead of spending the time in some cheap, shitty hotel room, where he'd have to break his back just to get a good night's sleep.

But then he'd insisted that they talk, and that was fine as far as these things were concerned, but it was when he suggested bringing out the booze that Owen got a little worried. Sure, his assignment wasn't until the Monday, so he had the whole weekend to sort himself out (since he'd arrived early), but the thought of participating in such an activity with a man who he'd previously only worked with sparked a little concern. "I'm not sure…"

"You don't hafta work till Monday, that's on you for getting here this early…"

"Yes, but—"

"What? You don't drink?" Curt looked him up and down, and shrugged. "I mean, that's fine and all…"

"No, I… Do drink, but—" He couldn't think of a good enough protest in time, because the moment that he admitted that he was, in fact, partial to a good drink, Curt lit up a little bit more.

"Sure you don't wanna?"

And after that, he'd lost most of the fight that may or may not have been present in him. It had been a long flight and a longer journey, and the lag was starting to catch up to him. He couldn't deny the fact that the warm flood of whiskey in his system would've made the deep tiredness settling into his very bones a little more manageable. He conceded with a sigh, and an all too naive declaration of "I suppose a drink or two won't hurt," to which Curt grinned.

"That's the spirit!"

===

Curt returned to the couch in a matter of minutes with two mugs of fresh coffee, and as soon as Owen had his in his hands, he was absently tapping his fingernails against the warm porcelain. Part of him didn't dare to ask what had gone down, in case Curt had a perfect recollection of what he'd said, and it was something he'd rather not hear. But, at the same time, he was curious as to how the two of them had ended up as they had been.

First port of call was coffee. That was a necessary step in both waking him up, and trying to jog his short term memory even slightly. Last night, he had arrived in America, and he'd taken up the offer to drink with a man who barely crossed the 'friend' boundary, and then a series of unknowable somethings led to the two of them falling asleep together. And he was a little unnerved in knowing those events happened in that order, because that likely meant they'd made mistakes, where mistakes shouldn't have been made.

It woke him up a little more than he expected, and it dawned on him that he wasn't entirely sure when the last time he'd had coffee was, given that it was often far too strong for his tastes, especially first thing on a morning. This was necessary, though. He needed the rush to better explain the happenings of last night.

Curt seemed a little more relaxed than he was. At least he was able to sink a little into the sofa as he nursed his own mug. The only difference was that he looked a little more uncertain, as if it was him who had set into motion this series of mistakes, and he was the one with something to say about it.

"Where do we start?" It was the only question that really mattered, the only one he could think to ask that made any semblance of sense. Owen felt the tension in his shoulders, resting dormant and adding that annoying slight of strain to his every move.

"How much do you remember?" Curt asked cautiously, turning so that the two of them were better facing one another.

This was a question to which Owen tried to genuinely find an answer. He was trying to assimilate his memories, and what little remained beyond the haze of everything, but there wasn't a lot that he would consider useful. "Not… As much as I'd like to, I'm afraid. I made it here around seven, perhaps later… And I'd barely been here an hour when you suggested we… How'd you put it, 'get to know each other'. You suggested bringing out the spirits, and after the flight I'd had, there was little in the way of argument, so… I took you up on the offer."

"That's… Awfully specific." Curt hummed. "Thought you said you didn't remember a lot."

"That's not a lot."

"What time was your flight in the morning? Where from?"

"Six thirty, from the fourth terminal at Heathrow," Owen answered automatically, without having to think about it. Curt laughed, and it was in that moment that Owen realised that their definitions of 'not a lot' were likely vastly different from each other.

"Good god."

"Okay… I see your point… Other than the specifics, I don't remember what we talked about all too well… It's a little blurred, I'm afraid."

Curt hummed, trying to think about this in a way that made sense to him. He didn't remember a great deal either, but it seemed Owen had him outmatched for exactly how much. He remembered a little of their conversation, and what had gone down that night, but it was clearly something that was going to take the both of them to figure out. "Okay, well, I'm not exactly clear either. We got to drinking, right? Must've had a few, I swear that bottle was nearly full when we started…"

"Really?"

"I think so… Anyway, it was all casual at first. I mean, the two of us are barely friends, right? And I just wanted to get to know you a little better, like you said. So, we just started talking about ourselves… Y'know, how we got into spying, why you were in America…"

"Oh, right. Of course." Owen nodded, following along. How the two of them had gotten into the industry made sense, that was a good place to start. It was always a decent point of conversation in a professional matter, and especially among two who were so similar in nature after all was said and done. "I remember you saying something about… wanting to do something for the people that wasn't what everyone else was doing. Wanting to stand out a little from the crowd, is that right?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much the exact reason I got into all of this… It's less about wanting to make that kinda impact that everyone else is making, when there's the option for me to do something better."

"Makes sense, I can't say I blame you for that."

"And you're in the country to uncover some kinda arms deal, yeah?"

"One hundred and fifty grand's worth of explosives and arms. Quite the quarry, if I dare say so." Owen recalled that much from reading his briefing file in any spare moment he could while he was still alone. It needed revising when he was less hungover, but that was a problem for a few hours time. Right now, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

Curt whistled, impressed. "It'd take most people an age to make that much."

"Tell me about it."

The coffee was doing something to clear his mind enough that he was starting to see how the conversation played out last night. As a matter of fact, they had started the night seated in different places, and Curt kept subtly adjusting himself into different positions on the armchair as the time progressed. He was right, they had both taken several drinks each, and their conversations had taken a rather merrier turn. "We didn't stop at the professional, did we? I seem to recall bringing up things we'd done in the past, and you mentioned how much you hate getting intelligence jobs."

"Mhm," Curt nodded, Owen's phrasing bringing this to mind in exactly the right way. "Yeah, I do. God, they always make you get with some girl you've gotta charm all the way to the bedroom, and then you've gotta pretend like you enjoy that part of the job while she's taking your shirt off, and all you want to do is find out what her associates are getting up to behind closed doors."

That was mutual. Of course, there was a reason behind that hatred on Owen's end, but it wasn't like that was something he'd ever told anyone. He'd always taken Curt— so long as he'd known him— for the type who seemed happy to charm a woman and take those assignments in his stride. But the way he'd talked about it couldn't be denied… If he was more passionate about it, Owen would've said that he outright hated it. But, that only led to further speculation as to the reason why.

The penny dropped.

There was only one real reason why someone wouldn't enjoy the passionate part of the job, or the part that involved waking up next to a slew of different women all because information was needed out of them. There was only one reason why someone wouldn't enjoy the thrill of being with a woman, even just for a night.

The penny clattered to the metaphorical ground in Owen's mind. His face heated up furiously, to the point where Curt took notice.

"Owen?"

"… I think I know what I admitted to last night."

Curt sighed, a little out of it still. This progression didn't look good, especially not with the way that Owen had reacted to it. His brow furrowed, and he almost dared himself to ask him to continue. That, as it turned out, was an unnecessary step, since it seemed Owen had also figured out how they had ended up spending the night on top of each other.

"… Curt, if I may ask, there is a reason you don't like sleeping with women on the job, isn't there?"

It was just the two of them, as it had been the night before. There was nobody else around, and the whole reason this building was classified as a safehouse was because nobody could infiltrate, either. So, they had gotten drunk. Curt had admitted to the reason why he didn't like sleeping with women, and Owen must've agreed. The two of them had fallen asleep that night under the alarming pretense that they were just the same, when all came down to it, in the strangest and most sudden solidarity that one could hope to experience.

Curt seemed to want to freeze up, like someone had caught him out for something they really shouldn't know, but then remembered that they'd clearly gone over all of this the night before. He let the tension drop from his shoulders— something Owen really wished was that easy— and gave in with a resigning nod. "And you too, right? There's gotta be a reason we ended up…"

"Yes."

"So you're…"

"… Yes."

===

"Yeah, no it's never been my thing to get in with a lady… 'M not into 'em." Curt shook his head, emptying his glass with a single tilt of his wrist.

"Not into… Women?"

"No." Curt answered, a little too quickly. "Never was, don't think I ever will be…"

Owen nodded, for to a revelation like this, he had little in the way of a better answer. He was in exactly the same boat. The two of them were one and the same, cut from the same cloth. That made them more alike than he'd realised. "Me neither," He hummed, because his mind was clouded, and he didn't have the chance to think it through, but he didn't care because finally— finally— there was someone just like him.

Curt's eyes went wide, and he leaned forwards again to see whether he'd heard Owen correctly. "Wait, hol' on, you… You're… Y'know— like me? We're—?"

"I s'pose we are."

"What're the chances..?"

"Wouldn't 've bet on it, 's for sure. Not good odds, finding 'nother gay agent."

[bitchlessdino]

repeat rebound (m) Ch.1: repeating mistakes

Chapter list

Pairing: Fem!reader x fwb!soonyoung

Genre: Crack, smut, angst

word count: 3.4k

tags: fwb!soonyoung, ex!chan, lots of crying, mistakes, heartbreak, blowjobs (receiving and giving), exhibitionism, degradation, praise kink, mean dom!hoshi, insinuating car sex, doggy

Summary: The best way to get over someone is to get under someone. Again and again and again.

author note: i really tried pouring my whole nanaussy into this (i blame nu for my language)

Taglist: @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan

It was one of those nights again; you couldn’t help but think about your ex-boyfriend. You were the one that broke up with him, so why the fuck are you still not over him? 

You drown your thoughts down a bottle of wine accompanied by friendly faces by your side. Laughing at jokes they make and being in tune with the air inside the club, you immerse yourself in the nightlife and gradually forget internal demons. Not a coherent thought in your hazy mind until a man catches your eyes. A slit in his eyebrow, a see-through long sleeve to give a peak of what he has to show underneath, and a tight pair of leather pants that hug his form incredibly. His mere presence sobered you up instantly.

“Wow,” you hardly manage to let out.

“Wow, what,” Jeonghan nudges, immediately catching your line of vision, “Ah, Soonyoung.”

“Soonyoung?” You repeat in the form of a question. “You know someone that hot?”

Jeonghan scoffs, crossing his arms pretentiously. “Look at me, of course, I do. He lives in my building. We’d party together sometimes, or at least used to before he got a girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh,” disappointment stings your tone.

“Yeah, but last I heard they broke up. It must be true if he’s going out again. She was pretty controlling.” Jeonghan had this smug grin, “Why? Is he tickling your fancy?”

“If that’s a way to say I'm getting wet just looking at him right now, then yes.”

He crutches his face in disdain. “My god, you are drunk. Thirsty much? Drink some water, idiot.”

“That’s okay, I’ll fill up on Soonyoung’s dick. Excuse me.”

You push past the older man to reach the other side of the bar, Soonyoung occupying there with a new drink in hand alone. You happen to catch his gaze as you join him near the bartender. You don’t tear your gaze away in a moment of sheer confidence, greet him with a smile on his face, entrailed by the serendipity.

He follows up with a subtle grin, “Soonyoung.”

You hum, scanning his figure up close, configuring that it indeed looks better from this distance. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you. I’d say the same about you, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You give him a Cheshire grin. “Oh, you think my name’s pretty?”

“Yes, but, I think you’re prettier.” He retorts, the smile stretching over his cheeks like a strong elastic, showing no signs of wear and he leans closer to you. “Would you want me to buy you a drink?”

You wave your hand dismissively. “I approached you, I should be the one buying you a drink.”

“But I’m the one that offered.” He had this cheeky way of talking, it had you excited about something for something in a long time.

You bat your eyes lightly, “Well, if you insist.”

He chuckles before turning to the friendly bartender, “Josh, can I get two–sorry, what is it that you wanted?”

His eyes look over at you in interest and you are unsure if your heart is pounding from the alcohol you already have in your body or the sexual energy that just oozes out of this man. He made you tingle all over and it took you a beat before you had an answer for him. “Rum and Coke.”

Soonyoung chuckles. “And some water.”

You roll your eyes giggling. “Of course, you’re a gentleman.”

“Now why are you out tonight?” He ponders, naturally making conversation and observing the drinks being poured out in front of him.

You pretend to think, elbows hitting the bar counter as you rest your chin in your hands. “A good time. A reason to go out.”

“Me too. I hope you’re having a good time.”

“I am,” you lean closer to him, giving him direct eye contact, “especially now.”

Your hand trails over his thigh, your nails raising goosebumps on his skin.

He tilts his head, “Well, I’m the one with someone as incredible as you talking to me. You just know how hot you are, don’t you?”

You raise a brow, crossing your legs together, managing the arousal that threatens to seep from your vibrating cunt, “Yeah? Well, practically everyone in this room would be more than down to fuck you.”

He raises a brow, the corner of his lips perking up sinisterly. “You included?”

“That was implied. Of course.” You take the last sip of your drink, eyes locked on him, and it only takes a few minutes until you’re occupying an empty stairway.

Soonyoung sits on the steps with his legs spreading to his comfort while you felt rather comfortable on his lap. You anchored around his neck with a sloppy liplock in progress. Soonyoung holds your ass in his hands like a lost treasure, fingers playing along your slit underneath your skirt, his pretty red nails dragging along your skin.

You both may have slipped one too many times on the stair’s rigid surface but still come up to the surface giggling. He tastes of the rum and potato chips, considerably sweet and salty. Your hands in his hair, you press up against his toned abdomen. “Shit, you feel like an Abercrombie ad.”

“That is the most middle school compliment I’ve ever heard,” he teases, “Thank you.”

“As fun as this is, I am getting over someone, and this is really fun, but I’m not looking for much besides sex.” 

He shrugs, “Likewise. Let’s have a night to remember then, hmm, and I’ll make sure you’ll forget all about the brainless asshole who thought losing you was a genius idea.”

You let out a guttural moan, the dampness of your panties practically dripping down your thighs, “You’re so nice…God, I really want to suck your dick.”

Before he could give a response, you’re already crawling downward and dragging the zipper of his leather pants to tug it over his thighs. “Woah, woah, not even gonna wait until we get back to my place?”

“I think I might die if I don’t–Holy shit, you’re huge.” You drag your hands all over his branded briefs, feeling for the bulge underneath, and audibly moaning only for it to get drowned out in the muffled music.

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”

“Not particularly, are you?”

It takes him a beat before shaking his head with a cheeky smile. He only cares to watch as you help yourself. You pull the waistband over to his thighs and uncover his pulsing length that was simply mouth-watering sight. You wrap his girth in your hand, a trail of saliva leaving your lips and dropping on the head. Soonyoung licks his lips and slouches his posture, curling a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Are you sure you’re sober enough for this?”

“Oh trust me. When you walk through those doors, I definitely sobered up enough to know I want you to fuck me,” you respond licking the corner of your lips.

He blinks down at you slowly, softly scoffing, “what if it’s the rum talking?”

“You taste sweeter than rum, it’s definitely you.”

You took every inch of him in your mouth, careful of your teeth, lips meeting the base and the head hitting the back of your throat. The visual alone made his cock twitch. “S-shit.”

His hand automatically latches on the hairs of your scalp, mouth slightly open, tongue writhing out like a dog in heat. Through shut eyes, he feels you explore the surface. Your tongue traces over every vein, lips squeezing around his girth, your saliva escaping past your grip and creating a glossy sheen on the skin of his inner thigh. He lends a helping hand bobbing your head, emitting those blissful sounds of your jaw being used for its proper purpose.

“Dumb cunt.” His touch travels from your hair down to the shape of your chin, gripping your face in his full hand, and thumbing over your swollen bottom lip curiously. “What kind of fucking idiot would throw away a perfectly good mouth like this?”

His hips jerk slightly, watching your eyes roll back with every thrust. His groans digging and lingering in your ears, you feel both his hands take full control. Holding you by the sides of your face, he works himself to rut in your mouth like you’re a tool; not an ounce of remorse in sight. You plant your hands on either side of him on the steps, your gagging accompanying the muffled EDM, and you feel him push his cock deep, deep down your throat, seeing stars for the first time indoors. 

You take the opportunity to pull up for air when he loosens his touch, your drool dribbling on your chin, and a lust-driven smile spreads across your face. “You’re mean…I like you.”

“I hope you like me enough to wait then because I am not fucking you when I have a perfectly good bed a few blocks from here. Let’s go.”

With only cock on your mind, you follow the lead of a hot stranger and forget to tell the friends you leave behind. Your phone ends up buzzing on vibrate all throughout the night and you pay it not a single thought. On your journey over, you keep your hands to yourself with Soonyoung on the wheel but in an attempt to subdue your inner demons that ran amok.

“You keep touching yourself like that, I'll pull over.”

Your hand was already coated in the vicious film of your arousal, fingers deep past your wet folds, staining the inner lining of your skirt, “I need something in me…”

“You stupid slut,” he brakes at an upcoming red light before taking your busy hand and piling it up in his cheeks. He sucks the filth from your fingers whole, past your cuticles to knuckles, and interlocks them with his when it’s clean, as clean as he could get it anyway, “I don’t fuck with brats, so you might as well sit there and do as you’re told.”

There was something interesting about the gesture. Though his words were vulgar and your hand was sticky from the residue from the combination of your impatience and Soonyoung’s proactive problem-solving, the way he clasped them together immediately after that gives you butterflies in the pit of your stomach. And something in the dumb cock drunk brain of yours told you that his words weren’t meant to be taken lightly.

He drags you from the familiar sidewalk leading up to the complex where he and Jeongan took residence. He catches you in a lips lock as the elevator closes, tasting your arousal on his tongue, and letting your thigh lock around his hip. After what feels like seconds, the elevator doors release, and you are instantaneously behind another door before you realize.

He guides you to a room, knocking you back to a king-sized bed, already pushing up the fabric of your skirt to push his face between your legs. His hair only in view, he takes your thighs and presses against the side of his face, muffled sounds of his ravaging driving you and your pussy up a damn wall.

“Oh, good lord.”

You rock back onto his tongue, fingers laced naturally through his locks as his nose places strategically against your clit. “Your pretty pussy tasted so good in the car, I couldn't stop thinking about it.”

His eyes flit up to meet yours, holding them in a trance as he works himself between your folds. You remember how he mentioned he had a thing for tigers after you noticed one on his phone case, and the way his eyes looked reminded you of just that; a tiger devouring his prey. “F-fuck, like that…”

His chuckles tickle your core. “You like that?”

“Mmh, yes please…”

“Good girl…telling me how you like it.”

If you were given the choice, you wouldn’t have minded being eaten out the entire night, but Soonyoung seems to have wanted the variety. He dresses himself down to his birthday suit, repeating the process soon after with you. His fingers stroke against your chest delicately, cupping your breasts firmly. His mouth instinctively opens, salivating at the idea before putting it into action. Your moan at that, watching as he draws circles in your skin as his hips drilled in the sheets. His fiery tip ghosted over your sopping cunt as it clenched around nothing. You were just so desperate for it.

“Put it in…please…”

“Impatient, are you?” His body stretches to reach for something behind you, a foil wrapper coming to view.

He rips it open with his teeth, spitting out the torn top and rolling the rubber over his length. “On your stomach.”

“H-huh?” 

“I’m taking you from behind, keep up.”

He flips you over in an instant, a yelp making past your lips, leveraging your hips to have your ass in the air. You oblige by arching your back, his hand smoothing over the shape of your behind to run a finger over your wet slit, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fuck, you’re dripping. Thinking of messing up my sheets, are you?”

He lines himself at your entrance and inserts himself carefully inside. “You’re just pretty enough that I'd let you. Hold on for me.”

Your nails dig into the comforter, holding on, and he slams into you like a set of brakes. You jerk forward as expected, squeezing around his girth and only able to helplessly whimper as clutch on the bed, knowing what’s about to come next. 

He moves in you at a brutal pace, fucking the depths of your arousal. You emit a sound of ache every time he does, voice sounding out in vibrato. 

“You have such a pretty voice,” despite his praise, he pries open your mouth and slides in his digits, hanging them off the side of your chin, “but I don’t want a reason to cum early.”

His chest presses into your back, pushing into your g-spot. His teeth nibble against your ear, hands playing with your tits almost possessively. His grinding mesmerizing form sensation alone. “Your ex ever make you feel like this?”

You shake your head in denial, speaking through his fingers, “No, never like this…”

“What a fucking prick.”

He sucks on the nape of your neck, somehow finding that churns your stomach just right. “H-he was…”

His laugh was euphoric, “You’re funny. I think I like you too.”

He fucks you like his words were genuine, and your climax built up like the tears in your eyes. “I’m close…”

“You’re taking me so well, just a little longer, hmm? For me?”

Your knees grew weak, close to giving out, practically shaking beneath him. “Soonyoung please…”

“C-cum!” His moans heat the inside of your ears, temple kissing yours.

Your hips snap back into his crotch, his name flooding your tongue. His arms embrace your torso with all the strength he can muster, filling the casing to the brim. Your legs finally collapse, the man behind you falling easily on top of you. “Shit…”

He picks himself up and disposes of the condom. You hear muted rustling behind you but you’re too tired to care. There isn’t a single thought in your head until you finally fall asleep, snoring softly to your path to dreamland. Soonyoung returns with a towel run under hot water, wiping away leftover residue between your legs. He smiles seeing you’ve already fallen asleep without him. 

“Guess, she’s staying the night.”

You woke up the following morning in his bed. The sheets underneath you were slightly different from the night your body decided to sleep in and his naked bicep draped over your bare shoulders. His body reeked of rum and his natural musk, and you feel hot ah he tugs you closer. It was unfamiliar, but pleasant, at the same time relieving for the first time in a while that you didn't wake up the following morning alone. A change of pace from your usual wallowing. 

You turn over to your side to face him, tired eyes peeking glances at him as he casually wraps a leg around your body. You softly chuckle, careful not to wake him, but realize your failure as his eyelids begin to lift and gaze back at you. “Morning.”

You sigh in bliss holding your hands to your cheeks. “Hi.”

“Feeling better?”

“Much.”

Your smiles match, a strong urge to share the rest of the day with him when reality hits you. You were enjoying yourself too much and there was more life to live.

You tear away from his clutches and pick up your clothes from the floor. “Well, this was fun.” 

“Yeah, it was.” Smile faltering seeing how quick you are to leave. Didn’t you enjoy last night as much as he did?

You layer on your clothes slightly different from last night, utilizing the bathroom built into his room, and return to him with a clean face. “It was nice meeting you, Soyoung, but I gotta head back.”

He scoffs in disbelief, flexing his upper body to loosen up his back. He finds it hard to believe a girl that begged with his name in her mouth could get it that quickly. “Soonyoung.”

You laugh internally, knowing damn you didn't forget the name of the best fuck you had in months, but you weren’t going to let him know that. “Right. Well, bye. Again, nice meeting you.”

And just like that, you were strangers again. You leave his apartment, with a pep in your step. You’ll probably never fuck someone that hot again but at least you have the pleasure of saying you did. 

You take a walk of shame back to your apartment building, dreading going back to your normal routine, and digging for your keys when a familiar figure comes into view. Your uplifted mood dissipates almost immediately, your arms go limp, and you grit your teeth in disdain. There stood the person you shouted on rooftops for that you’d marry one day and would be incomplete without, now left a nasty after taste on the back of your mouth just repeating his name.

“Chan, what are you doing here?”

“Hi to you too, princess.” Honey coats his eyes and tongue, and a nostalgic look of love thumps that weak heart in your chest, bringing back the feelings you were just drowning in top shelf liquor just last night.

“You don’t live here anymore, remember? Get bent,” you pass him to insert the key and turn it to unlock.

He rushes to your side, stars in his eyes, “I fucked up, okay. I shouldn’t have–how am I supposed to be any better without you?”

“I don’t know, ask yourself that when you left weeks ago.”

The door swings open and you enter, prepping yourself to slam the door in his face, but his foot blocks your attempt, a sliver of his presence through the wooden crack. 

“Please, listen to what I have to say. I’ve lived long enough without you.” he speaks with a quivering voice, choking back sobs, pleading with his entire body.

“Keep it up, you're doing a great job so far.” You attempt to kick him away, the sole of your shoe jabbing at his closed toes, holding back your emotions unlike he does.

“I’m still in love with you, princess.”

You don’t stop no matter what he says, warmth building up in your eyes and blurring your vision. You proceed to kick him away harder and harder until you grow weak enough for him to take advantage. He pries the door apart from its closure and takes on your fists pounding away at his chest. His arms come around to wrap around your frame, his shirt soaking up your tears and you hit him more, pathetically pushing him away.

You’re screaming at this point, calling him insults, wanting to hurt him as much as he hurt you. You feel like you were burning all over your body, fucked in the mouth, fucked in the stomach, fucked in the mouth. You wanted it to just stop. You wanted all to stop.

But ultimately, you gave in when you didn’t have it left in you. All you could do was sob, pained all over, aching, savoring Chan’s embrace because there was nothing else like it. You knew what you were. You were weak. You were stupid. You were going to fuck yourself over.

His words echo in your ears. “I miss you…I love you…I need you…”

But you were a heartbroken girl still in love with the boy you met back in high school.

He press kisses all over your face and you remembered he would do that same thing every morning and every night. Your hands crawl up to find solace in his warmth, inhaling his cologne and tugging him harder, gesturing him to hold you tighter. Your tears mix in with one another and you lose where your sobs didn't become his.

“I-I love you too.”

[cherripentiousshipper]

Unpopular Opinions about characters' sexualities to make the show more adult and complex, cause I love dark romances(pt1/??)

(I take criticism as long as You're polite, thank you)

So, first of all, I would've rather Alastor to be Pansexual, not in the nowadays way, but actually in the Freud -would fuck a tree if It was a taboo- kinda of way.

Stay calm, I have my reasons, and I will tell you all of them.

Like first thing first, it'd be way much more in character for him. He's a serial killer, and a cannibal.

He could have stopped in hell, but actually went even more wild. Thus meaning that he actually has a very passional and lustful nature, like many serial killers, and especially cannibals have.

You may think this is to be connected to the sin of Gluttony, but not at all! He doesn't act rationally to reach satisfaction like a gluttonous person would; instead he acts instinctively, he's driven by his needs, he has no control over himself, so he seeks It on others.

You see as you may have noticed, he is very violent and bloothirsty, ruthless, and merciless. All these characteristics are his true nature that he has to repress in front of others.

So having him hypersexual would've been a better call in my opinion. (Having to repress a lot, means you'd need to.. ahem... "relax" a lot.)

Or rather making him extremely into paraphilias to be considered to only engage with normal living humans (or rather human souls) when He needs to manipulate them.

Like imagine him engaging with overlords only to reach agreements or make pacts, or steal useful informations, (similarly to early Stoliz, but with real pacts where he owns sinners' Souls).

Or like not engaging in any way when he knows that it's the best way to manipulate some others. In this very case for exemple imagine Vox going totally insane knowing that even his situationship (aka Valentino or p.o.s.) went to bed with Alastor, but he didn't, doesn't, and never will. He'd become putty in Al's hands without even having to make a deal!

Plus, mega bonus: if he made a pact with Lilith he can destroy Lucifer just with that information. And maybe He never even went to bed with her, but way worst! He has had her trust for all these years, and been at her service all this time, hating the restrains, but adoring and being allowed to adore the restrainer.

To seduce her, to amuse her, to be at her leash, to be owned by her, all while Lucifer could only dream her and see her in pictures! Damn the rivalry would be beautiful! (And a great mirror to the one Luci has with Adam "bow chica bow now!").

And I would not even want him to be open about It, the other way around! Since It's still a need, he represses It in public. Like he acts like he always does in the serie 'cause that's the mask he wears!

But once he wears It off, he's unleashing everything that's underneath!

This would definitely make him even more of a creep! And I would love to see the characters deal with him.

I can see Alastor turning off Angels' advances, 'cause he knows that he's making Angel insecure, or rather secure enough to make him feel bad about self-ojectifiying (like what happened between Angel and Husk, difference being that Alastor would bribe Angel to make him listen, instead of helping him).

I can also picture him trying to seduce both Vaggie and Charlie, but losing interest as they're both too loyal to each other, while also feeling incredibly powerful when he makes a pact with each of them.

Maybeee he has intercourse with Rosie while or after having dinner with her.

Not sure about the rest.

Aaaaand done for now! Stay tuned to know which characters I would've liked to see as Aces instead of Alastor! Yeeeeeeeh!

Thank you for reading, go drink a glass of water at least, and have a nice day! Goodbye!!

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Bold of you to assume we all don't want angst 👀 how about the mcs having a flashback or panic attack? Hope you're doing well!

The Arcana HCs: M6 when MC gets panic attacks/flashbacks

Part 2 is here, with MC comforting the M6 during panic attacks

CW for obvious reasons

~ quick reminder to all readers that trauma looks different in everyone and that healing is not linear, that your pain is valid even when it doesn't fit the stereotype or when somebody else "has it worse." Everyone is worthy of comfort even when there's no one to provide it. - brainrot <3 ~

Julian

He regularly wakes up in a cold sweat from his own nightmares, he can relate to at least a little bit of what's going on

That and he's dedicated his life to you, so his empathy and love for you is unmatched

If anything he's overcautious with you and you often have to remind him that you can handle it

But every now and then it happens, maybe something triggers it, maybe you just woke up on a bad day at the wrong time

His chosen profession is helping people in pain, if you think he's not dropping everything to be with you you're wrong

What he doesn't know about panic attacks he's researched, and what he couldn't find in his research he learned from what you described, and what he couldn't learn from your words he memorized in your body language

He has every mechanism down, he will lead you through breathing exercises, he will work on grounding techniques, he will talk you through every symptom and get you to the other side

Whatever it is, he's not letting you go through it alone. That's what coffee is for, right? In case his favorite patient needs him in the middle of the night and doesn't want to go back to sleep?

Asra

Why do you think they leave Faust with you whenever they go on trips?

He's already so in tune with you, he has a second sense for when you're fighting something off and no realm is too far away to reach you when that happens

As soon as you can signal that they're allowed to touch you, they will have you in their lap with a weighted blanket and one of their hands in both of yours to squeeze as hard as you need to

Will definitely use safe touch to ground you, using his fingertips to trace a box on your palms to breathe along with, rubbing your feet to warm them up and help you feel something under them

If it's a flashback, asking the quietest questions to get you out of your head. What color is their shawl? Where is Faust? How many succulents can you count on the windowsill? Which one of your hands is he touching? Which finger on that hand?

If it's a particularly nasty episode, he'll use magic to take more control of your environment, adjusting the temperature or blocking out a trigger or introducing a sound or sensation that you associate with safety and wellbeing

You never know how they do it, but there is always a steaming cup of tea on hand as soon as you're ready for it

Nadia

Panic might not be the most familiar sensation to her, but being trapped inside her own brain sure is

She specializes more in spoiling people than comforting them, but you pulled her out of the three year nightmare she was stuck in, so you can bet she's putting her all into returning the favor whenever she can

She's learned that you know what you need best, so she will follow your lead

You're having difficulty breathing? She knows how to direct you through the right exercises

You've got tears and snot all over your face? She has the softest handkerchief to wipe it away with

You need to be held? She's cradling you to her chest

Your eyes are wide and focused on some distant point? She's putting herself in your field of vision and coaxing you to focus on her

If nothing else is working, she's found she can use her gift of sight to get a better read on what's tormenting you and inform her response

Each time she'll process it with you afterwards and give you the best counsel

Muriel

Yeah, he knows those, he gets them too

He's not a professional and he doesn't have tons of resources at his disposal, but he gets what you're going through better than anyone and he's the most nurturing person you'll ever meet

His approach is generally to do all the things for you that work for him, especially since he's more of an actions than a words guy

As soon as he knows his touch won't trigger you, he'll have you in his arms, carrying you to a safe place to ground yourself (this is usually your bed)

He'll wrap the softest, thickest fur around you, sandwich you between him and Inanna, and slowly rock you back and forth like a baby

He'll put one of your palms on his chest so you can mimic his deep breathing and press a tiny wooden animal that's been saturated with myrrh into your other hand to focus on

He won't talk much, but he'll listen

If it's a bad memory resurfacing, he'll listen to every nasty detail you need to get out of your head. If it's fears or insecurities, he'll listen without judgement. If it's an incomprehensible rant, he'll listen and give you a gentle squeeze when you stop to breathe

He does also associate safety with a full stomach, so he will make you eat a double portion at your next meal

Portia

She had to readjust her assumptions at first, because her only point of reference for stuff like this is Julian's pity parties and she never had patience for those

Which did result in her quiet apology to him one evening, for never trying to get where he was coming from before slapping him out of it

She doesn't want to make the same mistake for you, so her approach is generally to make your surroundings as conducive to helping you as possible

She'll adjust the lighting, tuck a blanket around you, stuff Pepi into your lap for cuddles, bring you a handkerchief or a glass of water or one of those weird perpetual motion trinkets to focus on

She's an expert in bringing people joy, which means she's still learning how to sit with people in pain, but she's determined and she's loving and she can learn anything she puts her mind to

She also knows you well enough to trust your strength, so once she's done everything she can think of to help, she'll sit down in front of you cross-legged, her steady hands in yours, and watch you battle it out

Often that kind of empowering faith is exactly the boost you need, and you know as soon as you're ready that she has a million tricks up her sleeve to make you smile

Lucio

He's more familiar with this than you expect him to be

He spent his youth on the bloodiest part of the battlefield, and while that was his own decision, he's still haunted by some of the things that he did or had done to him

He also had his arm amputated by an apprentice doctor without anesthesia, he definitely gets his own flashbacks to that

He doesn't know how to be the safest person around, but he knows how to make you feel protected

If you're on the road or doing a job, he's pausing everything and putting all his attention on you

He's noticed what you reach for to comfort yourself with, so now he keeps a light blanket, a smooth trinket, and a soothing smell in his pouch. A good warrior knows to keep their best weapons on hand (ha, get it? hand? 'cause he's only got one? oh right you're crying shit shit shit he's got this)

Mercedes and Melchior are experts at grounding, they've been helping Lucio for years now

One of them will curl around your back, a solid warm weight to cover you, and the other will put their head and shoulders in your lap to touch and cry into

He will never make you feel small or weak about it

[feralwritings]

dissonance

part one

masterpost

word count: 2.8k

reader is referred to as 'reader', because in fan fictions with multiple women present, it can be hard to determine who is being written about when using the pronoun 'she' for multiple people, so therefore, reader is being used in place of a name.

Laughter echoes around the studio, being pressed into the podcast mics so that it’s a little too loud and a little too tinny, harsh on the ears.

She clicks the volume down a couple ticks.

“So, I mean-” The host chuckles, “I mean, what’s your least favorite band? Come on, you’ve gotta have one.”

There’s a silence that follows this question, a contemplative hum.

“Pssshh, I dunno,” Eddie says, the characteristic rasp of his voice moving through her headphones, “There’s like, lots of shitty music out there. But, other artists could say the same thing about our band, ya know? It’s all subjective.”

“I know,” The host presses, and there’s a hunger in his voice, “But, just throw one out.”

“There’s that one chick band,” Gareth says, and she can hear the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of him spinning his drumstick, “God, what was their name again? They’re like, literally on our label.”

“Daisy Chain,” Eddie supplies, “Yeah.”

Cold rage spreads throughout her body, frostbiting every nerve she possesses. The string she’s winding on her guitar snaps due to the pressure, flying into the meat of her palm.

There’s a breakout of laughter again, and she hears the host wheezing into the mic, “Daisy Chain? God, who’d Reader have to blow at your label to get signed?”

She rips off her headphones after that, throwing them in no particular direction. There’s still noise coming from them, but she can’t understand what they’re saying.

She doesn’t need to understand what they’re saying. She’s heard it all before, from sweaty interviewers at music festivals, to label executives, to booth technicians who call them all sweetheart and honey before insulting them.

She doesn’t need to wonder how bad this is. Her phone is already buzzing with notifications, from Chrissy, Nancy and Robin, from their manager, from Instagram and Twitter and Tik Tok, and it’s all so much, it’s all too much.

Through the flurry of notifications that are rendering her phone unusable, one pops up that makes her fucking nauseous.

from @.BandCast: hey @.dc_reader, we had a little chat about you with the Corroded Coffin boys on this weeks #BandCast, be sure to tune in! #daisychain #corrodedcoffin 

She sinks onto the floor, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Great. Just fucking great. The most popular band at Upside Down Records, the label she and her bandmates had fought tooth and nail to get signed to just destroyed Daisy Chain’s reputation, all of their hard work with a few words said into some mics on an overlit, overproduced and overrated podcast that just about everyone she knows and hopes to know listens to.

Another text pops up on her phone.

Manager

Don’t say anything. 

She doesn’t.

***

18 months later

“You’re joking. Tell me you’re fucking kidding.”

There is no way. There is absolutely no way.

“I’m not kidding. You’re going on this tour, you have to.”

She narrows her eyes, “And it just has to be with them, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Robin supplies, leaning forward in her chair towards Stacy, “You could literally choose like any other band.”

“I don’t have any control over that,” Stacy, VP at UDR says, which is a bold-faced lie, everyone knows that she has influence at the tour agency, not only that but most people in and out of this the building are scared of her, “That’s up to the tour agency that we work with.”

“And you can’t tell them to, oh, I dunno, choose literally any other band?” Nancy is picking at her nails, barely contained rage etched into the pressed line of her lips.

Stacy’s expression changes, and she leans forward with her messy bun and her oversaturated tan and her stupid white crop top and her acid washed jeans and her fucking-

“Listen, girls,” She begins, and they all raise an eyebrow at the patronizing tone, “To be frank, Corroded Coffin is a much more lucrative band than Daisy Chain. They’re more popular, better liked and easy on the eyes-” she blushes, staring fondly at the 24x36 poster of Eddie that sits on the opposite wall, tongue out, one hand around the neck of his guitar and the other flipping off the camera, Reader wants to use it for dart practice, “and riding their coattails may be just the thing that keeps you from getting dropped from UDR. Simply put, this tour is your last chance to prove to us that signing you wasn’t a mistake. We’ve poured so many resources in getting you out of your mommy’s garage-”

“We practiced at my house that I own-” Chrissy interjects softly.

“getting your albums made and getting you on tour, and it’s high time that we see a return on our investment, don’t you think? So, you either go on this tour, or you’re done at Upside Down Records. For good. Capiche?”

“That’s like, seven discrimination lawsuits all rolled into one,” Robin muses, though she doesn’t sound shocked that Stacy is speaking to them this way. Stacy says that this is how she speaks to everyone, that there is no time for ‘flowery language’ in this industry, which is another load of bullshit, considering that she’s plenty flowery when she’s giggling and batting her eyelashes at the Corroded Coffin guys. She has favorites, that’s for sure, and another thing that’s for sure is that Daisy Chain is not one of them.

“It’d never see the inside of a courtroom, honey,” Stacy says, searching through her desk for a stack of papers, “Sign here.”

She taps her bony finger on a tour contract, and Reader stares at it, feeling an insatiable urge to set it on fire.

“Opening for a band that hates us,” Nancy says, eyes flying over the contract, reading it carefully as she can, “Awesome. So cool.”

“Oh,” Stacy says, “I forgot to mention-” she snatches the stack of papers away from Nancy before producing a seemingly identical set, “You’re both openers.”

“Wait,” Reader says, “We’re both openers? Who’s the headliner?”

Stacy’s face breaks into a grin, and all four girls lean forward in their chairs, scared yet terrified of the answer.

“Steve Harrington.”

***

When they walk out into the Los Angeles sunshine, they all exchange a look.

“So,” Reader begins, leaning up against the wall of the building, “Pros and cons. Stacy said we had a week to sign.”

“Pro,” Robin holds up a finger, “Steve. Everyone loves him, he’s on a much bigger label, everyone says that he’s so nice and touring with him could be really good.”

“Con,” Chrissy says, “Corroded Coffin.”

“When I thought we were opening for them,” Reader adjusts her sunglasses, “I was way more apprehensive. There’s an inherent power imbalance there. but since we’re both opening, we’re on more equal footing, which might make it tolerable? I mean, at least it’s not just us and them.”

“Pro,” Nancy supplies, “It might get Stacy off of our backs. Plus, it’s not like they would pull any of that shit again, right?”

“True,” Chrissy concedes, “As far as anyone knows, we’re on good terms with CC, so it’s not like there would be any open animosity in the audience.”

Which, in a sense, was true. After the podcast had aired, UDR put out statements on both bands' socials, affirming that they were on good terms and Corroded Coffin doesn’t condone sexism and that all ties with UDR and BandCast had been dissolved. Daisy Chain and Corroded Coffin had never actually spoken, exchanged fighting words or even so much as a pleasantry, only really seeing each other across the room at company parties, on separate stages at festivals, walking past the other recording in various studios.

“Okay,” Robin said slowly, her gaze shifting to Reader, “But… the podcast. They went after you specifically, are you sure that you’re okay being on the road with them?”

Reader shrugs noncommittally, “I can deal. Plus, if any of them says anything like that again I know that you’ll stab them with your drumstick, so I’ll be fine.”

Robin flashes a small smile at that, “Yeah, especially that little short one.”

“I think as long as we have as little interaction with them as possible, things will be fine,” Chrissy reasons, running a hand through her hair, “They’ve already signed on, and like Stacy said, if we don’t go on this tour…”

“Then we get dropped.” Nancy, Robin and Reader say together.

“Let’s think about it a bit more,” Reader suggests, “We have a week. Let’s try to come to a decision in a few days.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Nancy says, pulling out her phone, “Lunch?”

They all murmured in agreement, setting off towards the parking lot, shoulders tight and heads full of what ifs.

***

The conference room is a touch too cold.

Robin is rocking her spinny chair back and forth, fingers drumming anxiously on the table. Nancy is stock still, staring at the opposite wall, muscles taut as piano wire. Chrissy is picking at her cuticles, glancing at the door every thirty seconds. 

Reader is tugging on her earring idly, staring at nothing in particular. They’ve only been waiting for about ten minutes, but it feels like ten years. 

God, she just wants to get this over with. Signing the contract, going home and beginning to prepare to leave. Packing, calling the electric company and the water company and having her mail put in a PO Box. All the things you do when you’re leaving for six months. 

They’re waiting for Corroded Coffin to show up so they can sign the new contract. Stacy sits at the head of the conference table, typing away on her laptop, eyes following Chrissy’s. Her anxious energy is something entirely different, excitable. She keeps preening her hair, twisting little hairs around her face to keep them curly. 

The door clicks open, and five pairs of eyes whip towards it. 

There they are. 

Eddie files in first, and Gareth, Jeff and Joey follow suit, all walking into the room with a certain swagger, a certain pompous sort of energy that makes Reader’s saliva turn sour. To her chagrin, her heartbeat kicks up a notch, and she takes a discreet, deep breath, willing the rage to stop spiking in her blood. 

They’d only seen each other a couple times since the podcast aired, always parallel and never fully interacting, burning sort of gazes across rooms and terse smiles through gritted teeth. 

Stacy got up to greet them, hugging them each individually, Eddie the longest, before inviting them to sit down. 

By sheer coincidence, or by a sense of order, or organization, the four chairs across from the girls are occupied by their counterparts.

Drummers, Robin and Gareth. 

Bassists, Nancy and Joey. 

Lead guitarists, Chrissy and Jeff. 

Vocals and rhythm guitarists, Reader and Eddie. 

“Alright!” Stacy claps her hands together, drawing a thick manilla folder out, letting it fall open. She slides eight contracts across the table, inviting everyone to grab one at their leisure, “Everyone take one and look it over while we wait for the lawyers to get here.”

They all peruse the contracts, the room filled with the sound of flipping paper as they all silently read.

Reader feels a pair of eyes on her, and she slides her own away from her contract and across the table, catching Eddie looking with a politely curious look on his face. 

She cocks an eyebrow at him, and he flashes a sarcastic smile at her before leaning back over his contract, wild hair falling around his face, all curls and frizz.

Once the lawyers arrive, it’s pretty cut and dry. Both bands ask their questions, get their answers, and by the time the hour is up, pens are out, poised to sign. 

“So, to summarize,” one of the lawyers says, pushing his horn rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Corroded Coffin and Daisy Chain will embark on a six month tour, serving as openers for solo act Steve Harrington. The tour will begin in August and conclude in January, going from the west coast to the east, playing one to two shows in each, resulting in about fifty-two shows in twenty-six cities across the United States. In January, additional cities and dates will be discussed.”

“Wait,” Eddie said, holding up a hand, “Why would we talk about more dates in January when we’re only signing a six month contract?”

The lawyers exchange a meaningful look.

“Extension of the tour depends on certain factors.”

“Like what?” 

“Factors that we are not at liberty to discuss without certain permissions from Mr. Harrington’s representation.”

That doesn’t sound good, and in spite of themselves, both bands exchange worried looks with each other. 

“What does that even mean?” Reader asks, leaning towards the lawyers, brow furrowed.

“We are not at liberty to discuss it at this time. If this causes an issue that impedes you from signing the contracts, we may have to revisit this at a later time, which is unadvisable considering that tentative promotion has begun, so his fans and yours know that something is coming in the future.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Reader began, running a hand through her hair, “I just think if there’s something we need to know that could affect this tour, we deserve to be fully informed.”

“It won’t impact your performances in any way, if that’s what you’re worried about.” The younger lawyer said tersely, pressing her lips into a fine line.

“Fine, fine,” Eddie says, pulling his contract towards him and scribbling a messy signature.

Everyone follows suit after that, handing their contracts to Stacy. As they prepare to take their leave, someone else rushes into the room. 

Alex, one of the guys who works in the promotional department. He’s got his camera slung around his neck, eager expression on his face. He catches Joey’s eye and blushes. 

“Wait! Before you all go home we need to get a couple pictures. We can post them when the tour is officially announced!”

“Wait,” Reader says, alarm bells instantly going off in her head, “Like, pictures of all of us? Together?”

Alex nods, “Just some candid sorta stuff, nothing too special or flashy, just like. You all together, at the table and maybe some with you guys standing next to each other.”

Everyone reluctantly takes their seats again, posing for the camera with their stupid little pens and their contracts, and once that’s done, they’re instructed to stand against the wall for a wide, group photo.

“Can you guys like, squish in more together? And Reader, can you switch places with Robin so you’re next to Eddie? It’ll be cool if the lineup is the same on both sides.”

Reader and Robin exchange a dark look before shimmying around each other. 

“I don’t bite,” Eddie says softly, so that only she can hear, leaning down the tiniest bit. 

“Mmm,” Reader hums through her teeth, keeping her eyes locked on the lens, sporting the most excited smile she can muster, hoping that her eyes don’t look too dead, “Just smile and look pretty so we can get through this, please.”

She can see Eddie in her periphery tilt his head with a little grin, before turning his attention back to the camera. 

“Okay, squish in a bit more,” Alex instructs, holding his camera to snap a picture, “Can you guys act like you like each other please? Can we put our arms around each other's shoulders or something?” 

Oh, sweet Jesus. 

She feels his arm slink around her shoulders, light pressure as his fingers dangle over her collarbone. She’s got one arm around Robin, and reluctantly, she winds her other around Eddie’s waist, hovering it over the leather of his jacket. 

There’s a thrum of energy that courses through her then, and after the third or so flash of Alex’s camera, a chill shoots through her shoulder where his hand rests, and she involuntary shivers, rolling his arm off of her shoulder.

He huffs then, snatching his arm away from her entirely, and they all move away from each other, the air in the room turning cold and oppressive.

They’re all staring each other down, sizing each other up, each band wondering how the next six months are going to play out. 

Daisy Chain is the first to leave, awkwardly sidling past the boys and heading down the hall, passing framed gold records, a few of which belong to Corroded Coffin, none of which belong to them.

As they burst through the doors and into the sizzling Los Angeles sun, there’s a definite stiffness in the way they bid farewell, taking their leaves individually.

Reader heads home, sitting with her car idling in the driveway for a few moments before walking in, feeling numb.

As she prepares to leave for the tour, packing, calling various people, she can’t help but feel like she’s getting herself, and her band, into something that they can’t come back from. Whatever is to happen on this tour, good or bad, there’s this inexplicable feeling coursing through her veins that the next six months might just change everything.

She packs her guitar into its case, running a hand down the strings pensively.

Whatever happens happens, she reasons. And all she can do is be a good girl, perform, and take it on the chin.

[itsbenedict]

From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 4/18 | 2/2

Adea, with the finely-honed mom skill of Bothering Customer Service People, decides to loudly play NOSE KARATE GAMES ASK TO SEE MANAGER, but no one responds- she attracts the attention of some glitch-ghosts before Walter slaps a wing over her mouth.

He suggests that ELECTRIC BOLT LEFT US they COLLECT BUTTERFLIES, herding them together into one of those dense swarms that seems to allow them to reach the fennec fox who keeps dropping off supplies for them. It's not a bad idea- but it's tricky to corral loose butterflies in a ghost-crowded juice bar without antagonizing some ghosts.

The two of you split up, and- well, Adea gets sort of attacked by some of the ghosts she ticked off. They phase right through the both of you, but there's a chilling sensation and a loss of motor control involved, your limbs flailing involuntarily as they do so. It's disconcerting, and Adea takes a couple hits to her Soul Integrity from smacking against tables and the like, but otherwise things go much smoother than might be expected of a bug-corralling operation in an extremely haunted room.

The swarm, this time, doesn't reveal a fennec, but rather a tired looking cat polishing a glass at the bar. They can't say they've ever been asked to serve drinks to a cloud of butterflies before, but they appear to take the whole affair in an uncanny stride, and accept the CAFÉ VOUCHER. It's good for 20 Coin's worth of the house menu:

Some newfangled experimental INHALED FOODS that come in compressed air canisters (2)

A SPRINGLIKE CARD that resembles something from hanafuda but isn't quite the right season (2)

A tulpa of a little pony who embodies the spirit of generosity, so you always have a MIND RARITY at hand (2)

You could get poked with a cocktail umbrella. "YOW," SHRIEK US, because that toothpick end is pointy. (2)

Ever want to be traumatized by fae teaching you math? Now TRIG FAIRY TRAUMA can be yours, for only (2)

Jack wants to just get in the car and drive, but I BUCKLE UP, JACK. It's the law. (5)

There's a DOMINANT ICICLE hanging over the bar that's clearly the boss of all the other icicles. (4)

They sell SELTZERS, APTLY, by the sea shore. Or, shorter: by the sea, sure. Sheesh. (1)

There's a bee waiting in line to order behind you. It's going to be the BEE'S TURN next. (1)

Ol' Zed over there on the house piano is playing ZED'S TUNE, but he takes requests, for (1)

And lastly, if you're boring or watching your weight, you can always just order some SPINACH SALADS (2).

(All of these options restore hunger at least proportional to their cost, but may have other effects. How much of each the 20-Coin voucher will buy will be determined by the spread of results on this poll, rather than chosen by a single winner. You can also choose to PORT POLYTHEISTS and spend your own Coin to purchase extra rations.)

Continued